Chapter Eighteen
“Line of Duty”
With Nicki’s parents returning home, the village school back in session and the scarecrow festival prizes awarded – including Will’s generous voucher for a family of four to spend an all-expenses-covered weekend at a popular waterpark on the north coast – Polkerran Point moved on to the next thing: Hallowe’en.
The eating and drinking venues were going to town with their seasonal menus and decor, the shops all dressing their windows with cobwebs, hanging bats, skeleton bunting and more.
Carved pumpkins, some looking as though they’d seen better days and probably leftovers from the earlier trail, began to appear on doorsteps, and crisp bronze leaves began to gather at their bases as though they’d known exactly where the breeze should send them.
Ellie encountered neither sight nor sound of Will for days, but her relief seemed shadowed by the desperate urge to lay eyes on him again.
It had occurred to her, after their clash, that she ought to try and find the email and shove it under his nose to remind him, but it turned out to be a Herculean task.
Although she’d had the Outlook account since she’d been a teenager, a search for any combination of Will’s name brought nothing up.
Confused, Ellie put it aside to get on with some work, but the niggling doubt had begun: had she dreamt sending that email?
She’d certainly gone through it in her mind often enough…
The second mini-session was full, but a third – as anticipated – wasn’t really getting much traction, and knowing the local market had probably been depleted for the foreseeable, Ellie mulled over casting her net wider across the region or pushing her business in other ways.
Still deep in speculation on which direction to go, she stayed in the village on the Tuesday after the schools re-opened, heading to Karma for coffee and some inspiration, bumping into Gemma as she emerged from the lane leading up to the church.
They chatted about Matt and how the composition was progressing, Gemma full of the news that an artist at Secret Gem Records had taken to some lyrics she’d written and was presently in the studio making demos.
‘It’ll be so much fun if she wants to use it.
’ Gemma’s eyes shone with delight as they drew to a halt on the corner.
‘Hey, there’s Ryther.’ She waved energetically as a beautiful, well cared for, dark green Jag purred past, her gaze following its sedate progress as it turned up the hill out of Polkerran.
‘That’s the Lady Margarethe.’ She turned back to face Ellie.
‘I love Ryther. He really helped me when I first came to the cove to stay.’
Recalling Kate’s sadness over Ryther’s fate, Ellie hoped being in Polkerran brought the solace the elderly man sought.
‘Have you been in yet?’ Gemma gestured at the stone building behind them, and Ellie’s skin prickled, her heart skipping a beat as she eyed the tiny aquarium.
I knew someone who worked there, once upon a time…
Ellie shrugged. ‘What, so I can pay a fiver to kill all of five minutes?’
Gemma grinned. ‘It’s very cute, well maintained and ever so popular with the village kids – and the adults, who find the names hilarious.’
She pointed to the blackboard sign propped by the entrance to the aquarium. Ellie skimmed it and started to chuckle.
‘Bernard the Gurnard?’
‘A particular favourite.’
‘Oh! I love Veronique the Sole. Didn’t someone mention Charlie the Crab once?’
Gemma fell into step beside Ellie as they moved further along the street.
‘Ah, now he’s a human. He’s known for walking sideways.’ She mimed taking a slug from a bottle, and Ellie giggled.
‘I love it here.’
The words fell into a deep silence, and Gemma smirked.
‘Do you, now?’
‘Yes. I suppose. Maybe.’
Gemma said no more, but as they parted ways, Ellie reflected on how sometimes, words have a way of saying it like it is.
Deep in thought, she turned her steps along the front, but as she passed the ice cream shop, she stalled. Jean stood inside, mopping her face with a disintegrating piece of paper cloth.
Ellie pushed open the door. ‘Jean? Can I help? Here.’ She fished in her bag for a packet of tissues and handed one over.
‘Sorry,’ Jean hiccupped. ‘Just not in a good place right now.’
Ellie shut the door to the shop and turned the sign round to ‘Closed’.
‘Want to talk, or shall I just keep my nose out? It’s not your mum?’
Patting her cheeks, Jean sniffed, then shook her head. ‘No. Mum’s fine. I’ll be good. Think something needed to come out.’ Her phone pinged and she snatched it up, eyes racing to and fro. Then, she placed it back on the counter with an unsteady hand and the tears started again.
‘Okay, take the packet.’ Ellie thrust the tissues at Jean, who took them and sank onto a stool behind the serving counter.
Ellie fidgeted from foot to foot, twisting the tendrils of her scarf in her hand. She felt so helpless, but Jean had calmed now, and summoned a weak smile.
‘Lord, what a mess I am! So sorry.’
Shaking her head, Ellie leaned over the counter. ‘Do you need an ear? I’m a pretty good listener, if it would help?’
Five minutes later, the shop locked for the night, Jean and Ellie headed into the Three Fishes. It was quiet at this time of night, mainly because it didn’t serve food, and they selected a booth tucked away in the back of the bar, each clutching a glass of wine.
Ellie looked around with interest as Jean popped to the ladies’ to do something to her face.
It was typical of a seventeenth-century fishermen’s pub, with uneven beams, blackened with age, supporting a low, bowed ceiling.
The supporting uprights were festooned with random rusty implements, the ceiling above the bar plastered with an array of beer mats.
A large circular mirror, framed with what looked like an old porthole, adorned one wall.
The others bore prints, fading with age, of ancient ships rolling on unrealistic seas, of wizened men working on nets, and opposite the mirror, a large case containing every type of knot or hitch known to man – and several that possibly weren’t.
‘Phew. That’s better.’ Jean sank into the booth – made of similar dark wood and with a red velvet curtain separating it from the adjacent one.
‘Don’t feel you have to talk if you’d rather not.’
‘I don’t say a lot about what’s going on in my life, to be honest. To anyone. It’s just…’ Jean released an unhappy sigh, her gaze drifting to the latticed windows looking out over the harbour. ‘I feel trapped. Here. In the cove.’
Not wanting to put her foot in it, Ellie said gently, ‘Because of your mum?’
Jean nodded. ‘I hate myself for saying it, for even thinking it, but since Dad died, she’s needed me, and the older she’s getting, I can see it’ll never get any easier. At first, it didn’t matter, but then…’ Voice wobbling, Jean grabbed her wine and took a slug.
‘You met someone?’ Ellie essayed.
This time, a soft smile touched Jean’s mouth, and her eyes misted over as she stared into space. ‘We met at university. Dated for a time. Then went our separate ways. As you do.’
Her eyes met Ellie’s, and she shrugged. ‘We reconnected a few years back. Fell in love again. Properly this time. Adult love, not the silly crush type. Greg—’ She broke off, wetness gathering on her lashes again.
‘We… he bought me the ice cream van.’ She emitted a watery laugh.
‘A silly promise, and yet there it was.’
‘And now?’ Ellie prompted.
‘He asked me to marry him.’
‘Oh my God! Jean, that’s wonderful.’ Ellie’s heart, so battered of late by her own troubles, swelled with delight, but Jean’s face told the story. ‘You didn’t refuse?’
‘I had no choice.’ Jean’s voice wavered. ‘His life – work – the kids from his first marriage – they’re all up near Newcastle. I can’t leave Mum, and there’s no way I can take her away from the cove. It’s been her life. It would break her.’
Lord, what a mess.
‘And how’s Greg with all of this?’
‘Devastated. Although I don’t know how he ever thought it might work.’ She sent Ellie a mournful look. ‘I’m in my early fifties and only just had my first proposal, fallen truly in love.’
Ellie reached across the slightly sticky table to pat Jean comfortingly on the arm. She didn’t really know what to say, other than ‘want to join the lonely-hearts club I’m thinking of setting up?’ It felt a bit flippant in the circumstances.
‘Can’t Greg work from home down here most of the time, and then go north for…’
Jean shook her head. ‘He’s a surgeon.’
Oh.
‘How old are the children?’
‘His daughter’s graduating next summer, but it’s his son that’s the issue.
Bless the boy, he’s fifteen but was born with learning difficulties.
Severe ones. He needs constant care, and Greg wants to do his share, despite the split household.
He won’t move away.’ She lowered her head. ‘And I can’t leave here.’
‘Gosh, that’s complicated.’
‘Isn’t it just?’
Ellie did her best to cheer her up as they drank their wine, and when they parted an hour later, Jean thanked Ellie profusely for listening, claiming it had helped.
Walking back to Westerleigh, Ellie reflected on Anna’s sun-shiney view of life in the cove, of how people came and never left. For Jean, perhaps that wasn’t such a happy ending.