Dennis had been in Cornwall a week. Two more days, Bel counted, her spirits soaring as she set off for the farm shop on Thursday morning. As the week passed, so Dennis’s mood had mellowed – he seemed to be having a great time, everyone being so kind, putting themselves out to entertain him. He gradually stopped ranting about Louis – who sensibly stayed out of sight – appearing more cheerful than Bel had seen him in a long while.
After his initial depressing visit, Bel kept him away from the cottage as much as possible. It was clear he found the place distasteful and there was no proper table at which they could have their meals. So they mostly ate at the Queen Bess or Martine’s – Dennis declaring he was on holiday and wanted to eat out. And one night they took Patsy to the Chinese on the main road – a small thank-you for her insistence on cooking for Dennis and the others.
Her father had, from his first encounter with Bel’s friend and neighbour, been on a serious charm offensive, despite his snippy remarks. He minded being disliked. And Patsy – although Bel was certain she saw through Dennis – played along, sparring with him, taking no nonsense, even teasing him on occasion, sending Bel’s heart bursting through her chest when she saw her father join in the laughter. He loved it when someone stood up to him … as long as it wasn’t Bel.
He even attempted a bit of tipsy flirting with Rhian, who simply appeared not to notice. ‘She’s a nice wee thing, the vicar,’ her father had said, walking up the lane to the pub after supper at the chapel. ‘Didn’t seem interested in me, though. Maybe she bats for the other side, too.’
‘So if she doesn’t laugh at your jokes, she must be gay?’ Bel had said, with an incredulous snort. She wasn’t going to explain Rhian and Patsy’s love for each other. She was pretty certain her father wouldn’t understand loving someone and not wanting to go to bed with them. Bel wasn’t sure she did, either, although there was no denying the strength of feeling between the two women.
Now, as she rode up the hill out of the village on her way to work, she realized she was hanging on by a thread, aching for the moment when her father would climb into the Jaguar, start the engine and drive back to London.
She’d been in a blind panic since the conversation about selling the cottage. Throughout his stay, Dennis had made constant reference to the sale. His tone was mostly light-hearted and confident – as if it were a given, he and Bel happily on the same page.
His conversations frequently began with the prefix ‘When you’ve sold the hovel …’ or ‘When you’re back home …’ followed by various suggestions about their life together in the London flat. He wanted to get the place painted, he said. He thought it might be nice to book theatre tickets and have some meals out in the restaurants – like Wilton’s – he’d frequented before the pandemic. Bel didn’t know how to respond to these suggestions, so she fudged her replies or changed the subject. It was so wearing, the threat hovering over their exchanges, like a hawk preparing to swoop. She knew she should challenge him about it all, she just didn’t feel she had any satisfactory alternative to offer.
Mr Ajax was in the kitchen when she arrived, his usual cup clutched to his chest, a faraway look in his eye.
‘Those croissants,’ he said, when she greeted him. ‘I’ve been having a think … You do them a lot?’
She shook her head. ‘First time. But I’m starting some more today.’ Sensing the opening she’d imagined when she’d first seen the farm-shop kitchen, she added quickly, ‘I used to bake professionally for a London restaurant. I can do bread, cakes, pies, anything, really.’ She listed the things she remembered Harris saying that Elowen had baked.
There was a long pause. Then Mr Ajax said, ‘We can always sell baked goods here, you know.’ The look he gave her was uncharacteristically engaged. As if her croissant had broken through some barrier. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but it was close.
Bel took a huge breath, pushing her shoulders back. ‘I would absolutely love to bake in this kitchen,’ she said, her voice unwavering. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.
Her boss nodded, perhaps a bit surprised by her enthusiasm. ‘You would? Well, then,’ he said, wandering over to the sink and turning on the tap to rinse out his mug. Bel held her breath. He slowly spun to face her. She thought she saw resignation, as if he was finally accepting something he’d been resisting. ‘Maybe we could have a chat about it.’ He carefully set his mug upside down on the draining-board. ‘Early Monday? Before your shift?’
Bel smiled. ‘Great. Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks, Mr Ajax,’ she said, hardly able to suppress her excitement. If this worked out, not only would she be doing a job she loved, it would boost her earnings considerably. Maybe I can persuade Dad to go back to his original arrangement, if I can prove I’ve got more money coming in, she thought, as she settled, breathless, behind the till.
When Harris appeared late morning, she was busy, but she had one ear open for the sound of his leather boots creaking over the shop floorboards, anticipating the smile of greeting that always lit up his serious face.
‘How’s it going with your father?’ he asked, in a lull between customers.
Bel shook her head wearily. ‘I think he’s enjoyed himself. Can’t say I’m not relieved he’s off on Saturday.’ Another basket thudded onto the table and she turned back to the till before Harris had the chance to reply. She longed to tell him about Mr Ajax’s offer, but nothing had been decided and she didn’t want to jinx it before she’d had a proper discussion with her boss.
It was busy, and it was only when her father was standing right in front of her that she looked up and jumped. ‘Dad!’
‘Thought I’d come by and find out what you get up to in here,’ Dennis said cheerfully. She had offered to show him the farm shop on a number of occasions when they’d driven past, but he’d declined, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge she had a job at all.
‘Nice wee place,’ he went on, checking out the nearby shelves. ‘If it wasn’t for the rip-off prices.’
Bel glanced anxiously round to see if Mr Ajax was in earshot. Luckily he was busy in the lean-to, freshening the vegetable display. ‘Please, keep your voice down,’ she begged, not keen to upset her boss, just when she’d persuaded him to open up his kitchen to her.
Dennis’s eyes widened in mock alarm. ‘Not wrong, though, eh?’ he said, with a wicked grin.
To distract him, Bel indicated her friend and said, ‘Dad, this is Harris. He’s the wildlife artist Patsy was talking about the other night. Harris, this is my father, Dennis.’
‘Oh?’ Her father turned, interest piqued. ‘Those women raved on about your work. I might take a look while I’m here.’
Harris got to his feet. ‘Good to meet you, Dennis,’ he said politely, but making no move to shake his hand. ‘I’d be happy to show you, anytime.’ He sounded formal, almost wary of her father, and Bel remembered what she’d said about him in the past.
Dennis nodded. ‘Well, I did plan to leave on Saturday. But now I’m thinking I might stay on for a while. The city’s shite at this time of year. And my disloyal daughter here seems reluctant to shift her arse back to London yet.’
Bel felt the breath go out of her lungs. Harris, maybe sensing her distress, looked uneasy and did not share in Dennis’s caustic laughter. He shot her a sympathetic glance, but Mr Ajax, lugging a large box of lettuces in from the lane, interrupted them with a shout: ‘This isn’t a social club, you lot. If you’re not buying, then take your chatter outside. There’s people waiting to be served, Bel.’
Her father frowned at being addressed in a manner not dissimilar to the one he regularly meted out. ‘Nice way to treat your customers,’ he grumbled, crossing his arms but not moving.
‘Sorry, Ron. Just off,’ Harris said good-naturedly, taking his mug back to the kitchen. As he went past, he reached out a hand and gave Bel’s arm a supportive pat.
‘I’ll see you back at the pub in an hour,’ Bel said to her father, silently pleading with him not to upset her employer further.
Harrumphing quietly, Dennis, lips pursed, stomped away, giving Mr Ajax a dirty look as the two men passed each other in the narrow aisle between the vegetables.
Bel cycled back to the village at the end of her shift, her mind in turmoil now she had the chance to focus on her father’s most recent bombshell. He can’t stay, she kept telling herself firmly. Logan’s fully booked all summer and so is everywhere else.
The green Jaguar was nowhere to be seen as Bel rode past the pub. She wondered where her father had gone. But when she drew level with Martine’s café, she caught sight of Louis and Jaz, sitting opposite each other with takeaway cups at one of the picnic tables. Distracted from her thoughts for a second, she braked to a stop, dismounting and propping her bike against the hedge.
‘Hi, you two.’
Jaz greeted her with a wave and a broad grin. ‘Hey, Bel. Come and join us. Louis’s filling me in on the horrors of the professional kitchen.’
Louis also smiled, but warily, clearly still unsure what to expect from her. Bel was too upset, though, to remember she was no longer his friend. She plonked herself down on the wooden bench, leaned on the table and dropped her head onto her arms with a despairing groan.
‘Dad’s threatening to stay on,’ she wailed.
Jaz looked puzzled by her outburst. But Louis got it. ‘Shit,’ he said, then cast an apologetic glance at Jaz. ‘Sorry.’
The teenager laughed. ‘Heard much worse.’
‘He can’t stay with me,’ Bel went on, as if someone had suggested he should. ‘There’s only one bed and one chair.’
It was clear that neither Louis nor Jaz knew what to say.
‘Jazzy!’ A yell came from the lane. Bel turned to see two teenage girls – long hair, long legs, short shorts, phones held out in front of them, like talismans to ward off evil, beach bags slung over their shoulders. ‘You coming?’ shouted the taller of the two.
Jaz waved. ‘In a minute. You go on.’ She hesitated as her friends moved off towards the beach. ‘Better go,’ she said to Louis. ‘Can we talk another time, please?’
‘Good kid,’ he said, when Jaz was out of sight. ‘Reminds me of Tally.’
‘Me too,’ Bel agreed. They shared a certain vulnerability, an honesty, and a wry sense of humour. ‘So, why aren’t you at work?’
‘Leak in the kitchen ceiling. The place was ankle-deep in brown water when I went down this morning.’ He frowned. ‘What can we do about your dad?’ It was not an unfamiliar question, and took her back to many similar conversations in the past when Dennis had been playing up. ‘I mean about the money,’ Louis went on. ‘Not sure I can help with him staying on.’
‘I don’t know. He insists he really needs it.’ Bel sighed. ‘Demanded I sell the cottage right now and pay him the lot.’
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Louis looked horrified, then immediately pensive. ‘I’m not much use. I’m so sorry, Bel. I’ve literally got peanuts left at the end of the week at the moment. But I reckon I can get a better job soon, and then I promise I’ll start contributing.’ He paused. ‘But there’s no way I can raise a lump sum … if he genuinely is desperate for it.’
Bel caught the note of scepticism in his voice. But she knew that Louis’s attitude tended to be that people who owed him money were crooks, while those to whom he was indebted didn’t really need it and could wait. ‘Could you borrow some?’ he added, raising an enquiring eyebrow at her.
Resenting the implication that it was her responsibility to do so, she spoke more sharply than she intended. ‘Who from, Louis? The banks and mortgage companies would laugh in my face at my age, with a part-time job on minimum wage. Especially these days.’ Even if Mr Ajax agreed to the baking venture, she doubted it would even be worth asking.
‘Aunt Phyllis?’
Bel shook her head firmly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Why should she lend me cash to pay off a brother who’s shunned her for decades?’
There was a tense silence.
‘So what did you tell him?’
‘I didn’t tell him anything,’ she said miserably. Articulating to Louis the prospect of losing her home made it suddenly so horribly real. All the hope she’d invested in her new life, only to find herself imprisoned back in the London flat … ‘I can’t sell.’ She heard the tremulous bravado in her voice, but she knew she might not have a choice. ‘I should have a better job soon,’ she added, still not wanting to take anything for granted. ‘I’m going to try to persuade Dad to give us more time.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Maybe he’ll agree to leaving it another year before deciding to sell.’ Anything could have happened by then, she told herself.
‘I’ll definitely start contributing as soon as I can,’ Louis assured her.
Neither spoke for a few minutes, both lost in thought.
‘What’s happening with the baby?’ she asked eventually. Any subject, even Apollinaire, was better than focusing on her uncertain future in Cornwall.
‘Trinny’s agreed to a test.’ Louis raised his hands, dropped them again in a resigned gesture. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Will you go back? If he is yours?’
He hesitated for a long moment. ‘I don’t know how I could. Trinny and I, it’d never work.’ Then leaning forward, his gaze suddenly intense, he asked, ‘Would it matter to you, Bel, that I have a relationship with him?’
She was taken aback. Oh, shit, she thought, light slowly dawning. She knew she was staring at him like the proverbial rabbit in the oncoming headlights but couldn’t find anything to say in reply.
Another silence.
Then Louis gave a heavy sigh. ‘You and me, don’t you feel there’s still something there?’ He held up his hand. ‘I know, I know. Obviously I’m not expecting you to forgive me right now. I just wondered … if we take it slowly over the summer … get to know each other again?’ He gave her a winning smile. ‘We made such a great team, Bel.’
It felt as if the bottom had fallen out of Bel’s stomach. Don’t, she thought. Don’t do this, Louis. During the time she’d been in Cornwall, the shadow he’d cast over her life by leaving her had begun to fade in her consciousness – as if from a pulsing dark red to the softest of pinks.
She felt bewildered. Despite his gross betrayal, seeing Louis again reminded her, too, of the good times – the life they’d shared, the love she’d once felt for him. She took a breath, unsure if she had the strength or clarity to know her own mind.
Louis reached for her hand, stroking her skin gently with his thumb. He had chef’s hands: scrubbed pale, nails short, various nicks and scars dotting the surface.
Bel let him, his touch involuntarily triggering a deep-seated longing to stop struggling against the seemingly uphill task to find independence. So much easier … so much easier, the voice murmured softly in her ear. She was tired. She was getting nowhere. Louis would help her stand up to her father. They were a team.
‘I mean, maybe – just a thought – we could look for a place that needs both of us: chef and front-of-house? Someone who’d kill for our dream team – because we were good together, no?’ He squeezed her hand encouragingly, gave her a tentative smile. Then his face fell to something more serious. ‘Look, I know I’ve hurt you very badly, Bel. And I’m so, so sorry.’ He sat up straighter. ‘But you have no idea how much I miss having you in my life. I want to make it up to you, if only you’ll let me.’
Bel, throughout his speech, had found her heart turning somersaults. What he’s suggesting isn’t such a stupid idea, in principle … In principle. She wished he would stop talking, stop setting up bumps in a road Bel felt she had been negotiating just fine until he had pitched up.
‘Do you still love me?’ He interrupted her thoughts, an edge of doubt creeping into his voice. ‘You know my feelings for you …’ His hand was still clasped around hers, as if he didn’t dare let go, but in the sunshine it felt sweaty and uncomfortable. Very gently, she extricated herself, putting her hands in her lap, out of reach.
Louis was eyeing her nervously. ‘Say something, Bel. You haven’t said a word. What are you thinking?’
Bel shook herself. How would I feel, right now, if I say yes? she asked herself urgently. A montage of the imaginary life Louis was describing for them flashed briefly across her vision. She blinked … But all she could see was him, centre stage once more, herself in the background, his willing acolyte, drowned out by his manic energy, his obsession, the exacting demands of his work. Do I want to be a spare part in that drama again?
Heart exploding in her chest, she felt as if she’d been running full tilt, then screeched to a halt right on the very edge of a deep abyss. No, she decided. The word slotted neatly into place, as if it had only been waiting for her permission. NO.
Taking a deep breath she spoke gently. ‘I’m sorry, Louis. This isn’t about me still being angry with you. I’m just really loving doing my own thing.’ She watched his eyes cloud. ‘And I need to be by myself to do that … if my father will let me,’ she joked, to take the sting out of the tail.
Louis didn’t speak for a minute, maybe wondering how he could pitch again, and better. He wasn’t someone to give in easily.
‘Do you still love me, Bel?’ he asked again, softly but insistently.
She felt her cheeks flush. ‘I … I …’ No clear answer came to her. When eventually she replied, her tone was kind but surprisingly resolute. ‘It’s not the same, Louis. Nothing’s the same. I’m different. Or, at least, I want different things for myself now.’
Looking puzzled, he asked, ‘What things?’
She threw her hands wide into the air. ‘This! My cottage – if I’m allowed to keep it – the village, the people …’ She was going to add ‘baking’ to the list but feared he would scoff.
‘You could still have that with me.’
There was a fragile silence as their eyes met.
‘No, Louis. I couldn’t,’ Bel said, with a finality he couldn’t fail to hear. There was no need to explain further.
Louis’s mouth tightened. After a long moment he said simply, ‘OK. Right.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too. Although I realize I deserve it.’
She didn’t reply.
‘I only came here for you, Bel,’ he said forlornly. ‘If that’s not happening, I’ll start looking for a better job somewhere else. Get out of your hair.’ It didn’t sound like a threat so much as him applying a final test of her feelings. But to Bel it felt as if a huge stone had been rolled away from the path in front of her. So much so that she was almost lightheaded.
‘I should get on,’ she said, trying not to show how his words made her feel. ‘I baked some croissants last week – thought I’d give it another go.’
Louis sucked his teeth. ‘Ooh, tricky one. If you need any help, I’d be happy to show you.’
It was a genuine offer, but all Bel heard was the echo of his slightly patronizing attitude to her cooking in the past. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘In fact, the last lot turned out brilliantly.’
As she rose from the bench, Louis did too. After a moment of hesitation, he put his arms round her and hugged her. His hug felt so familiar on one level, but now also awkward and strange. Bel tried to respond with her heart, but found she could not.
Wheeling her bike the short distance to her door, she felt her lungs inhaling the warm sweetness of summer with trembling relief. Her feelings for Louis, she knew, were still muddled – it wasn’t even a year since they’d separated. But she also understood that the bonds that tied them together had been irrevocably broken the day he’d walked out on her.
As she pulled the bag of strong floor off the smooth ash-wood shelf and watched the soft white cascade pile up in the scales pan, she realized she was almost shocked at how strong, how clear she’d been with Louis. But, most of all, she was thankful that she felt so sure.
Patsy dropped by just as Bel finished the final folding of butter into pastry and laid the square reverently in the fridge till the morning. Her friend looked uncharacteristically tense.
‘Make me a cuppa, love,’ she said, leaning on the worktop and dropping her head. ‘Had a bit of a shit day.’
Patsy didn’t say another word while Bel made her tea and handed her the mug. She indicated the chair for her friend to sit, but Patsy didn’t seem to notice, remaining standing with her back against the stove rail.
‘What’s up?’
Patsy’s eyebrows twitched and she shook her head. ‘I took Jaz into Truro this morning, to meet her mum for a coffee.’ There was a pause. ‘She didn’t want to come, but I insisted … I told her it would be good to see her.’
Bel waited.
‘But that dear, reliable daughter of mine – who promised on Jaz’s life that she was now clean – was a sodding no-show.’
‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I just saw Jaz with Louis and she seemed OK.’
Patsy gave a harsh laugh. ‘Yeah, well, that’s Jaz for you. Good at hiding it.’ She shrugged. ‘Although, unlike me, she seems to have given up on any expectations from that quarter … very sensibly.’
Bel winced. ‘Maybe something happened that meant Ruby couldn’t make it.’
‘Oh, yeah, I’m sure “something” happened. Like, another hit of whatever poison she’s currently shooting into her veins.’
Bel put an arm around Patsy’s shoulders.
‘We waited nearly an hour because I still hoped. Then we came home. It was fucking awful.’
‘Maybe it was worth a try, though?’ Bel asked, not knowing if she was right.
Patsy jerked around, her face a picture of bewilderment. ‘Was it? Really? What’s that saying about doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome? Some people just don’t give a fuck what effect they have on others … because they only ever think about themselves.’
Bel thought she knew exactly what her friend meant.