Chapter 5

‘Look at you two rocking around the clock tonight.’ Kara laughed at her dad Joe and his girlfriend Pearl, who were attempting to jive to the music that was blaring out from Frank’s speakers on the quayside.

‘I love all the old tunes that Big Frank plays.’ Pearl launched her wide and perfect smile. ‘Makes us feel young again.’

‘Plus,’ Joe Moon added, ‘it’s helping us not to freeze to death from the cold easterly that’s blowing in. It’ll be a rum old crossing tomorrow, I reckon.’

‘Are you working all through the winter then, Dad? I thought you were going to see if Daz could take some more crossings from you.’

Pearl dug her partner in the ribs. ‘Go on, Joe, tell Kara what we’re thinking of doing.’

‘That sounds interesting.’ Kara pulled her scarf tightly around her neck and stamped her feet on the concrete in an attempt to warm up.

‘Yes, well, I do want to take some time out,’ her dad told her. ‘Look, why don’t you and Billy come round for Sunday dinner and we can tell you more about it.’

‘This’ll warm you up.’ Billy appeared from the cafe carrying two polystyrene cups. ‘Hot blackcurrant, so the big man informs me.’ Seeing that Joe and Pearl had joined them, he gave one to Pearl and one to Kara, who took a sip and grimaced.

‘Wow. How much gin is in here?’

‘Get it down you, girl. You deserve a drink after all that furniture moving.’

‘Dad and Pearl have invited us to Sunday roast at Bee Cottage. Is that all right with you?’

Billy put his hand to his stomach. ‘Only if Pearl promises to make one of her world-famous morello cherry pies.’

The big lady pretended to be serious. ‘Mmm. I usually only take menu requests on a Tuesday, but I’ll see what I can do.’ She lifted Joe Moon’s gloved hand and kissed it, ‘Thanks for the drink, Billy. Come on, my Joey. Let’s go inside the cafe and warm through.’

Kara took a tentative sip of her hot cocktail. ‘Do you think the shop flat is good enough for Frank’s nephew? I mean, it needs decorating and—’

‘He’s a bloke,’ Billy interrupted. ‘He’s got a double bed and a big sofa, a fridge for beers and a power shower, all paid for by Big Frank. I mean, what more could he ask for? In fact, I might move in with him myself.’

Kara mock-swiped her beau. ‘Oi! But you’re right. I’ve done it at mate’s rates too. I thought we could use the money for a holiday this year?’

The handsome ferryman kissed his girl. ‘Let’s make that holidays shall we? A couple of weekends away and maybe a week somewhere hot.’

‘I can’t wait.’ Kara squeezed his hand, then checked her phone and reported, ‘Star’s decided to stay and have fish and chips with her auntie. I was just saying it’s time she got out more, and this party would be a perfect opportunity.’

‘Maybe she will come down later. Don’t push her. She can be so fragile at times.’

‘You’re right.’ Kara inwardly swooned at her twenty-six-year-old boyfriend’s emotional maturity. ‘It looks like half of Hartmouth are down here tonight.’

‘Probably for Frank’s punch and the hot dogs as the fireworks are usually touch and go.’

Kara laughed. ‘Yes, Frank doesn’t know the meaning of the words “health and safety”. I’m sure it’s because he gets them from off the back of a lorry.’

‘The fact that the hooch is free all night means nobody will be complaining. Just get ready to duck when the main man sets the rockets off.’

‘Is that my big Irish ears I can feel burning?’ The cafe-owner came up behind them and put a huge hand on both of their shoulders. ‘Word has it that my charming nephew is on his way. He’ll be getting a full-on Cornish welcome, so he will. He loves a good craic.’

‘The flat’s kind of set up now,’ Kara said. ‘I was going to say that I’ve left a key under the mat so he can dump his things, then come down to join us if he wants to. You said he was getting a taxi from Penrigan station, right?’

‘Yes. That’s so thoughtful. Thanks, Kar. I’ll drop him a quick text now.’

Star parked her little Smart car up behind her shop. She had enjoyed spending time with her aunt, as Florrie had been on particularly good form this evening. The thrills and spills of the fireworks display down at the bottom of the hill lit up the sky, reflecting darts of coloured light across the dark sea. A variety of oohs and aahs from the crowd that had amassed down there were carried on the biting wind. Star wasn’t dressed for such a cold night and, despite Kara’s pleas, couldn’t be bothered to go in, get changed and head out again. Especially now that Skye had texted to say she was having a rare night in and had put a couple of logs in the log burner ready for her return.

As she opened her car door, the security light at the back of the flat next door switched on to reveal a figure in a black hooded Puffa jacket appearing out of Kara’s empty upstairs flat and running down the stairs. It was far too tall to be Billy and far too late for a courier. She froze, thinking it must be a burglar. From the safety of her now locked car, she slid down in the seat and bravely shouted out of a crack in the window into the darkness: ‘It’s too late, I’ve seen you. And I’m calling the police.’ Trying Kara, then Billy to no avail, she quickly dialled 999. The lone figure was by now running at speed down Ferry Lane. ‘Yes, looked like he was heading down to the quay. Yes, yes. Six foot, I reckon. Black jacket, blue or black jeans. Stripy scarf. Nike trainers, I think.’

Her heart still racing, Star opened the door to her flat, hurried in and quickly double locked it behind her. ‘Skye, I’m home,’ she called, directing her voice down the corridor towards her daughter’s bedroom, and was surprised at no reply. On walking into the lounge, she saw why. There was her beautiful light-haired girl, earbuds in, phone to her side, sound asleep on the cream rug in front of the log burner. She was also happy to notice that she was wearing the silver swan-shaped earrings with tiny pieces of amber for eyes. Crafted with love and care for her daughter’s seventeenth, using the gift of creativity that had kept her sane during the sometimes lonely periods of bringing up an only child with little support.

Star smiled wistfully to herself. When she had been Skye’s age, she hadn’t had the luxury of burning the candle at both ends. The only time she was up all hours was when she was woken in the night to tend to her toddler’s needs. Looking at Skye now, she still couldn’t quite believe how she had managed to produce such a kind and lovely human being. Or maybe she could. For by sacrificing her own needs, she had created an environment of such love and stability that Skye had grown up to be secure in herself, with inner strength and showing no fear of being exactly who or what she wanted to be.

Star often wondered whether the fact that her daughter had grown up without a father figure would impact on her in later years. Time alone would tell.

Not wanting to disturb the girl, or alert her to a potential burglar in their midst, Star went to change into comfy clothes, then laid herself down on the purple velvet sofa and sighed contentedly, looking around her. The flat was light and airy with a large oblong living room and a corridor to the rear where two similar-size double bedrooms were situated. She had scarcely been able to contain her delight when, on being shown around by the estate agent, she discovered that the recently modernised and spacious bathroom not only contained a roll-top bath but a huge walk-in shower too. The park home in which she had been brought up had its own redeeming qualities, but space wasn’t one of them.

Compared with the rest of the flat, the kitchen off the lounge was small but functional. What made it special to Star was that the plain white tiles were interspersed with blue painted stars and moons in varying degrees of fullness. She had painted every wall white. A couple of abstract colour prints adorned the facing walls of the main room, and the dreamcatcher she had made herself hung in front of the big bay window that overlooked the market. A clock with a painting on its face of a white silk-robed angel ticked quietly, and candles of all shapes and sizes were placed around the room. Two of Skye’s favourites were burning, their familiar musky aromas filling the space and creating a comforting ambience along with the glow from the fire.

Star didn’t own the flat or the shop, but her uncle’s inheritance had given her a buffer to pay her rent and take over the lease. With her business now flourishing, money worries were a thing of the past, and that felt so good. Yes, she had to work ridiculously hard to keep it all afloat, but now that her online business had really started to pick up, with customers from all over the world loving her birthstone jewellery range, she felt that she had turned a corner. She was already working on new designs to expand her collections and was enjoying every moment.

Star remained eternally grateful to Jim and Flo for drumming it into her to split her money three ways whenever she earned any. ‘A third for the tax man, a third for saving and a third for living’ was their mantra. At the time she had found the idea so dull – and as soon as her jewellery started flying off the market stall, she had wanted to spend everything on herself. Later she came to realise that what they had said made so much sense. Living was expensive, especially bringing up a child in a twenty-first-century world full of gadgets. Savings gave her a comfort blanket. The money boost aside, it was her strong work ethic that had got her to where she was today, fuelled and inspired by her aunt and uncle’s regimental running of the newsagent and their passion in doing so. She used to nag them for not going away on holiday, but now that she worked for herself, reality had hit, and she herself had not been away for years. Star had convinced herself it was because she lived by the sea anyway. And on a summer’s day, walking along Penrigan Beach, you could actually be anywhere in the world, it was so stunningly beautiful.

Her next goal was to be able to afford her own place, ideally to get a mortgage on the shop and flat if it ever came up for sale. And also to venture abroad soon, if she could find someone to mind the shop and market stall for her for a week, that was.

Just then, Skye began to stir.

‘Darling, why don’t you get up and into bed,’ her mother said.

‘What’s the time?’ Skye replied sleepily, smacking her dry lips.

‘It’s only nine-thirty but it’s market day tomorrow and you need to be up early.’

‘OK.’ The teenager got up slowly, clumsily kissed her mother’s cheek, and with an ‘I love you, Mum’, headed off to bed.

Star checked her phone. Nothing from Kara or Billy about the suspected intruder. She went to the back door and peered out across to Kara’s flat: still in darkness with not a policeman in sight. She then pulled up the wooden slatted blind and opened one of her front windows. The fireworks had stopped, but on craning her neck to see as far as she could down to the estuary, the sight of a police car moving slowly through the end-of-season party masses made her feel decidedly uneasy.

Monique Dubois was just opening the big grey dustbin to the side of Frank’s when she clocked the familiar face of his nephew. You could tell instantly it was a Brady. Handsome. Broad-shouldered, with dark brown curly hair and brown eyes that told you nothing, unless he liked you. He was now walking slowly and deliberately as he mixed in with the crowd. Through her colourful life working in many countries and with a whole range of characters, she had encountered many faces that looked hunted – just like Conor Brady’s did right now.

Ushering the young man down the outside brick stairs into the back kitchen, the half-French woman closed the door against the wind, kissed Conor cheek-to-cheek three times before saying, ‘Viens – get in here near the heater. What eez it? You’ve only just arrived, non?’

‘The woman who owns the flat left a key out so I let myself in. Her nosy bloody neighbour only thought I was breaking in – said she was calling the Old Bill. I can’t be dealing with them, not at the moment. So much for going incognito.’ Conor looked stressed.

Blue lights could now be seen flashing down the hill as a police car navigated its way through the crowd down Ferry Lane and parked up alongside the cafe. Grabbing a tea towel, Big Frank precariously carried the big cauldron of unlicensed alcoholic punch from the cafe counter into the back kitchen and plonked it on the side next to an unsmiling Monique and his white-faced nephew.

‘Jesus, lad. What’s happened? The police are right outside.’

‘Fais pas d’histoires,’ Monique told her long-term lover in a brisk voice. ‘It’s just a misunderstanding. Some neighbour thought Conor was breaking into Kara’s flat. I will deal with it.’ She untied her apron to reveal a stylish all-in-one black jumpsuit. Formidable and in her late fifties, she was one of those women with such effortless style that she could have pulled off wearing a bin liner. Taking a deep red lipstick from her pocket she reapplied it expertly to her full lips without a mirror. Then, after patting the back of her platinum-blonde shoulder-length hair, she readjusted her bra to reveal a small amount of cleavage. Before she set off through to the cafe counter, in her sexy French accent she informed the nervous-looking Brady uncle and nephew: ‘Gentlemen, leave this to moi!’