Summer on the Little Cornish Isles: The Starfish Studio

After a toastie and a coffee, she was feeling ready to face the short boat trip across to St Piran’s. She’d washed her face and brushed her hair in the tea room toilets and added to her returning colour with a touch of make-up. Seeing herself after getting off the boat, she’d been a bit shocked. Even with some blusher, she still had nowhere near the glow she’d had that summer when she’d first visited St Piran’s, and the weight she’d lost after Dan had left showed in her face. Her hair was shorter now too, but just as curly, and there were dark circles under her blue eyes. After so many sleepless nights recently, and a boat trip from hell, it was to be expected. But today was the start of the rest of her life, she told herself, dabbing on some lip gloss.

Several people had struck up friendly conversations with her in the tea shop and while she’d queued in the little supermarket, and she was feeling much more optimistic and even ready to face another very short sea journey to St Piran’s. Having found out the time of the late afternoon ferry, she headed to the quay where the boat was already moored. The boatman was at the top of the steps.

‘Want a hand with your bags? The steps are slippery so be careful.’ His voice was amused but warm. ‘I don’t want you suing me, do I, if you break your leg?’

She smiled. ‘No, you don’t.’ She handed him her supermarket carriers and stepped aboard the boat.

Aside from half a dozen birdwatchers, swaddled from head to toe in khaki and weighed down by camera equipment, chattering excitedly and pointing out seabirds wheeling overhead, she was the only other person on board. She pulled the zip of her funnel-neck top even higher and tried to disappear into her hood. If she pretended she was on a cruise between the South Sea Islands, maybe she could kid herself she’d arrived in paradise.

The Islander was preparing to sail back to Penzance, and passengers were standing on deck looking down on the smaller St Piran’s passenger ferry. Poppy felt strangely calm. She’d made her decision: onward not backwards. Towards the devil rather than back across the sea, not that she could possibly have faced it anyway.

She’d been sucked into a whirlpool of shock and dismay and the moment the news about Dan was out, everyone thought she wouldn’t actually go to Scilly, from her parents, to her best mate, Zoey, and all her former colleagues. Zoey was a real city girl, addicted to her fast-paced marketing job with a Birmingham insurance company and the buzz that came with it. Moving to Las Vegas would be far more Zoey’s thing than shipping off to a remote island.

Absolutely no one expected Poppy to follow through with her plans – least of all Dan. She remembered his reaction when she’d told him she was going it alone a few days after he’d dumped her.

‘You’re not going on your own?’ he’d said, sneering. ‘You’ll never cope on your own.’

Which had made her all the more determined to go, no matter how terrified she was. She would rent out the house in case it all went pear-shaped. It was only small and wouldn’t bring in much once the mortgage, costs and agent’s commission had been taken into account, but there would be a small amount left. As Dan had moved in with Eve, he agreed, and so, here she was …

‘Have you come over on the Islander? I heard it was a bit lively on there today,’ the boatman said, taking her fare.

‘Lively’ to Poppy meant a packed club on a hot Ibiza night, or the encore of the headline act at Glastonbury. It didn’t mean three hours of puking in the middle of the Atlantic. But she managed a smile. It was a small community and she wanted to make a good impression.

‘A bit.’ She smiled.

‘Are you on holiday?’ the boatman asked her, pointing to her overnight bag.

‘Not really. I’m starting a business on St Piran’s.’

His brow ceased but then he nodded. ‘Ah, yes. You must be Poppy. We’ve all heard about you.’ He sucked on his teeth. ‘You’re very brave to take on old Archie’s place. Shame he had to give it up, but that fall has really taken the wind out of his sails. He must be missing his studio and the boat, not to mention Fen, but I expect he’s being well looked after by his son and daughter-in-law on the mainland.’

‘Fen?’ Poppy had no idea who Fen was and she’d only met Archie once, that day at the gallery. She hadn’t spoken to him since. All negotiations had been done through a Scilly-based rental agent and by email with Archie’s grandson, Jake Pendower. She could still picture the smiling eyes, the light behind their dark intensity.

‘Fen Teague. His lady friend.’ The boatman winked. ‘Though no one knows for certain … You’re sure to meet her when you get to St Piran’s. She’s been looking after the studio while Archie’s away. Supposed to be looking after it. Fen’s not exactly a spring chicken herself and he had a fall and broke his hip a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Really? I didn’t know that.’

‘Not had much luck, the Pendowers. Poor old Archie was widowed when Jake was a lad and then there’s the thing with Jake and his fiancée.’

‘His fiancée?’ Poppy asked, remembering Jake’s comment about going to meet her.

The boatman grimaced. ‘Yes. Terrible it was. The whole island felt Harriet’s loss.’ He sighed. ‘Welcome to Scilly, anyway. I guess you won’t want a return.’

‘Not today,’ she said, still reeling from the news that Jake’s fiancée had died. She’d been about to ask the boatman more, but he’d moved on. When had this tragedy happened? How? If it was recent, dealing with Jake Pendower was going to be very difficult. The poor guy – his fiancée was probably a similar age to Poppy herself … After this bombshell, she wondered what else awaited her on the other side of the water. She had no idea that Archie had broken his hip, or that Fen was in charge of the studio or that terrible luck seemed to stalk the Pendowers like some malign spectre.

God, what if the studio itself was cursed? Let’s face it, she was hardly arriving under the happiest of circumstances herself. When the boatman had said he’d ‘heard all about her’, she’d been dreading him asking where her partner was … Still, she’d have to get used to answering, especially when she met this Fen, who was expecting her and Dan to turn up. Why hadn’t she just come clean and told the agent and the Pendowers that she’d be alone? Then again, did it really matter to them? It was her decision to make the move on her own.

After the boatman had collected the birdwatchers’ fares, the boat inched away from the quay and puttered across the harbour, past the Islander, which loomed above her. Jake’s loss wasn’t far from her mind. Even though she didn’t know him at all, it was always shocking to hear of the death of someone, especially someone so young, but as she began the final leg to St Piran’s, more immediate and practical thoughts loomed larger and reminded her how isolated she was.

If she wanted to travel to the mainland, she’d have to fork out for the plane or helicopter – not that she’d be leaving St Piran’s for a while. She’d burnt her boats and sunk her savings into the Starfish and her new lifestyle. She had to make a go of this. She would make a go of it – she wouldn’t give Dan or the Temptress the satisfaction of limping back home.

The boat bobbed gently as it headed out of the harbour. Poppy’s tum bobbed in sympathy and she gripped the edge of the bench. Please let me make it without throwing up, she begged silently. She could see St Piran’s with its ancient church tower. She was nearly there.

The hailer from the cabin crackled into life as the skipper addressed them. Poppy sank back into her hood, closing her nostrils as the stench of marine diesel filled the air and spray spattered her face.

‘We should be at St Piran’s in twenty minutes, give or take, landing at the Main Town jetty today. We leave from the Lower Town jetty this afternoon, so don’t forget or you’ll be spending longer than you wanted on the island. It might be a bit spicy today, so hold on to your hats. If we do need to evacuate the vessel for any reason, the emergency exits are here, here and here.’ The boatman waved his arms in the general direction of the grey waters of the harbour and the open sea.

Poppy huddled down into her jacket. Setting out alone on an open boat to a remote island and a new business that seemed to attract disaster, she was half wondering if she should take the emergency exits right now and head straight back to the Midlands.

Chapter 4

Jake almost fell into the studio. He’d had to push very hard to persuade the outer door to budge at all because the wood must have swollen in the damp of a Scilly spring. Archie hadn’t been back to the studio since his fall, and the building had been shut up a lot over the off-season. Archie tended to use the rear entrance into his work area.

Sunlight streamed through the door and made the scale of the problem clear. The Starfish Studio was almost unrecognisable and he had around six hours to sort it out. Leo sauntered past him and jumped up onto the window ledge, mentally rubbing his paws together and thinking: ‘I’m looking forward to watching this.’

Jake walked deeper in, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell of damp and wincing at the peeling, discoloured walls and dusty display plinths, half of which were bare. Fen had confessed to him that over the past couple of seasons, some visitors had found the studio shut when it was advertised as open. The artists who supplied work had expressed dismay at the conditions their work was displayed in. Although big fans of Archie, some had already decided not to send any more work to the Starfish and its cases and walls were growing bare. He wondered if Poppy and Dan knew the full story? He sighed. No matter how much he loathed the task, it was now his job to let them know.

First, he had to clear away the crates of paintings Fen had mentioned.

Steeling himself, he walked into the work area at the rear of the gallery. The large worktable was a snapshot of the time before his grandpa’s fall. There were drawings, and tubes of paint scattered on the table and a half-finished canvas on the easel that already provided a great framework for cobwebs. Everything was in place, waiting for its owner to return at any minute, but, of course, he never had and now it was frozen in time.

The crates of pictures Fen had described were lined up at one end of the work area and he found the one intended for him almost immediately, as it had an envelope taped to the top, addressed to Jake, in Archie’s spidery handwriting.

Jake sighed. He wasn’t sure why Archie had left the paintings for him now, unless as Fen had suggested, Archie had had some premonition of the accident.

Jake’s fingers hovered over the envelope, a whisker away from tearing it off and opening it. Maybe it was a simple gift that Archie intended to give him, but in his heart, Jake didn’t believe that. Archie had never made such a gesture before … No, Jake was convinced that the paintings inside were meant to be a legacy and opened after his grandfather’s death. No matter how good an innings his grandpa had enjoyed so far, the thought of him slipping into a chair-bound twilight when his life had been so vibrant filled him with despair. Archie wasn’t young, his parents had reminded him, but Jake wasn’t ready to face up to the loss of another of the people he loved. Not yet. Not ever.

‘And anyway. I don’t have time to open it now. Not with this place in such a bloody state,’ he declared to Leo.

Leo made the feline equivalent of ‘Yeah, whatever, human,’ and went back to washing his paws.

The morning flew by and Jake was sweating and starving after all his work. He’d carried the crate over to Archie’s cottage along with the other boxes, which Archie had intended to remove from the studio. Then he’d opened the windows and hunted down a couple of portable electric heaters to try and dry out the atmosphere and ease the smell of damp in the studio and attic flat.

The work had been tedious and hard, but it had given him something to take his mind off being back in a place that held so many memories of Harriet. He’d even put Radio Scilly on loud to try and drown out any negative thoughts. It was mid-afternoon when he finally took a break from trying to get the studio into a state that wouldn’t make the new tenants take one look and head for home.

He popped back to the cottage and tucked into more of Fen’s loaf and butter and a coffee made with the dregs of an ancient jar of Grandpa’s Nescafé. There hadn’t been much else that was edible in the cottage, but there was plenty of beer in the old scullery and he’d availed himself of a couple the previous evening before he’d gone to bed.

Despite the alcohol, he hadn’t slept well, as worries over his grandpa and unhappy memories had played on his mind. He’d been as astonished as Fen that Archie had decided to rent out the Starfish Studio on a long-term basis. It had always been a haven for Archie to work in and somewhere to sell his own art and that of other local artists and makers.

The studio was only yards from the cottage that Archie had lived in with his wife, Ellie. The boathouse had been lying derelict for a while and when the owner had finally decided to sell it, his grandparents had snapped it up because Archie’s paintings had long outgrown the cottage. By then, Archie’s reputation had been growing and he’d realised the boathouse would make an ideal gallery space for his own work, close to the main ‘thoroughfare’ of St Piran’s where people arrived and departed.

Jake’s dad, Tom, had left the island after school, trained as a builder and started his own small firm. He’d met Jake’s mum, Susan, who was a nurse, when they were both in their early twenties, and they’d stayed in Cornwall, where there was more work for them and wider opportunities for Jake. Although his parents had never moved back to Scilly, they’d taken Jake there to see Archie as often as they could. Jake had spent many of his school holidays with his grandpa too while his parents were busy at work.

It was on Scilly with Archie that Jake had developed his passion for photography. Archie said Jake had inherited his creative genes and encouraged his grandson to make a living from his boyhood hobby. So, after he’d left school, Jake had gone to Falmouth University and gradually built up his own reputation as a nature photographer of some considerable talent.

He tried to get back to St Piran’s whenever he could and knew his visits were eagerly anticipated. Archie wasn’t alone. Since Ellie Pendower’s death, Fen had helped Archie to manage the gallery shop, running it alongside her own little smallholding. In recent years, she’d begun to find the long opening hours in the season too much and things had been going downhill slowly but surely.

According to his parents, all his grandpa had wanted to do in recent times – and probably all he’d ever wanted to do – had been to paint. In fact, since his family had been off his hands, he hadn’t cared much what he sold as long as he could afford to live. After Jake’s grandma died, even with Fen stepping in, he’d showed little interest in the retail side of the business. He had a reputation for paying his bills in paintings and Jake knew that half a dozen hung on the walls of the local pubs, both at the Moor’s Head on St Piran’s and the Driftwood on Gull Island, one of his favourite haunts.

When he’d finished his photography degree at Falmouth and started to go on assignments around the world, Jake had still found the time to visit Archie as often as he could. He’d brought Harriet here not long after he’d met her and a few times more … the last being to celebrate his engagement to her with a party for family and friends.

He never brought her back again.

He pushed the memories and Archie’s letter to the back of his mind, determined not to have any distractions from the task at hand as he hurried back to the studio. Time was running out …

He couldn’t do anything about the discoloured walls, which were no longer a suitable backdrop for the artworks, or the peeling display plinths. He’d attempted to rearrange some of the stock – what there was of it – and rescue one or two pieces that had fallen off their plinths. Thank God the artists couldn’t see the place now, and their precious work scattered around like junk. All of the stock was on sale or return and he wondered how long it would be before their goodwill evaporated and they came to reclaim it.

Still, that was the new tenants’ problem. He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but he couldn’t take on the responsibility of the place. He wanted to keep in the background as much as possible during the handover so the new people would have to hit the ground running.

Having decided he couldn’t do any more in the gallery space, he went up to the flat, where he found Leo stretched out on the bare mattress. The heaters and fresh air had already made some improvement to the damp odour, but the mattress was a sorry sight. Jake assumed that Poppy and Dan would be bringing their own bedding on the Islander, so perhaps that didn’t matter much. However, Archie and Fen had used the flat to make cups of tea, prepare food and use the bathroom and there were still coffee stains all over the worktops and the fridge was none too clean.

With Leo as supervisor, he cleaned the bathroom and had almost finished scrubbing the metal sink when he heard a warning toot through the window of the flat.

‘Damn. Not already!’ Jake swore.

Leo glanced at him and his eyes narrowed. Jake was convinced he was sneering.

Jake peered out of the window and saw the ferry pulling into the harbour.

Damn. Poppy and Dan were sure to be on that boat. Should he go down there and meet them? It might be a good idea to prepare them for the shock of the studio – in a cheery way, of course. He would be positive and optimistic but realistic.

He hoped that Poppy and Dan were friendly and tolerant – and didn’t chuck the first piece of artwork that came to hand at him.

Chapter 5

Fresh butterflies took flight in Poppy’s stomach even before the boat nudged alongside the quay on St Piran’s. She could see a couple of people waiting on the quayside. None of them was an older woman, however, so she didn’t think Fen had turned up. There was, however, a vaguely familiar face. One that, as the boat came to a halt, Poppy recognised. The young guy about her own age was thinner than she remembered and had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a dark blue hoodie and his mouth was downturned.

At the same moment as she spotted him, he seemed to recognise her … Had he remembered her from three years ago? She smiled at him and waved. He lifted a hand in greeting and managed a brief smile, although she had the feeling he was confused.

He walked towards her as she stepped off the boat and the boatman handed her the carrier bags.

‘Hello … you must be Poppy McGregor.’

‘Yes, that’s me. How did you guess?’

‘You’re the only one not dressed in head-to-toe khaki and you don’t have a beard.’

It was obviously meant to be a joke but delivered without any humour so she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. ‘Oh … oh, I see what you mean.’

‘I’m Jake Pendower, Archie’s grandson.’ He held out a hand.

She shook it. ‘I remember you. We met briefly three summers ago. Your grandfather sent you after me with a painting of the studio. It was a blazing hot day and I – we – had been in the studio. That was the day we decided to move here, if we possibly could,’ she said and took a deep breath. Now was the ideal opportunity to tell him about Dan, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words. It had been a month ago and she should be used to it by now. This was her new life, where she could start all over again, with no one even thinking of her as part of a couple. Go on, say it, she told herself, tell him … but Jake was speaking.

‘Yes. I do remember …’

By the pained look on his face, she thought he didn’t seem that pleased at being reminded of their encounter. In contrast, Poppy’s recollection of Jake was way more positive.

He was still as striking – more so in fact – with those dark expressive eyes that seemed to hold as much back as they showed. She recalled the way, even back then, his expression had changed from intense to amused within seconds, but there was something different about him. It wasn’t so much the barely visible silver threads in his hair or the faint lines on his temple, but the hunched way he stood with his hands deep in his pockets. Something had sucked the life out of Jake Pendower or dimmed his light.

‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t connected you with the new tenants.’

He lingered on the quayside, seemingly unsure what to do next. She was the stranger, yet Jake appeared to want her to take the next step.

‘I heard from the boatman that your grandfather was poorly.’

‘From Winston?’ Jake said, nodding at the boatman who was a few feet away on the quayside, loading steel beer kegs from a trailer into the back of the boat.

‘Yes, but I don’t know the details. I’m sorry to hear he’s ill,’ Poppy said carefully, unsure as to how serious Archie’s condition actually was.

‘He had a fall a couple of weeks ago, but he’s on the mend now. That’s why you’ve got me … I’m looking after the handover while he convalesces at my parents’ place in Perranporth. We should have warned you, but I’ve been working away and Grandpa hasn’t been up to dealing with stuff.’

‘It’s OK. As long as someone’s here to show me the ropes. My circumstances have also changed a bit.’ She bit the bullet. ‘You’ve probably noticed that I’m on my own …’

‘I did wonder when you got off the boat alone,’ he said in a softer tone.

She steeled herself. ‘The thing is that Dan and I have gone our separate ways. Quite recently, actually, and I probably should have told your grandfather and the agent, but there never seemed a good moment.’ She hesitated as he listened, holding her gaze with his intense one. ‘It’s not easy explaining to people that you’re not part of a couple any more.’

He pressed his lips together, then spoke quietly. ‘I do understand … more than you know.’

Poppy winced inwardly, guessing that Jake was alluding to Harriet’s death. She waited for him to say more, but instead he summoned up an awkward smile.

‘Well, maybe it’s easier that I only have to explain the other piece of news to one person, rather than two. You see, some other things have changed since you were last here. I’m afraid the Starfish Studio might not be quite the way you remember it.’

This sounded so ominous that she didn’t know how to reply. Jake must have seen her panicked expression.

‘Don’t worry. The building’s still standing. Everything’s in working order, but I only arrived yesterday and the place hasn’t been aired since Grandpa left it. It hasn’t been open much over the winter and spring and he must have been using it to sort out and store some of his work, but I’ve shifted that and started to get some fresh air flowing. The damp climate had affected the atmosphere …’

She had that sinking feeling again, but the last thing she wanted was for Jake or anyone to think she was a clichéd urban snowflake. ‘Don’t worry. I thought the studio might not be exactly the same as I imagined it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘I just wanted to warn you before you stepped over the threshold. I’ll be around for a little while yet, so I can help you … if you want me to, seeing as you’re on your own.’

‘Thank you, but I don’t need any favours,’ she replied.

He flinched. ‘Of course not. I’ll keep away, of course, if that’s what you want.’

She cringed. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but his words had reminded her of Dan’s sneering contempt when she said she was going ahead with their plans alone – yet Jake hadn’t been laughing at her. Damn, why was she still so edgy? ‘I’m still getting used to taking this step on my own,’ she said quickly. ‘Or taking it at all. I’m happy to accept all the help and advice I’m offered.’