It came as a surprise to Bel as she woke on Tuesday morning to realize that it was only a week since she’d left London. It seemed like a couple of lifetimes. So much had happened. Not just mentally, but physically too, her body coming alive with the sunshine and fresh sea air, the swimming and paddleboarding … sex with JJ. But what particularly astonished her was the number of people she’d met in that short space of time and come to value already as friends, albeit recent ones. Her brain felt so crowded with these novel experiences that she barely had time to consider her old life. Even her dad – who still refused to speak to her – had slipped a little in her consciousness. She still rang him every day, left messages, only to receive a deafening silence in return.
Today, she jumped out of bed with eager anticipation. She had agreed a sum with Micky the previous day – good use, she decided, of her precious and ever-dwindling stash of cash – for him and JJ to help her remove the putrid piles of newspaper. They were coming at eight, Patsy having kindly offered Dora to transport the rubbish.
It was a filthy job. The three of them humped the paper to the van in wads, shaking off the spiders, beetles and mouse droppings that fell out as soon as the stack was broken up. The paper, once the air got at it, properly stank and Bel found herself running to the van holding her breath, her burden damp and foetid in her arms.
They worked in silence, only stopping to high five once the last armload had been squeezed in, the door pulled shut. Then they took off to the dump where they carried out the process in reverse. It took hours and they were all exhausted by the time the task was finished. Bel was relieved to find she did not feel awkward being around JJ. The other night seemed to have done nothing to dent their easy friendship. And if Micky knew what had been going on, he gave no sign.
When Bel entered the cottage later, it was already transformed. She spent the rest of the day scrubbing the newly exposed stone floor and walls, throwing open the windows, polishing the glass. By supper time, the house – suddenly a lot bigger without the rubbish – smelt primarily of pine from the spray cleaner and woodsmoke. Bel collapsed into her orange chair and breathed it in with the utmost relief.
Paint next, she thought, as she closed her eyes, and kitchen stuff. Even just making toast for JJ the other night had reminded her of how important her kitchen was to her. Tomorrow she would take the bus and see what she could find in Penzance’s pound stores. She might even price up kitchen cabinets, although the cost was no doubt prohibitive right now. Open shelves? She liked the idea. Her phone went off on the counter and she opened her eyes. Zid had jumped in at the window and was sniffing about, but he scuttled under the chair at the loud ringtone.
‘Evening, Bella,’ her father said, his tone genial.
‘Dad!’ She found she was incredibly relieved to hear his voice at last.
‘How’s the hovel?’ He chuckled quietly.
He’s had one too many and forgotten he shouldn’t be speaking to me, she thought, smiling to herself. ‘It’s good, thanks. Not quite so hovel-like now. I’ve chucked a lot of stuff away.’ She paused. ‘So how are you?’
‘I’m just as bloody bored and lonely as when you left,’ he said merrily.
‘Sorry to hear that.’ Bel didn’t know what to say, where to start in telling him about her new life. She wasn’t sure her father would want to hear it, anyway.
‘Are you coming home, then?’ His voice lost some of its humour and Bel felt a small chill pass through her.
‘Not yet,’ she said brightly, holding her breath. Quickly changing the subject, she asked, ‘So have you seen Reg?’ As she spoke, she wondered what she normally talked about with her father. He never seemed interested in her life unless it directly impacted his own. But now that he wasn’t asking her what was for supper or carping about something she’d done, or bought, or forgotten to do or buy and there were no television programmes or neighbours or Louis to trash, it was hard to know what to say. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him about her job at the farm shop.
There was a loud snort. ‘Lazy old bugger finally got off his arse and came over on Friday.’
‘Is he better, then?’ Bel asked, knowing Reg suffered from quite serious chest problems.
‘Oh, I don’t know. The fella coughs all the time, but then he always did. And he’s still banging on about the virus, still wearing a mask in the street.’
‘Not everyone’s as brazen as you, Dad,’ she said teasingly.
Which made Dennis laugh. ‘“Brazen” is it? You sound in a good mood, girl. Sun, sea and sex improving your spirits, eh?’
Bel twitched at her father’s sixth sense. Was her night with JJ apparent in her voice? Then she realized it was just his paranoia that she’d shacked up with some undesirable in Cornwall. Not so far off the mark, she thought, with a smile. He definitely wouldn’t approve of JJ.
Before she had a chance to deny it, her father, capricious to the last, was saying, ‘I’ve had a thought, sweetheart. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad … I’ll visit you. See what all the fuss is about.’
Bel held her breath. ‘It’s a long way, Dad,’ she stammered. Please, no.
‘About time I took the Jag out for a spin,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘We haven’t been anywhere since before the plague.’ Her father drove a much-loved XKR coupé in racing green, which he’d owned for at least fifteen years.
‘It’s a good six hours, and that doesn’t include stops.’ But as Bel spoke, she knew her words were falling on deaf ears. When her father made up his mind, it was impossible to shift him.
‘Are you trying to put me off, girl?’ her father asked, mild suspicion back in his voice.
She forced a laugh. ‘Of course not. I’m just thinking it’d be good to wait, come in a month or so, when I’ve got the cottage a bit more sorted and I know the area better.’ Maybe he’ll have forgotten about the trip by then, she thought optimistically.
‘Don’t fret about the state of the hovel. I certainly won’t be staying there. You can find me a billet close by … maybe the pub. I remember liking the landlord, although the fella’s probably long dead. Is it still pink?’
‘Yes, still pink,’ she muttered distractedly. Bel had not yet ventured into the Queen Bess, the three-hundred-year-old coaching inn that dominated the entrance to the village. Logan, the current landlord, was apparently a good friend of Patsy’s – along with the rest of the village, it seemed.
‘Right, well, sounds like a plan, girl. Something to look forward to,’ her father went on. ‘I’m so sick of these four walls.’
Bel heard her father give a small sigh, then a loud sniff. ‘Dad?’
‘I do miss you, Bella,’ he said, his voice tremulous.
‘I’ll talk to Logan at the pub and find out when he’s got a room free,’ she said, sensing his mood was sinking. ‘We can go swimming and eat pasties, do some exploring. It’ll be fun.’ She found herself gabbling brightly, suggesting a plan that would bring about the result she most dreaded: her father back in her life. But she couldn’t stop herself. He sounded so sad. ‘I’ll see you very soon, Dad.’
After they’d said goodbye and Bel was sitting in panicked silence, she felt a softness against her bare leg that made her jump. Zid was weaving in and out of her calves as she sat, bare feet cold on the stone. She patted her lap and he leaped onto it, allowing her to stroke his back, behind his ears, under his chin, almost as if he knew she was upset. His warmth and undemanding presence comforted her.
Jaz was sitting on the wall between Bel’s house and Patsy’s when Bel came up from the beach after an evening swim.
‘Could I come in for a minute?’ the teenager asked shyly.
Bel smiled and ushered her inside. ‘Cuppa? I could do with one myself – the sea’s still pretty nippy.’
Jaz, hovering near the door, grinned. ‘I don’t go in till the temperature goes above sixteen.’ She waved her phone at Bel. ‘I’ve got the app. I can show you.’
Bel laughed. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I’d never get in if I knew how bloody freezing it was.’
Jaz was silent as Bel put the kettle with the wonky lid onto the hob and waited for it to boil.
‘I often used to drop in here when I got home from school.’ The girl smiled at the memory. ‘Lenny would always be sitting in that stinky old chair of his with the TV blaring. But he kept this plate ready with biscuits or cake – covered with a page from a magazine – especially for me.’
It was a touching image that made Bel’s heart constrict. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got around to cake yet.’ She remembered when Tally had been that age, how ravenous she’d always been on her visits.
‘Oh, no worries. Nonna’s made me terrified of sugar, these days. It was just so sweet of him, though. I couldn’t refuse.’
Bel handed Jaz her tea in one of the petrol-station mugs Lenny had left, with the faded yellow and green BP shield on the side. ‘So how was school?’
Jaz shrugged. ‘Pretty crap.’ Then her face lit up. ‘But this is my last term. I’m leaving after GCSEs. Can’t wait.’
‘Leaving school?’ Bel was aghast. She seemed so young.
‘I’m sixteen in August.’
‘Heavens … What will you do?’ She’d tried to keep the disapproval out of her voice.
‘Well, that’s what I needed to talk to you about. I want to be a chef.’ The girl glanced at Bel nervously, as if to gauge her reaction. ‘You said your partner was one, and I wondered … Do you have any advice?’
Bel thought for a minute, a bit blindsided by the question. ‘Umm, I don’t think Louis had any proper training. He just worked his way up in kitchens, got experience that way. But it was really hard, Jaz, I do know that.’
The girl seemed undeterred. ‘I’m going to open my own organic café when I’m older. I’ll serve food like Nonna’s and have my own veg patch.’
Bel smiled. ‘That sounds great.’
‘Could you ask him for me? I mean, if you’re in touch with him still.’ She looked so awkward and so young that Bel wanted to hug her. But the question forced her thoughts to return, unwillingly, to Louis and his baby. Or not his baby.
Was this upheaval in my life, in his, in Tally’s, in Dad’s, all for nothing? She was surprised to find that although the thought was frustrating, it did not disturb her to the extent it might have done, even a few weeks back. Because if Louis hadn’t gone chasing a phantom, Bel would not have been in Cornwall right now. And that, she realized, would have been a terrible shame.
She brought her focus back to the girl in front of her. ‘Listen, I’ll find out what I can,’ she promised cautiously.