The Cornish Affair

by Lockington, Laura

  “Shit. I knew you’d say that.”

  I stared at the floor.

  Oliver walked towards me and put his arms round me. I hugged him, with an intensity brought on by the knowledge that I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see him again.

  I sniffed very unbecomingly in his ear.

  “When are you going?” I mumbled.

  “Soon. I really wish I didn’t have to, you know that, don’t you?” he asked, pulling me away from him so that he could look at me properly.

  I nodded, feeling furiously that life was bloody unfair. The least I could do was act like a grown up instead of a snivelling adolescent.

  “Have you got everything?” I asked, in attempt to sound normal.

  He laughed. “I do like it when you try and be sensible, come here.” He pulled me towards him again, and we kissed goodbye.

  After a very long time, we stopped kissing and he said, “I’ll be back soon and you’ll be in London. Oh, Fin, what are you going to do about the dolphin party?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking that it was the least of my worries at the moment.

  “I’ll call you, either here, or at Penmorah. Harry’s surveyor will be here soon, and they’ll we’ll know if it’s safe for you to return, OK?”

  “Yes, go on, go… please.”

  I walked to the window and saw with great happiness that the rain had finally stopped. We’d got so used to hearing it that we hadn’t noticed. Another thing we’d got used to was the buzz and whir of helicopters. They had been bombarding us all day, from the air rescue service and TV crews with news cameras had been circling Port Charles for hours.

  I saw that Pritti was paddling in the street, carrying Nelson in his cage up the road. I leant out of the window, and yelled, “Where are you going?”

  “Home, to see what damage has been done, and Nelson here needs some fresh air, he is too bad tempered with Baxter!” Pritti called upstairs. She waved at Oliver, who was standing beside me and he blew her a kiss.

  “Bye Pritti, I’m off to London, but I’ll be back soon,” he called.

  She lifted her hand in farewell and keeping her shalwar kameez as far from the water as she could, continued her stately progress down the road.

  “Now that’s not a sight I’ll easily forget,” Oliver said, pointing to the small Asian woman carrying a parrot in a cage down the flooded road.

  “Go on, you. Go!” I said.

  Oliver hugged me briefly and went.

  I had no time to think. There was too much to do. The clearing up operation was a slow, messy business.

  We alternated between wild jubilation that the rain had stopped, to black desperation when we saw the amount of damage that had been wrought.

  A sack of chapatti flour that had been left downstairs at Pritti’s had set to a cement like consistency, Miranda’s hand woven rugs, looped over trees to dry started sprouting weeds and mildew, Mrs Trevellyon’s roof was dangerously close to toppling inwards. The mud covering everything was painstakingly cleaned away, only to be discovered in hidden pockets and crannies, the horrible cleaning process had to be started again. Mermaid’s eggs were seen bobbing along in the tide of water outside the shops on the harbour, and a huge chunk of the Giant’s Thumb had fallen away. That was just the superficial stuff.

  The main problems were somehow too big to be tackled. There were talks with insurance reps and council officials to be set up and I was somehow nominated as the official Port Charles spokesperson.

  As evening fell, I realised that we’d not seen Judith, or had any word on The Queen Mab. I stopped what I was doing, a singularly unlovely task of jabbing a bamboo rod in an outside drain by the post office, and called to Richard, who was on the opposite side of the road doing the very same thing if he’d seen Judith at all.

  “Yeah, she’m been there all day!” he said, pointing towards the harbour.

  I followed his direction and saw that Judith had taken up a French Lieutenants stance at the end of the harbour wall.

  “All day?” I shouted back.

  He nodded.

  I’d have to tackle her later, I decided, pulling out great clumps of grass and leaves from the drain and slopping them into a wheelbarrow in the middle of the road. My back was breaking, and I stood up to stretch.

  It was early evening, and the sky was grey with small patches of pale blue fading to dusk. No signs of rain clouds anywhere, thank god. In a way it was rather beautiful, the pale reflections of the cottages were wobbling in the water on the road.

  Richard splashed over to the barrow to dump another load of rotting vegetation in it; we paused in our work to look around. People were working everywhere we looked, carrying furniture, banging nails into roofs, or sweeping mud. Jace and Will were on top of Pritti’s cottage, replacing slates. Samina and Sunita were going round the village with trays of small samosas that Pritti had somehow cooked on Sam’s range. The power was back on, but intermittently, we could see up on the hill, the lorries and vans from the electricity board were fighting to reclaim what nature had destroyed.

  The sea was a troubled foaming mass, and the waves were big, but nothing like it had been yesterday.

  I wondered if Oliver was home by now. I hadn’t watched his ride back in the helicopter, there’d been too much to do. But I’d seen him slip and slide and climb his way up the hill to where it could land. Looking down at my filthy hands and cold aching wet feet I envied him from the bottom of my heart.

  “Jesus, I’m knackered!” Richard called out.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Tea break, do you think?” he said.

  I nodded. “Definitely.”

  We paddled back to The Ram. The water was definitely receding. We steeped over the sandbags, and removed our boots. The smell of damp and water was everywhere, in every home. I knew it was something that we’d have to get used to for a while, but it still made my nose wrinkle with distaste.

  Sam was moving the last of the tables and chairs back into their customary places, and The Ram, at least had begun to revert back to normal.

  “Business as usual tonight, I reckons,” Sam said proudly, “Fin, there’s a list of messages for yer. I wrote ‘em all down,” he said, passing me a scrap of paper.

  I scanned the list. Sam’s writing was near illegible and I had to squint at a few of the names, they seemed so unlikely. I sank into a chair, and massaged my damp feet into life. What I really needed was a clean pair of dry socks, but the thought of climbing the stairs and rummaging through my bag was too daunting. I knew that I had mud all over my face, but that too would have to wait. I gave a jaw breaking yawn. God, I was tired.

  Sam gave a chuckle behind the bar, and said, “I reckon that Samina and Sunita are proper geniuses, d’you know how they kept them two kids quiet last night?”

  I shook my head.

  “They tied them to the legs of the table, and then read them a ghost story.”

  I laughed delightedly. Well, no doubt they would be able to bore a therapist about it in later years.

  The power was back on, and Sam went round switching lights on.

  “Shame Nancy ain’t ‘ere,” he grumbled.

  I sympathised with him. I wished that Nancy was here too.

  I glanced again at the paper Sam had given to me.

  “Sam, who the hell is Trudy?”

  Sam came over to squint at the paper as well.

  “No, it’s Truro. Truro council, they’m sendin’ over some damn officials tomorrow to see what’s what.”

  I read the rest of the list. Nancy, Harry, Martha, Oliver, a lot of insurance companies and the local TV station.

  “What do the TV people want, Sam?”

  “An interview. They’m asked me who would be a good ‘un to talk to, an’ I said you,” Sam said proudly.

  Oh dear.

  “That’s very sweet of you Sam, but I really don’t think I’m the one for the job – anyway, what about yourself? Nice bit of publicity for The R
am,” I said sneakily.

  Sam shook his head, “Not on your life! I don’t hold with all that meedjia malarkey,” he said, disapprovingly.

  I laughed, and swung my feet up on a chair. I was so tired I could have slept right there at the pub table.

  I think I must have closed my eyes for a moment, because the next thing was I awoke with a start as Sam said ‘bugger’ in a loud voice. He was peering out of the window.

  “What is it?” I said sleepily, wishing I was at home in bed so that I could snuggle under the covers.

  “Bloody rainin’ again,” Sam said grimly.

  I wearily staggered over to the window and looked outside. He was right.

  “It looks like just a shower,” I said hopefully.

  We looked glumly at one another. Port Charles, the drains, the sewers, the sea, the cottages and me couldn’t take another drop of rain. We were rained out.

  I had a sudden jolt as I remembered Judith. Surely she couldn’t still be standing outside? I knew that I’d have to go and look. I groaned as I pulled my wet boots back on, it was as appealing as slipping both feet into an icy cold bag of slime. The insides of my boots were clammy. They felt disgusting. I could feel the beginnings of a blister on my heel as I walked towards the door, stepping out into the rain again, I pulled my hood up and limped down to the harbour.

  Yep, she was still there.

  I sighed, and walked round the wall to get to her. The waves were slapping the wall, and the mist and spray combined with the rain to make everything feel like the inside of my boots. All the shops around the harbour were shored up with sandbags. The damage to the properties was great. All the broken glass had been cleared and some of the windows were boarded up. The signs of frantic activity were winding down now as the day ended. People were scurrying about trying to secure their homes and businesses.

  Greetings were called out to me, along with many invitations to supper, or cups of tea, or nips of brandy. We all made comments on the rain, and it was very tempting to stop and chat for a while. But the reproachful look of Judith’s back kept me going.

  I understood the depths of her worry, but standing like some tragic eighteenth century figure, mourning the possible loss of her husband in the rain really wasn’t going to help.

  I trudged around the harbour till I reached her. I gently touched her shoulder as I got close enough. She sharply turned around.

  She looked dreadful.

  She was soaking wet, her face seemed blanched under her dark skin and dark circles of worry were etched under her eyes.

  “Judith, how long have you been standing here?” I said, aghast at her appearance.

  “All day.”

  Really sodding useful. There was so much to do in the village, and here she was staring out to sea like some sort of John Fowles heroine. Oh, Fin, stop it. Her husband is missing, for god’s sake. Right, think, what would Nancy do?

  “I think we should go home,” I said firmly. “You need to rest and eat something. Let’s try calling the coast guard again, shall we?”

  I took her by the elbow and led her back the way I’d come. She offered no resistance, silent all the way.

  This time as we passed the shops, there were no cheery greetings, only a few nods. I glanced at Judith to see how she was taking it, but she seemed oblivious. Her cottage was up the hill and I thought that she’d be better off at The Ram, so I guided her in there.

  She paused at the threshold, and refused to budge.

  “I’ll be getting’ home. I thank you for your kindness Finisterre Spencer,” she said, quite formally and unemotionally.

  “I’d really like it if you came in with me,” I said. “Pritti will have made some food and we can have a drink, and phone-”

  “No. No. I won’t. But this I will do, give me your hand,” she said.

  I was taken unaware, and she pulled my hand out of my pocket, with surprising strength.

  She studied my palm for a moment, and gave a tiny, imperceptible smile.

  “You’ll lose and gain, girl. Lose and gain. But it’ll be worth it.” She stared over my shoulder at something and as I glanced around nervously, and she gave a mirthless laugh.

  She walked away from me, and I found myself calling after her, “Judith, please wait, let me come back with you at least!”

  She walked onwards, not letting me know if she’d heard me or not.

  I gave a quick prayer to whoever it was that we all pray to in times of need, for the safe return of The Queen Mab, and pushed the door of the pub open, promising myself a hot bath, food and bed as quickly as possible and wondering what I could put on a blister that would make it stop hurting.

  I found a bright light in my face and a microphone pushed at me by a smart young blonde girl, with icy blue eyes.

  “Hello,” she gushed, grabbing my arm, “You must be Fin Spencer - great timing. I gather you’re like, in charge here? Anyway, I’m sure you recognise me. I’m Sarah Bailey from the BBC West News programme. We’re live in two seconds, so just a few words about the great community spirit here and the extensive damage, OK? Oh, and if you could end on something cute and upbeat, that would be great.”

  A man standing behind the camera wearing headphones, started to countdown from five to one. She turned to face him, and started to talk, looking onto the camera whilst still holding onto my arm with a vice like grip.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Here’s a tip top tiperoo for you. Never lose your temper whilst being interviewed on TV. Oh yes, and it does help somewhat if you’ve brushed your hair and put lipstick on, or, even looked in a mirror over the past two days beforehand.

  It was mortifying.

  My father’s inherited bad temper had never come out at such an ill opportune moment. I started off being surly, and then the sight of Judith walking alone, back to her cottage surfaced.

  “… and as for a great community spirit here, let me tell you, I have just a seen a lonely woman, whose husband is still missing at sea walk home by herself, with her neighbours hardly acknowledging her, so don’t talk to me about community spirit, because at the moment there isn’t one. All we do here, we have to do for ourselves. I’ve seen no help at all from anyone who isn’t directly affected by this storm. Our hard working bakers shop is ruined, and there won’t be anything like the money needed to restore it, half the trees are gone on the hill, and I can bet my bottom dollar they won’t be replanted. Mrs Rampersauds house is badly damaged, the drainage system has packed up and the cliff is probably unsafe.”

  I was on a roll now, and didn’t know how to stop. I saw that the instantly recognisable Sarah whatever her name is, was staring aghast at me.

  “Another thing is we have no economy here… we rely on tourists who buy mermaid eggs and the odd pasty…So if you think we’re one jolly little community struggling against the odds, think again! It also doesn’t help having you lot swooping around the sky in your bloody helicopters, every time we hear one we think it’s an air ambulance and that someone else is hurt.”

  I could feel my lips curling in a snarl, and thought I’d better calm down before I got high blood pressure.

  “So naff off and leave us alone! This is a heart breaking time for Port Charles, and we haven’t invited onlookers!”

  I pushed my way rudely past her, and the cameraman, and went stomping upstairs. I caught sight of Sam’s astonished face as I went past the bar.

  I needed to calm down, and went and locked myself in Sam’s bathroom. Thank goodness the power was back, at least. I poured a hot bath and lay in it, soaking up the calming heat.

  Stupid bloody woman. How on earth did Oliver stand all that nonsense? I sank under the hot water, rubbing shampoo out of my hair.

  Had I really said naff off? Who did I think I was, Princess Anne? Oh god… still, at least it wouldn’t be shown. I had been far too bad tempered and negative – not great at all.

  I reluctantly stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel around me. I simply couldn’t
face putting my wet and dirty clothes back on, so clutching the towel to me I went into the function room to rummage about my bag for a clean pair of jeans and a sweat shirt.

  You could definitely tell that this room had been slept in last night by five men (and me, of course). Heaps of discarded clothes and the distinct smell of socks permeated the air. Why is it that men just generally smell? Pheromones? Lack of hygiene? What? It’s a mystery as dear old Toyah would have said.

  I dragged out some underwear and was searching for a top, when I heard my name being spoken. I jumped, and turned round, clutching my towel to my chest. Jace was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, just about to light a joint.

  “You startled me,” I said, “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

  “I can tell that,” Jace said, grinning at my towel.

  “Yeah, well, I needed a bath and I want some clean –”

  In one bound, he was over beside me, pulling the towel away from me.

  For a moment I felt like a rabbit caught in headlights, hypnotised. Instinctively my arms went round his body and I could feel myself melt towards him.

  Whoa. Hold on there one moment. Weren’t you just doing the same thing with Oliver just a few hours ago? What was wrong with me? Was I some sort of sex crazed nymphet? No, well, hardly, I agree. But… if it felt so good why was it so wrong. Wasn’t that a country and western song? Oh god, pull yourself together, I told myself firmly, whilst helplessly kissing Jace.

  No, I decided after a few moments. This was wrong. I rescued my towel and stepped back from Jace.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said, moving away from him and cursing myself that I had kissed him back.

  He looked so young.

  I could feel my wet hair dripping down my back, and I looked desperately around for another towel.

  Jace looked very confused.

  “Jace, look, I really am sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but, well, the other night after the picnic was great, and well, you’re great…” Oh god, now I sounded like the bloody TV presenter. Stop it Fin, just talk normally.