Bel mounted her bike, suddenly knowing where she was heading. She rode fast, breathing deeply, but even in the fresh air with the wind in her face, she still felt stifled and choked. Words she knew she should have spoken to her father were collected in her throat, like a thick hairball in a cat.
Passing the Lantern, she spotted the red Berlingo, back doors open, Louis hurling his leather holdall into it. For a split second, she contemplated riding on past, unwilling to engage with his no-doubt chaotic agenda. But she slowed, nonetheless.
‘You’re leaving,’ she said, breathless as she dismounted.
‘Thought I’d better, before I get stabbed up,’ Louis muttered, casting a nervous glance towards the pub door, as if he genuinely thought Ben, the landlord, might emerge brandishing a carving knife. He gave her a rueful grin. ‘Tally told you?’
‘Yes. Oxford.’
‘You remember Asif? The guy I worked with in Mayfair before 83? Well, his friend’s wife has just opened this high-end gaff, part of a group, in a converted church in Kidlington.’ He paused. ‘I put the feelers out when you said … when I knew things weren’t going to work out here.’ He gazed at her wistfully.
Bel tried to ignore the look. ‘Not sure I remember meeting Asif,’ she said.
Louis was eyeing her. ‘You OK?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Just Dad.’
He frowned. ‘You know I’ll pay the bastard back, don’t you? I’ll get proper money for this Oxford job. As soon as I’m paid, I’ll set up a standing order every month, chip away at the debt.’ He reached over and laid a palm briefly to her cheek. ‘Promise.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, at the same time not entirely sure, despite all Louis’s genuine assurances, that he would. He believes he will, she thought. But she worried his money would never be deemed quite ‘proper’ enough to consider sending any to her father. Maybe he’ll surprise me, she thought. If it isn’t too late by then.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said, as if she needed to be somewhere. ‘Hope things go well for you.’
Louis was staring at her, his gaze suddenly intense. He moved forward until he was standing right up close, laying his hand over hers, which rested on the handlebars. ‘Hey, Bel. Come with me. Leave the bastard to his own devices. Oxford’s great. Think what an adventure we could have.’ His eyes, recently so lifeless and careworn, were briefly sparkling again, and an image of him when they first met flashed across her brain. He’d been so charismatic, so enthusiastic, so driven … just bursting with hope. ‘Jump in,’ he was urging, steering her bike towards the Berlingo. ‘I’ll drive you down and you can pick up your things.’
For one mad moment, a single second when the world stood still, Bel actually considered Louis’s offer. She pictured her father’s outrage as they swept in and grabbed her stuff from under his nose, told him their plan – It would almost be worth it just to see his face, she thought. But she knew she’d regret it even before they reached Truro.
She looked up at Louis and smiled. ‘I can’t,’ she said softly.
He gave her a rueful grin and took his hand off the handlebars. ‘Worth a try.’ He pulled her into an awkward embrace, the bike wobbling against her body. ‘Offer’s still there if you change your mind.’
Bel felt the warmth of someone she’d loved in his hug, breathed in his familiar scent, felt a brief tightening around her heart that was mostly sadness … and pity for a man who had made one too many mistakes. But it felt right that he was leaving.
‘Did you hear? About the baby?’ she asked, as they stood hesitantly, neither wanting to be the one to walk away.
Louis looked towards the sea, but not before she’d noticed his eyes mist up. ‘Definitely not mine,’ he mumbled, roughly brushing his hand across his face.
‘I’m sorry.’ And she was. He looked so beaten down, so pale and defeated in the hot afternoon sun, his clothes shabby, his hair greying. Not my problem any more, she told herself, pushing away her default desire to rescue him. She mounted her bike and waved goodbye. Just as she was about to join the main road, she heard Louis shouting behind her.
‘I got Jaz a pot-wash gig in a gastro-bar in Marazion,’ he called. ‘Let me know how she gets on.’
Smiling her thanks, Bel rode away towards the farm shop, then bumped past Mr Ajax’s red-brick house on the uneven track and round the bend, until Harris’s cottage came into view. Nearing the place, she suddenly felt an uncomfortable fluttering in her gut. Did Harris mean what he said? she wondered anxiously.
It was only when Bel pulled up outside the dove-grey front door that she noticed Harris’s black Peugeot wasn’t parked outside. He’s not home. She stifled a sigh of disappointment, realizing just how much she had been counting on being able to sit in his neat kitchen with a cup of tea, his calm green-grey eyes soothing her battered spirit.
Slumping onto the stone step, she considered what to do next. Maybe he’ll be gone overnight, all weekend? She felt at a loss. Where can I go? All she knew was that she would rather sleep under a hedge than go back to her father to be further humiliated. Sitting there, she began to sense a sort of lethargy creeping over her. She felt quite incapable of moving. The sun was still warm on her face, and it was so peaceful, so quiet … Leaning her reeling head against the warm wood of Harris’s front door, she closed her eyes.
The next thing she was aware of was a hand gently nudging her shoulder and a voice speaking her name. She opened her eyes. Harris looked down at her, puzzlement on his face. Quickly stumbling to her feet, she felt dizzy and disoriented. ‘Sorry … I’m so sorry.’
Harris put out a hand to steady her. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
‘I … Just another set-to with my father.’ It sounded so pathetic from a woman her age. She stammered out a brief explanation about the double-barrelled estate agent, the valuation. ‘I couldn’t stand another minute in his company.’ She stopped, out of breath, feeling weak and stupid under the concerned gaze of her friend. She wished she’d never come.
But Harris was taking her arm. ‘Come on. Looks like you could do with a cuppa.’
Bel did not protest, allowing him to lead her inside and sit her down in a kitchen chair as if she were unwell. He made tea and found some chocolate digestives in a tin – only a little stale. She sensed her whole body letting go as she sipped her tea in the companionable silence.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Harris enquired.
She shook her head. ‘If I start, I’ll never stop.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve got the time.’
‘I’d rather talk about something else,’ she said.
The artist, after a moment’s thought, obliged, telling her about a wonderful walk he’d just done at Sennen Cove, the seal he’d seen basking and preening in the shallow water, how it had seemed almost human, enjoying the attention from tourists on the beach as if it was putting on a show. He pulled out a small sketchbook, opened it and pushed it towards Bel. The pencil drawing was beautiful.
‘Stay here tonight, if you want?’ he said, when their conversation lapsed.
‘No, really,’ she said wearily. ‘Thanks … I was thinking I might, if you were OK with it, but it’s stupid, running away. I should probably go back.’ Staying here would only put off the inevitable. She needed to sort things out with her father, once and for all. Make a firm decision about the cottage … about her life.
He regarded her for a moment, his gaze so sympathetic she found herself blushing. ‘Stay,’ he said, as if this was his final word on the subject.
Bel inhaled slowly. There was nothing, she realized, that she would like more. Just to rest, take a breather, a break from her bullying father … and the fickle blow-up mattress.
‘It’s completely up to you, of course.’
She hesitated. ‘I genuinely don’t know what to do,’ she said, unable to keep her moiling thoughts to herself any longer. ‘Should I move in with my father? Look after him? It’s what he’s pressuring me to do.’
‘Does he need looking after?’
‘Not physically. Not yet.’
Harris’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Do you want to?’
Sighing, she replied, ‘No. I can think of nothing worse.’
‘Well, there’s your answer.’
She stared at him as if he’d said the earth was flat. ‘But I owe him money he says he needs. I’m paying him back slowly, but he’s holding it over my head, expecting me to sell the cottage.’
‘Blackmailing you?’
She didn’t reply.
‘You’ve been straight with your dad? About how you feel?’ Harris was asking.
Have I? She knew she’d said, time and again, that she wanted to stay in Cornwall, that she didn’t want to sell the cottage. But had she ever really been honest about the rest? ‘It’s not easy.’
‘You don’t have to yell or be cruel. Just be clear.’ Harris rose. ‘Help me make up the bed?’
Harris’s summerhouse was hot from the sun beating on the shingle roof all day, and smelt pleasantly of cedar. He immediately threw open the windows. Nice, Bel thought, glancing round the elegant but cosy space. The wood interior was painted in the same dove grey as the front door, a small double bed against the left-hand wall, with a patchwork quilt in soft blues and greys and a wicker armchair with cream cushion-seat, the shower room and toilet taking up the area to the right. The galley kitchen in the middle – with breakfast bar and two stools – fronted the view across the fields. It felt so quiet in there, only the buzzing of insects and the tweeting of birds filtering in from outside, the air almost soporific. All Bel wanted to do was climb under the quilt and sleep.
They made the bed in silence. Harris showed her how everything worked – the shower, the tricky Venetian blind, the window locks – then handed her the key. For a moment he seemed to hesitate. Then he said, ‘I was planning on fish and chips tonight, if you fancy joining me?’ When she didn’t immediately reply, her mind barely functioning, he went on, ‘Totally understand if you want to be alone. I’ve got milk and bread and stuff I can bring over.’
Bel shook herself. ‘I’d love fish and chips,’ she said.
Harris grinned. ‘Have a nap. It’s only just after five. I’ll go down and collect the fish around seven, if that suits. It’s such a lovely evening, we can eat in the garden.’
Taking the key from his hand, Bel felt as if she’d been transported to some magical place, where life ran smoothly and harmoniously, and problems – such as her recalcitrant father, her flaky ex – did not exist. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this,’ she said, waving a hand around to indicate the summerhouse.
‘You’re most welcome, Bel,’ Harris said seriously, giving a slight bow. ‘See you later.’
She sank onto the fresh, lavender-scented sheets with a feeling of utter bliss, the cool pillow soft beneath her sweaty cheek, the duvet cocooning her against the world, the distant birdsong lulling her … and closed her eyes. It seemed like the first time she had properly let go since her father had pitched up in Cornwall.
Harris and Bel – still dazed from the deepest sleep she’d had in days – sat side by side on the warm bench against the stone wall of his cottage, eating fish and chips from plates on their knees in contented silence as the sun disappeared behind the trees bordering the field in a soft blur of tangerine.
Bel’s haddock was spanking fresh, the golden batter crisply delicious, the fat chips – picked from a mound in the white bag – sprayed liberally with salt and vinegar from a nozzled plastic bottle Harris brought from the kitchen cupboard. On the small glass garden table in front of them stood two bottles of lager.
She sighed as she wiped her fingers on the paper napkin he’d provided. ‘Perfect. Thank you. I hadn’t eaten properly all day.’ She smiled at Harris, who was still diving back into the chips bag for another handful.
‘So, what are you going to say to your dad?’
Bel leaned back and closed her eyes against the setting sun. ‘I’m going to try to be honest.’
‘It’s usually the best policy,’ he said, with a wry smile.
A confusing set of images confronted her as she thought of her father, the manipulation and menace blending with the love she felt for him, his age and obvious frailty. ‘I just don’t know if I can.’
Harris didn’t respond for a moment. He was looking off across the gently swaying heads of corn in the field, now darkening from pale gold to a sandy grey as the light faded. His face was very still. ‘I was always scared of my father,’ he eventually said. ‘He was sort of a casual sadist. Always had a grin on his face when he whacked me across the back of my head with a heavy book, or clamped me in a head-lock so I couldn’t breathe, or held me under the water just too long, or deliberately tripped me up.’
‘That’s horrible,’ Bel said.
‘He was really strong, too. A sportsman – swimmer, rugby star, golfer …’ There was a pause. ‘I irritated him so much,’ he added.
‘Because you weren’t sporty?’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, I was properly sporty as a kid – I had to be. But I didn’t love it and Dad never understood that. Sport was his whole life.’
‘Did you work it out with him?’
‘Not really. But after he died I found a big box of my drawings in his desk so he must have been proud of me on some level.’
How sad, Bel thought. ‘I’m sure he loved you.’
He nodded. ‘Likewise your father. But that doesn’t mean you have to be a slave to his temper or his whim, Bel.’
She didn’t reply as she tipped the scraps on her plate into the chips bag and watched as Harris did the same, scrunching it up and setting it on the flagstones at his feet. But she knew he was right. It doesn’t solve my problem, though, she thought.
‘Tea? I’ve got chocolate in the fridge.’
Harris returned with two mugs and a cold stick of Toblerone. They munched the rich, crunchy sweetness, sipping their tea as darkness fell and the wind picked up.
‘I should get some candles for next time,’ Harris said, then shot her an embarrassed glance. ‘If there is a next time, of course.’
She laughed. ‘I hope there is.’
Their eyes met. His a quiet green-grey, hers a deep violet, both shy, but neither looking away. He gave her the softest of smiles and Bel felt her heartbeat quicken. She didn’t move, but was aware of the breeze on her bare arms, a strand of hair blowing across her cheek. Harris reached over and gently guided it back behind her ear. A dog barked in the night and the spell was broken.
‘I should get to bed,’ Bel said, shivering.
Harris seemed to shake himself. ‘Yeah, me too.’ He stood up and rolled his shoulders, let out a slow breath. ‘I’ll leave the back door open, in case you need something.’
She got to her feet. ‘Thank you for everything. That was such a perfect evening.’
‘It was … Goodnight, then, Bel,’ Harris said, suddenly awkward.
‘Goodnight.’
As she settled into bed, listening to the shirr of the cornstalks in the wind, she could still feel the touch of his finger to her cheek. I will be honest with Dad in the morning, she thought, as she slipped into another deep, comfortable sleep.