A Perfect Cornish Summer. Phillipa Ashley
altogether. It was exactly what the little harbour town didn’t need – not to mention Sam herself, who had left her job to start her own catering business the previous year. Who could have foreseen a global crash? Certainly not Sam, who’d been too busy keeping her family together after losing three of the people she loved most within the space of a couple of years.
But on evenings like this, Sam almost found herself able to put that to the back of her mind.
Troy finished his pint of Proper Job and wiped foam from his lips. At seventy, he was still working part-time as a deputy harbourmaster and no one knew the waters around Porthmellow better than he did. Although, Sam thought with a smile, the man approaching her table came pretty close. Drew Yelland was a few years older than her, tanned as tea, his fair hair burnished by the sun, a gold earring glinting in the evening light.
‘Hello. Sorry I’m late.’ Drew kissed her on the cheek and nodded cheerfully at Troy. ‘We were late sailing back into the harbour. Bunch of bankers on the boat today. Didn’t know their arses from their elbows. Didn’t seem too bothered about the recession either. Don’t think it’s going to dent their consumption of Bolly. Talking of which … your glasses look empty. I’m dying for a pint. Can I get anyone a drink?’
Troy flashed a mouth full of teeth, which, oddly, made Sam think of tombstones. He rubbed his hands together.
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
‘I’ll help,’ said Sam and gathered their empty glasses onto a tray. She always did this, wanting to help the landlady who’d had to let some staff go because trade had dropped off. She also wanted to talk to Drew.
‘How’s business on the Marisco?’ she asked as they waited for the landlady to pull their pints. Drew ran a small sailing charity that took groups out for trips on a vintage trawler.
‘Could be better.’ Drew handed over some cash for the beers. ‘To be honest, bookings have fallen off a cliff since the crash and things aren’t going to get better over the winter. We rely on the corporate and private money to subsidise the educational trips. The business customers are cutting back on teambuilding days and Joe Public can’t afford luxuries like learning to sail. Which basically means we can’t afford to take out the kids who really need a treat and a chance to build their skills and confidence.’
‘I’m so sorry, Drew … I know where you’re coming from. It’s tough at Stargazey Pie too – people still need to eat, luckily, but it’s still hard,’ said Sam, grimacing. ‘I’m not sure I’d have set up the business if I’d known what was coming. I had a good job already at the craft bakery and it felt mad to leave it last spring, let alone now.’
‘Would any of us do anything if we could see into the future?’ Drew picked up the tray of drinks from the bar.
Sam shook her head. ‘I’m glad I couldn’t see what was coming with Mum and Ryan.’ And Gabe, of course, she almost added, but she didn’t want to mention his name. The pain was still too raw. When the love of your life shopped your own brother to the police and then left town while your brother went to prison – well, it tended to leave its mark on you.
‘You’ve had a rough few years, but keep the faith. Keep at it. Stargazey will be a success. We’ll just have to ride out the storm somehow. We can’t stop it from coming.’ Drew grinned. ‘And anyone who’s Porthmellow born and bred will tell you that.’
Nodding, Sam held open the door for Drew. A burst of brass band music hit her ears and she blinked at the contrast of the gloomy interior with the bright sunlight glinting on the water. Sam zoned in on the ‘To Let’ sign on the fish and chip shop at the end of the harbour. Gabe and his family had worked there and lived in the flat above it until he and Sam had split up; his parents had retired a few months previously and no one had taken it over yet.
The ice-cream parlour next door was shuttered up and wouldn’t re-open until spring. Bryony Cronk’s new dog grooming business had set up in the old greengrocer’s shop, but both units either side had blanked-out windows. Despite its shabbiness, Porthmellow was in Sam’s blood, she loved its harbour and its quirky clock tower, every sunny day and each wild winter storm. Drew was right: no one could predict the climate, economic or otherwise. Just as there was nothing she could do about tourists choosing to go elsewhere.
While Sam and Drew had been inside, Troy’s wife Evie had joined their table. Sam saw her wincing a little, knowing she’d started to suffer from arthritis in her knees. It was a steep hike down to the harbour from Stippy Stappy Lane where the Carmans’ terrace stood a few doors down from Wavecrest Cottage, the home Sam shared with her sister, Zennor. Until a year ago, their brother, Ryan, had lived there too.
Drew fetched Evie a G&T and they returned to watching the kids jumping in the water.
‘Is that your Zennor?’ asked Evie, pointing to a tall, slender girl with long black hair, poised ten feet up on the wall above the harbour. ‘Haven’t got my driving glasses so I can’t really tell.’
Sam shook her head. ‘Yes. It is,’ she said, wincing as Zennor threw herself off the wall and landed with a splash. She bobbed up immediately, squealing in triumph, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief.
Zennor was just one more kid who thought they were invincible … same as their brother, Ryan, had. Same as Sam’s ex Gabe used to do when they were kids. She could picture Gabe now, in his board shorts, lean and slender, his smooth olive skin glistening with water as he climbed again to the top of the wall around the pub.
People would jeer or urge him on, but Gabe never cared what anyone else in Porthmellow thought – except perhaps for Sam.
She’d stand by, trying to act cool while all the time her heart would be in her mouth. What if he hit his head on the rocks or some piece of rubbish under the water? She remembered the time he’d vanished underneath and not come up as quickly as usual; he’d been under just long enough to make her squeal out in horror and cause everyone to stare at her. Then he’d popped up yards away by a boat. She’d been ready to jump in after him … ready to risk it all to save him.
Not anymore.
At twenty-one, her days of risking life and limb for a bit of a laugh were long gone, She had too many responsibilities these days.
A loud scream startled her out of her reverie, but it was followed by gales of laughter from the teenagers.
Troy clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Bloody dangerous. Harbourmaster would like to stop it but there’s no point. Kids’ll do it anyway.’
‘Zennor’s no kid,’ Sam said, ‘but I can’t stop her. I thought she’d have grown out of it by now.’
‘She’s just having a bit of fun. I’d have a go myself if my knees would let me. How old is she? Fifteen?’ said Evie.
‘Just,’ said Sam.
‘She’ll soon stop when boys get on the scene,’ said Drew.
‘They already are. Ben Blazey’s up there too,’ said Sam, spotting a skinny young lad in a shortie.
Evie laughed. ‘Young Zennor will eat him for breakfast. He never says boo to a goose, that boy.’
‘He creates enough racket on that scooter of his,’ Troy grumbled. ‘How he makes it over from Mousehole to here without killing himself I don’t know.’
Drew smirked at Sam and she bit back a giggle.
Evie held up a finger. ‘Ah, thanks for reminding me, Troy.’ She delved in a large shopping bag. ‘Have you seen this?’
‘What’s that?’
She spread a crumpled flyer on the table. ‘Picked it up in town the other day when I went to my computer class. Thought you might fancy coming?’
Sam peered at the leaflet. ‘Autumn Festival on Mousehole quayside. Folk Bands. Hog roast. Food fair. Cookery demos. Cider tent. Sounds good.’
‘I saw