Chapter Twenty
In the Bleak Mid-Winter
Grumpy Man Left Home
Matt refused to talk any more about the situation with Harry, or the fact he was no longer part of the tour, even when Gemma tried to establish whether it meant his stay in Cornwall would be curtailed and, as a result, so would her job.
Although she’d enjoyed seeing her bank balance improve every week – Matt may not be the easiest at times, but he was generous – Gemma knew full well her anxiety had nothing to do with the prospect of her stay at Rivermills ending, and everything to do with one unpredictable musician.
As Matt already had plans to head to London for forty-eight hours, it was no surprise when he asked Gemma to drop him in Polkerran the next day so he could get to the station. Having checked the attic room at her aunt’s was free, she packed a bag – adding the much-neglected travel journal and her laptop – and checked the kitchen for any supplies she might need on her return.
There was no Anna on the jetty, and Gemma frowned.
‘How are you getting to the station?’
‘Taxi.’ Matt gestured towards the car currently pulling up at the kerb. ‘I didn’t tell Anna where I was going, so please don’t let on.’
‘But why, and—’
‘I don’t want her to worry about me. I’ll see you at the weekend.’
‘But I’ve told my…’
Matt was already getting into the taxi and Gemma all but stamped her foot.
Bloody hell! So now she had to keep it secret?
All the same, she watched the car as it drove along the front and then disappeared up the hill out of Polkerran, wishing she didn’t feel so despondent now Matt had gone away. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up full-on crushing on him, and that would be a disaster.
Pulling herself together, Gemma texted her aunt to say she was on her way, only to receive a reply to say they were all at Anna’s.
Hefting her bag onto her shoulder, she was thankful her leg was so much better. She whizzed her aunt a message back, asking her to not say anything about Matt going away, then smiled at the response.
Matt who?
Auntie Jay was becoming more on point by the minute.
‘Morning,’ Gemma called as she walked into the kitchen, smiling at the warm responses from those gathered around the table. ‘Well, this is a hotbed of industry today.’ She rested a hand on the back of Phoenix’s chair, watching as she cleaned the glass on one of her framed watercolours.
‘These are beautiful, Phee.’ Gemma picked up one of the river and bridge, an idea coming to mind, but before she could speak her great-aunt Dee piped up.
‘Not long to the fayre, my lovely. We’m in need of all hands on deck.’
‘Lucky Dec,’ said Nicki, before returning her attention to neatly writing out more price cards.
Gemma shed her coat. ‘I’ll join you in a sec, find me a job.’
She walked over to the kitchen, where an unusually flustered Anna was flitting from stove to island and back, pink-cheeked, her hair escaping from its ponytail.
‘Hi. You look like you need help more than they do. What are you doing?’
‘I’ve roasted a chicken and now I need to make stock for soup for tonight’s dinner.’
Gemma surveyed the array of baking pans. ‘Has Oliver’s appetite increased?’
With a short laugh, Anna opened the AGA door, waving the oven mitts at the steam escaping, and removed the tray containing the chicken.
‘No. I promised to make a few things for the WI bake sale, only I’m also due in Truro later to collect my dress and then I need to speak to the caterer.’ She sent the oblivious locals a fond look, happily sipping tea and coffee, tucking into home-made biscuits and occasionally actually doing something constructive.
Gemma made fresh pots of tea and coffee as Anna put the pans to soak. She looked around the room as she took a seat beside Jean, her mood lifting. It was hard to feel down when there was so much Christmas spirit all around. There was a tall tree on the far side of the sitting room, beautifully dressed, the lights shimmering on the baubles. A garland adorned the mantelpiece and pretty glass ornaments hung from strings of pearls along the beams.
Heathcliff was curled up fast asleep in Dougal’s basket again, and Gemma assumed the dog was in his usual place, by Oliver’s feet in the den.
‘Hey, I thought you were going to help.’ Nicki nudged Gemma’s arm.
‘Sorry. What shall I do?’
Under instruction, Gemma helped Old Patrick to wrap his beautifully polished – if not perfectly shaped – wooden animals in tissue and into boxes, before attaching safety pins to the little price tags for Mrs Clegg’s crochet offerings, as the old lady was currently at home resting.
An hour later, everyone started to gather their things and get ready for leaving, and Anna spotted Gemma’s overnight bag.
‘Day off?’
Feeling a little bad for prevaricating, Gemma nodded. ‘Staying up the hill overnight.’
‘I’ll give Matt a call later, see what he’s up to.’
Thankfully, Anna turned away to hug Great-Aunt Dee and hand her a carton of cookies, and Gemma picked up the bag. A phone call would be fine. She only hoped Anna wouldn’t take it into her head to go up the river, and find the house empty.
Gemma had a lovely day off, overall. Phoenix and Nicki were free until the former had to head to Mevagissey to meet Verity Blue from school, and they walked to the small tidal beach near Harbourwatch and had yet another coffee, talking about Christmas and what their children had asked for this year.
Recalling her thought earlier, when admiring Phoenix’s painting of the bridge and river, Gemma spoke to her about it. There wasn’t a lot of time for a watercolour, but Phoenix offered to do a pen and ink sketch and, confident she’d ticked a Christmas gift off her shopping list, she found her anticipation of the big day increasing.
Later, they lunched at a small café tucked away in a back street – one Gemma remembered from her childhood and run by a friendly lady called Morwenna – and she had tried to discreetly ask them for any ideas to contact a famous person.
‘Fan club secretary? Their agent?’ Nicki took a sip of her Coke. ‘Who are you interested in? I’d have thought you’d got your best source in Matt.’
Gemma prevaricated, saying Matt wasn’t forthcoming about anything much.
‘I connected with a few minor celebs the other year,’ Phoenix added, before promptly taking a large bite of her pasty, and Gemma tried to curb her impatience as she chewed. ‘You know, liking posts on Insta and such like, and then sometimes they reply to your comments.’
It gave Gemma something to mull on, and after browsing some of the shops, Phoenix left for Mevagissey. They walked to meet Nicki’s boys from the local school, leaning against the wall and chatting as they waited for classes to end.
‘Anna’s hopes for a small, quiet wedding seem to be fading.’
‘Oh no!’ Gemma frowned. ‘Why?’
Nicki’s expression was wry. ‘You’re such a newbie to the cove. The marriage itself is in Port Wenneth registry office, because of Oliver’s previous, but it’s followed by a church blessing here – for Anna that’s the real ceremony, and you can’t stop anyone from coming in. You know Anna, she thinks it’s sweet the locals want to be there, but Oliver says she’d hoped it would be them and their handful of guests, then heading off for a quiet meal somewhere.’
‘Why can’t they?’
‘Here they come.’ Nicki indicated the first children emerging into the playground. ‘It’s the older generation. They don’t get a lot of excitement and Anna can’t bear to say they’re not invited. They go to a lot of funerals, you see, and afterwards anyone and everyone is free to go to the wake or whatever is on offer. That’s what they’ve become used to.’ She waved as she spotted Jason and Liam coming round the side of the building.
‘But that’s not fair on Anna.’
Nicki took her boys’ bags from them. ‘Anna’s okay about it, but I’m not sure Oliver is. They’d planned to make use of the private dining room at the hotel at the top of the hill – there’s a sea view from there – but they’ve moved things to the village hall instead, so they can accommodate everyone.’
Saying goodbye to Nicki by the bridge, Gemma turned her steps up the hill to Potter’s Meadow, where Jean was preparing a chicken and mushroom casserole. She watched over Gemma as she peeled, chopped and cooked the vegetables, which came out close to edible this time. They passed a happy hour watching the latest episode of Race Across the World , but all the time, no matter what she was doing, Gemma’s mind was a jumble of sympathy for both Anna and Matt, the former who deserved the wedding she dreamed of, the latter whom she desperately wanted to help.
Once in her PJs, she clambered between the sheets, missing the big bed in her room at Rivermills. Accepting there was little she could do where Anna was concerned, she pulled a pillow onto her lap and propped up the laptop.
‘Come on Google, time to deliver again.’
An hour later, she flopped against the pillows and rubbed her eyes. It seemed there weren’t many ways to get in touch with celebrities – if Harry could still be deemed that – other than through the fairly traditional routes Nicki had mentioned, none of which would produce quick results.
Was Phoenix’s method worth trying?
Gemma picked up her phone and started with Instagram. And there he was. He also had accounts on X and TikTok. Gemma viewed the latter with caution. Wasn’t he outside the demographic for there? There was an old Facebook group dedicated to BorderLine Beat, too, which didn’t seem to have had a new post in a couple of years, despite the tour.
Returning to Instagram, Gemma chewed on her lip thoughtfully. What might be the best approach? She could hardly comment on any of his posts and say, ‘Hey, you – wanna talk?’
More searching led her to several accounts set up by fans of the group, and she followed them, scrolling through the posts and liking some of them, before returning to Harry. She followed his account – he had over ninety thousand followers – and liked a few of the recent posts: one on the tour announcement from two months ago, a couple where he’d posted ‘the view from here’, which seemed to be a bit of a theme, and the most recent one, which was a photo of him holding a microphone and clearly practising somewhere.
Most of the comments from followers seemed to be about the upcoming tour, how much of a crush they’d had on him, how they longed for a new single, a meet-up and anything in between.
Harry rarely commented, but it was encouraging to see that he did occasionally, which meant it was worth a try.
Gemma studied the screen for a minute, deep in thought, then she began to type.