Summer on the Little Cornish Isles: The Starfish Studio. Phillipa Ashley
to run on the islands or, failing that, in Cornwall. They’d registered with every property agent and even visited a few places but none had been suitable. Then, around nine months ago, one of the Scilly agents had tipped them off that the lease on the Starfish Studio might become available.
Apparently, Archie Pendower and his assistant were finding it too much to run the gallery and gift shop and Archie wanted to concentrate on his painting alone. It seemed like fate, of course, so she and Dan had jumped at the chance, signed the contract and enrolled on courses on how to run a business while they worked out their notices in their jobs. Neither of them had been back to Scilly since, because they knew one hundred per cent that they wanted the gallery. They’d studied the terms of the lease and had an accountant friend look over the books. The figures only just added up, but that was because the owners had ‘let the business slide somewhat’, said the agent, but ‘all it required was a fresh injection of enthusiasm and a quick spruce-up’.
They’d realised they’d have to tighten their belts and be as self-sufficient as possible while they got the gallery up and running. They were never going to be rich from their new lifestyle, but they considered that the price of moving to paradise and the Starfish Studio also came with the major bonus of an attic flat above the gallery, which was included in the rent. As they studied at the photos on the agent’s website, Poppy realised that must be where the roped-off staircase had led to on her brief visit while on holiday on St Piran’s. The flat was small, just one sitting-cum-dining-cum-bedroom with a kitchenette and teeny shower room, but that was fine with them both. It all sounded perfect.
At the weekends, Poppy had been visiting dozens of galleries, spoken to the owners and started to make contact with the artists who supplied the studio, as well as exploring new ideas. She wanted everything to be handmade locally or in Cornwall. She envisaged the studio building up a new portfolio of original paintings, sculpture, ceramics, glasswork, metalwork, woodwork, jewellery and textiles. She hoped that Archie would also want to sell some of his paintings in the studio. Everything was beginning to come together and she was starting to get excited about her new life. The dream might have started as Dan’s, but it was now their dream.
At the start of April – one month before the move – Poppy finally handed in her notice at work. It felt stomach-churningly final and she knew some people thought she was mad, while others were envious. Coming home that evening, she had stopped off at the supermarket to buy a bottle of champagne. She guessed Dan would probably be feeling the same as she was: terrified, liberated and wildly excited. She’d walked into the house to find him already home … sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face.
She’d abandoned the fizz and thrown her arms around him. ‘Oh my God. What’s happened? Is it your parents? Your sister? Has someone died?’
Instead of letting her comfort him, he’d pushed her away and looked at her like a scolded child, as if everything was her fault.
‘No,’ he’d said, his voice cracking with misery. ‘No one d-died … I’m sorry, Poppy, but I can’t do this.’
Her blood had run cold. ‘What do you mean, you can’t do this? It’s scary, I know that. Especially tonight, when we’ve handed in our notices …’
Dan lifted his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘That’s the thing, Pops, I didn’t hand in my notice.’
‘What? We had a pact. We’d do it together. I gave in mine … Dan, you’re nervous and scared. I can see that, but we’ve gone too far down the road now. I’ve told everyone I’m leaving. We sign the contract on the studio tomorrow. We can’t back out now.’
‘We have to. I have to.’ He wiped his knuckles across his face and his voice hardened. ‘I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to Scilly. I can’t. It’s not the move, Poppy. Oh God … I don’t know how to tell you this, but Eve said it was better to be cruel to be kind.’
She jumped up in alarm at the mention of Dan’s boss. ‘Eve? What do you mean? What’s Eve got to do with this?’
Dan had stood up and backed away too, as if he was scared of staying too close to Poppy. Then he folded his arms defensively. ‘I’m not coming to Scilly. I’m moving in with Eve. I’m sorry, Poppy, I’ve tried to fight this, b-but I love her.’
Now, squashing down a fresh wave of anger, Poppy shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders and marched off towards the town. She hurried up the cobbled street past a pub called the Galleon Inn and headed for a tea shop. The idea of a walk in the fresh air and, when she’d recovered, a cup of tea and something plain to fill her battered stomach, was very tempting.
She could check out the town’s facilities at the same time and pick up a few supplies from the little supermarket. Only as much as she could carry, of course, but she’d have to get used to that. Maybe she could have some food delivered once she got to know people. She already intended to start a little kitchen garden and maybe find a small patch of land to grow some of her own food. That had been one of Dan’s better ideas and, if she kept things simple, she hoped she could manage to grow a few things. She’d never grown a vegetable in her life, of course, but she’d have to learn. There were a lot of things she’d have to learn.
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