Chapter One #2
It’d been a surprise when her quiet, self-effacing son had fallen for the supremely confident, strikingly beautiful Chloe.
The circumstances of her arrival in Penworthal were interesting to say the least, but, after a few setbacks, the young couple had fallen in love and moved in together.
They were renting Gwartha-an-Dre, a beautiful old farmhouse on the outskirts of Penworthal that belonged to Melissa, another of Tamara’s book-club friends.
Melissa had married Nathan Kellow, Chloe’s uncle, a little over a year ago and had moved into his gorgeous Victorian house in the centre of the village.
‘Do you still want a bite of lunch?’ Pixie stood up.
‘No, thanks.’ She’d choke if she tried to force any food down.
‘I’ll go and take over from Jimmy. See you tomorrow.’
Tamara nodded and jumped up. She shoved the stool back under the counter and hurried out of the kitchen, taking a moment to steady herself.
It was inevitable she’d meet someone she knew on the way home and it’d be intolerable to break down when casually asked how she was.
She pushed away the depressing statistics about Cornwall’s ever-diminishing job opportunities and low wages, and focused on the fact she had plenty of time to get her ducks in a row.
Having a bloody good cry would have to wait.
* * *
A frisson of excitement and trepidation took hold of Gage as he drew up and parked outside the building. He was only a couple of days away from signing the deeds on the shop and then the sign in its now-dingy front window would have a bright-red sold sticker plastered across it.
He wound down his window and leaned out for a closer look.
This was Church Street, the only road going through the village, and, sure enough, he could see the tall steeple from here.
It was supposedly one of the highest in Cornwall.
On the opposite side of the road was a pub, and a few doors away from that looked to be a small convenience store.
Gage turned his attention back to what would soon be his own premises.
The local firm he’d hired to help with the renovations was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday.
The old building was structurally sound and had been used as various business premises up until a couple of years ago.
So, it was only a matter of giving everything a good clean, getting the electrics and plumbing checked, installing a new front door to replace the rotten one and then applying a fresh coat of paint inside and out.
If all that went to plan, he could then start ordering stock and finally open his bookshop.
The flat above the shop was in good enough shape for him to move into soon, and he would get around to doing it up sometime later.
His best mate, Taff Morgan, thought he was out of his mind.
They’d joined the Royal Marines together as raw, naive sixteen-year-olds a couple of decades ago, and no one had ever called Hal Morgan, a Welshman from Glamorgan, anything but Taff.
Gage soon acquired his own nickname, the Prof, for always carrying a book around whether he was in a foxhole in Iraq or a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
‘I know you’ve got a decent pension so can afford to eat the losses for a while, but when I looked at a map Penworthal was hardly even on it!
’ Taff said. ‘I get you haven’t settled since you got out, but there are plenty of steady jobs for ex-forces types with your background.
I’ve told you before, the security firm I’m with would snap you up, dodgy leg or no dodgy leg.
There’s plenty of background investigation work available, stuff you can do sitting at a desk. You could do it in your sleep.’
Taff couldn’t wrap his head around Gage’s determination to cut himself off from his old life.
During a twenty-year career, Gage had seen action all over the world, but physically — and mentally — he’d paid a high price.
At one point he’d tried marriage, but that had soon crumbled into dust. Now all he wanted was peace and to be surrounded by his beloved books.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true, because there was another thing he craved and it was the reason he’d paid over the odds to secure this particular shop.
The tiny Cornish village of Penworthal, just three miles from the coast, had grabbed hold of his heart when he’d visited as a young boy.
Gage hoped it would work the same magic now and provide the chance to re-establish a connection with Becky, the only family he had left.
He took one last look at the shop window before starting his car engine back up and driving away.
He took a right turn past the hairdresser’s shop onto Wesley Lane.
Gage slowed to a stop outside number nineteen.
He could see it was well-cared for, from the freshly cut grass to the immaculate flower beds still boasting an impressive display of colourful blossoms. A short, stocky man with thinning fair hair ambled out of the house.
He clambered into a small white van with P.
Johns Plumbing on the side and then drove off down the road.
That must be Paul, Becky’s husband.
He’d been able to discover from the electoral roll that Becky still lived at the same house, but Gage had no idea whether the couple had any children. If they did, were any of his half-nieces and nephews even aware of his existence?
His heart thudded in his chest and he felt clammy all over.
Perhaps he should have rung Becky first to test the waters.
It’d been thirty years. Thirty bloody years, which basically made them strangers.
Would she really want him here now, dragging up old wounds and stirring up family stories she might prefer to forget?
She might not even remember him because the last time they’d met, Gage had been only seven and Becky would’ve been about nine.
He hadn’t been old enough to ask questions when his father, Wally Harris, had casually introduced the little girl with big brown eyes and a kind smile as Gage’s half-sister.
It had been much later that he’d discovered the full story.
Gage eased out of the car and limped across the road.
He pushed open the gate and made his way up the gravel path.
The sight of the gleaming brass knocker, shaped like a Cornish chough, made him smile.
Years ago, he hadn’t been tall enough to reach it, so his dad would hoist him up to lift the brass bird and drop it with a loud clatter.
Today the door opened almost immediately.
‘I know you’ve got a living to make, but I’m not buying anything so don’t waste your breath trying to sell me new windows or insurance.’
He would’ve known Becky anywhere. The woman standing in front of him was simply a taller, comfortingly plump and more mature version of that little girl.
The long dark hair that used to reach halfway down her back was cut short and he spotted a few greys.
They shared the same slightly long nose as their father, although Gage’s was a little more prominent.
Faint lines feathered the edges of her mouth and eyes, but he suspected they were caused by frequent laughter, unlike his own.
‘Oh, my lord.’ Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
‘Gage? Gage, is it really you?’ She grabbed his arm.
‘Come in, do.’ Becky half dragged him over the step and next thing he knew, she was hugging him so hard he could barely breathe.
After loosening her grip, she held him at arm’s length.
‘Where’ve you been all this time, my love? ’
Tears stung his eyes and blurred his vision.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, then you can tell me everything.’
‘It’s a long story.’ His gaze swept cautiously around. ‘Are your family home?’ Gage hoped she’d cotton on that he wasn’t up for unburdening himself in front of strangers.
‘No. For once I’ve got the place to myself.’ Becky’s warm chuckle filled the air. ‘Miracles will never cease. My hubby, Paul, got called out on a job and the kiddies are scattered to the winds this afternoon.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Four,’ she said proudly. ‘Two girls and two boys. Emily’s the oldest — she’s just turned eighteen. Danny is sixteen. Ollie’s fourteen and little Lily is thirteen. They keep me busy!’ A curious look came his way. ‘You got any family of your own?’
Gage shook his head. He nervously ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. After twenty years of regulation haircuts, he hadn’t adjusted to the idea that the sky wouldn’t fall in if he failed to stick to his fortnightly trim.
Another perceptive stare landed his way. ‘Are you hungry? My vultures left enough from our Sunday roast that I could easily make you up a plate.’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
Memories flooded back as he trailed behind Becky and noticed how few changes she’d made to the house.
The patterned carpet was a little more faded, but the plain cream walls, while the same colour, appeared to have recently been treated to a fresh coat of paint.
The old-fashioned brown furniture, once of decent quality, couldn’t be given away these days.
Scattered around was the detritus of family life.
Trainers kicked off and left where they fell, and video-game controllers strewn over a scratched coffee table.
‘Sit down and I’ll stick that kettle on.’
Gage suppressed a smile when she opened an old biscuit tin and dumped a pile of scones on a plate, before opening the fridge to pull out a tub of clotted cream and a jar of jam.
‘Help yourself.’ It was an order, not an offer.
This didn’t count as making him proper food, this was Cornish hospitality, and if he didn’t eat she’d be offended.
‘You’d better start talking. I don’t know how long we’ll have without being bothered.
’ Worry lines furrowed her brow. Her unadulterated pleasure at seeing him again was starting to fray as the possible repercussions of Gage’s arrival sank in.