Chapter Forty-One
There was still no word on the future of the boat sheds.
‘I can’t bear this waiting,’ Della said, stomping into Evelyn’s museum. ‘Honestly, I just saw Mr Palmer at the back of the chemists and he barely acknowledged me. His face was as cold and blank as one of your precious beach stones,’ she complained, gesturing at the Natural History cabinet.
Evelyn wondered if accosting a council officer in the suppositories and haemorrhoid cream aisle was the wisest move, but she suspected Mr Palmer was avoiding Della for another reason. She could feel it in her bones: their campaign was doomed.
With her resolutely upbeat outlook, Della didn’t see it that way. ‘Listen, once we get the council’s OK, I’ve got big plans for my café. Ice creams are out and old-fashioned cakes are in. I’m going to rename it The Cake Shed and I’ve asked Sariah to come in with me. What do you reckon?’
‘Sounds great.’ Evelyn tried to sound positive, but her heart wasn’t in it.
‘Then, once my turnover improves, I’m serious about linking the two sheds. We can do a bit of a joint rebrand, hey?’
Then Della talked some more about things like increased footfall and synergy, before leaving Evelyn alone in her boat shed museum.
Since George had helped her sort it out, it looked tidier than she could ever remember.
It was cleaner too and the smell of briny ropes was slowly being replaced by the scent of beeswax.
The Second Chances exhibition had been taken down and the items were back in their old cabinets, except for the two that had been returned to their owners: the cracked cup and the fake boat painting. She was still waiting to hear what Alison and her dad wanted to do about the embroidered sailcloth.
The exhibition stands were stacked neatly at the back of the museum, in the spot the Cornish Life diorama once occupied.
That travesty no longer existed and the best kitchenware had been transferred to the Seems Like Yesterday cabinet (George taking the opportunity to weed out a rusted egg whisk, several dirty milk bottles and those unappetising varnished pasties).
It was George, too, who suggested the mannequins might have served their time and, with relief, Evelyn had agreed.
Kayla from the pub loaded them into her dad’s estate car and drove them to Truro, where her cousin worked in the Cornwall Air Ambulance charity shop and wanted some dummies for the window display.
It had been a tight fit and in the end Mrs Cornish Life had to travel with her left hand sticking out of the passenger window as if giving a royal wave, while Mr Cornish Life was bent double, his rear squashed against the back window in a most undignified way.
‘Got a few funny looks from other drivers,’ Kayla remarked.
Kayla said her cousin had studied window dressing and wanted to go with a beach theme.
She’d left her wrestling the female mannequin into a skimpy sundress, while the male one was dressed in baggy board shorts and a Rip Curl T-shirt.
His wig had been ditched in favour of a green bucket hat with a logo that announced Surf’s Up.
Kayla’s cousin decided he had ‘mean eyes’, so she covered them up with a pair of gigantic mirror shades.
All this tidying and dismantling only added to Evelyn’s fear that this was the beginning of the end for the Portheast Museum of Maritime Curiosities. Even if by some miracle the museum was saved, she wondered if she was the best person to look after it.
‘It’s too full of old memories,’ she explained to Sariah, who arrived later that day bearing a Tupperware box containing a Cornish Hevva cake.
Although the future of Della’s shed was still up in the air, Sariah was already trying out every recipe she knew, and Evelyn was only too happy to be her official taster.
‘I know what you mean,’ Sariah replied, cutting two generous slices of the currant-rich cake. ‘I’m starting to think I need a fresh start, too.’
‘Yes, Della mentioned you two might be teaming up. As long as the council lets her stay.’
As they ate, Evelyn told Sariah how she’d put two and two together and taken a trip to the church in St Agnes and that while it had come to nothing, she had met a very nice lady vicar called Carol.
‘What about doing what the vicar said and signing up to one of those DNA websites?’ Sariah asked.
Evelyn shook her head. ‘No, it’s time to move on,’ she said firmly.
‘I get that,’ Sariah replied. ‘But you’ve been curious for a long time.’
Evelyn was reconciled to never slotting her own jigsaw pieces into place and maybe that was for the best. ‘My father was never to be believed,’ she said.
‘But I think that if my mother had wanted me to know more, she would have told me. So there’s probably a reason why she didn’t.
Uncovering one secret can open a whole can of worms.’
‘That’s true,’ Sariah said. ‘Funnily enough, I’ve been in contact with my mum, Grace, a few times.’
Evelyn reached out and squeezed Sariah’s hand.
‘We’ve arranged to meet again. And she’s going to ask Auntie Rose if she wants to come.’
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘I’m proud of you.’ And she was because Sariah deserved this chance to piece together her own story.
‘Thanks.’ Sariah fell silent and then, in a brighter voice, she asked, ‘The Hevva cake. Marks out of ten?’
‘Twelve,’ said Evelyn. ‘Best I’ve tasted.’
‘Well, that’s down to my Grandma Karensa really, because it was her recipe and not one you’ll find in any book.
’ Sariah licked her fingers. ‘That said, when I told Mum about the Cake Shed idea, she reminded me about Grandma’s old 1950s cookery book.
I can picture it so clearly: it was full of her scribbles in the margins, where she’d added her own ingredients.
So beside the recipe for chocolate sponge, she’d written “add teaspoon coffee” and next to the one for shortbread she’d put “lemon zest”.
’ Sariah let slip a smile. ‘In fact, I’ve asked if she can bring the book along when we meet.
It’ll be a big help if this plan comes off. ’
‘Let’s keep everything crossed,’ Evelyn replied.
From beyond the open door came the sound of claws scrabbling on concrete and excited yapping and they turned to catch sight of Jacob disappearing down the quay, attached to a small, manic puppy by a lead.
‘Unexpected turn of events,’ said Sariah.
‘Very,’ agreed Evelyn, taking the opportunity to cut herself another slice of cake while Sariah was looking the other way.
The funny thing was, from a business point of view, she could see that linking the museum and the café was an excellent idea. But whether Mr Palmer and his suits would view it that way was a different matter.