The Great Cornish Getaway

Chapter 5

Just below the Starfish Hotel, Kevin was parking the car in the harbour car park. Richard nudged Kevin and pointed up to the headland above the village. ‘There she is. The reason I came here in the first place.’

Kevin looked at the familiar silver dome of the 1950s ice-cream coloured theatre. ‘The old Pavilions,’ he said, smiling. ‘June and I went last summer. The local theatre group put on Annie Get Your Gun. Really good, it was.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Give me some change and I’ll get a parking ticket.’

‘You sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. Who’d recognise me with this haircut and outfit?’

Kevin watched as Richard strolled to the ticket machine. The harbour master and another man were walking towards the harbour master’s office. They looked at Richard and then ignored him.

Kevin relaxed, and then watched as Richard fumbled with the unfamiliar coins and the machine. Successful, he returned smiling and gave the ticket to Kevin. ‘That’s for the jar parking.’

Kevin shook his head. ‘Haven’t you been listening to me? You don’t say “jar”, you say “jam”. Car rhymes with jar, but to confuse the old bill you say “jam” for jam jar.’

‘The old bill?’ asked Richard.

‘Shut your gob and cover your barnet and your boat with my titfer.’

Richard stopped in his tracks and started to laugh. ‘Stop, stop. What are you saying to me? You’re making it up.’

Kevin sighed. ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do,’ he said. ‘Come and get a coffee and stop drawing attention to yourself.’

They walked towards the Sail Loft café, a new coffee house and wine bar on a side street away from the harbour. On the way Richard pulled out his phone and saw he had a signal. Kevin was outside the newsagent’s and about to go in. ‘I’ll wait for you out here,’ said Richard. ‘Just going to make a call.’

Richard scrolled down his contacts list. He was going to try phoning Simon and Penny again. When he’d phoned earlier he’d been put off by the answer phone. Maybe they were away? He’d try again. But before he could, Kevin came out of the newsagent’s looking worried, with several newspapers in his hand. Richard hung up without leaving a message. ‘What’s the matter, Kev?’

Kevin unfolded two of the front pages while looking around to make sure no one was watching. ‘You’re on every bloody front page, mate.’

Richard felt the world tilt a little under his feet. What had he started? All he’d wanted was some peace and a moment to step out of his life, and now he was being hunted? He drew a deep breath. He had three choices. Run and hide. Turn up again and apologise. Get a coffee and think.

‘Come on, let’s get that coffee.’ He slung his arm around Kevin’s shoulder and together they walked to the Sail Loft.

Inside it was warm and comforting. A group of young women with babies was at one table juggling cappuccinos with breastfeeding. The women glanced up to check out the two older men as they came in.

What they saw was a bald man with a beer belly and a scarf wrapped around his cheery face, and his unshaven companion with very short, scruffy white hair poking out from under a baseball cap. They quickly dismissed them and went on with their chatter.

A young waiter approached. He wore tight black jeans over his skinny legs and his hair was half shaved and half in a ponytail. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Can I take your order?’

Richard kept his head down and looked at the front page of the Daily Mail. Kevin ordered two lattes with extra shots.

The waiter wrote the order down. ‘Anything to eat? Toasted teacake?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Kevin.

The waiter peered over Richard’s shoulder and read the headline. ‘I wonder what’s happened to him. He came down here once. I never saw him but my mum did.’

‘What was he like?’ asked Richard in his English accent.

‘She said he looked old but still nice.’ The boy pushed his notebook into the front pocket of his low-slung apron. ‘Two coffees coming up.’

When the waiter had left them, Richard asked, ‘How bad are the other papers?’

‘Pretty bad. Front page of all the tabloids, the Telegraph and the Guardian.’

‘What’s the mood?’

Kevin opened the Mirror and scanned the story inside.

‘They’re saying your disappearance is the biggest mystery since Agatha Christie ran off. They’re concerned about you. They think you might have had a breakdown, or run off with a lover, or gone stark staring mad.’ He put the paper down and picked up another. ‘The Sun has a reward for information leading to your discovery.’

Richard perked up. ‘Really? How much?’

‘Two tickets to your new film and dinner at Gordon Ramsay’s place with the Sun’s film critic.’

The waiter arrived with their coffees. As Richard stirred his, Kevin asked, ‘Look, mate, if you want to go back, just say the word. But for what it’s worth, I think you need this time just to get real again. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me and do whatever you want.’

Richard looked up from his coffee. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I like a little adventure in my life. Something to tell the grandchildren. And anyway, you can’t go anywhere until your hair has grown back again.’

Richard was grateful for the friendship of this kind and honest man and began to relax again. So far no one had noticed him, so maybe he could just disappear for a little while longer. ‘I owe you, Kevin,’ he said.

‘You sure bloody do. Fish and chips, clothes shop and this coffee.’

Kevin reached over and swatted Richard with the rolled-up Mirror. ‘I’m joking, you silly sod. What are friends for?’

Richard smiled. ‘You’ve saved my sanity.’

‘Oh, don’t go bleeding soft on me. There are mackerel to catch and pints to be drunk, and they aren’t going to do it by themselves.’

Kevin left some money on the table with a hefty tip to avoid any chat with the waiter and got Richard outside.

‘Have you ever had a pasty?’ he asked.

‘My friends Penny and Simon tried to feed me one once, but I managed to dodge it.’

‘You don’t know what you’ve missed.’

They walked down the narrow cobbled street that led to the harbour, following the smell of onions, warm pastry and butter as they got closer to the Trevay Pasty Shop.

The front window was piled high with pasties of every size and flavour. Vegetarian, curry, lamb and mint, cheese and onion. Kevin pulled Richard in.

‘Two large traditional steak pasties, please,’ he said to the lady behind the counter.

‘Anything else, my love?’ she asked as she expertly slipped them into two paper bags and twisted the ends.

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