Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

  The bar area was empty except for Hugo Scorrier.

  ‘Hello again. We haven’t been introduced properly yet. Patrick McKinnon, isn’t it?’ he said, holding out his hand. Patrick was nonplussed. It was hardly a time for formalities but he shook Hugo’s hand briefly.

  Hugo was more polite than he had been when ordering his drink. ‘Good job you’re here to help out the family right when they need it,’ he said.

  ‘Sheer luck, mate,’ said Patrick. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ Patrick started collecting glasses. To his amazement, Hugo picked up a tray and started doing the same.

  ‘No need for that,’ Patrick said cheerfully, wishing Hugo would leave. He wanted to get on, not make chit-chat, and take a few moments to collect his thoughts after he’d locked up. Ray’s collapse had shaken him more than he’d expected and he hoped to God the guy would pull through and that it wasn’t anything too serious.

  ‘Ray looked in a bad way,’ said Hugo helpfully.

  With his back to Hugo, Patrick cursed and carried a tray to the counter. He knew Ray took medication as he’d seen the pills in the kitchen, but a lot of people his age did. Perhaps his collapse was due to something unpleasant but not life threatening, something like indigestion.

  Hugo put a tray of glasses and dirty plates on the bar counter. ‘Let’s hope it’s nothing life threatening.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Patrick.

  Hugo smiled. ‘Anything to help.’

  Patrick restrained himself from telling Hugo that if he really wanted to help the Samsons, he’d stop harassing them to sell.

  Patrick turned away to gather more glasses but Hugo obviously wasn’t going to take the hint and go home.

  ‘I must admit I was surprised when I heard Maisie had taken on a new member of staff for the winter,’ he said.

  ‘Why’s that then?’ replied Patrick.

  Hugo clutched pint jugs with the dregs sloshing about in the bottom. ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was enough work to keep a full-time member of staff employed over the quiet season. Tonight’s about as busy as this place gets. Place is closed three days a week, apart from Christmas and New Year.’

  ‘Maisie wouldn’t have taken me on unless it was worth her while,’ said Patrick. Suddenly, the penny dropped and he guessed exactly what the bloke was up to, and it was about more than just the Driftwood. So Hugo had designs on Maisie and thought Patrick was a rival for her affections? Patrick smiled to himself. From what he could see, Maisie didn’t do ‘affectionate’. ‘And besides,’ he added with a sly grin, ‘she’s keeping me busy in other ways.’

  Hugo smirked. ‘I’m sure she is. Formidable woman is Maisie.’

  ‘She is that. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.’

  ‘No … although then again, that could be rather interesting.’

  Jesus, thought Patrick. If Maisie heard them talking like that about her … Patrick decided the conversation had to come to an end. It was disrespectful to Maisie and descending into dodgy areas. He was about to tell Hugo he wanted to lock up when Hugo piped up again.

  ‘You’re from Melbourne, then?’ he said, handing a couple of wine glasses to Patrick.

  Patrick took them off him with a forced smile. ‘You’d be right there.’

  ‘Wonderful city. I know it a little. I have business associates there.’

  ‘Really?’ said Patrick, thinking how much Hugo reminded him of the persistent flies that sometimes plagued the bush in the hotter months.

  ‘Hmm. Vibrant place. I’ve only been once but I’d love to go back and explore the place in more depth. Perhaps I’ll go this winter and get away from Scilly. It’s a small community and it can become very claustrophobic, as you’ve probably already realised. Nothing stays a secret for long here.’

  ‘Just as well I don’t have any secrets then,’ said Patrick, depositing the last of the dirty glasses on the bar.

  Hugo retrieved a stray pewter tankard from the window ledge and handed it to Patrick. ‘Everyone has secrets.’

  ‘Not me. I’m the most boring bloke on the planet. What you see is what you get. Anyway, thanks for your help, mate. I appreciate it, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to lock up now and phone Maisie to see how Ray is.’

  Hugo smiled. ‘Of course. If there’s anything I can do to help in the meantime, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll text Maisie myself in the morning when we’ll hopefully have more news.’ Hugo looked around the pub with a shake of the head and a sigh. ‘Whatever the outcome, judging by the state that Ray’s in, if he recovers of course, the Samsons are going to need your help more than ever to keep this place going.’

  ‘Then let’s hope Ray does get better,’ said Patrick, disliking Hugo more by the second. ‘And I’m not going anywhere soon.’

  ‘They’re lucky to have you. Goodnight. Tell Maisie I’ll be in touch and send my good wishes to Ray. It’d be a tragedy if the Driftwood lost him now.’

  Patrick let Hugo out and locked the door behind him, thinking what a tosser the bloke was: creeping round Maisie, hassling the Samsons and barely concealing his delight that more pressure had been heaped on the family.

  He checked his phone but there was no message from Maisie. He didn’t expect it yet: the ambulance had probably only just reached the hospital on St Mary’s or maybe the paramedics had already decided Ray would need to be airlifted to the mainland. Patrick hoped not. His stomach turned over with concern but worrying would help no one. He joined Jess and Will and told them to head home over the hum of the dishwasher and glass washer.

  He saw them off via the rear door and went back into the pub. It was bizarre to think he’d only been here a few days and already had been left in sole charge of the place. God forbid there was a fire this evening, he thought, looking around the sturdy old building. It would be just his luck if something disastrous happened on his watch.

  Then he told himself not to be so stupid and set about washing up the remaining crockery and glasses that he hadn’t been able to slot inside the dishwasher. Steam rose into the air and suds soaked his arms as he stood at the sink, trying and failing to banish the image of Maisie’s drawn and anxious face as she’d knelt by her dad’s side. Ray’s Dracula cloak, used as a temporary pillow, lay crumpled on the chair nearby. Patrick scrubbed at a plate, trying to scrub away the memories of Greg lying in bed when he’d been ill.

  He’d tried for much of his early life not to become emotionally attached to anyone. After his parents died, he’d spent his life constructing a shell around himself. He’d been reluctantly taken in by his cousin, who’d made it clear she was merely going through the motions out of duty and had no real emotional connection to him at all. At boarding school and later on the streets and in prison, that hard outer-shell had protected him. Or he thought it had, until finally the years of pretending not to give a toss about anyone or anything had caught up with him.

  After he’d been introduced to Greg, and started work as a pot washer, he’d tried it on a few times, coming in late – and drunk – and giving Greg and Judy backchat constantly. Time and again, they’d given him another chance until one day Patrick had had a blazing row with Greg. Instead of chucking him out, as Greg should have done – as Patrick himself would have done these days if he’d been managing a layabout member of staff – Greg had taken him aside and said, ‘What’s making you hurt so badly, son?’

  And Patrick had been stopped dead in his tracks. He remembered the moment clearly when instead of a string of expletives and curses, a great big girly sob had erupted. That was the lowest point, or rather the start of the upward turn of his life. Things hadn’t run smoothly but slowly and steadily he’d pulled his act together, got himself sober and knuckled down. To become a model citizen … well, not quite, thought Patrick with a smile as he finished the glasses. Eventually Judy and Greg had helped him find a decent place to live, promoted him to barman, and become his surrogate parents. Inch by inch, day by day, he’d grown to care for them and love them as he migh
t have done his own mother and father if they’d survived. So it had hit him hard when he’d found out Greg was terminally ill. He felt as if he’d lost his father twice over and the pain had been sharp.

  Patrick looked down. The water was barely lukewarm and his fingers were wrinkled. He thought of Maisie pacing up and down a hospital corridor waiting for news. Jesus, he didn’t want her to go through that. But like everyone else on Gull, all he could do now was wait.

  Chapter 15

  1 November

  It was all Maisie could do to drag herself out of the cabin of the Gull Island supply boat and onto the jetty late the next morning. Most unusually, she accepted a hand from boat to quayside from the boatman, but she didn’t care. She was absolutely exhausted and she didn’t mind who knew. One of the nurses at the hospital had lent her a coat, which she’d buttoned up over her costume.

  How weird, she thought, to be dressed as a she-devil at ten in the morning. Not that she cared about that either. All that mattered was her father. Hazel had stayed with Ray in St Mary’s hospital. Thankfully he hadn’t suffered a heart attack. They were running more tests but the doctors had told her it was likely he could have pernicious anaemia.

  She was surprised to find Patrick waiting for her at the jetty. He wore a new IOS sweatshirt that he must have purchased in the Isles of Scilly shop on St Mary’s, jeans and his flip-flops, which he insisted on calling thongs. Even in her fraught state, the sight of him made her pulse beat a little faster. He stirred up physical feelings as powerful as any in the early days with Keegan.

  She threw him a weary but grateful smile. As she drew closer she had the feeling he was going to put his arm around her or hug her but at the last moment he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.

  ‘How’s Ray doing?’ he asked the moment she reached him.

  ‘A lot better for being in professional hands. They think it’s pernicious anaemia.’

  ‘Sounds nasty. What’s that?’

  ‘It’s when your body can’t absorb enough B12. It can make you feel very tired and even cause chest pains. Apparently his uncle also had it and family history can make you more prone. Poor Dad must have been suffering in silence for quite a while but at least they can treat it with injections and he’ll be well looked after from now on.’

  Patrick let out a sigh of relief. ‘That’s something to be thankful for.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’ Maisie was so tired, she could manage only a few syllables.

  She walked beside Patrick along the track to the pub.

  ‘You look like you were run over by a bus,’ he said.

  Secretly, Maisie was glad he hadn’t offered sympathy because in her wrung-out, exhausted state she might have done something stupid like burst into tears. She was fragile enough as it was. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she was in dire need of a change of clothes and a shower, but she was too tired and hungry to bother.

  ‘Bacon and eggs do?’ said Patrick, following her down the path at the side of the inn.

  Her stomach gurgled again. ‘Sorry. Is it that obvious I’m ravenous? I’ve lived on machine coffee and packets of Cheddars since yesterday teatime.’

  Patrick quickened his step. ‘I’ll join you, I’m hungry myself and I haven’t slept much either.’

  ‘Thanks for holding the fort.’

  ‘It’s what you hired me for.’ He opened the back door and ushered her into the kitchen. ‘Now sit down. I’ll put the kettle on and get a fry-up going.’

  Maisie sank into the carver chair at the kitchen table and looked around her in wonder while Patrick started breakfast. Her gritty eyes took in the gleaming stainless worktops, and the pots, pans and equipment all neatly stowed in their correct places. The table had been scrubbed and it looked as if the windows had had a much needed polish too. Maybe he really did have a cleaning fetish.

  The aroma of frying bacon and the sizzle of eggs hitting the pan made her mouth water. Patrick sliced up thick hunks of granary bread and popped them under the grill alongside some tomatoes. He placed a fresh block of creamy butter on the table and a steaming mug of tea.

  ‘I’ve put sugar in it. It’ll do you good.’

  Maisie sipped it. It was too hot, but boy it tasted better than the finest champagne.

  ‘This must be what having a fairy godmother is like,’ Maisie couldn’t help commenting as Patrick slid fried eggs onto two plates next to some bacon rashers.

  ‘You’re no Cinders though.’

  ‘And you’re no Prince Charming.’

  ‘Thanks for the breakfast, Patrick,’ he said sarcastically, but she knew he wasn’t really offended. He pointed his fork at her plate. ‘Dig in before it goes cold and the clock strikes midnight.’

  ‘Why? Do you turn into a rat?’ she said, cutting up her bacon. Her appetite was back now as the tension and worry of the night had eased a little. It was nice to come home and find someone waiting and ready to wait on her. She didn’t need a man but it was good to have a smiling face, however cheeky, and one that didn’t seem to mind cooking a fry-up either.

  His mouth quirked in a smile. ‘Something like that.’

  He rescued the toast and tomatoes from the grill and added them to a large plate in the centre of the table. While they tucked in, Maisie told Patrick more about her father’s possible diagnosis and what was likely to happen next.

  ‘They think the anaemia may be related to the medication he’s been taking for long-term digestive problems. His stomach upsets were caused by the stress of running this place, which is one of the reasons I decided to come home earlier this year,’ she said. ‘But the doctors want to rule out other causes too.’ Maisie felt her own stomach tighten again but she forced herself to calm down. ‘Anyway, let’s hope it’s nothing more sinister and once it’s confirmed, the GP can treat him with injections and monitor him.’

  ‘He’s going to have to take things easy for a while though,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Yes …’ Maisie tried to think positive. At least her father had been well taken care of and was in the best hands now. If he’d been taken ill while up on the roof of the pub, or out walking on his own, she didn’t want to think about what might have happened.

  Patrick topped up their mugs of tea from the family teapot.

  ‘How did you get on after we left last night?’ she asked. ‘I was worried whether you’d be OK with having to chuck everyone out and lock up on your own.’

  ‘No problems. Apart from having to break up the mass brawl that is and tidy up after the fight with the bar stools …’

  ‘What! Who was fighting? Adam Pengelly, I bet. My God, Jess never mentioned that …’ Her voice tailed off. Patrick’s broad shoulders were shaking and he was spluttering. He turned round, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  ‘You total git,’ she cried. ‘Winding me up like that after the night I’ve had.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist it. I just wanted to bring a smile to your face.’ He turned back to the table but Maisie batted him on the arm. ‘Ow, that hurt.’

  ‘You deserve it,’ she said. ‘You asked for it.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He was trying and failing to rearrange his face into a sombre expression. ‘I like to see you laugh.’

  Maisie opened her mouth to throw back a riposte but the smart reply died on her lips. Patrick was looking at her seriously again, only this time, his expression was genuine. His eyes were full of something she’d only imagined before, but now it was unmistakeable: desire.

  He was barely a foot away. She heard him breathing deeply; and felt her heart pound.

  ‘Maisie …’ he murmured. ‘I—’

  She jumped on him. God knows what got into her but she was in his arms, her hands around his waist, bunching his T-shirt in her fingers, digging her fingers into his back. She was kissing him too, pushing against him before she even realised that he wasn’t pushing back and that his hands were at her waist but lightly, carefully. She’d gone for him like a tigress on heat, he was holding her like a frag
ile bird.

  She pulled away, sick with shame. ‘Oh God, what was I thinking. I’m sorry. I must be out of my mind.’

  ‘No. You’re not. You’re wrung out, worried, you’ve had no sleep.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for going for you like that. I’m sorry, forget it.’

  He lifted his hand to her cheek. She snatched it away like it was a hot coal. ‘I was out of order. You work for me. My God, you’ve only worked here a few days. Please forget this happened.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. You know I bloody do, but now isn’t …’

  Maisie forced a laugh to hide her embarrassment. ‘Thanks for the compliment but you’re right. I’m not myself. I can’t be to have … done that.’ She rubbed her hands over her eyes exaggeratedly as if to wipe sleep away but in reality tears were burning for release. ‘I need some sleep. Thanks for the breakfast. I need to get to bed.’

  She hurried to the door but Patrick called after her.

  ‘Maisie. Don’t go off like this.’

  Though burning to get away, she turned round. ‘I’m grateful for your help. We all are, Mum and Dad too, but please, can you just get on with your job now? We need to open tonight. I’ll be down later as long as Dad’s OK.’

  Maisie half sprinted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Tears ran down her face as she opened the door of her room and slammed it behind her, locking the door.

  How could she have been so stupid as to misread the signals from Patrick?

  She’d thought he wanted her when he’d only been concerned. She was furious with herself for letting her guard down, being vulnerable, and technically she’d sexually harassed an employee. It had never happened before. She’d always come down strongly on any staff who bullied or harassed their fellow workers. Just because Patrick was a man didn’t mean that the normal rules didn’t apply.

  And yet she’d thought he wanted her. The way he’d looked at her. That was desire, wasn’t it?

  It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. You know I bloody do, but now isn’t the time … His words made her cringe. She pulled the pillow over her face and let out a muffled howl of shame and indignation. Was she that desperate and lonely that she’d imagined the first decent bloke who walked into her life had designs on her? She thought about how Patrick had behaved the night before. He flirted with everyone, male and female, in his own way. With Jess a little bit, with the locals and customers. She wasn’t special, but she was his employer.