After having a drink with Rose and doing the school run, Finn picked up little Ivy and Ethan and went back to work at the yard. It was past seven p.m. by the time he left, walking along the estuary path to Curlew Studio. Still, he found himself unable to get Falford’s newest resident out of his mind. The ‘mermaid’ who had turned out to be very far from a disappointment in real life.
Finn had been fascinated by her and eager to know more about her. If he hadn’t had to pick up the children, he could easily have stayed at the pub for hours talking to her – looking at her. Hmm. Maybe it was a good thing he’d needed to leave, or he might never have gone back to work at all.
And why oh why hadn’t he sounded more enthusiastic about the yacht club party? His hesitation was only because Rose’s request had taken him by surprise. He’d actually decided not to bother with it, not being in the most sociable of moods these days.
However, if Rose was going, he might change his mind.
The thought of getting to know her better brought a glow of pleasure and put him in good spirits while he found a bottle of beer from the studio fridge and took his ‘dinner’ out of a paper bag. The yard’s apprentice boat painter, Gurdeep, had brought mountains of home-made snacks into the yard for her birthday. There had been so much food that everyone had taken a large bag of samosas, bhajis and pakoras home. Finn carried the snacks outside with a beer. The breeze was cool and the deck in shadow, but sailing and working outside had made him hardy.
He’d bought Curlew Studio from Nash Santo six years previously. It was one long room, converted from the eaves of a rather elaborate boathouse that had once belonged to a grand house higher up the bank of the estuary.
With its position, in walking distance of Morvah Marine, yet out of sight of it – and with its own sheltered mooring too – it was perfect. However, whenever Finn thought of his good fortune in getting the studio, it was always tinged with regret that it had come about as a result of Nash’s terrible luck.
Finn had known Nash since he’d first come to Falford and had his wooden dinghy repaired by Morvah Marine. He was an excellent sailor and soon joined both Finn and Joey crewing for them in races and regattas, or simply for pleasure; however, Finn had grown closer to him than Joey. Finn was always interested in other artists and craftspeople. Added to which, Nash had brought a fresh dimension to Falford life, with his experience of sailing and working in exotic locations.
It had been a huge shock to discover just how ill Nash was, and a deep source of sadness when Finn had found out he was dying.
Nash’s offer to sell him the studio had come as a complete surprise, although it was typical of the man’s pragmatism and kindness. Nash knew Finn was desperate to move out of the annexe of the family home at Morvah Marine. Nash had had a partner before he’d moved to the studio, some young guy who was in the fire service, but it had all ended acrimoniously. Finn never knew exactly why. Nash had been single since, he’d told Finn, and while he had many friends, he’d no close living relatives apart from a cousin. Once she knew Nash was ill, she’d been trying to badger him into selling the studio to her.
‘She’ll strip every ounce of character from the place, paint it fifty shades of grey and flog it at a ludicrous price as a holiday home,’ Nash had told Finn when they’d shared a beer on the tiny deck overlooking the river. ‘I want someone who works here to have it, someone who lives and breathes Falford.’ He’d smiled. ‘Mind you, you’ll curse me when I’m gone. You’ll always be bumping your head on the beams.’
Finn stood on the deck now, looking over the water. He’d never cursed Nash, no matter how many times he’d bumped his head on the beams supporting the roof. He was, he thought, incredibly lucky to own – along with the bank, of course – Curlew Studio.
The walls still held a number of Nash’s paintings. One was a large oil painting of a male nude, left by Nash specifically to Finn. Finn left it exactly where it was, on the gable end above the kitchen table. He didn’t have a problem with it – unlike his mother who’d said it was ‘a bit full-on to look at over your fish and chips’.
The remaining originals, along with the copyright to produce prints, had been sold to fund a scholarship at the art college in Falmouth. It comforted Finn that Nash lived on in the fabric of Finn’s home, and in the creativity of many young artists.
Finn’s good fortune had also enabled Joey to move back into the annexe at the boatyard. It had been added for their grandfather and had its own entrance leading into an open-plan kitchen diner and separate bedroom. It gave Joey some independence, yet was still far too much under the eye of his mother for Joey’s liking. In this, Finn couldn’t blame him.
‘Thank you, mate,’ Finn said aloud, raising his beer to Nash.
After watching Cornish Magick and the comings and goings at the pub for a while, Finn finished his beer. With no sign of Rose, and no time to take out Siren, he made himself busy with the accounts for the business, sitting with the laptop and another beer until it grew dark and lights twinkled along the estuary and coastline.
The gaff rig cutter was worth a six-figure sum to the yard but they were behind schedule. The client, a retired IT entrepreneur, had moved back to Cornwall the previous year and was planning on taking her around the Bay of Biscay and into the Med in the autumn. He’d made it clear to Finn and Dorinda that he wanted no expense spared on her construction or fit-out. Quality was everything, which was why he’d chosen Morvah Marine. He was paying them by the hour, which was a thing to be prized in itself. More than a few boatbuilders had been left seriously out of pocket by agreeing to a price and then finding the work dragged on far beyond the budget.
So Finn was well aware of the responsibility, and spent a while sketching out a new schedule of work to ensure they got back on track.
After working late, he was back at the boatshed by seven on Saturday morning, looking forward to losing himself in the physical and creative part of his job, rather than the admin. Joey sauntered in at eight, which was early for him on a weekend, and immediately went to fetch the morning coffees and bacon butties from Bo’s Café.
Finn joined Joey.
‘Are you going to the yacht club tonight?’ Joey asked.
‘Maybe.’
Joey gave him a ‘WTF’ look.
‘OK. Yeah. Probably.’
‘Good. You need to get out more. Who knows, you might spot a mermaid …’
‘How do you know I haven’t already?’ Finn said, unable to resist.
‘Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?’ Joey’s desperation to hear more was almost funny. ‘Have you spoken to her?’
‘Might have. I picked up her mobile. She’d dropped it outside Cornish Magick.’ Finn decided not to tell Joey that he’d also had a drink with Rose, although gossip could already have reached him, of course.
‘You picked up her mobile? Wow.’ He laughed. ‘Actually, I’d heard she’d moved in up there. Well, well, you’re a dark horse, as usual. So, is she coming to the yacht club tonight?’
‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure.’ Well, it wasn’t a lie.
‘You mean you didn’t ask her?’
‘It was the first time I’ve ever met her so no, Joey, I did not ask her on a date.’
‘More fool you. You’ll have to hope she turns up anyway.’
‘I’ll leave that to you. I’ve more important things on my mind.’
Ignoring Joey’s scornful snort but unable to keep a grin from his face, Finn returned to the boatshed. There was no way he would have asked a strange woman on a date after five minutes’ acquaintance, even if he had been fascinated by her. Yet despite what he’d implied to Joey, he was very much hoping Rose made an appearance at the yacht club later so he could get to know her a whole lot better.