Chapter Three
Five years later: Present day
‘It’s Zennor … No, not Senna. Zennor. As in the place, the village in Cornwall …
You haven’t heard of it? Oh, well, it is quite famous.
It’s the one with the mermaid … Yeah, it’s unusual …
Yeah, no one can spell it … My surname? It’s Smith …
Yes, the ordinary, normal, boring spelling. Right, thanks. Bye.’
Zennor switched off her mobile and tossed it on her desk.
‘Another numpty?’ Roo peeled the paper off an ice lolly.
‘Yeah. He’s from our insurance company. He lives in Cornwall. He should know where Zennor is.’
Roo grimaced. ‘I hate this part of the job: all the admin and idiots.’
Zennor rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it. There seem to be more and more boxes to fill in and I’m not sure we can tick them all in terms of the insurance.’
‘I hate the form-filling too. I’d rather be out watching new talent and dealing with artistes any day of the week but we can’t run an entertainment agency without complying with all the rules and regulations.’ Roo said the last words in the voice of a ‘jobsworth’ character, making Zennor laugh.
It was late May and the season was in full swing, with performers required for weddings, parties and events all over the county and beyond.
If you needed a fire-eater for your festival, a string quartet for your anniversary do, or a mermaid to pop up at your kid’s birthday party, Zennor and Roo could wave their magic wands.
Over the summer, Kernow Entz was providing clients for a constant stream of events, culminating in the Sea Fever festival that rounded off the St Eia Arts Festival. However, that was still months away and they had bigger things to worry about first.
Zennor reached for her water flask, eyeing the motionless fan with disdain. ‘Have we found out what’s wrong with that thing?’
Roo glanced up. ‘No. I’ve ordered a new one from and it should come tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Roo. Dunno what I’d do without you.’
The desk phone rang and Roo picked it up. ‘Ah, Titania. Glad you called …’
While Roo continued a conversation with the leader of a troupe of professional mermaids, Zennor wandered over to the window. Tradespeople’s vans honked as they tried to carve a path through the hordes of tourists meandering along the St Ives Wharf and harbour front.
‘It would help if the windows would open so we could get the breeze flowing through …’ Zennor muttered, fiddling with the iron catch, which was rammed in the slot. She was tempted to pick at the splinters of wood around it.
‘Don’t!’ Roo barked, materialising at Zennor’s side.
Zennor sometimes fancied that her friend, with her pink pixie cut and emerald eyes, was some kind of elfin creature.
She’d certainly waved her wand to support Zennor on many occasions, including helping her start Kernow Entertainments when Zennor had been desperate for a fresh start after her divorce from Trev.
‘That window is so dodgy that if we open it, I don’t think it would ever shut again,’ Roo warned.
Zennor grumbled, ‘The whole frame’s rotten. I thought Mikey had arranged for the painters to come and ease it, whatever that means. He knows that everything needs more maintenance by the sea.’
The tide was full in, with fishing boats and pleasure craft bobbing on the jade-green waters of the harbour. It was so tempting to run outside and dive in.
‘I’ll email him again, but he’s like the Scarlet Pimpernel lately,’ Roo said, referring to their elusive landlord, before going out to the rear yard behind the office, presumably to try and get a better signal.
‘Thanks,’ Zennor called after her. She went back to her desk, promising herself a swim later in a quiet cove outside of town where she hoped to find peace.
While social media had made Cornwall’s wild beauty even more famous, there were still a few places where Zennor could have an evening dip with only the seals for company.
First, she had to find a contortionist for the Magic Lantern Festival, a smaller family festival with a retro magical theme, in Tehidy Woods a few miles up the coast. By day, it attracted thousands of families, and in the evening the trees were strung with hundreds of lanterns while fire-eaters, stilt walkers, jugglers and, hopefully, contortionists mingled with the crowds.
Kernow Entz had sourced many of their artistes, including a folk band, fairy troupe and storyteller.
The contortionist was proving tricky. They weren’t that common in Cornwall and Zennor had never booked one before.
The agency had none on their books yet and a Google search turned up no one suitable closer than London.
And yet … an image of a young man and woman in silver Lycra kept appearing in the corner of her mind.
She was sure she’d seen a flyer or a leaflet for a duo somewhere.
She remembered picking it up at a festival and filing it somewhere in the office.
Snatches of a heated conversation filtered in through the open rear door, which at least was affording some fresh air. Roo was trying to calm down a magician whose latest booking had been cancelled.
Zennor flicked through the filing cabinet. Nothing in C for Contortionists. That would have been too easy. She tried A for Acrobats and then M for Miscellaneous.
Hurrah. The flyer was in there along with all kinds of random stuff. Snake charmer, fire-eater, knife thrower, dancing corgi … As she leafed through the flyers, a photograph slipped out and slid under her desk.
The photo transported her back over five years.
It was she and Trev on their wedding day, smiling and chinking glasses in the pavilion at the St Piran’s, the sea sparkling in the background.
They’d been so happy then, not knowing what was lying in wait for them at the reception just a few hours later – and in the years that followed.
If she’d known what was to come, would she have married Trev? Probably not. Definitely not. Then again, if Matt Veryan hadn’t turned up like a wrecking ball, would she and Trev have stood more of a chance of happiness? Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered.
She put the photo on her desk, face down. That was another time, another life – one she’d fought hard to move on from.
‘Zen? Are you OK?’ Roo was peering down at her. ‘Zen?’
Zennor glanced up and sighed. ‘Sorry. Was I in a world of my own again?’
‘I only asked because you’ve been staring at that photo. I’m guessing it doesn’t have happy memories.’
‘No. It doesn’t. It was me and Trev on – at our wedding. You know the rest. Even though it was a long time ago, sometimes I get – echoes? Does that sound mad?’
Roo wrinkled her nose. ‘Not at all and it isn’t so long ago. But you’ve come so far since then. We both have.’ She held her arms wide and said, ‘Ta da! Who would have thought we’d own our own business and have our own office?’
‘True. Even if it is crumbling around our ears.’
‘Moving here was a big deal for both of us and we deserve to celebrate our achievements.’
Zennor had to smile. Roo was right. It had been a huge deal to give up her teaching career to launch Kernow Entz.
Zennor had once harboured dreams of being an actor and singer, and briefly in her late teens, she’d been in a soul band.
However, it was clear it would never have paid the bills so she’d trained as a music teacher and helped friends find gigs and work on the side.
It was only after she’d found the inner strength to split from Trev three years before that she’d found the courage to leave teaching and go into business with Roo. At that point, Roo already had two kids and Zennor had moved into her own flat.
‘Shall I call Mikey and ask him to come round and fix the windows, that dodgy handle on the loo and the back door? It’s sticking again and I don’t think that would be great if we had a fire.’
‘Don’t forget those eighties ceiling tiles in the kitchenette,’ Zennor said. ‘I don’t think they’re even legal.’
‘I’ll mention fire regs to him. If that doesn’t get him round with a bunch of hunky tradesmen, nothing will.’
‘Hunky? Since when did St Ives have any hunky tradesmen? Most of them seem to have their trousers halfway down their bums. Anyway, a lot of them seem to be busy at the Surf Club.’
‘True. It’s in a worse state than this place,’ Zennor said. ‘It upsets me to see it, even if I don’t go there so often these days.’ The St Eia Surf Lifesaving Club had been around since the early 1970s when Matt’s grandad, Harry, had helped found it to improve water safety in the area.
Since then, generations of youngsters – and adults – had learned how to save lives and help others in difficulty. Its volunteers also covered a number of local beaches where there were no professional lifeguard services.
‘Well, I heard a rumour from one of the other parents it’s going to be refurbished. Have you seen the email from Dawn about the Surf Club barbecue on Friday? Rumour has it that’s when the committee are going to unveil the plans.’
Roo’s kids were in the Nippers, a programme where the younger children could learn how to be safe in the water and move up to youth lifeguard training and competitions if they wanted to.
‘No, I haven’t. Maybe it’s in my spam. I haven’t been back there for ages.
Maybe they’ve taken me off the mailing list because I let my membership fees lapse.
’ Actually, Zennor couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the Surf Club, which was sad when she’d hung out there so often in her youth, training as a lifeguard and taking part in the swimming races.
She balked momentarily. That was over ten years ago now and it felt like another life.
After her wedding, she’d kept away from the club because Matt was still a member and she dreaded bumping into him, but even once he’d moved away, there was so much going on in her life – and marriage – that she’d hardly had time to drop in. Besides, Trev hadn’t been into the place at all.
Maybe it was time to put all that right.
‘Why don’t you come along and rejoin? It’ll be a good night out and we both need a bit of fun.’
She smiled at Roo. ‘Thanks. Maybe I will.’
Friday morning came around fast. At six thirty, she was showered and dressed, and had already shooed away Eric the seagull, who often woke her by pecking at the sitting-room window.
She was sipping a coffee on her tiny balcony and enjoying the view from her second-floor flat that looked out on the town’s famous beaches.
She’d bought the one-bed flat since her split with Trev – after all, there was no way she could have afforded to buy him out of their detached house that was worthy of being featured on Grand Designs.
In the early morning light, the few people on the beaches below looked like ants crawling over the clotted cream of the harbour sands, Porthmeor surf beach and chic Porthminster beach.
Humming to herself on her way to work, Zennor found the contortionists’ reply to a message she’d sent earlier in the week. By the time Roo arrived, out of breath and grumbling about the nursery-school run, Zennor had already sent the acrobats a contract.
During lunch, Zennor was able to watch a couple of her old mates from the Surf Club catch a few waves on Porthmeor. She then headed back to the office with a bag of treats from the Digey bakery.
‘Hellooooo!’ she called, entering via the rear door. ‘I have naughty things in my bag that are gonna make your tongue tingle with ecstasy. Bet you can’t get a whole one in your mouth at—’
Roo was at her desk, as expected, but she was partly obscured by a tall figure with dark blond hair in black jeans and a white T-shirt that was straining across his broad shoulders.
‘Zen!’ Roo called in a panicked voice that set Zennor’s alarm bells jangling. ‘We have a visitor …’
The visitor turned around and locked eyes with Zennor. It was all she could do to hold on to the bag of pastries.
Matt Veryan was the last person she’d ever expected to see in her office.