Runaway Summer: Polwenna Bay 1

by Ruth Saberton

  In her darkest moments Summer feared he was right. Was it her fault that Justin was insecure? Was she to blame for his rages? The logical part of Summer told her that this was nonsense and that the only person culpable here was Justin. Yet there was a small part of her, a part that was maybe still a teenager and in awe of her big and vocal father, that could never forget Eddie’s furious words and that wondered…

  Susie Penhalligan didn’t seem surprised in the least to find her daughter on the doorstep, but simply pulled Summer inside and folded her into a big hug.

  “Patsy told you I was here, then,” Summer said, hugging her mum back and breathing in the familiar scent of washing powder and Anais Anais. Her eyes filled and there was a lump the size of a pasty in her throat. She was home again and it felt so familiar and safe. Summer couldn’t remember how long it was since she’d felt safe.

  “Of course she did. Patsy can’t keep a secret to save her life; you know that.”

  Summer’s face was still buried in her mother’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I just had some… some stuff I needed to sort out first.”

  She gulped back a sob, not wanting to alarm Susie by crying. The Penhalligan family weren’t criers. They tended to knuckle down and get on with things rather than scritching, as Eddie so sensitively put it. A lot of Summer’s childhood had been spent pretending that skinned knees didn’t hurt or that she wasn’t upset when Ella was mean to her. When she’d made friends with the Tremaines, a family who didn’t wear their hearts only on their sleeves but just about everywhere else too, it had been a revelation. Her stoic approach had been equally alien to them, and Jake had often complained that he never really knew how she felt. Summer guessed that she was good at keeping her real feelings under wraps, which was handy when she was in role but didn’t always make communication easy in a relationship. Meeting Justin, who never enquired how she felt or what she thought, had been something of a relief until Summer had realised that he didn’t ask because he simply wasn’t interested. Just as his Rolex or his car didn’t have a say, neither did the woman on his arm. By the time Summer had figured this out, it was far too late to complain. Instead she’d just acted the part of the perfect model girlfriend and hidden the bruises under expertly applied make-up. It had actually become a point of honour towards the end that nothing Justin said or did could make her cry. A bit like Obi-Wan Kenobi with Luke Skywalker, Summer’s father had trained her well. She didn’t show a flicker of emotion.

  This wasn’t always an advantage though. No wonder Mo’s parting words all those years ago had been that she was a cold bitch. The words cut deeply, even all this time later. Mo had no idea that a calm face could in fact hide a heart that was fragmenting into a thousand bleeding pieces.

  Susie Penhalligan knew her daughter well and wasn’t the type of mother to make a scene.

  “I knew you’d come home when you were ready,” she said, dropping a kiss onto Summer’s head. Stepping back, she frowned. “Sweetheart, you’re so thin!”

  Summer shrugged the concern away. Besides, she wouldn’t be thin in seven months’ time. “I’ve been busy. Work is hectic and you know I have to watch every mouthful. The camera puts on at least ten pounds.”

  “Hmm.” Susie’s brows were still drawn together and her mouth was set in a tight line as she looked at her daughter. “What happened to your face? Patsy said you had a shiner and for once she wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “I just tripped and fell,” Summer told her. This wasn’t strictly a lie. “It was so silly. I headbutted the kitchen island.” When it came to fibbing it always made sense just to include a little smudge of the truth. That way she wouldn’t tie herself in knots. Anyway, her mother didn’t need to know that Justin had played a major role in helping Summer on her way to making close contact with the finest Italian marble a bespoke kitchen could be made of. Susie might be small but she was five feet two of determined Cornish woman, and likely to take the next train to London and give Justin a piece of her mind. That was the last thing Summer needed right now. Justin was going to have to be handled with kid gloves, otherwise he’d descend on her with his savage attorneys – and she knew from experience that they could twist anything to look like a fact. Panic rose at the thought of what he might do and her hand moved instinctively to her stomach.

  Fortunately Susie didn’t notice this gesture. She was far too busy making disbelieving sounds and then pushing back Summer’s hood, gasping when she saw her daughter’s cropped head.

  “Oh my God, your beautiful hair! What were you thinking?”

  That I needed to hide, thought Summer. Aloud she said, “It’s a change, Mum. It should get me noticed.”

  “It’ll get you noticed, all right,” Susie tutted. “Love, your hair was beautiful. It’s your trademark! I can’t believe you’ve cut it off. That might really affect your career!”

  It was on the tip of Summer’s tongue to shoot back that her career would have been affected far more if Justin had managed to batter her within an inch of her life, but she shut her mouth hastily. She didn’t dare make comments like this. She recalled a time when he’d got into a fight with a younger team member, over something so trivial he couldn’t even recall what it was when he’d calmed down. On that occasion Justin had managed to have his people frighten the other guy so much that the incident was never mentioned again. The broken nose and split lip were put down to a fall during training; the tabloids remained in blissful ignorance and football’s golden boy continued to bask in the nation’s love and adoration. He was a star player and worth a fortune. Sponsorship deals, advertising and the prestige of the team rested on his well-muscled shoulders. Summer knew that nothing would be allowed to jeopardise his reputation, especially an ex-glamour-model girlfriend who’d made her name by posing in her underwear. Nobody would believe her if she dared to tell the truth about football’s most charming man. Justin would make sure she was totally destroyed.

  No. She’d have to find another way to extricate herself. The problem was, she wasn’t sure how long she had left to figure out what this would be.

  While Susie continued to chastise her daughter for the radical haircut, Summer stepped from the heat of the porch, past pegs laden with yellow oilskins and mildewed raincoats, and down into the cool of the basement kitchen. The worn, cold flagstones underfoot, the ancient Aga slumbering in the corner, the chipped old sink and the rail hung with stripy tea towels were so familiar that for a moment she could have believed that the past twelve years had just been a weird dream. At any minute her brothers would come hurtling in to raid the fridge, their trainered feet stomping past the low window before they barged through the front door and down the stairs. Then they’d sit at the old pine table and moan about homework while Susie dished up huge portions of stew and tested Summer on the lines for her latest audition piece. Mo would be there too, calming down after the latest row with one of her siblings. Later on, once work at the marina was over for the day, Jake would join them for supper.

  It alarmed Summer just how much she longed for this slip back in time to be real. Imagine if she could go back and start over. Would she make the same choices? Somehow, she didn’t think so.

  Summer sat down at the table in her old place nearest the window, where the red-checked curtains brushed against her as they lifted in the breeze. Meanwhile, Susie switched off the radio and filled the kettle. The kitchen was rich with the scent of bacon, the table still laden with plates and mugs and strewn with crumbs – all evidence of a hearty breakfast for hungry fishermen.

  “Where is everyone?” Summer asked. Since the boat was in, she’d expected – dreaded, even – seeing her father today. If not at sea or holding court in the pub and ranting about the evils of the Common Fisheries Policy, Eddie Penhalligan was usually to be found sitting at the kitchen table flicking through a copy of Fishing News and bossing his wife about. Summer often thought her mother was either a saint or a total glutton for punishment. As Eddie wa
s a creature of habit, it was most unusual for him not to be there. Her brothers were never very far away either. She frowned. “Why isn’t the boat out with the rest of the fleet? It’s flat calm out there.”

  The life of a fisherman’s family was a hard one. When it came to income it was always a case of feast or famine. Every day that the weather was fair was a chance to go out to sea and hopefully haul a good catch of flickering silver treasure that would pay the mortgage and put food on the table for another few weeks. Unless there was a problem with the boat, it was unheard of for Penhalligan Girl to miss a day at sea.

  Susie didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead she busied herself placing the kettle on the hotplate and scooping dirty crockery from the table.

  “Mum?” Summer leaned across and caught her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t Dad at sea?”

  There was a pause. Even the kitchen clock seemed to wait before embarking on its next tick. Then Susie sighed, let the plates clatter back onto the table and slid her slight frame onto the seat beside her daughter. Summer realised that she was holding her breath.

  “Dad’s not been out to sea for a while,” her mother told her. She reached out and took one of Summer’s hands in hers. It was as cold as the waves breaking below Cobble Cottage, and Summer’s heart lurched.

  “Is there something wrong with Dad?”

  Susie couldn’t look her daughter in the eye. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone – and, anyway, Dad was adamant that you didn’t come home for any other reason than because you wanted to – but, yes, he’s not been well. He’s had a few problems with his heart.”

  Summer stared at her. It was news that Eddie actually had one.

  “He had chest pains out at sea a couple of months ago. They had to come back in,” Susie continued. Now that she looked more closely, Summer could see the hollows under her mother’s eyes and the new lines that traced their way across her brow. “You know your father, Summer; he doesn’t make a fuss, so we knew it must be bad. The boys radioed for help and Dr Kussell came down to the quay, took one look at Dad and called an ambulance.”

  Summer’s eyes widened. “An ambulance? Dad went to hospital?” And they hadn’t told her?

  Her mother nodded. “It was a heart attack. Not the worst kind, thank goodness, but something called an NSTEMI. Dr Penwarren, that’s our new GP, says it’s like a warning heart attack. Apparently it’s done a fair bit of damage already, so unless he takes it easy and makes some changes then the prognosis isn’t great. Dad was hooked up to all sorts of machines for a couple of days while they ran tests on him. He was going mad. I thought we’d have to lash him to the hospital bed.”

  Summer could imagine. Her father hated being cooped up, never mind being told what to do. He would have made a bear with a sore head look good-tempered.

  “I wish you’d told me,” she said.

  Her mother gave her a look. They rarely talked anyway and as far as her father was concerned she was hardly a part of the family. If she’d turned up at his bedside Eddie probably would have combusted with rage and had a full-on heart attack.

  “He’s going to have surgery at some point: angioplasty, I think they said it was called?” The kettle started to whistle and Susie rose to tend to it. As she put teabags into the flowery teapot that had lived in the Penhalligan kitchen for as long as Summer could remember and then sloshed hot water inside, Susie told Summer about the preventative measures Eddie Penhalligan was supposed to take while he waited for his name to reach the top of the operating list. No drinking, no smoking, no fatty food, some moderate exercise and absolutely no stress.

  “As you can imagine, none of this has gone down well with your father,” Susie concluded. She placed a mug of strong tea in front of Summer and then leaned against the Aga, curling her hands around her own mug. “I try to cook low-fat food but then Patsy tells me he’s in the shop ordering sausage rolls. He’s refused to stop smoking and is convinced that drinking halves means cutting down. Added to that, not being allowed to go to sea is making him even more tetchy than normal. I’ve tried to encourage him to go for walks on the cliffs and I bought us joint membership of the National Trust too, but he says he might as well be dead if this is all he’s got to look forward to.”

  Summer nodded sympathetically. Drinking in The Ship and going to sea was her father’s life. Personally, she thought Eddie Penhalligan was a selfish, sexist pig, but he was still her father and she hated to think of the big seafaring giant of a man that she knew reduced to pottering around tea shops and garden centres. She suspected that would finish him off far more thoroughly than any heart attack.

  “Anyway, the boys take the boat now with Nick Tremaine, which is a good compromise. Your dad decides what grounds they should visit and helps them land, even though that’s probably too physical.” Susie took a sip of tea and tried to smile, but Summer wasn’t fooled.

  “So why’s the boat in today?”

  “The boys went out last night. Zak Tremaine’s band was playing in the Merry Mackerel, and they didn’t get in until really late. They were supposed to head out at dawn but Bobby was passed out and Joe was still half-cut. Even Nick was so hung-over he couldn’t see straight. Your father went mad. There was no way he was letting them take the boat in that state, even if it meant losing a day at sea.” She shook her head wearily. “You know how it is, sweetheart. Fishermen work hard and drink hard, but I sometimes worry that these boys take it too far. They’re young and they think they’re immortal. Jerry was the same.”

  Jerry had been Susie’s brother, who’d gone missing with his boat when he was barely twenty years old. The wreckage had eventually washed up on the beach but there had been no sign of Jerry and in the end he’d been declared lost at sea. Even now, over forty years on, Summer’s grandmother insisted on leaving the porch light burning just in case he came home. Summer shivered just thinking about the tragedy.

  Susie finished her tea and placed her mug on the table with a thud.

  “Anyway, enough of such miserable talk. The boys are mending the nets now and Dad’s with them. He shouted so much this morning that I really thought he was going to have another heart attack, but at least he made his feelings clear. I could throttle the boys, though. They know that stress is the last thing he needs right now.” She smiled at Summer. “Still, never mind the menfolk. What about you, sweetheart? I know this isn’t just a social visit. Are you going to tell me the real reason why you’re back in Polwenna Bay?”

  Summer had played a doctor in the TV show A&E for two seasons, long enough to glean sufficient knowledge to understand that her father had a serious medical condition. Her mother was right: Eddie Penhalligan most certainly didn’t need any more stress and anxiety.

  “I’m tired and I just needed a rest,” was all she said. “It felt like a good time to come home for a visit.”

  Summer knew there was absolutely no way she could let her parents know the truth about Justin now, or tell them about the baby. Her father’s health issues, her mother’s bitten nails and the pile of red bills wedged beneath the fruit bowl suggested that they had enough problems already. She couldn’t add to them.

  It looked as though she was well and truly on her own.

  Chapter 14

  A few hours earlier, while most of Polwenna Bay apart from fishermen and runaway celebrities was fast asleep, Jules Mathieson was being roused from her cosy bed by frantic hammering on the rectory’s front door.

  “I’m coming! I’m coming!” Jules called, kicking off the covers. Her heart thudding in time with the knocking on the door, she snatched up her dressing gown and shoved her feet into her slippers. Being a vicar entailed being prepared for any eventuality; parishioners had a habit of turning up in the small hours, their problems often far too pressing to wait until the daylight. Jules had realised long ago that sleeping naked (Hah! Not much point in that!) or in a cute nightie wasn’t a good idea, hence this morning’s fleecy and particularly unsexy pyjamas and the
novelty pig slippers right by her bed.

  Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Jules stumbled down the stairs yawning and trying not to look in the hallway mirror. She knew that her hair would be standing on end, her eyes would be panda-ed with yesterday’s mascara and her bright red dressing gown would make her look like a walking Edam cheese. Why bother to confirm it? Besides, Sheila Keverne, or whichever busybody it was today who’d decided to get the new vicar out of bed at dawn, wouldn’t care what she looked like.

  “Just a minute,” Jules promised as she fumbled with the lock and the chain. Unlike most of the Polwenna residents, who’d never locked their houses in their lives, Jules had experienced city life and old suspicions died hard. Polwenna Bay didn’t appear as though it harboured axe murderers or burglars, but you could never be too sure. Besides, if the legends were to be believed, most of her flock were descended from wreckers and smugglers.

  The bolt slipped back, the chain clattered against the glass and finally the door swung open. For a moment Jules thought she was still asleep, and she had to rub her eyes again just to make sure. This certainly wasn’t Sheila Keverne who was standing on her doorstep at five-thirty in the morning and looking as though being there was the most natural thing in the world.