Chapter Eighteen
Deep and Crisp and Uneven
With no sign of Matt the next morning, Gemma forced herself to tackle the ironing, singing along to the radio and watching the birds flitting around outside the window, before turning her attention to preparing breakfast for him and popping it in the oven to keep warm.
Matt came through the door from the hallway around eleven, running a hand round the back of his neck. ‘Slept badly for some reason.’
Gemma put bread in the toaster and switched off the oven.
‘Breakfast’s ready if you are.’
‘It smells… okay?’
‘High praise indeed. Go and sit. Do you want coffee?’
‘Please.’
She watched him wander into the conservatory, then switched on the coffee machine before retrieving a warm plate of scrambled eggs – which pretty much resembled their name this time, other than perhaps not looking as fluffy as they had when first made – topped with a couple of rashers of bacon (slightly burned, as Matt preferred, which suited Gemma’s cooking style perfectly).
‘Progress,’ she muttered as she ferried the plate to the table.
‘Join me?’ Matt squinted up at her as the low winter sun pierced the room.
It was a relief to see his more approachable demeanour from the previous evening had lingered.
‘No, I’m fine. I ate a few hours ago.’
Matt put a protective arm over his plate. ‘I wasn’t offering to share.’
Unsure why he wanted company, Gemma fetched two coffees and the toast and slid into the seat opposite.
‘Anything wrong?’
Matt popped a forkful into his mouth and shook his head.
Sipping her coffee as he munched, Gemma mentally urged her skipping heart to sit down and grow up. After all, what was remotely attractive about a man chewing?
Well, he’s got those lovely hazel eyes with thick lashes, and look at that mouth in motion. Imagine what that would feel like—
‘Stop it.’
Matt froze, the piece of bacon on the end of his fork quivering as he held it aloft.
‘Not you,’ Gemma said sternly, snatching up her mug and taking far too big a slug when it was still so hot. Eyes wide to prevent them watering, she bore with the rasp as the hot liquid shot down her throat, then turned a spluttering cough into a throat-clearing, trying not to notice the cute smile on Matt’s face.
‘So,’ she croaked. ‘What’s the plan for today?’
‘I’m going back in the studio.’
‘I haven’t heard much music coming from there.’
‘You aren’t supposed to. It’s got a certain amount of soundproofing.’
‘I can hear bits, but they don’t last long.’
Matt put down his knife and fork, the plate only half cleared. His expression had become wary. ‘What can you hear?’
Gemma shrugged. ‘Not much.’
‘I’m manipulating sounds.’ Matt glanced at his phone. ‘I need to get started.’
She watched him fetch the precious leather bag, then cleared the table, pausing by the window to admire the view. It would be gorgeous here in the summer, when the trees were full of leaf and the wildflowers were in bloom.
Matt passed her on his way down to the studio but didn’t speak, and, once Gemma had tidied the kitchen, she went back to her room to fetch her journal. Her concentration was shot, however. She was no further forward in finding out what the sinister note meant or why Matt had been so desperate to get home the day after the storm.
With Matt preoccupied downstairs, Gemma turned her attention to lunch. It would have to be a sandwich – not that Matt seemed to care – with a few oven fries on the side. As she was about to close the door to a wall cupboard, her eye alighted on the packets of cake mixes she’d picked up in the supermarket.
Should she have a go?
An hour later, the kitchen a culinary mess, she surveyed the somewhat misshapen brownies cooling on a wire rack – as she’d seen Anna do. They smelled okay to Gemma’s optimistic nose, and, if she had had to trim a couple to remove some slightly over-cooked edges, who would know?
There was still no sound from the studio and she wondered whether she ought to take Matt coffee and cake, check he was alright; but, as she walked over to switch on the machine, Anna poked her head round the doorway into the kitchen. ‘Hello! Hope it’s not too much of an intrusion. Your family wanted to surprise you.’
Standing aside, Jean walked in carrying a large, flat box, followed by Great-Aunt Dee, who clutched the habitual bag of knitting to her chest. They were all well wrapped up against the wintry weather, and Gemma hurried to untangle her great-aunt from her scarf, shawl and gloves.
‘Alright, my lover?’ The old lady beamed her warm smile. ‘Been missing you, we has, eh, Jeannie?’
‘Your mum sent this.’ Jean placed the box on the kitchen counter and Gemma tugged it over.
‘Another one? I thought she’d sent all the decorations I asked for.’ She opened it, full of anticipation. ‘Oh!’ A hand went to her heart, and the quick sting of tears pricked her eyes.
‘Is it an advent calendar?’ Anna peered into the box.
‘Yes.’ Gemma sniffed. ‘Bless her. My mum made it when I was born, and she’s filled it every year since I can remember.’
She placed her hand on the familiar treasure, made of thick scarlet cotton, which had been sewn to fit over a padded hanger, the front adorned with twenty-four identical pockets, each adorned with an embroidered number made from a festive fabric. It had faded with age and the eager fingers that had opened each pocket over the years. Its musty smell was reminiscent of family Christmases past, and Gemma struggled to swallow past a sudden restriction in her throat.
‘Thank you for bringing it over, Auntie Jay.’ The shop-bought chocolate calendar in her bedroom paled into insignificance as Gemma lifted the treasured item from its box. Judging by the weight, there were plenty of little treats to discover over the coming weeks, and excitement rose in Gemma’s breast as she carried it reverently into the conservatory and hung it from a whitewashed beam.
‘Right.’ She returned to the kitchen, rubbing her hands. ‘Who wants coffee?’
‘And you’ve been baking!’ Anna was examining her rudimentary offering and Gemma sidled up to her.
‘Not quite.’ She pointed to the discarded packet.
Leaning over, Anna inhaled. ‘They smell yummy. Come on, get a plate out and I’ll sort the drinks.’
Before long, the four of them were seated at the table in the conservatory, the plate of brownies in the centre, each nursing a mug from which the steam rose.
‘It’s like a mini version of your kitchen gatherings,’ Gemma mused as her great-aunt selected a brownie and sniffed it.
‘They’ve been a bit quiet of late,’ Anna admitted, selecting a cake. ‘Nicki’s been so busy at work, doing extra hours. She says it helps fund all the things the boys want for Christmas. Phoenix is either in Meva at the studio or at the school painting scenery for the nativity play.’
Gemma watched Anna take a bite of the brownie. ‘Will you survive?’
‘Not bad at all.’
‘Here’s to Betty Crocker, whoever she is.’ Gemma raised her mug, and they all did the same.
‘It’s dropped proper cold,’ said Great-Aunt Dee, sipping at her tea.
‘I wish it would snow.’ Gemma gazed wistfully out at the sunny morning. Wisps of mist still hung daintily above the tops of the naked branches on the hillside, but the remnants of the earlier frost no longer dusted the fields on the other side of the river.
‘It happens now and again.’ Jean smiled at her niece. ‘Doesn’t stick much. You’d need to be up on Bodmin Moor for that.’
Before the weather could be further dissected, Matt appeared outside the door. Gemma could tell from his expression that he wished he hadn’t when he spotted her aunts.
The door opened slowly.
‘Ready for a coffee?’ Gemma lifted her mug.
‘Okay.’
He hugged Anna, who’d risen from her seat to inspect how his cut cheek was healing, and raised a vague hand at Jean and Great-Aunt Dee, both of whom eyed him with interest from the opposite side of the table.
‘Now then, young’un.’ The elderly lady’s eyes had become beady as she looked Matt up and down in an assessing manner. ‘What you’m doing to help the cove? Anna here says you’m too tekken, but who’s too busy for family, is what I says.’
Matt’s brow furrowed, and Gemma hid her smile.
‘The fayre, Matty.’ Anna’s amusement was evident. ‘I told you, there’s a music programme, if you fancy being part of it.’
Judging by her brother’s expression, it was about as likely to happen as enough snow falling in Polkerran to host Ski Sunday .
‘There’s a small marquee set up for anyone who wants to perform. You put your name down with—’ Jean broke off, looking to Anna. ‘Who’s looking after it since Leigh Devonshire hightailed it up country?’
‘Good riddance, I says. Awful woman.’ Great-Aunt Dee picked up a brownie and starting munching.
Gemma frowned. ‘What did she do?’
Anna smiled ruefully. ‘Leigh used to manage—’
‘All the bleddy things she could get her hands on,’ the older lady mumbled through her brownie, patting her mouth with her hankie. ‘We’m all of a mither over the summer festival now she’s gone.’
‘The marriage broke up and she left, taking the son,’ Anna added. ‘Dev’s alone in Harbourwatch now. It’s all very sad.’
Something reminiscent of a snort came from the elderly lady as she wiped her fingers on the hankie.
‘Now, now, Mum,’ Jean cautioned. She turned to Gemma.
‘Anyway, I expect you register down at the bistro, as they manage the performance stand.’ She smiled kindly at Matt. ‘It would be brilliant for the village if you could do something.’
‘What about your Christmas hit, Matty.’ Anna smiled encouragingly. ‘Surely there’s a backing track somewhere, like for karaoke?’
A myriad of emotions scuttled across Matt’s face like leaves blown by a soulless wind.
‘Matt’s genuinely got a lot on, haven’t you?’ Gemma held his gaze as he hovered on the threshold, about to dart away like a startled fawn.
‘I…’ He ran a hand through his hair.
‘We could ask the locals to help.’
Matt’s startled gaze flew to Jean’s. ‘How?’
She held up both hands, looking from Gemma to Anna. ‘Gavin at the Lugger has a drum kit, doesn’t he? And what about Donna? She plays the organ and the piano in the church. Reckon she’d manage a keyboard okay.’
Anna’s expression was serious as she turned to her brother. ‘I think Oliver used to go to breakdance classes if you want a backing dancer.’
Everyone burst out laughing and even Matt’s mouth wavered.
‘You’ll be telling me Old Patrick can pole-dance next.’ Matt huffed out a breath and headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ve got to go to London, so I may not be back for it.’
As the ladies fell into a conversation about the upcoming wedding, Gemma gathered the mugs and joined him at the coffee machine.
‘Why do you have to go to London? Why can’t you simply phone people, or have a video call?’
Matt added water to the coffee machine, set it in motion, then turned round to lean against the counter.
Gemma tried to school her face into nonchalance, but for some odd reason her stomach had resumed its little dance as she looked at him. A faint smile touched his lips, and she returned it.
‘I’m being nosey, aren’t I?’
‘Yes. There are some things I need to do.’ He turned back to pick up a spoon and stir the coffee as it poured into his mug. ‘And no, I can’t deal with it locally.’
Gemma sighed as he picked up his mug, wandered back into the conservatory and – brownie in hand – headed back down to the studio.
They were still discussing the wedding, so Gemma placed a tray of fresh drinks on the table and resumed her seat, feigning interest. Her mind, however, remained with the man in the studio below.
The next morning was – finally – the first of December, and Gemma flew down the stairs like a seagull diving for chips, keen to open the first pocket on her calendar.
She withdrew a felt snowman – this year, sporting a kilt and tartan cap – and held it to her heart. Always on the first, always the same thing. She now had a varied collection of thirty-eight.
Gemma had offered the chocolate calendar to Matt, who’d pulled a face but, nonetheless, taken it up with him the night before. Now she regretted her impulsive gesture. A small piece of chocolate to celebrate the arrival of December would have been rather nice…
‘Odds are, he won’t bother opening the windows anyway,’ she muttered to the dishwasher as she unloaded it. ‘I’ll give him a few days,’ she told the cutlery as she popped it in the drawer, ‘and if there’s no sign of interest, I’ll eat the chocolate myself.’
The next few days went much as usual, with Matt spending most of his time in the studio, returning for meals, and Gemma busy practising her experimental cooking, one night managing to serve up a curry that had a strange grey tinge and a curious aroma. Matt declared it hideous to look at but, having sampled a morsel, ate almost half of his plateful, saying it was vaguely edible. The mousse, however, had been better received. All Gemma cared about was that he was finally eating a bit more regularly. He didn’t need to know the dessert was shop bought and she’d simply removed it from the packaging, spooned it into two dishes and sprinkled both with chocolate shavings.
Anna had popped back with some festive goodies – mince pies, shortbread shaped like stars and half a dozen gingerbread men – and pressed Gemma on her plans for Christmas Day.
‘It depends on Matt, I suppose.’ She didn’t relish the idea of the two of them alone at Rivermills for the big day, even if it did resemble Santa’s grotto.
‘I’m trying to persuade Matty to come to us. If I can, you must come too.’
Gemma’s expression must have mirrored her thoughts as the memory of the night in the bunk room returned with a vengeance.
‘It’s okay,’ Anna blurted out, laughing. ‘I don’t have guests in. You’d have a room and bathroom to yourself.’
‘Tempting.’ Gemma pulled a face. ‘If I come to Polkerran, though, both my aunts might be upset if I don’t spend the day with them.’
‘That’s no problem.’ Anna emptied her basket of the last of the baked goodies, placing them beside a covered dish containing a fish pie and another filled with a chicken casserole. ‘They’ve already accepted the invite to Christmas dinner. They’d assumed you’d be here, cooking for Matt.’
The thought of having to prepare a full-on Christmas lunch with all the trimmings swept through Gemma, and she turned an appalled face to Anna. ‘Please beg him to come to you! I love Christmas Day, but this one has the potential to destroy every good memory.’
‘It’s a deal, then.’ Anna picked up her basket. ‘I wish I could offer you a room for the night of the fayre, but I don’t even have the bunks free.’
‘Thank heavens,’ Gemma exclaimed, then felt chagrined. ‘Sorry. It was kind of you to help. My room at Auntie Jay’s is free, and I think Matt was going to use the hotel.’
Gemma watched Anna steer the boat back across the creek towards the river, then busied herself putting the treats away, leaving the casserole on top of the stove. She’d get it heated up, do some potatoes the way Anna had shown her – along with the garlic bread – and throw together some sort of dessert.
Putting on the radio, she set to work, popping to and fro to switch on all the lights, only half listening to the festive tunes. She was back in the kitchen when the five-minute news update came on, however, and her ears pricked up at the mention of BorderLine Beat.
‘Excuse me?’ she exclaimed to the radio, turning up the volume and listening intently to the brief snippet at the end of the news. Then she switched the radio off and sank onto the sofa, an unpeeled potato in her hand, as she reran the report through her head.
What the hell did it mean, and how would Matt take the news… or did he already know?