Poppy was woken early by Leo pummelling her stomach with his giant paws. Waking up next to a strange furry beast on the floor of a new place had been weird. What was also weird was finding that she was wearing a strange man’s T-shirt.
Leo scooted downstairs, so Poppy followed and let him out. He trotted off up the hill towards the row of cottages where Jake said Fen lived.
Poppy sniffed the air, which was mild and moist with a tang of seaweed. Hazy clouds hovered above the horizon, but it promised to be a lovely day if and when the sun came out. A few people were already about and, from the harbour, the sound of someone trying to start an outboard motor cut through the quiet. Already, she felt how different this spot was, to what she’d left behind and she reminded herself: today was the first day of the rest of her life.
She dressed quickly, grabbed some toast and decided the priority was to find out when the rest of her stuff was likely to arrive. Winston had said he’d give Jake a bell about the situation, but Jake definitely hadn’t heard from him the previous evening. Poppy was reluctant to come across as an uptight townie, but she also didn’t want to rely on two strange blokes to sort out her worldly possessions. She checked the inter-island ferry schedule on the local website and found a number for the Herald freight boat office in St Mary’s. No one answered, so she crossed her fingers and hoped that meant the crew were already on their way with her stuff.
She headed down to the quay to see if she could find out more and saw an elderly lady in a bright kaftan and a poncho heading straight for her. Recognising Fen, even from three years previously, Poppy hurried to meet her by the harbourside.
‘Hello! You must be Poppy.’ Fen held out her hand. ‘I’m Fen Teague. Welcome back to St Piran’s.’
‘Thanks. It’s lovely to meet you again. I remember you,’ said Poppy. She shook Fen’s slim hand and smiled at her warmly. After yesterday’s bleak arrival, she was determined to be positive from the outset and show everyone she was ready to face all the challenges of island life. ‘And if you’re wondering where Leo was last night, he managed to get into the studio and spent the night in the flat. I didn’t like to pick him up and turn him out.’ Poppy didn’t confess she’d been too tired to chase Leo around the place and too wary of his claws and teeth to manhandle him.
Fen smiled. ‘Ah, that’s where he’d been. When he strolled in this morning, I assumed he’d decided to stay at Archie’s. He doesn’t really belong to me, nor Archie for that matter. He sleeps and eats wherever the whim takes him.’
‘Unfortunately, I’d nothing much to feed him, though I put down some water in a dish and found a few Dreamies in a packet in the kitchenette and left them out. They’d gone by morning when I let him out first thing.’
‘Thanks for being kind to him. He must like you.’ Fen sighed. ‘I only wish I could persuade him and Jake to get on better. Leo always had the run of the Starfish until Archie’s fall, but I don’t think Jake enjoyed having Leo supervise him when he was clearing it up.’ Her face became anxious. ‘How is the studio? I’ve been so worried about it being closed up while Archie’s away. I have checked it a couple of times, but you know …’ Her voice wavered.
Poppy felt so sorry for her that she decided to gloss over her disappointment. ‘It’ll be fine with a bit of work,’ she said breezily. ‘I’d expected to make a few changes and, anyway, Jake had already started to sort the place out.’
Fen’s shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘That’s a weight off my mind. I’m happy to help you all I can, of course. My days of working full-time in there are over, too knackering now, but I’m happy to step in on high days and holidays.’
‘Thanks. I plan on being there all the time once I’ve er – done a few small things – but I’m sure I’ll need an extra hand now and again, so it’s great to have some experienced back-up. Actually, I’m so glad we’ve met. I was wondering if you kept a list of all the stock in the studio? And a contact list for the artists who have exhibited their work in recent years? I had a root around yesterday but couldn’t find anything.’
‘Oh dear.’ Fen put her hand to her mouth, then she brightened. ‘Hold on. There might be a list in the drawer under Archie’s worktable. Have you checked in there?’
‘Is that the large table at the rear of the studio?’
‘Yes, but the drawer could be locked.’
‘It is, and I couldn’t find a key with the main set.’
Fen’s brow creased. ‘Well, I should have a bunch of keys at the cottage somewhere … At least, I think I do. I’ll try to hunt them out and bring them down later.’
‘Great.’ Poppy crossed her fingers but tried not to let her hopes rise. Fen sounded less than confident. ‘I was on my way to the quayside to see if I can find out more about the freight boat. My stuff was stuck in St Mary’s last night because the Herald is undergoing emergency repairs.’
‘Oh no. Poor you. Jake never said anything. I hope the Herald will sail later, but I wouldn’t raise your hopes too high. The last time there was a problem, they had to send off for parts from the mainland and it was out of action for a week.’
‘Oh sh-sugar.’ Poppy winced. ‘I was hoping to get my things today.’
‘I can loan you some clothes and other things to tide you over and you can always stock up in Hugh Town if you have to. You’ll find most things there, if you don’t mind hopping on one of the passenger launches.’
Poppy nodded. Clearly patience was going to be a virtue on St Piran’s, but it was hard not to think with longing about being able to jump in her car and have half a dozen major stores within a five-minute drive. It was also hard to get to grips with the various ferries between the islands: which ones took freight, which ones would carry luggage and which ones only passengers. For the moment, she didn’t want to waste any time and money getting another boat to Hugh Town and back for new clothes and other bits.
‘Tell you what. Next time I go over to St Mary’s, why don’t you come with me? I’ll show you where to find all you need and introduce you to a few people, not as decrepit as me. We can have a bit of lunch,’ said Fen.
‘That would be lovely. Thanks. I also wanted to ask your advice. Jake says you have a small market garden. I’m going to need to be more self-sufficient, so I’d like to get some tips on how to find a patch I can work. There’s no garden with the studio and I know next to nothing about growing veg, but I’m willing to learn.’
‘Goodness, I wouldn’t call my bit of earth a market garden. I used to have more land and sold spare produce, but I got rid of the extra garden and now I only have the space behind the cottage. Mind you, that’s more than big enough for me. To be honest, I’d be glad of a hand, so I’d be happy to let you work it with me in return for a share of the produce.’
‘Really? That sounds perfect.’
‘Wait until you’ve been out there in all weathers trying to pull potatoes or picking slugs off the lettuces before you sound too excited. Come round after you’ve got the studio straight and we’ll sort something out. I’m on my way to the post office to catch the mail, so I have to go. I’ll hunt down the key later and be over to lend you a hand. No, don’t say you can manage. You’re going to need all the help you can get …’ Fen broke into a smile. ‘There’s Jake. I’ll leave you to it.’
As Jake strode towards Poppy, Fen was off up the short steep hill towards the ‘town’, which Poppy remembered from her last visit contained the post office, general store, bakery, church and a few other businesses that made up the hub of St Piran’s amenities. Poppy thought Fen looked fitter than some people from home who were half her age and the vibrant lime kaftan suited her personality perfectly. Even so, Poppy was praying she wouldn’t have to share her new neighbour’s wardrobe.
Jake arrived and the bright morning light only served to highlight how handsome he was. He was dressed in Timberland boots, cargo pants and a grey T-shirt that showed off his tanned arms. No matter how gorgeous he looked, Poppy had to remind herself to place the mental equivalent of police ‘do not cross’ tape around him.
Last night, she’d lain awake for a while thinking of his revelations about Harriet and how he’d tried and failed to hide the pain he still felt at the memory of her loss. Until he’d mentioned his fiancée, he’d seemed relatively chatty and happy to spend time with her, but Poppy knew only too well what it was like to function ‘normally’ in public then fall apart when you closed your door behind you.
This morning, he had his usual serious, intense expression, but when he’d crossed paths with Fen as he made his way over to Poppy, a huge smile had lit his face and he’d hugged her. He also had positive news for Poppy.
‘Good news. I was on my way to tell you that the Herald should be ready to sail to St Piran’s by this afternoon. Your crate is safe on the dockside in St Mary’s and they’re going to load it along with the other freight deliveries and have your things here before dinner. Winston passed on the message to the skipper and he phoned me. I hope that was OK? Obviously, I gave him your number, so you can liaise now.’
She heaved a huge sigh of relief. ‘Phew. That’s great. Thanks for passing it on and yes, I can take it from here … Er, how can I transport the crate from here to the studio?’
‘The crew will load it onto that trailer, there,’ said Jake, pointing to a tractor with a low trailer behind it. ‘And they’ll deliver it to the door of the studio and help you with any heavy stuff. I’m happy to give you a hand with unloading too, if you like, and help you out with the work on the studio.’
‘Thanks. Again. But I totally can’t keep relying on you – or other people’s help – all the time.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid if you really want to make a success of life here, you’ll have to rely on your neighbours. With only sixty permanent residents on St Piran’s, there’s no other way. You’ll have the chance to repay people soon enough.’
‘But not you. You’ll be gone.’ Damn. She hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed.
‘Yes, I will, but I can stay a while yet … and I owe you, on behalf of my grandad. The studio should never have been let in the condition it is.’ Jake’s phone buzzed and he took it out of his pocket. ‘I need to check a few things on my laptop and then I’ll be back to the studio, so you can put me to work.’
‘You honestly don’t need to do this,’ she said, trying to be polite but firm. Being owed one by Jake wasn’t as much fun as it sounded.
‘If you really want me to bugger off and leave you, then I won’t be offended, but if you can stand having me around, shall we get to work on the studio?’ He hesitated. ‘You’re in complete control, of course. I’m only here to do your bidding.’
His dark eyes twinkled and, once again, Poppy glimpsed some of the dry humour and sense of fun she’d noticed when she’d first met him. She had no idea what kind of woman Harriet was, but she must have been special for Jake to have loved her so passionately. Then she reminded herself that she was probably romanticising their relationship. No couple’s lives were ever perfect and everyone had secrets, as she’d learned, to her bitter cost.
‘OK. I accept. You’re right, I’m going to need a hand if I want to have this place fully up and running by the May bank holiday weekend. Ideally, I should have been here a couple of weeks ago in time for the gig racing championships.’
Jake nodded. ‘Yes, there would have been lots of extra visitors to St Piran’s, but there’s no use worrying about that. The season is ramping up now and you’ll have your work cut out being ready for a launch by the end of May.’
‘I’d like to be ready before then, so I can iron out any teething problems before the rush, but it’s going to be tough without any decent artwork. The thing is I need to start publicising the launch and letting people know I’m open, so it’s a chicken and egg situation.’ Even as she said it, the scale of the challenge was becoming clear.
Jake whistled. ‘So we basically have a few weeks to be ready to open.’
Poppy noted the use of ‘we’ but wasn’t about to complain. With slight panic rising, team spirit was exactly what she needed now. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, giving him a stern look. ‘I’m happy to crack the whip.’
Jake raised an eyebrow, then smiled. ‘I might not regret volunteering in that case. See you later.’
He left, his phone already at his ear. Poppy strode off to the studio, feeling enthusiastic about making a list of all the jobs she wanted to complete, and hoping that her stuff – and Fen’s magic key – would soon materialise.
Oh well, one out of two wasn’t bad.
Fen phoned after lunch to say that ‘she’d turned the house upside down’, including shifting Leo from his bed to look underneath, but still couldn’t find the key.
Even without the contact list, Poppy had plenty to keep her busy. The Starfish Studio’s website was very dated, both in design and content. It became clear that the artists who were listed as exhibiting didn’t actually have any current work on show, as she’d expected. However, with Jake’s help, Poppy managed to google the contact details of some of them.
She had also weeded out a few ‘artists’ whose work wasn’t going to be part of her ‘vision’ for the gallery. Diplomatic enquiries revealed that one of them, the knitted loo dolly creator, had returned to the mainland a year before. He turned out to be a middle-aged man called Tim who was taking a ‘creative’ sabbatical from work and had begged Archie to display his creations. Archie hadn’t had the heart to say no and then ceased to notice the ‘objets d’art’ and had forgotten to get rid of them. Jake suggested sending them to the charity craft market in the church hall.
In addition, Poppy had her own list of names that she’d gathered during her research before coming to Scilly. It contained a couple of Scilly artists and some from mainland Cornwall whose work she loved: a landscape oil painter, an avant-garde ceramicist, a textile artist and a woman who made ocean-inspired jewellery from silver and sea glass.
‘I don’t want to overload the gallery with stuff. I’d rather have fewer well-chosen pieces than too much tat,’ she said, showing the list to Jake.
He nodded. ‘That sounds like a good plan. I recognise some of those names. I’ve phoned Grandpa and he said that you can display any of his pictures already in the studio.’ He hesitated as if he was about to say more. ‘It’s your choice, of course. You’re the curator.’
‘I like them all,’ she said, ‘I think you know how much I admire his work.’
‘He’s an amazing guy. And I hope he comes back home soon.’
‘Do you know when that might be?’
Jake sighed. ‘Honestly, no. He seems to be healing physically, although a little slower than the doctors had hoped. He’s up and about, but he’s showing no signs of wanting to come back here.’
‘Maybe he’s lost confidence that he can take care of himself?’
Jake nodded but seemed none too sure. ‘Maybe. He was still very active, sailing round the islands and wandering all over the place to find inspiring places to paint. Perhaps he thinks that he can’t bear to be here if he can’t enjoy it like he used to. Anyway … I’ve been wondering if the key to that drawer is in his cottage.’ He abandoned his mug on the counter and grabbed his phone. ‘I’ll go and see if I can find it so you can finish your list and start contacting the artists.’
Before Jake returned, much to Poppy’s enormous relief, two crewmen from the Herald walked into the studio to announce the arrival of her crate and began to unload. At the same time, the island handyperson, Kelly, turned up to fix the leg of the bed. Poppy had been expecting a great hairy bloke, so when a tiny woman her own age turned up, in overalls that were three sizes too large, she did a double take. Kelly was a Geordie, with a platinum blonde crop and a risqué line in banter that had Poppy laughing immediately.
After Kelly had reconstructed the bed, she declared it safe by bouncing on it several times.
‘That’ll do you, as long as you’re not planning on doing Olympic trampolining on it or swinging from the rafters,’ she said, with a grin.
Kelly offered to do a few repairs to a drooping curtain rail and a kitchen cupboard that was threatening to pull away from the wall.
Poppy lent a hand where she could while Kelly filled her in on various bits of island gossip, most of which had Poppy almost laughing too hard to be of useful help.
Poppy made everyone coffee and while the crew took theirs outside, Kelly stayed inside.
‘We were expecting you to turn up with your bloke,’ she said.
Poppy decided to dive straight in and be honest about Dan. ‘I’m afraid that plan went out of the window. We split up a month ago.’
Kelly swore. ‘Ouch. Did he get cold feet about coming here?’
‘Not exactly. He ran off with his boss.’
‘Bloody hell. That must have been a shock.’
‘Just a bit.’
‘What a shit. And she must be a cow – it was a she?’
Poppy nodded. ‘Her name’s Eve. Zoey – my friend – calls her Evil Eve and him Dirty Dan.’ She thought of Zoey’s rants about Eve and couldn’t help smiling. Zoey was a tall, stunning blonde who didn’t care what anyone thought of her but was fiercely loyal to her friends and although she was single, at present, she had no shortage of admirers. Poppy had met her at university and they’d stayed mates ever since. She and Kelly would get on well, if they met, and hopefully they might one day.
Kelly burst out laughing. ‘Well. He’s the loser. You’ve got some balls to come out here on your own, if you’ll excuse me, but I know you’ll be fine. I joined my boyfriend, Spike, here after I left the Army a few years ago. He’s the chef at the Moor’s Head. St Piran’s is a quirky place, but I love it. Then again, I’m used to making myself at home anywhere. A run-down shack on Scilly is paradise compared to some of the places I’ve spent the night in.’
‘I bet it is.’
Poppy chatted to Kelly a little while longer, about her days serving as an Army maintenance engineer in some terrifying locations and some of the ‘characters’ on the isles. Kelly invited her for a drink at the local pub over the next week and for a barbecue at the flat she shared with Spike when he could get an evening off.
‘By the way, you do know about Jake and Harriet, don’t you?’ Kelly said in a low voice.
‘I know that she died in a yacht accident,’ said Poppy, treading more warily. ‘Did you know her?’
Kelly nodded. ‘I met her a couple of times when Jake brought her to visit Archie. She seemed nice. She reminded me of Kate Middleton a bit. Really slim, bouncy glossy hair, well groomed, posh voice. Friendly though. Jake was nuts about her, anyone could see …’
‘How awful.’ Poppy tried to sound politely interested, with a mental picture of a smiling Harriet cutting the ribbon on a new children’s hospital. ‘He didn’t say that much about what she was like.’
‘You’re lucky he mentioned her at all. Everyone knows he blames St Piran’s for what happened and he’s only come back to help Archie get this place ready. He’d got some kind of PTSD about it, if you ask me,’ said Kelly, ‘and I’ll bet you fifty quid he’s gone by this time next week. I’m sticking around though, and if you want any help, just call. I do mates’ rates. Trouble is, everyone I know is a mate.’ She laughed.
They heard the crew clattering back upstairs after their break, so Kelly smiled and went back to work. With her stream of banter with the crew, the noise in the tiny flatlet had to be heard to be believed. In addition to the two crew, a young guy and his mother arrived and offered to help Poppy unpack. They introduced themselves as Lisa and Ben Cardew. Lisa must have been in her early forties and owned the Harbour Kiosk, which sold ice creams and refreshments. Ben, in his late teens, helped her out at the kiosk but also ran scuba diving and snorkelling trips to make some extra money.
The crew unloaded packing cases from the rear of the trailer and hauled them upstairs while Ben and Lisa helped Poppy carry the smaller bags and boxes. Even though she’d winnowed down her possessions, she was aghast at how much space the stuff took up in the studio flat.
‘Brought the kitchen sink, have you?’ one of the crew joked.
‘That’s coming later,’ she said, watching a growing pile of boxes that threatened to rival an Amazon warehouse.
Lisa slit open the top of a box with a pair of scissors. ‘If you find you’ve too much, you can always hold a garage sale,’ she said. ‘You’ll find plenty of people willing to take your spare stuff off your hands. It’s like Bargain Hunt round here when someone new arrives.’
‘That would be good if I had a garage,’ joked Poppy. ‘But it’s still a great idea. When I’ve had a sort-out, I’ll think about it.’
Once several more boxes had been unpacked, Lisa checked that Poppy didn’t want any further help, then left her with an invitation to come over to the kiosk and her house for a coffee any time she wanted.
In a few minutes, everyone had gone and the only sounds were the cries of gulls and gentle swoosh of waves slapping the harbour wall outside the window. Poppy took a deep breath and took in the boxes and bags around her, her life packed and parcelled up.
She delved into one of the cases and pulled out a vase and some photo frames that had once stood on the hearth in the sitting room at her little house. The last time she’d seen them had been weeks previously when she’d chosen and wrapped the items with the help of Zoey and her parents. It had been a tough job back then, and she’d been even more emotionally raw than she was now. Unpacking them in the studio at the start of a new life was a far more positive experience. Nonetheless, it was all she could do to hold it together at the sight of these remnants of her ‘old’ life sitting in this new environment.
Fen turned up as she was fishing a teapot out of one of the boxes.
Poppy placed the red spotted pot on the countertop; Zoey had given it to her when she’d moved into the house with Dan.
‘Hard for you?’ Fen asked in a gentle tone.
Poppy turned. ‘A bit.’
‘Jake told me about your bloke running off. It’s none of my business, of course, but you’re better off without him. Trust me.’
Poppy had heard phrases like this – in respect of Dan – from her mates, but when Fen spat them out with such venom, she had to smile. Maybe Fen had had a similar experience herself.
Poppy picked up the pot. How many morning cuppas had she shared with Dan from it? ‘Everything brings back memories, even a teapot …’
‘And now you’ll make new ones in a new place. You don’t need to get rid of the pot now you’ve got rid of that prat of a husband.’ Fen patted her arm.
Poppy was touched by the older woman’s kindness. ‘We weren’t actually married.’
‘Even better,’ said Fen. ‘I wish Jake would move on from his memories.’ She lowered her voice, as they heard footsteps from the gallery below. ‘That sounds like him. He doesn’t seem to want to make a fresh start on St Piran’s. If it wasn’t for Archie’s fall, I don’t think he’d have ever come back.’
‘No?’ said Poppy, glad to have the conversation turned away from her own problems but worried that Jake might hear himself being discussed.
‘Maybe you’ll keep him here a while longer.’ Fen eyed her closely.
‘He said he’s got a lot of stuff to sort out back home in Cornwall. I got the impression he’d be gone within a couple of weeks.’
Fen sighed. ‘He’ll want to be with his family and that’s understandable. He’s hardly been back here since Harriet passed.’
‘I don’t expect him to stay here for my sake,’ said Poppy.
A heavy footstep on the stair stopped any more awkward discussion and Jake started talking before he’d even come into view.
‘Right. That’s another thing done. Not only have your knickers arrived, but I’ve found the key to the other set of drawers so you can give me my clothes back now.’
‘Jake. Fen’s here!’ Poppy called, her face warming at Jake’s joke. Fen might take it out of context. In fact, anyone would take it out of context.
Jake emerged, taking the last steps two at a time. He was slightly out of breath but smiling. ‘Oh.’ He managed to maintain the smile. ‘Hello, Fen.’
‘What’s this about drawers and Jake’s clothes?’ she asked.
Poppy stepped in. ‘Just a joke. Jake loaned me a T-shirt.’
Fen eyed Jake sharply. ‘That was nice of him.’
‘Not really. It was an old one,’ said Jake, exchanging a pained glance with Poppy. Why they were both feeling guilty or awkward about sharing clothes, in front of Fen, Poppy had no idea. The T-shirt was hardly a secret, yet it felt like one.
‘Anyway, all’s well that ends well. As you can see, all my things have arrived. Thanks for sorting it out, Jake.’
‘Well, that’s good news,’ said Fen. ‘I couldn’t really have pictured Poppy in any of my old stuff, I have to be honest.’
‘You look lovely and I’d have been very grateful,’ said Poppy, while relief flooded through her at not having to wear a hand-knitted orange poncho.
Jake was still smiling, however. ‘And back to the other news. I’ve found the key to the table.’
Fen rolled her eyes. ‘No wonder I couldn’t lay hands on it at home. Are you sure it’s the right one?’
He held out the key, which was secured to a keyring with a small silver dolphin. ‘This one? It was on its own in one of the slim dresser drawers. I thought I recognised it.’
She peered at the small brass key. ‘Looks very much like it.’
‘The only way to know for sure is to try it,’ said Poppy, eager to find whatever paperwork might help her continue rebuilding a stable of artists.
They all headed downstairs into the gallery and assembled around the large flat low table that Archie used for working, mixing paints and some framing. Fen stood on the far side, glancing around her from time to time with a wistful expression, as if she was recalling the room in happier times. Poppy stood next to Jake as he inserted the key in the lock and wiggled it. Eventually it turned. The drawer had stuck a little with lack of use, but he prised it open. It was stuffed with paperwork. She looked over his shoulder as he leafed through invoices, receipts and manila folders. She spotted one with ‘Artist contacts’ on the front.
‘That looks promising,’ she said.
‘Hmm.’ He handed it to her.
Fen, standing on the other side of the table, gave a nod. ‘That’ll be it. I remember helping to compile it, though I haven’t seen it for a few years.’ She spotted some dried-up paint tubes on the table and picked them up, tutting.
Poppy opened the file and saw the handwritten list of names and numbers, with the odd email address added alongside.
Jake riffled through the other papers in the drawer. ‘I’m not sure what else might be useful,’ he said, pulling sheets and letters from underneath the invoices. ‘Oh …’
Fen glanced up. ‘What?’
Jake shoved something back under the other papers. ‘Nothing. I thought it was another list of suppliers, but it’s only an old invoice.’ He shut the drawer and locked it again, before quietly passing the key to Poppy.
He ushered them out of the work area and back towards the main gallery. Behind Fen’s back, he caught Poppy’s eye, an agonised look on his face. Poppy mouthed ‘what?’ but Fen turned around and Jake shot her a smile.
‘Shall I help you look through this list with Fen?’ he asked.
‘Thanks.’
After grabbing a coffee, they worked through the list of artists while the little brass key burned a hole in her pocket. Whatever was in the drawer, Jake didn’t want Fen to see it.