Summer on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

  Poppy was touched by the older woman’s kindness. ‘We weren’t actually married.’

  ‘Even better,’ said Fen. ‘I wish Jake would move on from his memories.’ She lowered her voice, as they heard footsteps from the gallery below. ‘That sounds like him. He doesn’t seem to want to make a fresh start on St Piran’s. If it wasn’t for Archie’s fall, I don’t think he’d have ever come back.’

  ‘No?’ said Poppy, glad to have the conversation turned away from her own problems but worried that Jake might hear himself being discussed.

  ‘Maybe you’ll keep him here a while longer.’ Fen eyed her closely.

  ‘He said he’s got a lot of stuff to sort out back home in Cornwall. I got the impression he’d be gone within a couple of weeks.’

  Fen sighed. ‘He’ll want to be with his family and that’s understandable. He’s hardly been back here since Harriet passed.’

  ‘I don’t expect him to stay here for my sake,’ said Poppy.

  A heavy footstep on the stair stopped any more awkward discussion and Jake started talking before he’d even come into view.

  ‘Right. That’s another thing done. Not only have your knickers arrived, but I’ve found the key to the other set of drawers so you can give me my clothes back now.’

  ‘Jake. Fen’s here!’ Poppy called, her face warming at Jake’s joke. Fen might take it out of context. In fact, anyone would take it out of context.

  Jake emerged, taking the last steps two at a time. He was slightly out of breath but smiling. ‘Oh.’ He managed to maintain the smile. ‘Hello, Fen.’

  ‘What’s this about drawers and Jake’s clothes?’ she asked.

  Poppy stepped in. ‘Just a joke. Jake loaned me a T-shirt.’

  Fen eyed Jake sharply. ‘That was nice of him.’

  ‘Not really. It was an old one,’ said Jake, exchanging a pained glance with Poppy. Why they were both feeling guilty or awkward about sharing clothes, in front of Fen, Poppy had no idea. The T-shirt was hardly a secret, yet it felt like one.

  ‘Anyway, all’s well that ends well. As you can see, all my things have arrived. Thanks for sorting it out, Jake.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news,’ said Fen. ‘I couldn’t really have pictured Poppy in any of my old stuff, I have to be honest.’

  ‘You look lovely and I’d have been very grateful,’ said Poppy, while relief flooded through her at not having to wear a hand-knitted orange poncho.

  Jake was still smiling, however. ‘And back to the other news. I’ve found the key to the table.’

  Fen rolled her eyes. ‘No wonder I couldn’t lay hands on it at home. Are you sure it’s the right one?’

  He held out the key, which was secured to a keyring with a small silver dolphin. ‘This one? It was on its own in one of the slim dresser drawers. I thought I recognised it.’

  She peered at the small brass key. ‘Looks very much like it.’

  ‘The only way to know for sure is to try it,’ said Poppy, eager to find whatever paperwork might help her continue rebuilding a stable of artists.

  They all headed downstairs into the gallery and assembled around the large flat low table that Archie used for working, mixing paints and some framing. Fen stood on the far side, glancing around her from time to time with a wistful expression, as if she was recalling the room in happier times. Poppy stood next to Jake as he inserted the key in the lock and wiggled it. Eventually it turned. The drawer had stuck a little with lack of use, but he prised it open. It was stuffed with paperwork. She looked over his shoulder as he leafed through invoices, receipts and manila folders. She spotted one with ‘Artist contacts’ on the front.

  ‘That looks promising,’ she said.

  ‘Hmm.’ He handed it to her.

  Fen, standing on the other side of the table, gave a nod. ‘That’ll be it. I remember helping to compile it, though I haven’t seen it for a few years.’ She spotted some dried-up paint tubes on the table and picked them up, tutting.

  Poppy opened the file and saw the handwritten list of names and numbers, with the odd email address added alongside.

  Jake riffled through the other papers in the drawer. ‘I’m not sure what else might be useful,’ he said, pulling sheets and letters from underneath the invoices. ‘Oh …’

  Fen glanced up. ‘What?’

  Jake shoved something back under the other papers. ‘Nothing. I thought it was another list of suppliers, but it’s only an old invoice.’ He shut the drawer and locked it again, before quietly passing the key to Poppy.

  He ushered them out of the work area and back towards the main gallery. Behind Fen’s back, he caught Poppy’s eye, an agonised look on his face. Poppy mouthed ‘what?’ but Fen turned around and Jake shot her a smile.

  ‘Shall I help you look through this list with Fen?’ he asked.

  ‘Thanks.’

  After grabbing a coffee, they worked through the list of artists while the little brass key burned a hole in her pocket. Whatever was in the drawer, Jake didn’t want Fen to see it.

  Chapter 10

  By the time the sun had slipped behind the lighthouse in a blaze of pink and orange, Poppy had compiled a wish list of more artists to contact. She whizzed off messages to them, introducing herself, telling them briefly of her plans to refurbish the gallery and that she’d be contacting them in person and inviting them all to see it once work was closer to completion.

  Jake and Fen had left earlier, so she set to arranging her possessions into some kind of order. It was surprising how the addition of a few cushions and her own bits ’n’ bobs made the place feel homelier, if not yet like home. Once she’d found a place for the photos of her friends and her parents, she was feeling much better.

  The next morning, she was in the studio early, clearing it out ready for the renovation work to start. After a thorough clean, the walls would need washing and the damaged plasterwork repairing. The woodwork would need rubbing down before it or the walls could even begin to be repainted. In the meantime, she’d also have to get word around that the launch would be happening over the late May bank holiday, all while convincing the sceptical artists and getting in some stock.

  As she took a quick break for a latte from the Harbour Kiosk, just under a month didn’t seem anywhere near long enough. Jake had said he’d help, but for how long? Even with offers from Kelly, Fen and Lisa, the buck stopped with Poppy herself and it was clear she’d underestimated how much work would be involved.

  She’d no choice though but to get on with it. She started by packing away all the paintings from the walls into boxes before dragging them into Archie’s work area. She hadn’t opened the drawer of the worktable, figuring whatever was in there was personal to Jake and should wait until he was ready to open it. She could have asked him but it seemed intrusive and, anyway, she hoped he’d tell her of his own accord when he arrived later that morning.

  In the end, Jake and Fen turned up at almost the same time, so there was no prospect of opening the drawer while they were together – if Jake wanted to. In any case, they were all too busy. Fen had brought a vacuum cleaner and a couple of brooms and they started to clear out as much of the dust and grime from the gallery as they could. It was a fine, breezy day and with all the doors and windows open, the damp smell was lessening. The stone walls had been whitewashed several times over the years but would need some serious filling and repairs and then several fresh coats of white paint.

  ‘I don’t want to have too much clutter around. The studio should be a blank canvas in itself, with the art obviously attracting all the attention,’ she said as they all surveyed the now clutter-free space.

  ‘I agree,’ said Jake, then hastily added, ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’

  Fen laughed. ‘Yes. Tell us to shut up and get lost if we’re interfering.’

  Poppy laughed too. ‘I doubt I’m in a position to do that and you’re the ones who really know how to run a gallery.’

  ‘My experience is all second-han
d,’ said Jake. ‘Some of my work is displayed in other people’s galleries, so I know what I want from them, as an artist, but Fen and Grandpa are the experts.’

  ‘Times change,’ said Fen. ‘Poppy will have fresh ideas and that’s exactly what’s required. That, and enthusiasm and a good way with the customers.’

  Poppy nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean. Some of the galleries I’ve checked out were welcoming, but others were so intimidating. In some of them, you felt you had to curtsey to the woman or man behind the desk.’

  Fen winced. ‘Oh, I hope no one’s ever felt like that when they walked into the Starfish.’

  ‘Absolutely not. You were very warm and friendly. In fact, you reminded me of my nan.’

  Jake burst out laughing at the remark. Poppy cringed when she realised what she’d said, but Fen grinned.

  ‘Well, I am old enough to be your grandma. I wish I had grandkids or kids of my own, but it never happened. Mind you, Jake’s always been like a grandson to me.’

  Jake put his arm around Fen. ‘You’ve always treated me like one.’

  Poppy thought she’d just about got away with her comment but resolved to try to engage her brain before her mouth more often.

  ‘I also picked up a tip from one gallery,’ she said, hoping Fen would approve. ‘I thought of having fresh flowers on the desk. Just a few local ones from the island to bring St Piran’s inside the gallery and to give customers an experience of the natural Scilly, as well as buying a “thing,”’ no matter how lovely the thing.’

  Fen nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. Most visitors want to feel they’re sharing in a way of life when they buy something.’

  ‘That’s how I felt when I walked into the studio. I wanted to take a small part of this whole island lifestyle back home, so I could imagine myself being here. I never guessed I’d actually be back.’

  ‘But here you are.’ Jake smiled, as if to give her confidence.

  ‘Yes, and there’s no way back, so we’d better get to work.’

  Jake and Poppy washed down the walls, while Fen wiped the cabinets and plinths. They put the island radio station on and Poppy listened with secret amusement to this insight into island trivia that would be her life now.

  Washing the walls was hard work and she was soon hot and a bit sweaty, working in a vest top and cropped jeans. Jake was in shorts and a T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and calves. He must spend a lot of his time in rugged terrain lugging heavy camera equipment, so it was hardly surprising he was fit. It was pretty distracting, though, and it was all she could do not to sneak a peek as she returned her cloth to the bucket for a fresh batch of sugar soap.

  Poppy might have been imagining the fact that Jake slowed right down towards the end of the afternoon, almost as if he was stretching out the second and final wall wash, but Fen didn’t budge from her post as builder’s mate. She’d made them endless cups of tea and cold drinks and seemed to have got through most of Fifty Shades Freed, once she’d finished cleaning the cabinets, tutting loudly that ‘it was a load of old rubbish’ and that ‘Christian Grey must have bloody good central heating in that apartment of his,’ while turning the pages at lightning speed.

  Jake kept dropping hints that he needed to leave to speak to a photography expedition organiser, but Fen stayed put, so in the end, they both left just after five. Poppy had intended to carry on working, but as soon as her helpers had gone, the energy seemed to drain out of her. Her arms turned to spaghetti and her legs were shaky after a day climbing up and down stepladders and reaching into corners.

  Her PR job had involved nothing more than sitting at the keyboard, racking her brain for fresh puns about drainpipes and shower grates, so her new active lifestyle was bound to be a shock to the system. She’d tried to keep fit by joining the health club with Dan but had hardly ever gone. Now she was on St Piran’s, she could save a fortune. Who needed the gym when you were renovating an art gallery?

  She didn’t miss the stressful commute to work in her small car either, being constantly cut up by faster vehicles or wondering when a truck might pull out on her. What bliss it was to simply crawl up the spiral staircase and straight into the shower … A short while later, she’d washed the plaster dust out of her hair and was wearing a casual dress and a pair of flowery Vans. With a large glass of wine at her side, she sat at the small dining table and sent a few pictures of the work in progress to her family and Zoey over WhatsApp.

  Thank God the island had decent Wi-Fi. It felt satisfying to be making progress and to have positive news after all the misery of the past few weeks. She hoped the messages would reassure those she’d left behind that she’d made the right decision to make a fresh start.

  She opened up her laptop to browse a few of the artists’ sites and remind herself of the best features of some of the galleries she’d admired. Checking her emails, she noticed a couple of the local people had already responded.

  She sighed. Both replies, from a painter and a fused glass-maker, were lukewarm, to say the least, and the former had said that ‘actually, she wanted to drop in ASAP and collect her remaining few pieces’ as they clearly ‘weren’t working in the current environment’. Poppy realised that she was going to have to try harder to convince the artists that the studio was the best place to showcase their work.

  She hadn’t noticed Leo leap silently from floor to chair to table. He settled down next to her laptop and she ruffled his fur as she scrolled through her Facebook page. She’d have to start up Twitter and Instagram accounts for the Starfish Studio as soon as possible, but she was too tired to do it right now.

  For all kinds of reasons, she’d tried to avoid the internet over the past few weeks, especially Facebook where the endless stream of married and settled friends posting smiley photos of themselves enjoying holidays and evenings out had driven her mad. The last thing she wanted was for any friend of hers to be unhappy, but since Dan had left, it seemed that her whole feed was filled with loved-up couples enjoying shared desserts in romantic hotspots or cuddled up with a jug of Pimm’s in the their local ’Spoons. It was all the same: smug snuggliness in public places.

  She cringed and thought of the album she’d posted of her and Dan at the helm of a motorboat the previous year, in Ibiza.

  ‘Is no one single?’ she said to Leo, who’d decided to sit on the dining table next to her. ‘You wouldn’t be seen dead blobbing whipped cream on another cat’s snout, would you, Leo?’

  A post appeared in her news feed that once seen was impossible to ignore. Poppy clicked on it and gasped out loud.

  It couldn’t be.

  As she stared in horror at the screen, Leo nudged her elbow and her finger slipped.

  ‘No!’

  Poppy – actually, Leo – had Liked the post. Poppy bashed her keyboard in a panic, running through Love and Ha Ha until she finally managed to Unlike it.

  She re-read the post and some of the comments, still not quite able to believe what she’d seen until her phone buzzed and broke her trance. It was a text from Zoey.

  DON’T look at Facebook. :(

  Followed by a string of emojis showing disgust, crying, vomiting and finally, a big hug.

  The phone buzzed again.

  Will call you as soon as I get out of work. Z x

  Poppy dropped the phone on the bed and returned again to the screen. Eve had tagged Dan in a post and, in the accompanying photo, Dan had his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder and a soppy grin on his face. He appeared to have grown a hipster goatee and a twirly moustache that made him look as if he was off to a fancy-dress party as a ringmaster. Eve was wearing a skin-tight flesh-toned (unless you were Trump orange, that is) body-con dress and pointing to her stomach with nails that looked like they’d been dipped in correction fluid. There was another photo beside it, showing an ultrasound scan of the tiny Dan/Eve inside Eve’s ‘baby tummy’.

  Eve is feeling: Blessed, said the post, which, mystifyingly, had been set on a Fa
cebook background of tropical palms. It was accompanied by a gif of a chubby baby gurgling as it was tickled.

  Can life get any better? Expecting a little miracle in October. We are Officially the Luckiest People in the World.

  Poppy’s head swam and her stomach turned over with a sensation not unlike she’d felt on the Islander. Only this feeling wasn’t going to vanish once she stepped on dry land. Dan had once hinted he’d like to start a family; in fact, she recalled his words on that very subject the day they’d visited the Starfish Studio all those years before. He’d hinted that St Piran’s would be a good place for kids to grow up, with fresh air and a safe environment, and Poppy had agreed. She still did but, of course, it was never going to happen for her and Dan now.

  Every time she took a step forward – moving to St Piran’s despite Dan’s betrayal and scorn; finding the Starfish in a mess but determining to do it up – she seemed to take another step back. She might laugh at the post’s cheesiness but the fact remained: Eve and Dan were having a baby together.

  It took every ounce of her strength not to burst into tears.

  She reached to shut down the laptop when Leo jumped onto the keyboard. He turned around and lifted his tail ready to spray the screen.

  ‘Argh! No!’

  With a loud shriek, Poppy snatched the laptop out of the way before Leo did his worst.

  ‘Poppy! Are you OK?’ Thudding boots were followed by Jake dashing into the room.

  She almost died of shame. ‘It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s Leo. He was going to spray the laptop.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I mean, bloody cat. It’s disgusting, but thank goodness no one’s hurt.’

  Poppy grabbed a handful of kitchen roll and wiped down the tabletop.

  ‘Would you like some Dettol?’ he asked earnestly.

  Well, it was better than a couples’ cocktail, she thought, unable to hide a smile at Jake’s offer. ‘Thanks. It’s under the sink.’

  Jake glared at Leo. ‘And don’t even think about giving me a shower, Catface,’ he said.

  Leo turned his back and sauntered off.