A Perfect Cornish Summer. Phillipa Ashley
‘My God. I’m amazed. I mean – Gabe must know you run the festival. How can he even think of showing his face again?’
‘I suppose he knows I’m involved but Chloe did ask him directly so perhaps he felt obliged.’
Zennor whistled loudly and the guinea pigs ran up to her feet. ‘Well, boys,’ she said. ‘Whoddathought Gabe Mathias would be back in town. He was the love of your auntie Sam’s life. She was always saying “oh, he’s so insecure underneath the bravado. He has no idea how gorgeous he is—”’
‘That was years ago!’ Sam protested. ‘When I was young and naïve. I know better now and anyway, I could never have stayed involved with a guy who’d turned my own brother in to the police.’
Zennor stroked the pigs. ‘No way. It’s a deal breaker.’ She sat next to Sam. ‘I really wish he wasn’t coming back. I know how hurt you were when he told the police about Ryan. I hated him too, so God knows what you must have gone through. Even though I was young, and probably not much help, I understood a lot more than you thought. I just didn’t know how to say it, or help you.’
Sam looked at her and a lump formed in her throat. ‘No one could help. There was no answer to a situation like that. I suppose Gabe did what he had to do. I had no right to ask him not to report Ryan. I wished I hadn’t even tried.’ Sam swallowed the lump, thinking back to the night that Gabe had told her he was going to the police. He’d turned up on her doorstep with a face as white as uncooked pastry. He’d started the conversation with some shit about being sorry and that he’d had to make the most difficult decision of his life. Then he’d dropped the bombshell that he’d found out Ryan had been part of the gang planning a robbery of the amusement arcade, and was planning others, and that he was going to tell the police.
Sam shuddered when she remembered that night. She’d totally lost it. She’d cried and shouted and begged Gabe not to do it. She’d even grabbed at him and flung the ultimate piece of emotional blackmail at him: ‘If you loved me, you wouldn’t do this to my family …’ She’d clung to him to stop him from leaving, but he’d prised her off him and walked out of the door.
She’d tried to call Ryan as soon as Gabe had left, but it was too late. It turned out that there had been no point begging Gabe. He’d already made the call before he turned up at the cottage, probably in case Sam warned her brother. Which was exactly what she had tried to do. Ryan was caught red-handed with two accomplices while the theft was in progress. Gabe hadn’t even trusted Sam …
He’d been right not to.
‘Sam?’ Zennor was at her side, her arm around Sam’s back. ‘Even though I’m angry with Gabe, it’s you I’m really worried about. This has really rattled you, hasn’t it?’
Sam’s body tensed. That night she’d not only lost Gabe and Ryan, but her self-respect and pride, not that she’d ever admit as much to a soul, not even to Zennor. ‘A bit, but it’s gone now. Gabe and me – we’re history. The festival is way bigger than me and if he can help it be a success then I suppose I’ll have to live with it.’ She forced a smile. ‘Let’s not waste any more time and energy on the past. Why don’t I put the pigs away while you dish up dinner?’
Once the pigs were tucked up, Zennor served the fajitas and the girls sat around the little kitchen table so they could help themselves to the peppers, onions, beans and accompaniments. Despite her long and busy day, Sam had no appetite though she did her best with the meal for Zennor’s sake.
No matter what she thought, Gabe was going to be part of the festival and she’d inevitably have to have some contact with him, even if Chloe did most of the liaising. How would she react when she saw him again? She’d thought she’d put him to the back of her mind but that was while he was hundreds of miles away. How would he have changed in eleven years? She knew he was knockout gorgeous from his TV shows, and his dry sense of humour and easy air of self-confidence came over well on screen, but was it only a persona? It was one thing watching him through the safety of a screen. How the hell would she handle seeing him in the flesh?
@Porthmellowchick: Wow. Gabe Mathias is heading the #summerfestival. Can’t wait. @cornishmaid
@pastyman: LOL. he is a Grade A Tosser. #summerfestival #snitch
‘Mizzle’s coming in.’ Troy brushed water from his cap as he walked into the Fisherman’s Institute for the committee meeting. Sam had rarely seen him out in public without it. It was a classic fisherman’s cap with a soft top and a peak, and must once been black but was now faded by the sun and creased by saltwater. Beneath it, she knew Troy still had a decent growth of hair, having glimpsed it when he’d removed the cap briefly to attend the funeral of a local sailor.
‘It is,’ said Sam, laying out her notebook and tablet on the table in the upstairs meeting room. ‘How’s Evie?’
‘All right enough. Knee’s playing her up. Always does when mizzle comes in.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Sam liked Evie a lot. In fact, everyone liked Evie and Troy was devoted to her, but over the past few years, painful osteoarthritis had reduced Evie’s mobility massively. She was waiting for a knee op in the hope that would help.
‘She doesn’t complain, my Evie. Is there a brew on?’ Troy asked hopefully.
‘Not yet. I’ve only just got here myself.’
Troy grunted. ‘I’ll put one on. If you want a job doing, you know what they say.’
‘I do,’ Sam said, smiling to herself. Troy rarely required an answer to his questions. Irascible and grumpy, with a very dodgy sense of humour, he drove a few people up the wall. He also knew every inch of the town and everyone in it. Small and lithe, he still worked part-time for the harbour commission even though he was now eighty. His official title was ‘Festival Facilitator’, which really meant ‘Fixer’. Troy liaised with the harbour commission and numerous other local issues and people, who could otherwise have been very tricky to deal with.
She heard him whistling ‘Trelawney’ in the kitchenette off the smaller upstairs meeting room. The granite building had ceased to be a refuge for the fishermen many years previously and was now a community venue that anyone could use. Downstairs, the larger function space played host to always-sozzled parties, sometimes-sozzled wakes, the ‘Knit and Knatterers’ and many other local groups. The festival committee met there at least once a week in the run-up to the festival. During the event itself, the Institute acted as Festival HQ, providing a hub to deal with any problems or emergencies and a place where all the volunteers could refuel and refresh.
In addition to Troy and the other six main committee members, there were dozens of people who helped to manage all the different aspects of the event. There were countless issues to think about: she’d been astonished when she’d realised quite how much. Without all her helpers, it would never even have got off the ground. With scores of stalls, thousands of visitors over the festival weekend and a budget of tens of thousands, it had evolved into a proper big deal.
Word had travelled that Gabe would replace Kris, as she’d known it would. It had to. Chloe, Sam and their helpers had spent the past day taking down the posters. Fortunately, Kris’s name had only gone on around a hundred flyers and his name wasn’t on the festival banners, thank God, so that had saved money and work.
Zennor had also taken charge of altering all the online website literature, while Chloe had drafted a press release about the change and sent it out to her contacts. It had generated a few stories in the regional media, Kris’s bad fortune had a silver lining for Porthmellow, attracting some extra and much-needed publicity. But as for dealing with the return of the man himself, Sam was still dreading it. Many of the locals would still remember that she’d split with Gabe and why. She’d gone to the meeting at the Fisherman’s Institute,