A Perfect Cornish Summer. Phillipa Ashley
about the pigs being a nuisance and smelly, but Zennor knew she adored them. It was strange how soothing it could be to watch them zooming round the living room or chewing a carrot at the end of a tough day. If only her own life was that simple … she was still reeling from the news that Gabe was to star in her festival and wondering how to tell Zennor.
‘Anyway, let me chuck out their crap and wash my hands and I’ll fix the mojitos. I bloody need one after the day I’ve had,’ said Zennor.
Not as much as me, thought Sam, while Gareth squeaked contentedly in her lap and his brother, Harry, a peach-blond stunner of a pig, whizzed through his play tube on the carpet. The two pigs lived in harmony most of the time and no wonder as their home and toys were palatial compared to the rest of the cottage. They were actually the fifth and sixth pigs since Zennor and Sam’s mum had passed away.
Sam remembered Brad and Angelina – two gorgeous long-haired creatures who’d had to be kept separate in the end because they were always either trying it on with each other or fighting. They were followed by Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde who’d got on surprisingly well. Sadly, for the Lovell sisters – but probably happily for the pigs – they’d expired within two days of each other.
Zennor had wept for ages after every demise while Sam fetched the trowel and prepared another plot in the guinea garden of remembrance at the rear of the cottage. Each little grave was marked with a different shell arrangement, designed by Zennor, to suit the departed pig’s personality. Zennor had threatened to dig up the skeletons if they had to move, not that Sam could ever see a day when they’d leave Wavecrest Cottage. Too many memories, happy and heart-breaking, were woven into the fabric of that house. Wavecrest was as much a part of them as a bone or vital organ.
Zennor’s re-entry into the room was marked by Mexican-style whoops from Sam as she weaved her way between Harry and the guinea pig toys with a glass in each hand.
‘Right. Mojito time! With actual mint from Mum’s herb patch. I thought we’d have fajitas for dinner. I’ve prepared the veg and salad. I thought you wouldn’t want to cook after a day at Stargazey.’ She glanced at Sam. ‘Everything OK?’
Sam prevented Gareth from escaping down her legs and under Zennor’s feet. ‘Yeah. How about you?’
Zennor put the glasses on the coffee table. She flopped down onto the sofa beside Sam, sipped her mojito and let out a deep sigh.
‘What a day I’ve had. Our biggest client keeps changing their mind over their new corporate logo. Fifteen times we’ve reworked the bloody thing and the MD has finally deigned to look at the designs and wants us to revisit the original one.’ She sipped again as Sam listened, trying to focus on Zennor’s brain dump. ‘Then the wifi packed up for three hours – three whole sodding hours – just when we needed to test out the garden centre website we’ve been working on like for evah. And when I called the bank to sort out the charges on our account, the fuckwit at the call centre asked me to spell my name four times and asked me if I was named after a laxative? I have no idea what he meant but personally, I thought it was as funny as stepping in dog poo.’
‘So rude,’ said Sam, echoing one of Zennor’s favourite phrases while putting off the news about Gabe’s return as festival headliner. Gareth was squirming on the pillow, clearly ready to join Harry for a bit of a kickabout on the carpet, so she gently returned him to the field of play where the pigs started nudging a ball around.
Zennor sipped her drink again and leaned back against the couch. ‘Why can’t I be called something simple and normal like Emma or Kelly? It would be so much easier.’
‘At least you were named after a beautiful mermaid,’ said Sam. ‘Mum called me after a plant. I mean – have you ever met another Samphire?’
‘No, but you do go so beautifully with a nice piece of fish.’
Sam laughed. ‘I suppose we should be grateful that Mum had a good imagination. She was never conventional. She said Dad wasn’t either, which might be why he ran off with that exotic dancer.’ Sam couldn’t remember much about her father although looking back on her mum’s old photos of him, she supposed he was handsome in a nineteen-eighties big hair and moustache kind of way. None of the Lovells had any contact with him whatsoever and Sam was content to leave things that way.
In contrast, she saw her mum as clear as day, as if she were standing in front of the girls now. Roz Lovell had been slim and pretty even in her late forties, always stylishly if Bohemianly dressed in clothes she’d ‘re-purposed’ from charity shops and festivals. With only one parent working as an art lecturer at the local college, there had never been a lot of money around at Wavecrest, but there had been plenty of creativity and laughter.
Zennor looked a lot like her mother, apart from the green hair. Sam’s own light brown curls were her mum’s too, but her mother, always honest, had said her oldest daughter had her father’s features. Barry Lovell had left them when she was only eight. From the few photos of him, Sam found it hard to judge. Ryan had looked like their mum, in Sam’s opinion, but maybe that was because she didn’t want to think her brother took after their father in any way.
‘I’m not even sure we all have the same dad. How do we know?’ Zennor had once said.
‘Because Mum said so. Her word was good enough for me,’ Sam had replied with a fierceness that surprised even herself.
Plus, the two girls looked just like each other. Or they would, if Zennor didn’t have mojito-coloured hair. She lifted a tendril.
‘Do you like it?’ Zennor swished her locks. ‘It is very mermaidy. Ben said it was “cool” and I didn’t even need to ask him first.’
‘Wow. That’s progress.’ Sam pictured Ben, six feet five of gawky awkwardness who took the idea of ‘strong but silent’ to the extreme, in Sam’s opinion. Half the time, you could hardly get a word out of him he was so shy. Sam had been amazed that he’d volunteered for the festival committee. On the other hand, Zennor had enough to say for the pair of them. ‘I’m still sure he’s completely smitten with you.’
Zennor sighed. ‘I thought so too, once, but he’s keeping it very well hidden if he does fancy me. We’ve known each other since school so I’ve given up waiting for him to say anything. He’s a brilliant designer and I trust him as a business partner one hundred per cent and he is gorgeous in a geeky has-no-idea-of-his-own-attractiveness way.’
‘Isn’t that the best way?’ Sam said, remembering how Gabe’s lack of ego and lack of respect for appearances had attracted her when she was younger. He’d brushed off all the abuse while he was serving at the fish and chip shop – some of it bordering on racist – but it must have stung.
‘Sam?’
‘Ow!’
Zennor had touched her arm with the cold glass, making Sam squeak like the pigs.
‘You were miles away.’
‘Yeah …’ Sam looked down at her hands. ‘Gabe’s coming back to Porthmellow.’
Zennor almost dropped the glass and mojito splashed onto to the couch. ‘What? I don’t understand – why? When?’
‘I found out earlier today. Kris Zachary had to pull out because his business has gone bust. Gabe’s taken his place.’
Zennor’s remaining mojito splashed out of the glass in her excitement. ‘Now, hold on. Slow down. Why does Gabe had to be involved?’
‘Because Chloe asked him to.’
‘What? Doesn’t she know about you and him – about Ryan and the trouble he caused?’
‘No. Why would she? She’s had no cause to even think of Gabe until today but when she heard Kris had pulled out, she phoned round some of her London events contacts. One of them knew Gabe and you can guess the rest.’
‘Fuccckkk. You must have almost fainted.’
‘Not