Chapter 9
The sea front, St Aidan, Cornwall
Sprats, mackerel and peeling paint
Tuesday
It could be worse. It turns out Tia’s careful choice of dresses from the trunk show sale rail has saved me from major financial ruin, so there’s another dress heading for the cleaners, but at least I get to keep my job.
There’s a slight delay back at the shop when Tia has to go to the office to take a call, but an hour later we’re out again, and my wrap-around dress with its cascades of ragged layered edges couldn’t be more different from the slinkier slips I’ve worn previously.
We sit outside Jaggers Bar and film ourselves downing a couple of colourful cocktails, share a couple of private WTAF?
moments over Lando’s take on children, then stop at the first hut on this part of the beach where the Sardine Club sign from our childhood is still hanging over the entrance.
We pose on the rickety wooden steps, and I twirl to let the wind catch the fullness of my skirt. ‘Who’d have thought I’d love a dress with this many frills!’
Tia catches hold of the hem and examines the exquisite tatters of tulle and lace. ‘That’s why brides adore Sera’s styles; they’re all beautiful, but they’re so light and easy to wear.’
I catch her eye. ‘No need to ask which designer you’ll be going for when the time comes.’ My smile widens. ‘You won’t be able to choose anything you’ve worn already!’
Tia tosses back her veil. ‘Obviously not.’ Then she grabs my phone and looks through the photos we’ve taken. ‘I’ll film you walking. Your boho dress looks better with the backdrop of peeling paint, and I’m not really in the mood today.’
I stop. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Of course.’ Another snippy reply. ‘You can take photos of me when we get to your place.’
The huts on this section of the beach are arranged in a haphazard line, in a hotchpotch of colours and sizes that make them characterful as well as picturesque.
Ours is the furthest away from town and is so far away from the others it’s almost like an outpost. A lot of them have names; ours is called Windflowers.
The seagulls are wheeling across the sky and the afternoon sun is warm on my shoulders.
Tia might not be having her best day, but my spirits are rising now Lando’s gone.
Jumping up and down the beach hut steps, and posing in front of the chalky pastel colours of timber plank walls, I can already sense the photos will be fab.
We work our way along the beach, and eventually the only hut left is mine, sitting on its own thirty yards beyond the others. Like my gran, my earliest memories are of being here on the sand, and it’s always been one of my special places.
Our crowded house was often busier than the prom at the height of summer, with foster babies and friends, and as soon as I was old enough, I used to sneak away to come here to be on my own.
Sitting on our beach hut verandah, my back to the town and the ocean view stretching out as far as the horizon, I’d feel as castaway as Robinson Crusoe.
And then when the arc of lights around the bay would begin to twinkle and remind me my desert island was attached to mainland Cornwall, I’d run back to re-join the mayhem at home.
As time has gone on, I’ve got over my night with Lando enough to be here without it feeling too significant or jarring.
It isn’t that I don’t think about it; it’s just that the more time went on, the more fruitless it seemed to dwell on it.
If it weren’t for Nemmie being living, breathing proof that it happened, I might actually believe I’d dreamed it.
I sprint the last few yards to the hut, hang off the newel post and call to Tia. ‘Come on, Mrs, the water’s so blue, let’s start with a simple shot of the two of us together against the sea.’
Tia joins me for the selfie at the top of the steps, then gives me the phone, and I focus on her.
‘Your plain linen dress looks amazing against the white plank walls. Let me take some of you framed against the sea.’ I rummage for the key in the bag and throw open the double front doors, then the shutters.
‘And some on the inside too, looking out.’
With her windswept, silky brown hair and her slender frame accentuated by the simple dress, she looks so beautiful it’s hard to stop. Eventually she catches me zooming in.
She wrinkles her nose. ‘Not too many close-ups.’
I shrug and carry on. ‘It’s good to practise relaxing in front of the camera.’ I’m talking to distract her while I get the shots. ‘You don’t want the first close-ups you ever pose for to be on your wedding day.’
I’m concentrating hard on her hair falling over the sweeping neckline of her dress at the back, so it’s only when she turns round to me and her face is shiny with tears that I realise.
I grab the bag we left on the floor earlier, pull out some tissues, then take in the torrent and pull out some more. ‘What’s wrong?’
She talks through her sobs. ‘It’s a long story, but there isn’t going to be a wedding because we don’t have the money anymore, and the house deposit’s gone too.’
‘But I don’t understand!’
Thom and Tia aren’t haphazard with cash, like I am. They work long hours and they’re the world’s most determined savers. Then I think about where Thom’s been working the last few months, and I feel a pang in the pit of my stomach.
‘Is this to do with Salvador?’
Tia wipes her hand across her cheek. ‘It’s been brewing for a while, but I didn’t want to worry you, in the same way Thom didn’t want to worry me.
Over the weekend Poppy offered us a rock bottom deal for a farmhouse wedding at Daisy Bank Farm, and Thom finally cracked and told me how much cash is outstanding and unpaid from Salvador.
And this morning the accountant has come back and told Thom he’s unlikely to see any of it. ’
‘Tia, I’m so sorry.’
Tia rubs her nose. ‘Thom’s been working on Salvador’s sites for months without being fully paid, because Salvador always assured him the cash would come, and eventually he was so far in, he couldn’t stop.
Everyone was hoping things would work out down the line, but now it looks as if they definitely won’t because they’re winding everything up. ’
I blow out a breath. ‘That bad?’
Tia sniffs. ‘A lot of the contractors will go down with Salvador; a chain reaction. But if we use our savings, we should at least be able to pay our suppliers and hang on to Thom’s business.’
I shake my head and think of how easily I handed over my own cash when Salvador asked for a loan to tide him over a few months ago.
Tia squeezes my hand. ‘None of this is your fault.’ She dabs her nose. ‘In the bigger picture, at least we’re all still healthy. It’s only our wedding money and our house deposit.’ She sighs. ‘We’ll simply have to put our life plan back by ten years and save up again.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘I’m devastated that this is all my brother’s fault.’
Tia blows out a sigh. ‘People didn’t complain when he took the risks and handed out the work to everyone. It’s the interest rate hikes and price rises that have finished him. If it hadn’t been for them, we’d all still be laughing.’
‘Considering how many people in this area worked for Salvador, this could have a big knock-on effect.’
Tia hugs her arms around her body. ‘Yes, there are likely big changes on the way for a lot of people.’
In years gone by I’d have put my head down and let it roll over me, but this is Tia and Thom. This might be Salvador’s shipwreck, but when it’s touching my friends too, I can’t stand back; I have to do whatever I can.
I grasp Tia’s hand. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do to make things better, but I will try to help.’
She squeezes my fingers. ‘I know you will.’
I’m not sure either of us believe I can.