Chapter Seven
’Tis the Season to be Jolly…
Although Perhaps Not Yet
Anna had brought more meals for the freezer, along with a tin filled with home-baked treats, and before she left she reminded them both that the Christmas lights switch-on would be on the coming Thursday and not to miss it.
Gemma watched from the conservatory as Anna steered the boat out of the opening into the river and turned it towards Polkerran, then walked back into the kitchen to put away the goodies. Matt had disappeared, taking the package and its contents with him, and she tried not to speculate on what it was.
It certainly hadn’t improved his mood.
‘Nor will my plans for the house,’ Gemma said aloud, looking around the room and eyeing the perfect spot for a tree. She’d need a trip to Truro for decorations. Amazon Prime probably didn’t have delivery boats.
‘Day off Friday,’ she told the freezer as she stocked it with various containers, labelled in Anna’s neat hand. ‘He can do his own meals or starve.’
Then, she recalled the uneaten meal from the previous night. Why on earth did he want someone to cook for him?
Gemma made her way up the stairs with fresh towels, intent on cleaning Matt’s bathroom, then, once her morning duties were fulfilled, she shot back to the cottage and spent a couple of hours on her travelogue. It brought back lovely memories, studying the photos, but the frustration at having her first ever adventure curtailed prevented her from finding the words she wanted to use to express how much fun it had been.
Was there any chance her passport might arrive earlier than projected? Gemma grabbed her phone and walked to the kitchen window, which overlooked the path leading down to the small bridge over the stream flowing into the creek. There were some walkers out there, well wrapped up against the weather, making their way up the steep wooded bank towards Polkerran.
‘Hey, Mum. Did any post come for me?’
‘No, love. How are you? Your texts are so brief.’ Her mum’s voice was warm despite the gentle rebuke.
Gemma rolled her eyes. ‘They’re meant to be. I’ll email you if you want details.’
‘Is your head better? I’m worried about you, being that far away.’
‘My head is fine. The skin is still tender when I do my hair, but no weird moments like when I first got home.’
Gemma’s mum made a soothing sound. ‘Your dad called the passport office again, but they still can’t confirm when it’ll be dispatched.’
Unsurprised at this, Gemma and her mum talked trivial matters for a few minutes before she ended the call. A glance at her watch, and she pulled on her fleece. Time to prepare lunch for Matt. Surely even she couldn’t get a cold slice of Anna’s quiche and a salad wrong?
There was still no sign of Matt when Gemma walked into the main room. He must be in the studio. Perhaps she shouldn’t disturb him? The meal was cold, after all…
She sent him a WhatsApp to say lunch was on the table, before heading to the boot room.
She moved the sheets she’d washed earlier into the dryer, stopping by the card and paper recycling bin to drop in the paper bag from the bookshop, but she paused before adding it to the contents. Wasn’t that the package Matt had received?
Gemma extracted the padded envelope from the bin. It felt empty and the outside gave few clues other than it was addressed – in capital letters – to Matt, at a Hampshire address, had been forwarded by the post office to Westerleigh Cottage, and bore a London postmark.
A door slammed at the far end of the house and Gemma started, dropping the envelope, but as she did so a piece of paper floated to the floor. She scooped it up, and, as footsteps approached along the hallway, she returned the envelope to the bin and tucked the piece of paper into her coat pocket. She then hurriedly turned her attention to the laundry.
‘Can you take me into Polkerran later?’
Gemma looked up as Matt peered round the doorframe, and set the tumble dryer in motion before straightening to face him.
‘Sure. How long do you need to be there? Will you walk back, or do you need me to wait for you?’
‘I’m going up to London. Taking the train from Par. Should be back on Wednesday.’
‘Oh.’ Gemma wasn’t sure how she felt about being alone in such an isolated place. Should she pack a bag and stay with her aunt? She brushed past him, confused as to what to do. Was this the concussion again? She was normally very focused…
Matt followed her along the hallway to the kitchen. ‘Is it a problem? I didn’t list transport in your duties, but—’
‘No. It’s fine.’ Gemma summoned a smile. ‘You don’t mind if I go to my aunt’s? My day off would’ve been Friday, but I can swap it if you’re not here.’
‘No probs.’ He sauntered into the conservatory, raising the paper towel to reveal the quiche and salad. He took a slug of water, picked up a slice of tomato, then headed for the door again.
‘Got stuff to do. Okay if we leave about three?’
Gemma picked up the plate of food and headed back into the kitchen. Then, after a small hesitation, she took a bite of the quiche, which melted in her mouth. Polishing it off, she scurried back down the hall.
Time to pack a bag and warn Auntie Jay she’d be coming over for a night or two.
Matt stood on the pontoon, a leather holdall at his feet and the laptop bag slung across his body, and Gemma locked up and headed down the steps onto the lawn.
Thankful the day remained dry, though there was a fierce nip in the air, she brushed past him and stepped into the boat. When he didn’t move, she squinted up at him. The light was behind him, so his face was almost in shadow.
‘Are you coming?’
Matt shrugged, then stepped carefully onto the boat, and Gemma tossed a life-vest at him. He eyed it with distaste.
‘Either you wear it or you walk.’
She turned the key, reversing out onto the still water of the creek, before making for the gap in the grassy banks. It felt as though dusk was already falling, so grey were the skies, and she shivered as they skimmed over the undulating waves where the creek met the river.
‘What’s that?’
Gemma followed Matt’s nod towards the cutting. ‘An old tree stump, I think.’
The massive root ball formed an eerie shape, hunched over in the dim light, as though guarding the entrance to the creek… or was it keeping watch on the exit?
With a shudder, Gemma steered the boat downriver towards Polkerran and the sea. Matt sat huddled on the seat, his laptop bag clutched against his life-vest, his gaze on the river behind them. He visibly shivered, and Gemma eyed the inadequate leather jacket.
‘You need a warmer coat for when you’re on the water.’ She spoke firmly. ‘And some jeans without air vents. You do know it’s winter?’
A shrug was the only response, and Gemma felt her heartstrings pull. Matt was pale, his eyes listless. What with not eating, drinking too much wine and whatever stress this reunion was causing, she didn’t hold out much hope this trip would bring him comfort.
Gemma dropped Matt off at the jetty in Polkerran, where Anna was waiting to drive him to the station. She secured the boat and then, her rucksack over her shoulder, walked into the centre of the village.
The Christmas tree stood proudly on the harbour front, decked in a string of lights that would no doubt be part of the festive switch-on this Thursday.
Surveying the decorations suspended from the lamp posts and the lights strung across the narrow streets, the smaller tree outside the Three Fishes – a cosy-looking inn overlooking the harbour – and the festive wreaths on all the shop doors along the front, she smiled.
Gemma loved Christmas. Her parents always made it such fun, and she and her sister had never lost their delight in the season. Rebecca had a family now, of course – two girls of her own – and she’d continued all the family traditions, and, although Gemma remained single for now, she had a wide circle of friends for whom she always threw an annual party, turning her flat into a grotto of delights.
Reluctant to head up to her aunt’s so early in the day – much as she loved Jean, Gemma felt restless and in need of distraction – she walked along the front and into Karma, where she ordered a hot chocolate and selected a large cookie from those on display. Settled in a window seat, she pulled out her notebook and began to reread her entries for Maastricht, a smile touching her mouth. How excited she’d been, filled with joy at what felt like a rebellion against her mundane life!
‘Anyone sitting here?’
Gemma looked up, the smile widening.
‘Hi, Nicki.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Not doing the school run?’
Nicki slid into the seat opposite, placing a mug of coffee on the table.
‘Nice bauble,’ Gemma quipped, eyeing Nicki’s drink.
Nicki laughed and studied the cocoa dusting of her cappuccino. ‘The templates get more ambitious every year.’ She unravelled the scarf from her neck. ‘Hamish got back early with the boat, so he’s taken Liam and Jason to the cinema in Port Wenneth.’
Gemma closed her notebook and picked up a spoon, digging into the cream furled on top of her chocolate and savouring a mouthful. ‘Hmm, they make such delish drinks here.’
‘So, how’s it going with the musician?’
Gemma’s lips twitched. ‘I see more of his underwear than the man himself.’
With a snort, Nicki picked up her coffee. ‘Sounds like my life with three boys in the house!’
Not wanting to mention her concerns over Matt’s lifestyle, Gemma steered the subject away. ‘What’s the plan for Thursday? I’m hoping to come over. Matt’s gone to London until Wednesday, so I’m staying up at Auntie Jay’s for now.’
Nicki outlined the order of play for the big lights switch-on, when Santa would arrive by boat, and went on to explain where the Christmas fayre would be set up for early December.
‘I’ve heard the local accommodation is rammed for the lights switch-on, so the businesses are expecting a nice little boost.’
‘They deserve it. Auntie Jay said they even open the ice cream shop to serve hot waffles and crêpes. Can’t wait for both events!’
Afterwards, Nicki walked with Gemma as far as the bridge, where she crossed over to the quieter side of the village and Gemma turned her steps uphill, feeling a slight pull still on her bruised leg, but pleased it was less painful than when she’d arrived.
A warm welcome awaited her, and she slung the rucksack onto the small bed up in the eaves and shrugged out of her coat, then remembered she’d left a half-eaten packet of sweets in one of the pockets.
Gemma had also forgotten the slip of paper that had fallen out of the envelope until her fingers closed round it, and she withdrew it, consumed with curiosity. It seemed to be the second page to something, but the closing line sent a chill through her.
YOU THOUGHT THE PAST LAY BURIED. TOUGH SHIT, MATE. LIKE I SAID ON THE PHONE, YOU’LL BE PART OF THE TOUR OVER MY DEAD BODY. H
Gemma hastily shoved it back in the pocket and sank onto the bed, the sweets forgotten.
What on earth was it all about, and was this what had drawn Matt away so suddenly?