Coming Home

Adela was putting out the bread and cheese and a few apples on to a linen cloth for the lads. ‘It’s so lovely up here, I thought I would.’

‘May I see it when you’re done?’

‘It depends.’ She smiled. ‘I hear you’re a potter?’

He took an apple and rubbed it on his trousers. ‘My father has been talking to yours, I suppose?’

Adela smiled wryly.

‘I’m an apprentice,’ said Bill, ‘down in St Ives?’

‘Ah, Bernard Leach country.’

‘I’m impressed.’ He took a chunk out of his apple. ‘Nobody here seems to have heard of him.’

‘I’m studying art at the Slade.’

‘Yes, I heard. Your father has been talking to mine.’

Adela laughed and Bill looked at her closely. ‘That explains it.’

‘Explains what?’

‘The way you look.’

She looked down at her crumpled linen smock and rolled up trousers, and said defiantly, ‘What’s wrong with the way I look?’

‘Nothing.’ He grinned. ‘I like it. You look like the type of girl who wouldn’t mind getting caught in rainstorm, or pushing a car out of a ditch.

‘Oh,’ she said disconsolately.

‘It’s a compliment, believe me.’

‘Didn’t sound like one.’

She looked down at her scruffy sandals and brown, unshaved ankles. Self-consciously she tucked them under herself.

From the top of the field she heard Old John calling the lads back to work.

‘Tell you what,’ said Bill standing up and tossing his apple core into a hedge, ‘what are you doing tonight?’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘I’m taking you out. I’ll pick you up at seven.’

She had nothing to wear. The bed was littered with half a dozen garments which she’d had for years. Amongst which was an old dress she’d had since she was fourteen that was too short and much too tight; a pretty cotton skirt with a broken zip – and a horrible taffeta bridesmaid dress she’d had to wear for her cousin’s wedding. Red faced from her bath and the putting on and taking off of so many things, she sat on the edge of the bed in despair. There was a soft knock at the door.

‘It’s Mother. Can I help?’

Adela sighed and flopped backwards on to the bed in despair. ‘Come in.’

Her mother put her head around the door. ‘I thought so. I found this. Any good?’

She was holding a Liberty-print cotton summer dress. ‘I bought it ages ago. In a sale. It’s too young for me. Too small, too. Try it.’

In the mirror, even Adela was pleased with her reflection. The dress was simple and hung a little loose on her but it was perfect. Her mother had brushed her hair into a neat ponytail and had attempted a little rouge and lipstick but Adela had been firm about saying no. Finally, her mother had stepped back. ‘You’ll do,’ she said.

From downstairs they heard the bang of the old doorknocker and her father calling up the stairs, ‘Prince Charming has arrived, Cinders.’

Bill had borrowed his father’s car and drove Adela through the lanes and down to the pretty fishing village of Trevay. His shirtsleeved arm leaning on the open window, he chatted about this and that and gradually the knot in Adela’s stomach began to loosen. As they came down the hill towards the harbour, Adela saw that the fishing boats were coming in on the tide, ready to land their catches on the quay. The sun was bouncing on the surface of the rippling sea making the light sparkle and flash.

‘I love it here,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been for ages. I could paint that sea every day.’

Bill parked the car outside the Golden Hind, picked up his jacket from the back seat and helped Adela inside.

‘What will you drink?’ he asked.

‘Half a bitter, please.’ She didn’t see his amused smile as she looked around the dark and cosy bar. ‘It’s nice in here.’

Paying the barman, he carried his pint and her half towards the door. ‘Let’s take our drinks outside.’

The sun was beginning to set and the day was losing its warmth. She shivered a little as they sat on the harbour wall across from the pub and watched the fishing boats unload.

‘Would you like my jacket?’ he asked. ‘Or I have a jumper in the car?’

‘You’ll need your jacket but the jumper would be lovely thank you.’

‘Don’t go away.’ He set off for the car, Adela watching him. He was undeniably handsome, tall and muscular with an easy smile, the sort of man, she thought, one could fall in love with. She checked herself and looked back at the boat. She was only eighteen and she and Elsie and Kina had sworn to each other that they would play the field as men did, would never settle down with the first man they met. She looked over to him again. He was leaning into the car and reaching for something on the back seat. When he reappeared, he had the jumper in his hand and looked over at her with such a look that her heart jumped a little. She quickly returned her gaze to the boats, as if the unloading of their catches was of the utmost interest. She decided that, when he came back, she would be polite and cool. She would give no indication that she might find him attractive.

Adela waited a few seconds longer then glanced in his direction to see what was keeping him.

She saw at once.

Two girls were talking to him. Two pretty girls. One had her hand on his chest as she was talking to him, the other was pulling at his hand.

Adela’s hand was shaking so much that she had to put her drink down. She looked over again. He was pointing at her and all three of them were laughing. At her? She felt her breath quicken and her cheeks redden. How could she escape?

Too late, he was coming towards her. ‘Adela, meet a couple of old friends. Barbara …’

‘Hello,’ pouted Barbara, still holding Bill’s hand.

‘And Jill.’

‘Hi,’ said Jill, giving Adela a full top to toe scope.

‘Bill …’ Adela stood. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m not feeling very well. I’ll get the bus back.’

Bill frowned. ‘Don’t be silly, I’ll drive you.’

‘No, it’s no trouble. I’ll get the bus or ring my father. I don’t want to spoil your evening.’

‘Spoil my …’ Bill was confused and exasperated. ‘We’ve only just got here.’

Jill butted in. ‘She’ll be fine on the bus. Stay with us. We’ll have a laugh.’

Adela stood fixed to the spot. Was she to be so easily shaken off?

Bill shook out his jumper and placed it around Adela’s shoulders.

‘Adela needs to go home and I shall take her.’

In the car, Adela said nothing. Her emotions were running high. She was elated that he had brushed those girls off but angry that he even knew them. Who were they? How well did he know them? Her father had said that all the girls were after him. Well, she wasn’t. This would be the first and last time she would accept a date from him.

Her eyes slid over to look at him. His profile in the dark of the car was strong but his lips were tensed as he ran his hand through his hair. He felt her gaze and looked over at her. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t something else?’ She wondered if he was teasing her.

‘Too much sun maybe,’ she said.

‘You don’t get sun in London?’ He was teasing her.

She turned to look out of her window and didn’t give him the courtesy of an answer.

‘I was looking forward to tonight,’ he said. ‘What did I do wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Was it the girls?’

She shook her head, refusing to look at him.

‘I grew up with them. They’re fun.’

‘Good for them.’

He slowed the car in the lane leading down to her family farm. The headlights picked out an owl on a gatepost as he brought the car to a halt and turned the engine and headlights off, then they sat without speaking. Only the gentle ticking of the engine cooling broke the silence.

‘Adela,’ he said gently.

‘Why have we stopped?’ she asked.

‘I wanted a chance to talk to you. Without interruption. We’ve got at least two hours before your parents will be expecting you back.’ He settled in his seat, his back to the driver’s door. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Feeling better?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. So talk to me.’

‘About what?’

‘Tell me about who you are and what you want out of life.’

‘I’m Adela Trip. I’m eighteen. I’m an artist and I want to make a living from my work. Is that enough?’

‘Uh huh. Do you have a boyfriend?’

She shook her head, then dared to look into his eyes. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

‘No. Not at the moment.’

‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘And so who are you and what do you want to do with your life?’

‘Right now I’d like a pint and some fish and chips. That was how I had planned tonight.’

‘Sorry I messed it up,’ she said shyly.

‘I forgive you.’ He was teasing again. ‘Shall we start afresh?’

She bit her lip but managed a smile. ‘Yes please.’

‘Good.’ He turned the engine on and reversed the car. ‘We’ll go over to Pendruggan village. There’s a great pub there called the Dolphin. Proper beer, good food and quiet. Fancy it?’

From then on the evening went smoothly. Bill was an easy person to be around and Adela made him laugh with her stories of her flatmates and her tutors, two of whom were Graham Sutherland and Lucien Freud. He told her about his work with the pottery and the great Bernard Leach who was teaching him. ‘He’s a genius, Adela. I’d like you to come down and meet him.’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘Good. By the way, can you play darts? The board has just come free.’

She surprised him with her skill at darts and took a game off him straight away.

‘Have you been having lessons?’

‘Beginner’s luck,’ she laughed. ‘Or maybe I’ve spent the last year in London learning to play in our local?’

‘Right, if that’s the case,’ he picked up his darts, ‘no more Mr Nice Guy.’

The drive back to the house was very different to either of the previous drives that evening. Now they were comfortable together, the small silences between them serene and pleasant.

At the front door, she thanked him.

‘Will you be up at the harvest tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘It’s my job to bring you all your snack, isn’t it?’

‘Ah yes. That’ll be the reason you come up.’

‘Nothing else.’ She chewed her lip, hoping and fearing that he might kiss her. She tipped her head up to his and in a low voice said, ‘So. See you tomorrow?’

She half-closed her eyes and waited. He hesitated, then stepped off the front step and walked backwards towards his car.

‘Yes. See you tomorrow.’ He opened the driver’s door and bent to get in. She watched the way he folded his long legs into the seat and sat down. Being so tall, his head touched the roof. As he started the engine and the car began to pull away he leant out of the window and said, ‘Did I mention how lovely you look in that dress?’

She stood for a long time, watching his taillights grow smaller until they disappeared from sight.

4

Pendruggan, 2018

Once Ella had promised not to meet their mother, Henry, Ella and Kit had a reasonably happy weekend. After a gin-fuelled sleep on the first night, Henry had quite a hangover. He lay in bed, hoping the throbbing of his head would subside enough to allow him to get up and go to the bathroom. There was a knock at his door. It was Ella carrying a mug and a foil pack of pills. She pushed the door open with her foot. ‘Are you feeling as bad as Kit?’

‘Worse,’ he groaned.

‘Gin head. Big time.’ Henry was aware of his sister approaching the bed and placing the mug and tablets on the table next to him. ‘There’s coffee and paracetamol.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, waiting for a wave of nausea to pass.

‘Full Cornish breakfast will fix you. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

After a few minutes he managed to raise himself from the pillow and attempt the coffee. It was good. Hot and very strong. He threw the tablets into his mouth and washed them down.

There was another knock at the door. It was Kit, bleary-eyed and wearing a scruffy, short, towelling dressing gown and stubble. ‘Showed the gin who’s boss, didn’t we?’ he said, sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed, his head in his hands.

‘How much did we have?’ murmured Henry.

‘I remember opening a new bottle and then throwing it away once it was empty.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Boys,’ Ella called up the stairs, ‘breakfast is served.’

A young man’s powers of recuperation are not to be underestimated, and with the coffee and painkillers, plus Ella’s enormous fry-up, by lunchtime they were almost functioning human beings once more.

They were sitting in the garden of Marguerite Cottage, warming themselves like cats in the drowsy sunshine. ‘What shall we do this afternoon?’ Ella drawled from her deckchair. ‘Anyone fancy lunch out?’

‘Love some,’ said Kit reaching for her hand. ‘Only you had better drive as I think Henry and I would never pass a breath test.’

‘Pizza is what you need.’ Ella gathered herself and got out of the deckchair as best she could. ‘You need carbs, rehydration and some fresh air. We’ll get all that in Trevay.’

‘The old place looks very gentrified,’ Henry remarked as he watched the little town of his childhood slide past his backseat window.

‘Would you like to see what they’ve done to Granny’s house?’ Ella asked over her shoulder.

‘Sure.’

Ella pulled the car up on the corner of their old road and the three of them got out and walked up the short but steep lane to White Water. Henry stuck his head over the garden wall. ‘They’ve kept Poppa’s palm trees going,’ he said.

‘I know. I stayed here for a few weeks in the summer, remember? Our old courtyard for the sandpit and bikes has gone, though. They’ve put in a conservatory with a pond and a fountain.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Henry,’ I can just about see. There are a couple of people having a coffee in there.’

‘They’ll be the B & B guests.’

‘Double glazing and plantation shutters. Granny would think that very bourgeois,’ Henry chuckled.

‘Do you think so?’ asked Ella, standing on tiptoes to get a view. ‘I think she’d approve.’

Henry stepped back and rubbed the grit of the granite wall from his hands. ‘Memories, eh?’

‘Yep,’ said Ella.

‘I like the big window in the attic,’ said Kit. ‘Is that where your grandmother had her studio?’

Ella poked him in the ribs. ‘You painters. All the same. Where’s the best light? Can I get a tall canvas in there? Is there enough space for my paints?’

‘So it was her studio?’ asked Kit, fending off any more pokes by catching Ella’s wrists.

‘Yeah,’ said Henry. ‘Poppa had his space downstairs for his wheel and stuff, and the kiln was in the garden. That’ll be long gone now.’

‘Yeah, it is,’ said Ella. ‘Do you remember the excitement when we were allowed to open it up after a firing and find our pots?’

‘Rubbish every one of them. But Poppa always told us they were great.’ Henry smiled then rubbed his temples.

‘I think your hangover needs feeding,’ said Ella and she took Henry and Kit’s hands in her own. ‘Pizza time, boys.’

After a decent lunch, they went for a walk up to the headland and down to a small beach known only by locals and the odd inquisitive holidaymaker.

Henry picked up a slate pebble and sent it skimming across the smooth sea.

Ella counted the bounces. ‘Six. My go now.’

They watched as Ella’s stone bounced nine times before sinking beneath the water. Kit came up behind her and hugged her. ‘Not fair. You’ve been getting practice in.’

‘Poppa taught us. I think his record was twenty or something mad like that,’ she said.

Henry sat on a damp rock and looked out to the horizon. ‘We had some good summers here, didn’t we, Ells?’

She sat next to him and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Remember how good Granny was at French cricket?’

‘When she wasn’t painting,’ said Henry. ‘We’ve still got her painting books and sketchpads somewhere, haven’t we?’

‘Yeah, they’re in Clapham. The loft, I think.’ She tapped her brother’s knee with her knuckles. ‘How is Mandalay Road?’

‘Nice and quiet without you.’

She gave him a pinch. ‘I didn’t expect to be staying here in Cornwall.’ She looked over to Kit who was staring into rock pools. ‘You do like him, don’t you?’

‘I’ve known him less than a day, but I’ve managed to spill all the family secrets and get blind drunk with him. What is there not to like?’

‘He’s a nice person,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I really like him.’

Kit turned from the rock pools and looked up. ‘My ears are burning.’

‘They should be,’ laughed Henry. ‘Are your intentions towards my sister honourable?’

‘Not altogether,’ smiled Kit, walking towards them.

Henry turned to his sister. ‘And is that all right with you?’

‘Very,’ she said, catching Kit’s hand.

That evening the three of them lay sprawled around the lounge watching a movie on Netflix, full of Ella’s cottage pie that she’d had ready in the fridge. Henry was on an armchair, Kit and Ella snuggled on the sofa, when they heard a key in the lock and the familiar sound of eight dog feet, tapping on the hall floor as they rushed to the door, then a voice calling, ‘The bloody roads are full of idiots! Terrible roadworks on the A38 and I’m absolutely starving.’ A tall handsome man appeared at the door followed by two Afghan hounds that strolled in and flopped on the nearest rug. He surveyed the empty plates on the coffee table. ‘Bugger. Have you already eaten?’

Kit and Ella jumped up. ‘There’s plenty left. I’ll warm some up,’ Ella said as Kit made the introductions. ‘Adam, may I introduce you to Ella’s brother Henry? Henry, this is my cousin, Adam. He’s the landlord.’

Henry and Adam shook hands and Ella returned from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of cottage pie. ‘Darling, sit down and eat while I give Celia and Terry their supper.’

‘You’re an angel.’ He kissed Ella’s hand as she passed him, taking the dogs with her.

‘So,’ said Adam, settling into his chair and blowing on a forkful of food, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Henry. At last we are able to give you the once-over.’

‘I rather thought I was here to give Kit the once-over, actually,’ Henry laughed.

‘And the verdict?’ asked Adam, munching.

‘Not bad at all.’

‘We have bonded over gin and pizza,’ smiled Kit. ‘Anyone fancy a beer?’

Henry rubbed his chin. ‘My liver is feeling a lot better, so yes please.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Kit went to the kitchen.

‘What happened last night?’ asked Adam, wiping a drop of gravy from his chin.

Henry sat back in his chair and wondered how to explain. ‘I don’t know if Ella has told you that we were brought up by our grandparents?’

Adam, concentrating on his food, nodded. ‘Yep. Your disappearing mother has featured large over the last few months. The business of tracking her down for your grandmother’s will?’

‘Well, they’ve found her,’ sighed Henry.

Adam swallowed his mouthful. ‘Is that why you got hammered last night? Well, that’s great.’

Henry stayed silent.

‘Or is it?’ asked Adam.

‘Ella thinks it’s great but I really want nothing to do with our mother, our grandmother’s money or … anything.’

Kit came back with Ella, each carrying two cold bottles of beer. Celia and Terry loafed behind them.

Adam took his beer from Ella. ‘Henry’s just told me about your mum.’

Ella looked anxious. ‘Her turning up? It’s early days and quite difficult to get our heads round, isn’t it, Henry.’

‘Not yours.’

‘Let’s not start all that again,’ said Kit.

Adam scooped up the last mouthful of cottage pie and put his plate down on the floor, pushing Terry’s inquisitive nose out of it. ‘So, Henry, you’re staying here, are you?’

‘If that’s okay with you?’

‘Oh, fine. I’m off again tomorrow, got a couple of weeks training in St Thomas’s A & E. Serious trauma stuff in case of terror attacks. You can use my room.’

Ella saw Henry’s puzzlement. ‘Adam is a doctor, Henry. A very good one.’

‘You can trust me,’ laughed Adam.

Kit grabbed the television remote and unfroze the film they had been watching. ‘Let’s forget about all that tonight.’ He picked up his beer and put his feet on Celia to tickle her tummy. ‘Tonight we relax. Cheers.’

Henry left for London after breakfast the next morning. Ella had packed a pasty and a coffee flask in a cardboard and put it on the back seat of the taxi.

‘That should keep you going.’ She leant through the front window and kissed him. ‘I love you, bro. Come back soon.’

‘As soon as I can, but the office is really busy at the moment.’

‘But the profit is good?’ Ella raised her eyebrows, mocking him.

‘Recession? What recession?’ He tweaked her nose the way he knew annoyed her. ‘The old Ruskies are still buying lumps of prime London real estate, lucky for me.’

Ella rubbed her nose crossly. ‘Drive carefully.’

‘I will, and Ella, thank you for saying you won’t see that woman.’

‘Mum.’

‘Whatever. She can come, take the money and go. She doesn’t deserve to see us.’

‘It’ll be okay.’

Kit came forward and leant on the car roof. ‘Come and see us again soon.’

‘And you look after my sister.’ Henry said. ‘She’s had enough crap in her life. She doesn’t need more.’

On the train from Bodmin, Henry’s head was full of his mother. He couldn’t forget the hurt that his grandparents had endured for all those years. He laid the responsibility of their unhappiness squarely at her door. What kind of mother would just piss off, dumping her children with parents who had only ever given her every helping hand they could? They had loved and supported her and she repaid them by running away without a backward glance. Not a note, not a phone call.

What a cow.

He had no desire to see her or listen to any pathetic excuses or apologies.

And who the bloody hell was his father? Was he the same man who fathered Ella?

Poor Ella. A girl needed her mum. Granny did her best, but even so …

On and on his thoughts went until he had exhausted his brain. Putting on his headphones he got out his laptop to watch a film he’d downloaded but he couldn’t concentrate and eventually returned to looking at the world racing past his window while he brooded.

‘So, do you like my brother?’ Ella asked, nestling in to Kit as they walked on the beach that afternoon.

‘He’s got a bee in his bonnet about your mum, hasn’t he?’ he said, putting his arm around her.

‘He remembers bits about her. Vague stuff, but I think it was nice things – and then suddenly she was gone. So, like a bereavement, he still grieves unconsciously.’

‘And what about you? Do you want to see her?’

‘I’ve promised Henry now.’

‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

‘I’m curious.’ They walked together in silence for a while before she said, ‘Yes, I’d really like to see her. I’d like to know why. What happened. Who my dad is. I’ve always wanted to know, but Granny and Poppa had a sort of unspoken thing so that we didn’t talk about her. Poppa was brokenhearted when she left and Granny bore the brunt of his grief whilst grieving herself.’

‘Must have been hard for them.’ Kit pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. ‘How old were you again?’

‘Thirteen months. Henry was two. Not so bad for me – I have no memories, not even impressions. But Henry knew her. I mean really knew her. Had cuddles and bedtime stories and walking on the beach and playing. Somewhere in his head he must have those feelings. No wonder he’s so angry.’

Henry arrived at Mandalay Road, Clapham at the same time Kit and Ella were talking. His taxi drew up, double parked, and he paid the cabbie before hauling his weekend bag over his shoulder. He stood motionless before suddenly throwing up Ella’s pasty and coffee on the kerb outside his front door.