A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets

A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets Fern Britton You will love this warm and witty novel from Sunday Times bestselling novel from Fern Britton. The perfect Cornish Escape!A lifetime of friendship. A lifetime of secrets.Greer Clovelly seems to have it all: beautiful, chic and slender, she’s used to getting her own way. Greer has been in love with Jesse Behenna since her first day at school and she’s determined that one day, they’ll be married. After all, a marriage between them would join together two dynasties of Cornish fishing families to make one prosperous one.For her friend, Loveday Carter – plump, freckled and unpretentious – living in the shadow of her friend has become a way of life. She loves Jesse too, but knows that what Greer wants, she usually gets.Jesse, caught in the middle, faces an agonising choice. Should he follow his heart or bow to his father’s wishes? And what about his best friend Mickey, who worships the ground that Loveday walks on?Jesse’s decision will touch them all in ways that they could never foresee, and as the dark clouds start to gather the four friends find themselves weathering a storm – one that has the power to sink them all…Pendruggan: A Cornish village with secrets at its heart Copyright (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015 Copyright © Fern Britton 2015 Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016 Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com) Fern Britton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780007562947 Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780007562954 Version: 2018-09-24 Dedication (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) To my darling Goose. Thank you for making me laugh so much. Love you, Mum. Table of Contents Cover (#u62623068-020e-5096-abfd-8ad35d9b464f) Title Page (#u2b931275-a40f-5b13-8fcd-370ec0bf870f) Copyright (#u78629c20-f58b-5152-9fc6-015f39941457) Dedication (#u2356ad5d-ed5a-534e-80c9-db5cb862d8aa) Prologue (#ub94b612c-5edb-55e7-b3c9-dcbda707e239) Part One (#u5a6e114c-21de-51cc-95a6-9152eed81b91) Chapter 1 (#u54759252-7c82-5628-ada5-c9f9f74370e8) Chapter 2 (#uebb3d500-9830-539c-9534-6d08874a552f) Chapter 3 (#uce5ca284-7cc8-5ac9-909b-b954a25a3867) Chapter 4 (#u8f28ca16-62d2-53a3-a12c-a928d291f336) Chapter 5 (#uc45a0b14-cf4b-5069-a224-7254b675be34) Chapter 6 (#uf599853c-0654-5cb5-8d62-838d89d5dfe5) Chapter 7 (#u0fea5a4b-9b9b-59f3-b6fc-a8b89bce7e1d) Chapter 8 (#u9d355f8d-012f-527d-8622-b4c1131c2ce9) Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo) Part Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo) Afterword (#litres_trial_promo) Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) PROLOGUE (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) Greer Behenna had never felt so drained. Relieved to be alone at last, she closed her front door and leant her head on its cool, solid wood. The inquest had been conducted with meticulous precision. The courtroom, even with its lights on, couldn’t pierce the gloom of the winter’s day hanging outside its windows. The warmth from the old-fashioned radiators filled the air, right up to the high and corniced ceiling, with a density of heat that had left Greer drowsy and with the beginnings of a headache. She had listened to all that the witnesses had said and heard none of it. When called to the stand she gave her own evidence, but remembered little of it now. So separated were her mind and body she almost floated up the stairs and into her room, where she pulled off her black Armani dress and carefully hung it up in the wardrobe. She found her jeans and a warm jumper and put them on. In the kitchen she filled the kettle. Tom was outside, sitting on the windowsill and mewing crossly. As soon as he saw her he jumped down and clattered in through the cat flap. She fed him. The kettle boiled and she wondered what she’d put it on for. She couldn’t face another cup of tea that day. She went to the fridge but there was no wine. She’d drunk the last of it the previous night. She drifted through into the drawing room and then the dining room, where they’d had so many family celebrations. Back in the drawing room, she reached for the remote control. The television came to life with a rather camp man talking about antiques; she switched the TV off again. Restlessly she got her coat and warm boots from the boot room, picked up her keys from the console table in the hall and left Tide House for the only place that felt right: the cove. Greer had found herself seeking the solace of the cove more and more of late. The tide was out and she walked down to the water’s edge. She found a patch of smooth rock to sit on that was otherwise covered in mussels. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of ocean and seaweed. She saw him in her mind’s eye. He was standing in the surf, casting his line to catch the sea bass that were lurking beneath the waves. His back was to her but she knew that he’d be frowning slightly, concentrating on the fish, his fingers feeling for a bite on the line. She watched him turn round and, when she saw his face, it wasn’t the man that she saw, but the boy. His blond hair, almost white from the heat of summer, plastered around his face, his eyes the colour of the sea, looking at her coolly with that familiar mix of curiosity and indifference. Remembering his face as it was then, Greer was suddenly taken back to the long hot summer of 1975, when she was almost five, and she first saw Jesse Behenna … * He was sitting on Trevay quay, loading a crab line with a mackerel head. His tousled blond head was bent closely to the task and, when he was happy that the bait was secure on the hook, he swung the line to and fro before dropping it into the deep, oily water. He drummed his dangling feet over the slimy sea wall in concentration. For a few seconds he watched the line sink to the bottom. Satisfied that it had, he shifted his face to the horizon and screwed up his eyes, as if hoping to bring into focus something that he couldn’t see. He rubbed the back of his hand across his nostrils and then turned his attention to a bucket by his side. ‘’Ere you go, lads,’ he said, putting a hand into the bag of chips by his side before dropping one into the bucket. Greer saw the quick scuttle of pincers through the opaque of the plastic. ‘Move up, Greer.’ Her mother, Elizabeth, sat down next to her on the sun-warmed, sea-roughened wooden bench, checking for seagull mess. ‘Your dad’s just bringing the ice creams. Don’t get any on your dress.’ ‘Can I do some crabbing?’ Greer’s mother looked almost offended. ‘Whatever for?’ ‘It looks fun.’ Her father sauntered up, carrying three dripping 99s. ‘’Ere you go, my beauties.’ ‘Can I have a go at crabbing, Daddy?’ He looked at her sideways. ‘What does your mother say?’ ‘I say she’s in her best dress and I have quite enough laundry to do,’ said her mother. ‘She can take it off,’ replied her father, Bryn, winking at Greer. ‘Lovely day like today.’ He ignored his wife’s horrified stare. ‘Eat up your ice cream and we’ll nip to the shop and get you a crab line.’ ‘And a fish head.’ ‘Yeah, and a fish head.’ ‘And a bucket.’ ‘Of course, can’t go crabbing without a bucket.’ The sun was warm on her bare shoulders as she sat, in just her vest and pants, on the gritty, granite sea wall, just a few feet from the boy. She dangled her legs, thrillingly and dangerously, over the sea wall, just as the boy was doing. She had seen him pull in several crabs and drop them in his bucket and was desperate for the same success. ‘Right. There you go. Mind that hook, it’s sharp.’ Her father passed her the baited line. She looked at the lump of fish stabbed through with the large hook and nodded solemnly. ‘I will, Daddy.’ ‘Do you want me to show you how to feed the line out?’ ‘I can do it.’ ‘Well, keep it close to the wall. The crabs like it in the dark. The tides comin’ in so they’ll be washed in with it. ’Tis no good crabbing on an outgoing tide.’ Greer was getting impatient. All the crabs would be in that boy’s bucket if she didn’t hurry up. ‘Let me do it, Daddy.’ She took the square plastic reel from her father and slowly let the line out. She leant her head as far forward over the edge of the wall as she dared. ‘It’s landed, Daddy.’ ‘Good girl. Now sit on the reel and it won’t fall in. If you lose it, I ain’t buying you another.’ She lifted her thigh, already growing pink from the sun, and wedged the sharp plastic of the reel firmly under her buttock. ‘Can I pull it up now?’ ‘Give it a couple of minutes.’ She looked over at the boy who was again wrinkling his eyes and staring at the horizon. Her father surprised her by talking to him. ‘’Ello. You’re young Jesse Behenna, aren’t you?’ The boy reluctantly turned his gaze to the man talking to him. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Watching for your dad’s boat, are you?’ ‘Yeah. ’E’s been out three days.’ ‘Has he? That’ll be a good catch he’s bringing in then.’ ‘Yeah. As long as the bastard at the market gives them a good price.’ Greer’s father laughed. ‘Is that right?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘I’ve got one!’ Greer was pulling up her line and, as it broke water, her father and the boy could see that she had three fat, black, glittering crabs clinging greedily to the bait. ‘Bring ’em in slow, Greer.’ ‘Get the bucket, Daddy!’ she called excitedly. ‘That’s it. Nice and slow. Now drop ’em in.’ Greer watched as the three crabs plopped into her bucket. ‘Mummy! I got three in one go!’ ‘Did you?’ responded her mother from the safety of the bench; she was still not looking up from her magazine. ‘Well done, darling.’ ‘Do you want to feed them a chip?’ The boy passed over the bag. She picked up the fattest chip she could see and dropped it into her bucket. ‘Thank you.’ The crabs, which had been scrapping with each other, now started scrapping with the chip. ‘Want one yerself?’ asked Jesse. Greer darted a glance at her mother, who shook her head. ‘You’ve already had an ice cream, Greer. You don’t want to get fat.’ Greer looked back at Jesse. ‘No, thank you.’ ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, shovelling a handful into his mouth. ‘What bait you using?’ he mumbled, standing up and wiping his hands on his cotton shorts. He ambled over, with his hands in his pockets, to look at her catch. ‘Fish,’ said Greer. ‘What sort of fish?’ Greer’s father replied, ‘Mackerel, boy. But I reckon ’tis bacon that’s the best. When I were a nipper, I always used bacon.’ The boy looked at him, nodding his head slowly, weighing up the pros and cons of mackerel versus bacon. ‘I prefer mackerel. It’s what Dad says is best and he’s the best fisherman in Trevay.’ ‘Then he must be right,’ smiled Greer’s father. The emptying of the crabs back into the water was a serious business. One by one they were counted and Greer had a pleasing sixty-four to Jesse’s eighty-one. ‘Not bad. For a beginner,’ he told her. ‘Bryn,’ called Greer’s mother, impatient to get home to a cooling shower. ‘It’s time to get Greer back.’ ‘Stop your nagging, woman. We’m ’aving a good time.’ ‘I’ve got to get tea on and it’s getting late.’ ‘I told you to stop nagging,’ he said, and silenced her with a look. The children said their goodbyes and Greer’s father said, ‘Send my regards to your dad.’ ‘What’s your name?’ asked Jesse. ‘I’m the bastard at the market who never gives him a good price.’ * Greer snapped her eyes open, remembering Jesse’s straight talking as being so typical of him, even as a young boy. He always seemed so sure of himself; he didn’t ever seem to care what anyone thought. But had she ever really known him? Had any of them? She continued staring out into the churning, dark sea and pulled her coat closer around her, though she knew that it wasn’t the winter chill that was making her shiver. The sea in front of her was devoid of boats, reflecting the emptiness she felt inside. * Loveday Chandler knocked and waited for several minutes. She pulled her mobile phone from the pocket of her fleece and dialled Greer’s number. She heard it ring out behind the closed front door. Snapping her phone shut and putting it back into her pocket, she turned away from the house and headed towards the only other place where her friend could be. ‘Greer,’ Loveday called as she jogged breathlessly down the beach. ‘Greer!’ Greer hung her head and blew out a stream of warm breath into the cold wind. Why would no one leave her alone? Loveday reached her, panting. ‘Greer, darlin’, you OK?’ Greer dragged her eyes from the horizon and focused on her oldest friend. ‘I’m fine,’ she said flatly. ‘Only we was worried. You left so quickly.’ ‘I wanted to be home.’ Loveday sat down on a bunch of mussels next to Greer. ‘’Twas a tough day.’ Greer nodded, grim faced. ‘Brings it all back again,’ said Loveday, picking up a small pebble and throwing it into the lapping water. Greer turned her gaze back to the horizon and again nodded. ‘I can’t believe he isn’t coming back,’ she said quietly. Loveday put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. ‘I know.’ Greer turned her white and stricken face towards her friend. ‘And I can’t believe that you’ll soon be gone too. My oldest friends are leaving me.’ Loveday felt the tightening belt of guilt around her chest. ‘You’ve got lots of friends … And as soon as we’re settled, I want you to come out to New Zealand and spend long holidays with us.’ ‘I haven’t got lots of friends. I have clients, I have acquaintances, but there’s no one who knows me like you do.’ Greer found an old tissue in the pocket of her coat, blew her nose and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just self-pity.’ It took a supreme effort for her to plaster a tight smile on to her face. ‘I’m happy for you. I really am. And, anyway, I can’t leave. Not yet. I must be here … in case …’ Loveday pushed a strand of her corkscrew hair behind her ear. Once such a brilliant copper red, it was now faded to a rust colour and flecked with white. She thought how lucky she was to have this opportunity of a fresh start. Looking at Greer she felt lucky that she had made the right decision all those years ago. Awkwardly, she fumbled for Greer’s hand and gripped it hard. Greer said softly, ‘Do you think he ever really loved me?’ Loveday pulled Greer towards her and hugged her tightly, but couldn’t answer. The dice had been thrown a long time ago. Part One (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) 1 (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) Autumn 1975 Greer’s mother had planned on sending her daughter to a small private school in Truro but her husband had soon squashed another of her dreams. ‘Trevay Infants’ was good enough for you an’ me, and it’ll be good enough for Greer.’ Which is how Greer was to meet Jesse again. It was early September. Trevay had said goodbye to all the holiday-makers and could get on with being the small Cornish fishing port that it was. Greer was in her uniform of grey pleated skirt and navy-blue blazer, with dazzling long white socks and shiny buckled shoes. She walked between her parents as they covered the five-minute stretch from home to school. She was nervous. She had never been left anywhere on her own before. As they got closer to the school, more and more children filled the narrow pavements around her. Some of them she recognised but barely knew. Her mother had few friends herself, having always put them off with an extreme shyness which was often interpreted as an unwarranted air of superiority. In the playground, Bryn bent to kiss Greer. She might not be the son he had wanted, but she was everything to him. His sun and his moon. He would – and did – give her everything. ‘You be a good girl, mind.’ ‘I will, Daddy.’ She put her arms round his neck and hugged him tight. ‘Will you come and get me when I’m finished?’ ‘Aye.’ Her mother kissed her too. ‘Have a good day, darling. See you later.’ Greer watched as her parents walked out of the playground. Her father striding out and nodding at acquaintances, her mother trotting to keep up with him and turning to give one last wave to her only child. Greer’s legs started to move towards the school gate and her parents and away from the school building. She was picking up her pace and tears were pricking her eyes. I don’t want to be at school. I want Mummy, she was saying to herself. She was getting closer to the gate. She took a breath, ready to call out to her mother. She could see her father chatting to man in a fishing smock. Her mother was surreptitiously wiping her eyes while her father was laughing at something the man was telling him. Greer’s lungs were now full and ready to shout to them. She opened her mouth but, before she could get any sound out, a small but firm hand caught her round the waist. ‘Where you going?’ The air in her lungs escaped soundlessly at the surprise pressure on her diaphragm. She struggled but was held even more tightly. ‘Hey. You’re going to get into trouble if you go through the school gates.’ Something in the voice made her stop and turn to see who her captor was. It was the crab fishing boy from the quay. A woman carrying a handbell was walking through the playground. She began ringing it loudly. ‘Come on,’ Jesse said. He took Greer’s hand and ran with her into the school. * A male teacher was standing inside the building, at the door to the school hall, identifying the new children. ‘New boys and girls, walk to the front of the hall, don’t run, and sit on the floor, cross-legged, facing the stage, please.’ Greer was feeling anxious but grateful to have Jesse’s hand in hers. Once they got to the front he let go of her and sat on the floor. ‘Are you a new boy too?’ she asked him, settling down next to him. ‘Yeah, but I know everybody ’ere. My brother comes ’ere too.’ He was looking over her head and smiling at someone. Greer followed his gaze and saw a fat, plain girl with her flame-red hair in pigtails, also sitting cross-legged, showing her knickers and waving at him. ‘Who’s that?’ Greer asked, feeling sorry for this unattractive-looking girl. ‘That’s Loveday.’ The fat girl bum-shuffled her way towards them. ‘All right, Jesse?’ she smiled. ‘Yeah.’ ‘What’s your name?’ the girl asked Greer. ‘Greer. I am named after a famous film star who was very beautiful.’ Greer couldn’t help herself. ‘Oh,’ said Loveday, her smile pushing her fat freckled cheeks up towards her eyes. ‘That’s nice. I’m called Loveday after my dad’s granny.’ Jesse’s eyes were darting around the gathering faces. ‘Seen Mickey?’ he asked Loveday. ‘He’s there.’ Loveday pointed at an open-faced, tall and very skinny boy standing on the other side of the hall. ‘Mickey,’ Jesse called. ‘Mickey, come ’ere, you beggar.’ ‘Who’s he?’ Greer asked Loveday. ‘Jesse’s best friend. Do you want to be my best friend?’ Greer had never had a friend and thought that she might as well start with this poor fat girl. ‘Yes.’ ‘Can I tell you a secret then?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m goin’ to marry Jesse.’ Greer frowned. ‘Has he asked you?’ ‘No. But I am going to marry him.’ Loveday smiled, then had a thought. ‘You can marry Mickey! That way we’ll all be best friends for ever.’ Greer looked at Mickey, who winked at her. She frowned back. Loveday was tugging at her sleeve and saying something. ‘Do you like Abba?’ It was a long day. The new children were introduced to their teacher, Mrs Bond, who took them to their classroom. Loveday grabbed two desks next to each other for her and Greer. Jesse and Mickey were a row in front. Mrs Bond called the register, explained a few school rules – spitting and swearing were not to be tolerated, hard work was to be rewarded – and lessons began. Greer already knew her numbers and most of her letters. She wrote her name quite clearly on her new exercise book. Loveday was impressed. ‘What you written there?’ ‘My name.’ ‘Really?’ She leant forward and poked Jesse in the back. ‘Ow.’ He turned round. ‘What did you do that for?’ ‘Greer can write. Look.’ She showed him Greer’s book. He looked at Greer, ‘Did you write that?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Clever.’ With that one word, Jesse’s fate was sealed. Greer decided it was she who was going to marry Jesse. Not Loveday. 2 (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) Spring 1987 ‘You’d do a lot worse than to marry that girl,’ Edward Behenna told his son. ‘Shuttup, Dad.’ Jesse Behenna ducked out of reach of his father’s hand as he tried to ruffle his son’s hair. ‘It would be a dream come true for your granddad,’ continued Edward as he pulled out an ancient wooden chair, scraping its legs across the worn red tiles before seating himself at the kitchen table opposite his younger son. ‘If he were still alive,’ murmured Jesse. Jesse’s mother, Jan, slid the tray of pasties she’d been making into the top oven of the Aga; she banged the door shut and swung round. ‘Edward, don’t start all this again,’ she warned him, irritated. But Edward hardly seemed to hear her. ‘I promised my dad, as he promised ’is father afore ’im, that I’d do all I could to build the business and make Behenna’s Boats the biggest fleet in Trevay.’ ‘And you have, Dad,’ Jesse assured him. ‘Behenna’s is the biggest fishing fleet on the north coast of Cornwall.’ Edward nodded, but a frown marred his lined face. The pressures of running the business were very different from those of his father’s day. This year, the European Union had really become involved and laws were being passed governing fishing quotas for member states. Cornwall and Devon MPs had tabled questions in the Commons about their impact on their fishing industry. How could they all hope to keep going in this climate, when the government was impounding vessels and fining their owners? This interference, along with upstarts like Bryn Clovelly screwing them for every penny down at the fish market, were driving some fishermen to the wall. The old ways were dying. Small fleets were struggling to remain at sea and Edward knew that it was the likes of Clovelly who represented the future. Edward’s father had fished these waters for fifty years, man and boy. Sometimes his fish would be bought by a fishmonger from somewhere as exotic as Plymouth, but Clovelly saw the swollen wallets of the flash London City boys as rich pickings; he was buying monkfish for restaurants in Chelsea and exporting scallops to New York. ‘Aye, it is. I’ve been working the boats since I was fourteen and left school. I didn’t have your education.’ Edward knew he was a good fisherman, one of the best, but being an entrepreneur, like Bryn Clovelly, was beyond him. Behenna’s Boats had provided a good living for many families up to now, but carrying on as a lone operation was looking like an increasingly risky option. Clovelly would love nothing more than to add a big share in the Behenna fleet to his portfolio and Edward was finding his offer harder and harder to resist. He knew there were men with fewer scruples than he who would bite Clovelly’s hand off for a deal such as the one he was offering. ‘I’m only staying on to do O levels,’ Jesse reminded Edward. ‘Then I’m full time working at sea on the fleet. But when I’m a bit older and I’ve saved up a bit, I’m off travelling.’ His father looked at him as if he’d just said he was off to buy a Ferrari. ‘Go travelling? Travelling? There’s more to find in your own home town than you’d ever find travelling.’ ‘Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. There’re the Hanging Gardens of Bodmin, The Pyramids of Porthleven, The Colossus of St Columb … Cleopatra’s Needle up Wadebridge. Silly me.’ Edward scowled at his son. ‘That’s enough of yorn lip, boy. You’re the next generation. Greer Clovelly is a lovely girl and the only child Bryn and his lah-di-dah wife ever managed. Poor sod, never ’ad a son. Poor me, I got two and neither of them any bleddy good.’ ‘Leave off mithering the poor lad. He’s only sixteen. He’s got ideas of his own,’ Jan said. ‘I knew by his age that you were the one for me,’ Edward told her, and Jan groaned inwardly as Edward played his familiar riff. ‘As soon as I saw you, twelve and lookin’ like an angel, I said to my mate, “There’s the girl I’m gonna marry”.’ ‘Yeah and, more fool me, I did marry you.’ Edward caught Jan’s hand as she walked from the Aga to the sink. ‘No regrets though, maid? No regrets?’ Jan felt the warmth of her husband’s rough and calloused hand on hers and wondered. She’d had plans to travel to the Greek Islands and sleep on the beach under the stars, like the character she’d read about in a book once. The last book she’d read. Must be more than twenty years ago. But Edward had wooed her into submission and she never did send off the passport application form that had sat on her mother’s dresser for two years after she’d married. For their honeymoon, Edward had taken her to Exeter and they’d seen a rep production of The Mousetrap. Edward had promised her that the next show they’d see would be in Paris. Almost twenty years on and they still hadn’t made that trip. She stooped and dropped a kiss on her husband’s weatherbeaten forehead, feeling the spikes of his overgrown eyebrows tickling her chin. Edward Behenna would now be more likely to see the surface of the moon than the insides of the Folies Berg?re. She smiled. ‘No regrets my ’andsome.’ She straightened up. ‘But that don’t mean to say you can dictate what Jesse’s future is going to be.’ Edward let go of her hand and turned his attention back to Jesse. ‘Greer is a lovely girl. Clever, beautiful, and comes from a good family.’ Jesse gave his father a glare. ‘I’m not marrying someone so that you can do a business deal.’ ‘What are you talking about? Business deal? Who said anything about business? I’m just saying she’s a lovely girl.’ Edward looked at his son with a patient, innocent smile. Bryn Clovelly was a sharp operator. For all of his talk about a merger, Edward knew that selling a share of the business to him was a risk. However, Bryn had no boys of his own. Like Edward himself, and most vain men, Bryn was desperate for his business not to die with him. If Jesse and Greer were married, it would ensure that Behenna’s Boats was safe and Bryn would have himself a son-in-law from one of Trevay’s oldest fishing families. They were building a dynasty. But Jesse seemed to have other ideas. Edward got a hot itch on the back of his thinning scalp when he thought about selling his son’s future off to the highest bidder. ‘She may be, but I’m not marrying her. If you want to do business with old man Clovelly, do it yourself, but leave me out of it.’ ‘An’ what’s the matter with lookin’ to the future?’ Edward spread his hands, fingers splayed, on the old table, his extraordinary eyebrows raised in innocence. ‘Plenty.’ Jesse dropped his head and stared at his lap. ‘Oh, now,’ cajoled his father. ‘You’re not bleating about that other girl, whatshername …’ Jesse’s mother took her hands out of the sink and wiped the suds on her apron. ‘Edward, leave him alone. Loveday Carter is a really nice girl. Jesse would be happy with her. Let the boy fall in love with whoever he wants.’ ‘Her mother hasn’t got a pot to piss in, and anyway, what’s love got to do with it? He doesn’t know what love is.’ Edward was exasperated. ‘But you did, or so you say,’ Jan threw back. ‘And stopped me from having a bit of life in the bargain.’ ‘Oh, you and your life.’ Jesse recognised the brewing of a row and his father didn’t disappoint him. ‘You didn’t have a life till I took you on. You’ve wanted for nothing since we married. I’m a good man. I’m not a drinker or a womaniser.’ ‘And I’m supposed to be grateful for the fact that life now starts and ends at Trevay harbour sheds, am I?’ Edward stood up. ‘There’s no talking to you when you get in one of your moods like this. You sound like your mother, and she was a miserable old cow. I’m going back to work.’ ‘But the pasties’ll be ready in a minute.’ ‘I’m not hungry.’ In the simmering silence that remained after Edward had stomped out of the door and into the spring sunshine of Fish Lane, Jan stood for a moment in powerless frustration. Edward had set his mind on securing the future of the fishing fleet, and if that meant arranging a marriage between Jesse and Greer Clovelly, heiress to the Clovelly Fisheries Company, then that would be it, no matter what Jesse wanted. She ran her thin hands through her short hair and bent to get the pasties out of the oven. ‘They’re hot,’ she said needlessly, serving one to Jesse. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She put one onto a plate for herself and, wiping her hands on the tea towel that was perpetually tucked into her apron, sat opposite her son. ‘Eat,’ she told him. Jesse did so. After a couple of mouthfuls, she asked. ‘So … is it Loveday?’ Jesse shuffled a bit in his seat. With a full mouth he said, ‘I dunno.’ ‘But it’s not Greer?’ ‘How do I know? I’m sixteen. I want to see the world before I decide on anything. I’ve got my own mind and my own life.’ Jan nodded in understanding. It was one thing encouraging Jesse in a particular direction, but quite another thing to put all this pressure on the poor lad. ‘I’ll ask your dad to back off.’ * ‘Bloody ungrateful kids.’ Edward was on his boat, The Lobster Pot, checking the trawl nets with his old friend and ship’s mechanic, Spencer. ‘He doesn’t know his arse from his elbow. Does he think I wanted to take on the fleet from my dad? No I bloody didn’t. But it was the best thing that ever happened to me.’ He looked up from his work and surveyed the harbour around him. ‘Look at this place.’ He swept an arm dramatically across the view. ‘Trevay is the most beautiful place on earth. What’s he think he’s going to find anywhere else? Answer me that.’ Spencer moved his stained and smouldering hand-rolled cigarette from one corner of his gnarled mouth to another and made a noise that sounded as if he was in agreement. Edward continued: ‘Fifteen boats we’ve got in the fleet now. Fifteen! If my dad hadn’t been so canny after the war and bought them first few cheap from those poor fishing widows whose husbands had never come home from the Navy, we’d still have the arses hanging out of our trousers.’ Spencer gave another grunt. ‘You and me, Spencer, you and me, we know how the world works. Hard work brings good things. Not nancying around doing yer O levels and packing yer spotted handkerchief to go travelling. What’s that about?’ As inscrutable as ever, Spencer peeled the damp cigarette from his lips and revealed a handful of tobacco-stained teeth. ‘Want a brew, Skip?’ Edward stopped what he was doing and looked at his old friend as if for the first time. ‘See. You’ve seen it all, haven’t you, Spence? I’ll have a cup of tea with you and then, when we’ve finished here, I’ll take you for a pint. How does that sound?’ Spencer went below decks to the galley and Edward could hear the comforting sounds of the pop as the gas was lit and the rattle of the old kettle as Spencer banged it on the hob. Edward took another look at the fishing village that had been his home from birth. The gulls were cackling above him and the May sunshine made mirrors of the water on the mudflats. ‘Bloody kids,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Bloody women.’ He rubbed the thick gold wedding band on his finger. ‘Bloody Jan.’ He took a deep breath of the salty Cornish air and thought about his boys. Grant a bloody liability, and Jesse a dreamer. What had he done to deserve them? He loved them. Of course he did, but why didn’t they do what he told them? When his dad had told him to jump, he’d asked how high. When his dad got ill and Edward had had to take on the fleet aged only eighteen, he’d had no choice. Sink or swim. He’d chosen to swim. He’d shut the door on the dreams he’d had to go to America. He’d taken on his responsibilities. He’d swallowed his resentment and done the right thing. Why the hell wouldn’t Jesse? * Jesse knew he should be in his room revising for the imminent O levels, but he couldn’t see the point. He’d be leaving school in June and joining his dad at sea. He knew how lucky he was to have a job, and he loved the sea but … oh, there were so many buts. He took his Levi denim jacket off one of the pegs by the back door and kissed his mum, who was now setting up the ironing board. ‘You going out, son?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Up the sheds.’ ‘Shouldn’t you be doing some school work?’ ‘What’s the point, Mum?’ He bent and kissed her cheek to stop her from asking any more. ‘See ya.’ He was out of the back door leaving his mother to watch him, shrugging on his beloved denim jacket, slipping his Sony Walkman headphones on his ears and retreating down the short front garden path. She heard the little gate click shut for the nth time in her life; on her own, again. She worried about her boys and their future. Grant was in the Royal Marines now, stationed in Plymouth. Last time he called he said he was going for Commando Training at Lympstone. Ever since he was 16, fuelled by the nightly bulletins reporting the Falklands War, he’d wanted to wear the Green Beret of a commando. Now, at 21, this was his chance to earn it. Grant had been a handful from the off. His unpredictable mood swings had always marked him out. It could be like treading on eggshells living under the same roof as him, and school had been one long round of visits to successive heads. He’d left school with only one exam pass to his name, in metalwork. He was lucky that the army recruiting officer had seen something in him beyond the defensive, edgy character that he conveyed. ‘We’ll smooth the rough edges off him, Mrs Behenna,’ he told her. She was proud of him, of course, but fearful about the dangers he would face in any war, and of those dark moods which had got him into trouble with the police already. He was such a contrast to Jesse, who was calm and steady, but still waters ran deep with Jesse – Jan knew that there was much more to him than his father gave him credit for. At least Jesse would be safe at home, working with his dad and groomed to take over the business. But what if Edward’s plans to marry him off to Greer Clovelly came about? Jesse would be stuck in a loveless marriage, burdened with the responsibility of a very big business and no chance to see the world and enjoy his freedom. Just like she’d been. ‘Stop it, Jan,’ she said into the silence. ‘Just stop it.’ She plugged in the old iron, turning on the radio for her daily infusion of The Archers as she waited for it to warm up. Jesse was still just a boy. Let him have his dreams; there was time enough to be a man. * Jesse left the cool of the narrow lane of terraced fisherman’s cottages, and was walking up the hill away from Trevay and towards St Peter’s, the fishermen’s church. The graveyard slumbered in the warm sun and delicate white cow parsley heads shuddered in the light breeze, making shadow patterns over the cushions of forget-me-nots growing beneath them. He always glanced at his grandfather’s grave as he passed. Today its granite headstone glittered like a smile. Jesse touched his brow and saluted his grandfather before carrying on up the hill towards the sheds. The sheds were a series of around thirty to forty home-built wooden structures, owned by the people of the town who had no garages attached to their houses, which, since most of the houses were built long before the motor car was invented, was the majority. The sheds had started as makeshift stables and boat-houses but now contained all the detritus of modern living. It was a kind of shanty town sited on a two-acre plot of flattened mud and sand. Opposite the sheds, some of which were now two storeys, stood a long line of boats of all kinds. Dinghies, clinker boats, fishing boats, rotting hulks, along with trailers of varying sizes on which the boats could be towed down the hill, through the town and down the harbour slipway into the water. At the entrance to the sheds was the second of only two public phone boxes in Trevay. The other box was down on the quay. Every resident knew the number of these boxes and regular calls were made between the two to give a shout to the lifeboat crew or call a man home for his tea. Jesse walked past the phone box, kicking up a little sandy dust as he did so. He looked over to his father’s shed, which had expanded over the years and was now a run of four sheds linked together. On the upper floor were the words Behenna Boat Yard est. 1936, painted in fading blue and white letters. He saw Mickey before Mickey saw him. His best friend since nursery school, Mickey Chandler was the person Jesse shared everything with. Mickey was standing outside his own family’s smaller shed, unlocked now with its doors wide open to the sun, and was polishing the chrome of his pride and joy: a two-year-old Honda moped, a present from his family and friends for his recent sixteenth birthday. Jesse lengthened his stride, taking the headphones from his ears and calling, ‘Hey.’ Mickey stood up and shielded his eyes with the hand holding the stockinet duster; Jesse could smell the metal cleaner on it. ‘Hey,’ he replied. Jesse was now close enough to give his best mate a punch on the arm, which was returned with equal force and affection. ‘I thought you were revising,’ Mickey said, returning to his polishing. ‘I thought you were too.’ ‘Waste of fuckin’ time, isn’t it?’ ‘Yeah. Want a snout?’ ‘Please.’ Jesse pulled a crumpled packet of Player’s No. 6 out of his pocket and offered one to Mickey. ‘Ta.’ ‘You got a light?’ ‘No. Have you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Shit.’ Both boys pondered on the dilemma of having cigarettes but no means of smoking them. Mickey laughed first. ‘You’re bloody useless, Behenna.’ Jesse grabbed his friend in a headlock and they scuffled contentedly for several minutes. Eventually they stopped ‘Bike’s looking good,’ Jesse told him. ‘Got my test next week.’ ‘Gonna pass?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘Can I come out with you?’ ‘Sure. I’m gonna ask Loveday out when I’ve got me licence.’ Jesse’s heart flipped at the sound of Loveday’s name. Mickey was in love with Loveday and had never made any secret of it. Jesse had never admitted to Mickey that the mention of her name, let alone the sight of her, was enough to shoot a flame of desire and longing coursing through his body. ‘Her arse is too big for the seat,’ he observed. Mickey smiled. ‘Yeah. And what an arse. Imagine having her arms around you, holding tight, pressing those big boobs against your shoulder blades.’ Jesse could imagine all too clearly, but said only, ‘Fill your boots, boy.’ 3 (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) ‘How do I look in these?’ Loveday had struggled into a pair of lime-green leggings, her face flushed and perspiring. Greer, sitting neatly on the edge of Loveday’s unmade bed, wondered what to say. Should she tell her friend that she looked embarrassing? That the hideous leggings were pulling at the seams and clearly revealing the revolting cellulite clinging to her thighs. Could she tell her that she needed to lose a lot of weight and learn how to dress properly? Though on the plus side – and Greer did feel slightly guilty about this – Loveday did make Greer look great by comparison. ‘You look like Loveday Carter,’ she managed. Loveday turned back to her reflection in the mirror that hung off the back of her bedroom door. ‘I like the colour. They didn’t ’ave ’em in the next size, but I’m gonna lose a bit of weight before the summer comes.’ She turned sideways and looked at herself from right and left. ‘If I put on my orange T-shirt, that’ll cover me bum.’ Greer looked down at her own slim legs in their perfectly fitting Pepe jeans. The orange T-shirt might cover Loveday’s bottom, but it wasn’t going to disguise the two rolls of fat wobbling between the bottom edge of her bra and the elastic waist of the leggings. ‘There. What d’ya think?’ Loveday asked a few moments later. Greer looked up. She wanted to say, ‘Loveday. You look ghastly. You couldn’t be wearing a less flattering outfit. Your breasts are too big, your stomach is enormous and your derri?re huge.’ Instead, she said, ‘It’s very you.’ She stood up and smoothed her hands over her own trim derri?re, brushing off imaginary flecks. Loveday was now at her dressing-table mirror. The dressing table itself was strewn with several used cotton wool balls and a large amount of ancient make-up; a cold, half-drunk cup of tea and an empty Diet Coke tin. Hanging from a glass hand with curved upright fingers were strings of gaudy beads and a worn pair of knickers. Greer pulled the collar of her crisp white shirt up at the nape of her neck and checked that the cuffs of her sleeves were turned back as the models in her mother’s monthly Vogue magazine did. She wanted to get out and see Jesse. ‘Come on. The boys will be waiting for us.’ Loveday took one last look in the mirror and smacked her matte red lips together. Recently she’d been copying Madonna’s make-up, even adding the beauty spot above her lip with an eye pencil. ‘I can’t find my black pencil so I’ve used the green one. I rather like it. What do you think?’ she said, turning to Greer. ‘It shows off me green eyes, don’t it?’ Greer blew her cheeks out and thought for a moment. ‘I think you look … unique.’ Loveday hugged her uptight friend. ‘You are so sweet. Unique? Really?’ ‘Really.’ Greer extricated herself from the miasma of Giorgio Armani’s Beverly Hills rip-off scent, bought in Truro’s pannier market. ‘And what does that mean? Sounds posh,’ bounced back Loveday, reaching for her heavily fringed and studded, stone-washed denim jacket. ‘It means you are a one-off.’ * Jesse was first to spot the girls walking up towards the sheds. Loveday’s marmalade hair with its wash-and-wear perm gleamed in the sunshine; her beautiful body was gently undulating towards him in skin-tight green leggings, her large breasts swinging to the rhythm of the fringes on her jacket. He thought often about those breasts. Sometimes, when she wore her white T-shirt, he could see the outline of her nipples. He turned his back on the girls, feigning disinterest, and called over to Mickey, who was checking his quiff in the wing mirror of the Honda moped. ‘The girls are coming.’ Mickey smiled in the mirror at his own cheeky face. ‘I’m going to give Loveday a night to remember.’ ‘Oh, yeah? When’s that then?’ ‘Tonight.’ ‘Never. She won’t touch you with a barge pole.’ ‘She won’t need to. I’ve got me own barge pole to touch her with.’ Mickey ducked swiftly out of reach of Jesse’s punch and together they locked the precious motorbike in its shed. ‘All right?’ Mickey raced to get ahead of Jesse and be first to walk by Loveday’s side. ‘Yeah.’ She smiled at him and, for him, the sun seemed suddenly to be shining extra bright. Then he frowned. ‘You’ve got something on your lip.’ He lifted a finger to wipe at the mark on her face. She grabbed his wrist before it got to her. ‘It’s me beauty spot. Like Madonna’s. It’s unique.’ ‘Oh. Looks like you’ve drawn on yourself.’ Loveday stopped and waited for Greer, who was a couple of steps behind with Jesse. ‘How does my beauty spot look?’ Greer and Jesse both looked at the green blob on Loveday’s sweating lip. ‘Well, it’s smeared a bit,’ said Greer. ‘Oh shit. Badly?’ ‘A bit.’ Jesse looked through his pockets and found an old, dried-up tissue. ‘Shall I wipe it off for you?’ he offered. ‘Yes, please. Get it all off.’ He lifted the tissue to Loveday’s mouth. ‘Spit.’ She did so and, tenderly, he wiped all trace of the green pencil away. Standing so close to her, Jesse could sense the rise and fall of her chest, and smell the heady scent that emanated from her. Her dewy golden skin glistened in the sunlight and her emerald eyes were like those of an exotic cat. The combination was suddenly overwhelming. ‘There. All done.’ ‘Thanks.’ Loveday gave her rescuer a hug, leaving him breathless on many counts. She turned to Greer. ‘Has it all gone?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Maybe I’ll try an indelible ink next time.’ ‘Best not,’ murmured Greer. Mickey muscled in and grabbed Loveday’s arm. ‘Have you eaten your tea?’ ‘Only a bit. Mum did shepherd’s pie earlier. But I could do with some chips.’ ‘Come on then.’ And, taking her hand he ran down the hill, forcing Jesse and then Greer to run after them. * Edward Behenna had been in the Golden Hind since he and Spencer had finished on the boat. Edward was full of beer and the memory of the row with Jan was disappearing as fast as a sea mist on a warm morning. The beer had warmed his heart and his humour. ‘Spence, you’ll ’ave another before ’e go.’ Spencer removed a battered tin of tobacco from the front of his canvas smock and nodded. ‘Aye.’ ‘Good man, Spence. Good man.’ Edward lumbered heavily to his feet and clapped his friend on the back, dislodging the scanty twigs of tobacco from the near transparent cigarette paper that Spencer was balancing between thumb and grimy index finger. He hailed the landlord. ‘Same again, Pete.’ Pete, a very tall man with a stomach straining against the buttons and belt of his shirt and trousers, bent down so that he could see through the forest of pint tankards hanging from hooks on a shelf above the bar. ‘Skinner’s?’ he asked, reaching for the empties Edward had placed on the damp counter. ‘Aye.’ Without anyone taking much notice, the door of the pub opened and a slim man in his early forties entered. His quick, bright blue eyes skimmed the familiar faces and he nodded at those who acknowledged his arrival. His prey was at the bar, delving into a handful of change to pay for the two waiting pints. He walked lightly and quickly towards him. ‘I’ll get those, Pete, and a Scotch for me, please.’ Edward turned to see who was buying his pint. ‘Bryn Clovelly, you’re a gentleman.’ He turned his eyes to where Spencer was sitting. ‘Spence, Mr Clovelly bought you a pint.’ Spencer had rolled his cigarette; its smoking fragrance drifted towards the bar. ‘Thank ’ee, Mr Clovelly.’ Bryn ignored him and spoke to Edward. ‘So, Edward, when are we going to do business?’ Edward looked down at his feet, uncomfortably aware that Clovelly was completely sober. ‘Bryn, I’ve ’ad a drink. Me ’ead’s not straight for talking business.’ Bryn pulled up an empty bar stool and indicated for Edward to do the same. ‘It’s not business as such, is it?’ He unhooked the casual blue jumper he had knotted round his shoulders and draped it on the back of the stool. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we, Edward?’ Edward rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. ‘You’ve gone up in the world since we were nippers though, ain’t you, Bryn?’ Edward looked at Bryn’s clean hands. ‘Look at you. Smart clothes, smart way of talkin’, smart car outside. You’re different now, Bryn.’ Bryn placed his right hand on his chest. ‘Not ’ere. Not in my ’eart. I can still talk as Cornish as you, boy, and don’t ’e forget it. There’s nothin’ wrong in doing well and earning a little cash, is there?’ ‘No,’ Edward agreed reluctantly. He had given more thought to Bryn’s continued insistence that their businesses were stronger together than he wanted to let on, but it didn’t do to show your hand too early where Bryn was concerned. Besides, what Jan and Jesse had said also nagged at his thoughts. Now that Bryn was sitting here in front of him, in his flash clothes and with a conceited look on his face, Edward’s doubts had once more risen to the surface. ‘I don’t know whether I want more. I’m happy with the boats and passing them on to Jesse.’ ‘Not Grant then?’ ‘No. ’E’s happy in the Marines. Best place for him.’ ‘Is he settling well?’ ‘Think so. Better to get all that anger out of ’im in hard training than ’ere in Trevay.’ Bryn placed his hand on Edward’s shoulder. He knew that Grant was a worry. A drinker with a short fuse and handy fists. ‘Maybe the discipline is just what he needs,’ he said. ‘Aye.’ Bryn remained silent, watching as Edward took a long mouthful of beer. Then he asked, ‘What does Jan think?’ ‘With women you’ve got to pick your moment.’ ‘So you haven’t told her about the offer that I’ve put on the table?’ Bryn leant closer to Edward. ‘’Tis a good offer, Edward. You know that these EU quotas could be the death of the Cornish fishing industry. We need to diversify and open up our markets if we’re to survive. We’re better together – you’ll never get an offer like this one again. The future of Behenna and Clovelly will be settled.’ ‘But you getting fifty-one per cent: you’d have the controlling interest then. You might leave me high and dry.’ ‘Look, Edward,’ Bryn leant in closer. Edward could smell the scent of cigars on his beautifully laundered Pierre Cardin shirt. ‘I’m prepared to sell you a share in the fish market, if that would sweeten the deal. We’d both sit on the board of Behenna and Clovelly and each have a fair shout on how the business is managed.’ Edward frowned and rubbed his chin. Bryn looked appraisingly at him. ‘When did you and Jan last have a holiday?’ ‘What do we need an ’oliday for?’ ‘You’ll need a holiday from all the hard work we’ll be putting in running the new business together. Imagine. You could go up country and see the sights of London. Catch a plane to Italy or Greece. Or maybe have a week in New York.’ ‘Who’ll look after the boats while I’m away?’ ‘Me. And you’ll look after the fish market and the refrigeration factory for me when I’m away with my missus.’ Edward shook his head. He’d been thinking about Bryn’s ‘business’ plan since the idea had first been floated. It was all very well for Bryn to talk about them joining forces but, as the months had gone by and Bryn had kept on about Jesse and Greer getting married, it felt more and more like Bryn was leading them all down a road that led in one direction, where there was no turning back. As a reality, he knew where his moral compass was pointing. ‘No, no. The boy has his own life to lead, and that’s with me at Behenna’s Boats. The fishing fleet was built up by my dad and I’m building it now for Jesse. ’Tis enough.’ ‘And I’m building the fish market business for Greer. But when she’s married she won’t want to work. She needs a man to run it all …’ Edward looked at Bryn sharply. ‘I’ve told you before. Jesse has to make his own decisions. I could no more make Jesse marry Greer than I could get Spencer over there to stick on a tutu and pirouette off Trevay harbour wall.’ Bryn laughed and picked up his Scotch to take a sip. ‘I was going to say partner, not husband. Someone bright. Someone we can trust and – yes – Jesse would be ideal.’ He took another deeper draught of his whisky. ‘It ain’t a case of forcing anyone. My Greer’s going to grow up to be a fine wife and mother. She’s refined; a good catch. Anyone can see that – your Jesse just needs a bit of encouragement.’ Bryn Clovelly reached into his pocket and took out a brown envelope and placed it on the table between them. ‘You’ve been blessed with two strapping boys, Edward. Greer is a daughter to make any man proud but … she’s not a man, with a man’s head for business. Imagine, Clovelly Fisheries and Behenna’s Boats becoming one big company. Your boats supply my market. We squeeze the opposition and supply the hotels and London restaurants at the best possible prices. Finally, when our rivals are no more, we call the shots and demand the best prices we can get whilst giving the best-quality fish and customer service. When you and I are retired, my Greer and your Jesse could run the business themselves. We will have created a really lasting legacy. The icing on the cake would be for them to marry and merge two great family businesses into one. A fairy-tale ending.’ Bryn swallowed the final mouthful of Scotch, pushed the envelope towards Edward and stood up, retrieving his jumper from the back of the stool. ‘Just think about it, Edward. A fairy tale. That’s all.’ Edward eyed the brown envelope warily. ‘Saw your Jan yesterday about Trevay. Looks like she needs that break, Edward.’ With this parting shot, Bryn slung his jumper over his shoulders and headed towards the exit. For a moment, Edward was filled with the urge to run after him and stuff the envelope into Bryn’s self-satisfied, smug face. But he didn’t. Instead, he picked up the envelope and looked inside. A careful observer would have seen his eyes widen momentarily, then he opened his jacket and put it quickly in the inside pocket. He nodded to the barman. ‘Another pint for me and Spence, Pete.’ * The pain in Greer’s heart was real and tangible. She didn’t know how to make Jesse see her. Want her. She was slim, spoke nicely, dressed with style and had impeccable manners. A miniature of her mother who lived in the fantasy film-star world of the 1950s and 1960s. ‘Greer Garson was the most beautiful and gracious actress of her day. That’s why you have her name. If you’d had a sister, I should have called her Audrey after Audrey Hepburn. But your father and I were not to be blessed.’ Greer was happy to be an only child. Spoilt and petted and treated to anything she wanted. The one thing she wanted now, though, was Jesse, and not even her parents could fix that. Jesse and Mickey were sitting either side of Loveday on the harbour wall. Greer glanced across at Loveday. They were best friends, of course, but Greer felt sorry for her, really. Loveday, with her ample frame, a face full of freckles and her yokelish ways. She was pretending to read Mickey’s palm. ‘Ooh, now, Mickey. You’re going to ’ave three children and a long life.’ With his hand in hers she traced a line across his palm. ‘There may be some unhappiness in your thirties, but you’ll travel to faraway places and live to be an old man.’ ‘’Ow old will I be when I die?’ She held his hand up to her face and squinted. ‘At least sixty-five.’ Jesse was getting impatient. ‘Do me now, Loveday. What do you see?’ ‘Well now, let’s ’ave a look.’ She held his hand softly in hers and looked into his sea-green eyes. Without looking at his palm she said, ‘I feel you ’ave met the woman you will marry. There’ll be two beautiful boys and you’ll have lots of money.’ Jesse looked down into Loveday’s mischievous green eyes; it took all of his restraint not to reach out to her and kiss her like he longed to. ‘Is that right?’ They held each other’s gaze steadily and, for a moment, Mickey and Greer faded out and it was as if they were alone on the quay. ‘Aye.’ Loveday wanted more than anything for Jesse to kiss her, but not here in front of Mickey. She adored Mickey and he made no bones about his feelings for her. She’d do anything not to break his heart, but Jesse was the boy she loved and he was looking at her now with such a look … Greer stepped forward from the cold metal railing she’d been leaning against. ‘Let me read yours, Loveday.’ The spell was broken and Jesse pulled away. Loveday laughed good-naturedly, ‘OK, Greer. What do you see?’ and stretched her hand towards her friend. Greer had no idea what she ‘saw’ but she said, ‘Hmm. I see you married to a really nice man. I see the initials C and M and …’ She folded Loveday’s hand into a fist and examined the creases that her palm made by her little finger. ‘I see three children.’ Loveday was impressed. ‘Really? I’d love three children. I wish I had brothers and sisters, but when Dad died … Mum would love to have lots of grandchildren.’ Mickey was thinking who they knew whose initials were CM. ‘Who’s this CM bloke?’ ‘Dunno,’ said Loveday, thinking that Jesse’s initials were JB. Greer helped them to figure it out. ‘Well, it might be MC, I suppose.’ Mickey’s face lit up. ‘Those are my initials!’ He looked as pleased as punch and Greer felt, for the second time that evening, a pang of guilt. ‘Read my palm, Greer.’ Jesse opened his hand to her. She took it happily, touching his warm, dry skin and smoothing her fingertips over the calluses caused from helping his father on the boats. ‘Well, I see a very happy marriage for you and lots of children. Your wife will love you with all her heart.’ ‘Can you see any initials?’ Jesse asked. Greer thought for a moment; she knew she couldn’t say her own so she truthfully said, ‘No. I can’t see any letters this time.’ Mickey let out a big laugh and started to play-fight with Jesse. ‘No letters for you! And French letters don’t count.’ Across the harbour car park, the door of the Golden Hind opened and Bryn Clovelly stepped out. He looked across to see where the laughter was coming from. ‘Greer? Is that you?’ ‘Yes, Dad.’ ‘Come on then. Time you were home. Your mother’ll be mithering me else.’ The pain in Greer’s heart seared again. The last thing she wanted to do was go home now. Why wasn’t she allowed to stay out, like her friends were? ‘I can walk up later.’ ‘Get in the car now.’ Greer was far too well behaved to either make a scene or to defy her father, no matter how crestfallen she felt at having to leave. ‘OK, Dad,’ she acquiesced. She hugged Loveday, who clung onto her dramatically. ‘Bye, Greer, and thanks for helping me get ready tonight.’ ‘Night, G,’ said the boys. ‘Night, Mickey, goodnight, Jesse.’ Greer lingered momentarily and cast a meaningful glance at Jesse, but he was looking beyond her and watching her father as he walked towards his new BMW, casually pointing the automatic key fob at it. Four orange lights flickered twice as the car made a beeping sound and the locks clunked open. ‘That’s frickin’ awesome,’ declared Mickey. ‘Gonna get some on the Honda, are you, Mick?’ laughed Jesse. Greer walked towards the car and heard more laughter from her friends, knowing that they had already closed the gap that she had occupied. She climbed into the car. Her father started the engine, steering the car away from the harbour towards home. From the depths of the leather front seat, Greer craned her neck to wave at her friends, but they weren’t looking at her now. Loveday was walking on the sharp upturned stones of a low wall and flapping her arms to keep her balance. Jesse went to help her but, to Greer’s satisfaction, Mickey beat him to it. As both Mickey and Loveday lost their balance and slipped off the wall, Greer couldn’t help but notice Loveday’s ample bum and bosom wobble as she clumsily tried to regain her balance. Greer looked down at her own slim thighs and taut stomach, feeling pleased with what she saw and vowing that she was never, ever going to let herself end up like poor Loveday. But as the threesome slipped out of view, Greer wondered again what it would take to capture Jesse’s undivided attention once and for all. 4 (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9) June 1987 ‘Mickey, you want to come fishing with me tonight? Celebrate the last of the exams?’ Jesse was pulling off his school tie as he walked out of the school gates for the last time. It was a momentous day; along with many others he had finished his final O level, and the occasion was marked by the usual flour and egg fight, ended only when the deputy head raged at the rabble-rousers for covering her car in cake ingredients and escorted them off the school grounds. The long hot summer lay, full of promise, ahead of Jesse. Mickey shook his head disappointedly. ‘I’ve got to help my dad on the boat.’ Jesse put his arm round his friend. ‘Tell you what, I’ll help you and we’ll go out later.’ ‘Would you?’ Mickey said gratefully, picking bits of batter off his shirt. ‘Yeah. Donna at the Spar shop fancies me. She might sell us some tins of cider with our pasties.’ Mickey smiled gratefully at his best and oldest friend. They’d navigated school life pretty well together. Football, detentions and girls. He was still hopelessly in love with Loveday, but she never seemed to take him seriously. He’d found comfort with females who were more than willing. And now school was over and out. He didn’t have to worry himself with further education. He had no need. He’d been offered a job as deckhand on Our Mermaid, one of the newest boats on the Behenna fleet and skippered by his dad. Meanwhile, Jesse was being groomed to take over the fleet when his own father eventually retired. He had to start at the bottom, though, and was to be deckhand on The Lobster Pot, the flagship of the fleet, skippered by Edward Behenna himself. As the boys loped down the hill from school towards the harbour, they heard Loveday’s voice calling to them breathlessly. ‘Boys. Wait up!’ Loveday was galloping towards them, her school skirt covered in flour and rolled up at the waistband to reveal wobbly thighs, her white shirt pulling at the buttons as her bosoms jiggled invitingly with every pace. A little way ahead of her, Greer was jogging effortlessly in her spotless school uniform. ‘Where are you two off to?’ panted Loveday. Mickey put his arms out to catch the girl he adored. His hands caught her waist and he felt the warmth from under her breasts. She turned her smiling freckled face up to the two boys. Mickey could smell the sweetness of her breath as she asked again, ‘Where are you two going?’ ‘Mickey and I have got stuff to do,’ said Jesse, staring into the middle distance with feigned nonchalance. ‘What sort of stuff?’ ‘The sort of stuff that don’t need girls,’ Jesse grunted. Loveday looked crushed. ‘Greer and me thought we could do something together with you two. You know. Celebrate the end of school.’ Greer narrowed her eyes astutely. ‘You’re going fishing, aren’t you?’ Jesse ignored her and said to Mickey over the top of both girls’ heads, ‘You bring the bait and I’ll bring the food.’ ‘We can come with you,’ Loveday told him, not prepared to brook any objections. ‘Greer and I’ll be good company for you.’ Jesse shook his head. ‘No. Blokes only.’ Loveday pulled a face. ‘Blokes only? You arrogant arse.’ Mickey laughed and turned to Jesse pleadingly. ‘They can come, can’t they?’ Jesse, who was trying to wean himself off his desirous want for Loveday, thought he might be in with a chance with Donna from the Spar shop later that night. Loveday was a no-go area while Mickey still had the hots for her. But maybe it would be nice to hang out with the girls – they hadn’t all been together for a while. Damnit, Donna could wait. ‘OK. Seven o’clock at Our Mermaid,’ he agreed reluctantly. Loveday took Greer’s arm and pulled her away excitedly. ‘What are you going to wear?’ she asked. ‘Jeans, I think,’ said Greer. ‘Me too,’ smiled Loveday. * Greer left Loveday at the cobbled corner where her mum had a tiny cottage. Then she walked on past the harbour and out onto the road that led towards the better end of Trevay. When her father had sold the two trawlers his dad had left him, and bought the small fish market on the quay, he’d quickly turned the ailing business round. He’d taken a small selection of the best of his fresh catches up the M5 and the M4 to London’s swankier restaurants and hotels, persuading the chefs that he could undercut any of their other suppliers and provide better fish. He had worked hard. As soon as the fishing boats unloaded at his market, he paid the skippers the least he could get away with and then jumped in his refrigerated van and personally drove the lobster, plaice, turbot and crab to the back door of the poshest kitchens in the United Kingdom. Gradually he could afford to pay better prices to the fishermen, and that enticed boats from around the Cornish coast to land their catches with him. As business grew he expanded the old fish market, taking up at least three times more quayside and landing space. Now he had three vans every night ploughing the motorways and bringing home the money. Naturally, the cramped house in the back lanes of Trevay had given way to a modern and airy executive bungalow, and this was where Greer was headed now. Greer’s mother opened the front door as soon as she saw her turn into the drive. ‘How did it go?’ She took the proffered, and now redundant, blazer from Greer and hung it for the last time on a padded hanger in the coat cupboard, next to her husband’s golf clubs. ‘The English paper was fine and the history paper was everything I’d revised, so I think I’ll have done OK.’ ‘You are a clever girl.’ Elizabeth kissed her. ‘I’ve got crab salad for tea.’ ‘Actually, I was hoping to go out.’ ‘Where?’ ‘Fishing with Loveday and Mickey.’ ‘Just Mickey and Loveday?’ ‘Erm, I think Jesse will be there too.’ ‘I see.’ Elizabeth knew all about Bryn’s plan for Greer and Jesse. There had never been any other children after Greer and no doctor could ever tell them why. Elizabeth was not really sorry. Childbirth was messy and dangerous, and once had been enough for her, but she knew how much it unsettled Bryn to think about what was going to happen to the company. Women were taking the reins in business more and more these days, but Greer had never shown the slightest interest – and quite right too, thought Elizabeth. Fishing was a man’s world and women had no place in it. Part of her wanted Greer to marry someone outside Trevay, someone with a bit of breeding; but she supposed that Jesse Behenna was as close as it came to old money in Trevay. Besides, look at Bryn, he’d been just like all the other coarse Trevay fishermen when he’d courted her, but she could sense his ambition and together they had come far. All men could be moulded by a strong woman who knew what she wanted. ‘Mum, there’s nothing to worry about,’ said Greer, interpreting her mother’s interest as concern for her morals. ‘He has tons of girlfriends and I’m not one of them.’ ‘But you’d like to be.’ ‘Muuum. Don’t. You sound like Dad.’ Elizabeth turned and walked towards the kitchen. Greer followed her. ‘Can I take the crab salad with me?’ She tried to appease her mother. ‘I don’t want to waste it.’ Her mother nodded. ‘Yes. I’ll make a little picnic up. Don’t want you getting hungry and eating chips or you’ll get as fat as Loveday.’ Mother and daughter exchanged knowing smirks. * Greer heard Loveday thumping down the stairs before she pulled the front door open. She had teased her hair into a big, orange, candy-floss ball and was wearing a low-cut, sleeveless, fashionably ripped T-shirt, her pink bra partly on show. She was pulling at a fringed ra-ra skirt that was at least two sizes too small for her. ‘Ha!’ she crowed, taking in Greer’s tight white shorts, blue and white striped top and long, tanned legs. ‘I knew you wouldn’t wear jeans so I’ve pulled all the stops out. Hang on while I get my shoes.’ Greer watched as Loveday bounded back up the stairs, her ra-ra skirt lifting with every step and exposing tiny black knickers stretched over her generous bottom. ‘Wait till you see these,’ Loveday called from upstairs, ‘They arrived from the catalogue this morning.’ A few seconds later and Loveday came down the stairs, with as much grace as a jolly pig in electric blue stilettos, gripping the banisters for balance. ‘What do you think to these beauties?’ She bounced off the last stair and posed like a stripper. Greer couldn’t help but smile. ‘They are very eye-catching.’ Loveday looked at Greer’s flat ballet pumps with sympathy. ‘A word to the wise. You’ll never pull Mickey in those.’ Down on the quay, the warm evening sunshine had brought out the couples with pushchairs and people with dogs. The holiday-makers wouldn’t be down in force for another six weeks so at the moment Trevay still belonged to its locals. The tide was out and the inner harbour was littered with boats lying on their keels, green fronds of seaweed hanging from their mooring ropes. Greer couldn’t help but always remember the first time she saw Jesse down here when they were both so young. His skinny brown legs hanging from his shorts and his blond hair falling over his eyes. Now he was a man. Six foot four, broad and muscular. Greer’s feelings for him had intensified over the years. She dreamt about him, he lit up her life when she was with him, but he treated her like a sister. Greer his friend. Not Greer his girlfriend. Sometimes she wondered whether he had feelings for Loveday. He certainly seemed to enjoy her company, and she knew that Loveday had a crush on him. But he always seemed careful not to encourage her, from what Greer could see. Anyway, how could he fancy someone as chaotic as Loveday? No. Jesse couldn’t fancy Loveday, he probably just felt sorry for her. Mickey fancied Loveday and, one day, Greer hoped, he’d land her. Loveday would be a fool not to go for Mickey. And one day, Jesse would see that Greer was the woman for him. Loveday jolted Greer from her musings. ‘There they are!’ She pointed at Jesse and Mickey, who were strolling about a hundred yards ahead with fishing rods over their shoulders. ‘Jesse! Mickey!’ she shouted. ‘Come and give us a hand with this.’ She hefted the weighty picnic basket, which Greer had asked her to carry, from one hand to the other, then waved extravagantly to the boys. Mickey, of course, came to help Loveday. His lanky frame, dark hair and sweet face with its slightly large nose and eyes that drooped at the corners a little, reminded Greer of a lovesick greyhound. As soon as Loveday had loaded him up with the picnic basket, she raced off to walk beside Jesse. At that moment, Greer felt enormous compassion for Mickey. ‘Here. Let me help.’ She took his fishing rod and put it across her left shoulder, then looped her right arm through Mickey’s free one and walked with him. ‘Don’t worry about Loveday. I know how you feel about her. She’ll see sense one day,’ she told him. Mickey blushed and quickly brushed her off. ‘Loveday’s all right but I’m playing the field.’ Greer raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. ‘Are you, Mickey?’ ‘Sure. I’m a fisherman and there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’ ‘Oh, Mickey,’ Greer laughed, ‘you’re fooling no one.’ Mickey looked at her ruefully but then laughed too. Loveday looked back over her shoulder and saw Greer and Mickey walking arm in arm. Heads together and laughing. ‘Jesse, look, I knew it. Mickey and Greer are a match made in heaven.’ Jesse turned to look too, but said nothing. He was trying not to think about the lace bra that was showing through Loveday’s T-shirt, which was only serving to accentuate her generous cleavage, while also trying to keep in check the dangerous sensations that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he was in close proximity to Loveday Carter. * Our Mermaid was a good-sized trawler painted in the traditional local colours of sky blue, chalk white and clotted cream yellow. The hull had streaks of rust coming from the holes where the anchor chain fed, but she was in good condition and well maintained. She was tied up alongside the deepest part of the harbour wall where the boys hoped to fish from. ‘Hey, Dad,’ called Mickey as they approached. An older version of Mickey was standing on the foredeck drinking a mug of tea. ‘’Ello, son! Where the ’ell ’ave you bin? You’re too late to help me. I’m all finished.’ ‘Sorry, Dad.’ Mr Chandler put down his mug and helped Loveday onto the boat. ‘Thank you, Mr Chandler.’ ‘’Tis all right, maid.’ Alfie Chandler was very fond of Loveday. She was warm, down to earth and undeniably sexy. A girl he’d be happy to call daughter-in-law. He hoped that Mickey would make his move before someone else came on the scene; there were many young lads who would bite their own arms off to get close to Loveday – he certainly would’ve done at Mickey’s age. ‘Hello, Mr Chandler.’ Greer was holding out her hand to him. ‘Would you help me aboard?’ ‘Certainly.’ Alfie offered her his grimy and calloused hand. He couldn’t deny that she was a looker, but she was too bony and prim for his taste. Poor Jesse Behenna. He was caught in a net, whether he knew it or not. Bryn Clovelly and Ed Behenna would make sure of that. Alfie leant into the wheelhouse and put his mug on a wooden ledge. ‘Right, you young ’uns. Tide’s flooding in now and you should get some good mackerel off the side.’ ‘Cheers, Dad.’ Mickey gave him a short embrace. ‘Don’t be home too late or your ma will be worried.’ ‘We won’t.’ Alfie stepped off the boat. Without a backward glance he walked off along the harbour wall that led straight to the Golden Hind and its welcoming bar. ‘What you got in the picnic basket, Loveday?’ asked Mickey, rubbing his hands. ‘You’re always hungry!’ Loveday swatted him away. ‘How do you stay so skinny?’ Greer and Loveday unpacked a checked tablecloth that Elizabeth had thoughtfully put in, and placed the Tupperware boxes of crab, potato salad and tomatoes on the cloth. Jesse pulled out of his fishing bag four pasties and six tins of cider; certain proof that Donna from the Spar shop might be two years older than Jesse but that she definitely fancied him rotten. After they’d eaten (Greer had picked at the salad and declined her pasty so Loveday had had it instead), the boys set up their fishing rods. The sun slowly dropped towards the horizon and gave a final fiery blaze before sinking into the sea. Greer, who was watching Jesse bait the large hook on his line, shivered at the sudden chill. He looked up. ‘You cold, Greer?’ ‘I am a bit.’ ‘Come here.’ Amiably, he opened an arm up to her and she tentatively let him put it around her. She was enclosed between his arms as he held the fishing rod. She could feel his chest moving in and out as he breathed. Conversely, she held her breath, in fear of actually touching him more closely. A tug on the line disturbed the moment and he lifted an arm over her head, letting her out of the enclosure. ‘Want to reel this one in?’ he asked. ‘Show me how.’ He handed her the rod and instructed her gently on how to wind in the reel. The flapping mackerel broke the surface. ‘I don’t like this bit,’ she said. ‘And you a fisherman’s daughter!’ He laughed kindly. ‘You’d never make a fisherman’s wife.’ 5 (#ulink_92d6f8fe-466d-5ffd-9375-c1de5ee22f5f) The summer they left school was a good one. The sun shone, the sea remained calm and the beaches were inviting. The holiday-makers came down in their droves, so there was plenty of work for the school-leavers, waiting tables or taking money in dusty beach-side car parks. Jesse worked on his father’s flagship, The Lobster Pot. Being a Behenna and heir to the business made no difference: he was not given an easy ride. He had to learn the business from the bottom up. Like most Cornish trawlers, The Lobster Pot had five crew members. Edward was the skipper, the toothless Spencer was his mate. In charge of the engines was the mechanic, Josh, a Kiwi of about 35 who’d landed in Cornwall as a student, years earlier, and never gone home. The cook was Hamish, a Scotsman with a surprisingly good palate, and the two deckhands were Jesse and another young school-leaver, Aaron. The boat went out for up to seven days at a time, with two and a half days back on dry land before going to sea once more. It was a steep learning curve for Jesse, who’d not been allowed to join his father on these trips before, but he had the sea in his soul. Not only did he enjoy the work, he enjoyed the money that was divvied up at the end of each trip. Once a catch was landed and sold at market, the money was used to pay for the diesel, food and other essentials, then the largest share of what was left over went to the owner – in this case Edward. The rest was split between the crew. The skipper Edward (again), Spencer, Josh, Hamish and then the deckies Jesse and Aaron. It was not just a good summer for the visitors, the fish seemed to like it too; they were swimming in their droves to the Cornish fishing grounds. The Lobster Pot would glide out of Trevay harbour with most of the Behenna fleet behind her, ready to make their fortunes. For Jesse, released from the classroom and still weighing up life’s possibilities, these were halcyon days. He found he was loving life at sea: the sound of the engine chugging below his feet, the cry of the gulls performing stall turns above him, and the instinct he was starting to develop from his father as they sat poring over the charts, determining where the next good catch might be waiting for them. On one particular warm August night, Edward and Jesse were in their usual seats in the galley, having had a supper of poached cod and bacon with new potatoes coated in bacon fat. Edward was drinking a large mug of powerfully strong tea. ‘I’m reckoning we aim for Tring Fallows. Word is they’m the best fishing grounds just now.’ He tapped the chart, then leant back to stretch tension out of his lower back. Jesse remained hunched over the charts, studying the distance between where they were now and where they were going. ‘How long will it take to get there?’ ‘Should be there in about four hours.’ Jesse glanced at the time. ‘I’m on watch at midnight.’ ‘I recommend you get some shuteye now then,’ his father said. Jesse heaved himself a little off the leatherette bench seat and craned his head to see out of the starboard porthole. ‘Our Mermaid is still with us. She coming to Tring Fallows too?’ ‘Aye. We’ll need both of us to haul the buggers in. This’ll be a good catch if we get it right.’ The ship’s radio came to life and the familiar voice of Alfie Chandler, Mickey’s dad, spoke. ‘Lobster Pot, Lobster Pot, Lobster Pot. This is Mermaid. Over.’ Edward unhooked the small receiver/mouthpiece from the radio set and put his thumb on the talk button. ‘Mermaid. This is Lobster Pot. Wass on? Over.’ ‘Mermaid, Lobster Pot. We still headin’ for Tring Fallows? Over.’ ‘Lobster Pot, Mermaid. Can you switch to channel nine? Over.’ Edward waited a minute for Alfie to swap to a channel that they could use just between themselves. ‘Lobster Pot, Mermaid. Over.’ ‘Yeah, Alfie. Tring Fallows it is.’ Jesse, desperate to talk to his mate Mickey, held his hand out to his father, opening and closing his fingers in the universal code for ‘hand it over.’ Edward kept talking. ‘Is your Mickey there, Alf? Only ’is mate wants to ’ave a word.’ ‘I’ll get ’im.’ They heard Alfie shout for his son as Edward passed the mouthpiece to Jesse. Mickey’s voice came over the airwaves. ‘’Ello?’ ‘Mickey, ’tis Jesse. You sleepin’ before we get to the fishin’ ground, or no?’ ‘Gonna have a snout up top then I’m going to grab some zeds. You?’ ‘Same. Give us a minute and I’ll be out too.’ Edward reached forward and snatched the radio from Jesse. ‘That’s enough. It ain’t for you two to make your social engagements on.’ He pressed the talk button. ‘Mickey, you still there, you great long streak of piss?’ ‘Yes, Mr Behenna,’ came Mickey’s nervous voice. ‘Well fuck off and ’and me back to your dad.’ On deck the moon, although not full, was bright; its face looked down at the two trawlers as they slipped through the benign waves. Jesse, now standing in the stern of the boat, put his face to the cool wind and closed his eyes. He felt secure and peaceful. He was increasingly realising that the sea was his home; as long as he had it in his life, he knew all would be well. Looking to starboard, and travelling at the same speed, was Our Mermaid. Jesse listened to the thrum of the engines together with the swish of the wash that they churned behind them. He could make out the tall, thin silhouette of Mickey appearing from a hatch and sparking up a cigarette. ‘Hey, Mickey,’ Jesse called over to him. ‘Hey, Jess,’ called back Mickey. ‘Can you think of anywhere else you’d rather be?’ Jesse asked his friend. ‘Inside Loveday’s knickers?’ answered Mickey truthfully. Jesse frowned at Mickey, knowing that – at this distance and in the dark – Mickey wouldn’t be able to read his face. He didn’t like Mickey talking about Loveday like that. Loveday was under Jesse’s skin. He’d known her since … well, forever. And he hated to hear Mickey discuss her in such crude terms. He felt protective towards Loveday. He wanted to look after her and treat her well. He felt something that he couldn’t describe; something, maybe, close to love? He pulled himself up. Love? No, not love. Not for Loveday. Loveday was Mickey’s and he’d never hurt Mickey. He was like a brother to her. He just liked her. A lot. That was all. God, no, he didn’t love her. He was going to see the world. Not settle down with the first girl he’d ever known, right here on his doorstep. Bugger that. ‘Where would you rather be then, Jesse?’ asked Mickey, sucking on his cigarette and exhaling a long plume of smoke to trail behind him. ‘I told you. Nowhere other than here.’ There was a splash behind him. He turned and shouted, ‘Look, Mick. Dolphins!’ And, sure enough, in the wake between the boats, two dolphins slipped out of the water in perfect arcs, the moonlight glistening on their skins. ‘There’s two more!’ shouted Mickey. He bent down to the open hatch on the deck and shouted, ‘Dad. Come up. Dolphins.’ Any crew member on both boats who wasn’t already sleeping, or didn’t have a drop of romance in his soul, came on deck to watch the display that the dolphins put on for them. They counted up to fifteen, although it was hard to tell if some had been counted twice. Both Alfie and Edward cut their engines and, for maybe five or ten minutes, fisherman and dolphin enjoyed each other’s company. Finally the creatures slid beneath the waves and disappeared. A thought dawned on Edward. ‘The little fuckers’ll have our catch if we don’t get a move on.’ He moved quickly towards the wheelhouse. ‘Full steam ahead, lads.’ Jesse was nudged awake at just before midnight. He’d been dreaming of swimming with the dolphins. One of them was swimming alongside him and he reached out to stroke its side. The dolphin turned to look at him and smiled. The smile grew wider and more familiar and Jesse became aware that this was not a dolphin but Loveday. Her red hair was streaming behind her as she swam above and below him, twisting and looping in the simple joy of being with him. Streams of air bubbles danced from her as she swam, always just a little bit faster and a little bit further out of reach. ‘Come on, Jesse. Come on,’ she spoke from beneath the waves, smiling up at him. ‘Come on. Before you lose me.’ ‘Wake up, mate. It’s your watch. Come on. Get up.’ Jesse opened his eyes and slowly became aware of the familiar heat and smell of the The Lobster Pot’s cramped cabin. The tired face of Aaron, who’d just finished the first watch, loomed over Jesse’s bunk. ‘Wake up, you bugger. I need some kip before we start the trawl. Get out and let me in.’ Jesse flipped back the blankets, lifted his head from the pillow and swung his legs onto the floor. Apart from taking off his boots, he hadn’t bothered to get undressed before he slept so, apart from a quick rub of his eyes, there was no time wasted. Aaron was already crawling into the warm bunk and gave Jesse a shove as he reached for the blankets. ‘Get out and let me ’ave me beauty sleep.’ ‘And what time would Sir like his wake-up call?’ a yawning Jesse asked sarcastically. ‘Bugger off.’ ‘As Sir wishes.’ Jesse bent down and whispered in Aaron’s ear, ‘Would Sir like a goodnight kiss?’ Aaron produced a two-fingered salute and turned over. He was already asleep by the time Jesse closed the door. Jesse reported to his father in the wheelhouse. ‘Any news?’ he asked him. ‘Aaron spotted some boats off to starboard about half a kilometre away. Spanish, by looks of it.’ ‘Shit.’ ‘Aye. Seeing more and more of ’em out here. Bastards are depleting our stocks and using up the quotas. Go and make us a brew, will you?’ Jesse gladly did; he was in need of one himself to wake him up. The next two hours went quietly and they saw no more foreign boats. On the horizon he watched the occasional tanker as it headed off for who-knew-where with its lights shining in the gloom. The hypnotic throb of the engine and the rhythmic slosh of the sea water brought on an almost meditative state. He sipped his tea and thought about his future. The places he would go, the people he would meet, the money he would earn. Once he’d done all that, if Loveday were still free, he’d come back to her and marry her. Maybe Mickey would meet someone else; marry the first girl he got up the duff, like the soft bugger he was. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He smiled, contented with his plan. Gradually he grew aware of the engine note changing and the boat slowing. Edward leant out of the wheelhouse window and said, ‘Get the lads up and prepare the trawl.’ * Edward looked down from his vantage point in the wheelhouse and watched as the two derricks holding the beam trawls on either side of the boat swung out from the deck and over the water. He could hear the shackles and chain links of the trawl nets rattle as they went into the water. The rubber wheels at the bottom of the nets would allow the trawl to travel smoothly on the sea bed and gather their precious haul. He’d set the engine to a gentle towing pace of around two knots. He watched Jesse, in his yellow oilskin trousers and boots, working alongside the rest of the crew. He was a good lad. A born fisherman. He wished there was another way he could ensure the survival of Behenna’s Boats, but these were dangerous times for the fishing industry – in Cornwall in particular – and no one could predict what was going to happen. The mood in the harbour was one of doom and gloom, and every week it seemed as if more boats were being decommissioned after desperate fishermen had taken the EU grant and allowed their boats to be broken up in the name of keeping the UK’s quotas. It defied belief, and he knew that his own father would be turning in his grave to see the parlous state that things had reached. But, if Behenna’s Boats and Clovelly’s Fisheries merged, his father’s legacy would be secured, for now at least, and Jesse would have a future. But was he condemning Jesse to a life with that skinny Greer? He shook his head – it was the 1980s, for God’s sake, not the 1580s and he had no power to make Jesse do anything. He felt a flash of anger at his own indecision. Damn it – why did all of this make him feel like he was selling Jesse to the bloody Clovellys? ‘You’m a bleddy old fool,’ he told himself. The envelope of cash was also preying on his mind. He could still give it back, couldn’t he? He’d get this haul home and tell Bryn Clovelly to get stuffed, that’s what he’d do. Relieved to have made a decision at last, he turned his concentration to the job in hand. It was a good night. Each haul on both boats was teeming with good fish. Sole and Dover sole, mostly. These would sell like hot cakes to London chefs, who fed them to their overstuffed clients for a fortune. Down in the hold, in the fish room, the crew were working in well-drilled harmony. The fish were sorted, gutted, washed and placed in boxes of ice ready to be landed for the market. The smell of fish guts was usurped by the gleam in every man’s eye. This was a good haul, and they knew they would be well rewarded when they got it back to Trevay. * Bryn Clovelly caught the mooring rope that Edward threw over to him. ‘I hear you had a good trip,’ Bryn called, tying the rope to an ancient metal ring set into the harbour wall. ‘Aye.’ ‘What have you got for me?’ ‘Some good Dover sole and plaice.’ ‘Not so much call for either at the moment,’ shrugged Bryn, giving a hand to Edward as he stepped off the boat and onto the first dry land he’d seen for seven long days. Edward was not in the mood for haggling. ‘Don’t give me any of that old shit, Bryn. There’s always call for Dover sole from those lah-di-bleddy-dah London types.’ Bryn shrugged again. ‘I’ll make my mind up when I see the catch.’ The crews of The Lobster Pot and Our Mermaid hoisted the fish boxes out of the hold and onto the quayside. There were plenty of them, and Edward could see Bryn’s eyes darting over them and making calculations. He held out his hand to Edward and gave him a figure. ‘Shake on it. You’ll not get a better price.’ Bryn had not mentioned the sweetener and neither had Edward, but it hung there between the two men. Edward was no fool and he held his nerve; he’d agreed to nothing as yet. Keeping his hands in his pockets, he started the negotiations. At last a figure was agreed on and they shook hands, each man regarding the other steadily. ‘I’d have given you more,’ said Bryn wryly, ‘if I knew that Clovelly and Behenna were destined to be one company.’ Edward pursed his lips and thought for a moment. ‘If I knew that the deal was only between you and me and that it had nothing to do with your Greer and my Jesse, I might just say yes. Jesse is his own man, Bryn. He’ll do as he likes.’ ‘You’re a good negotiator, Edward, with strong powers of persuasion. You’ll sway him.’ Edward said nothing, but he saw a glint in Bryn Clovelly’s eyes – and it looked worryingly like victory. ‘I need to know that Clovelly’s has a future,’ said Bryn. ‘I need to know that I am passing it onto the next generation of my bloodline. I want my grandchildren to carry on the name of Clovelly. If Greer and Jesse were to marry, that would happen. But if you can’t see your way to giving your son a helping hand in the world, then there are plenty of boat owners – with unmarried sons – on this coast who will.’ 6 (#ulink_96ae9a5a-8174-5ebd-acee-551b15fe7b48) The postman, never knowingly uninterested in people’s business, was enjoying his morning. It was that day in August when, around the country, exam results were dropping through letterboxes, anxious pupils waiting on the other side, braced for what news they might bring. The postman always took it upon himself to hand-deliver the envelopes in Trevay – whether he was conveying good news or bad, he wanted to pass it to the addressee personally. Today he’d witnessed four people in tears (three of them mothers) and received two hugs of joy. No one had yet offered him a brew, and he could do with one. He was driving from the small modern housing estate at the top of Trevay, down the hill towards the old town and the sea. He pulled on the plastic sun visor to shield his eyes from the glare of the early morning light glinting off the water in the estuary. He turned right onto the posh road where the white stucco executive bungalows sat with their unfettered view of the river, the harbour and the open sea beyond. Each home was surrounded by a generous plot of land, either planted with palm trees, china-blue hydrangeas, large mounds of pampas grass or a selection of all three. He stopped his van at Bryn and Elizabeth Clovelly’s conspicuously expensive bungalow, unimaginatively named Brybeth. He sorted through the bundles of post. He was looking for one with Greer Clovelly’s name on it. He found an electricity bill, a Cellophaned edition of Golfer’s Monthly and a letter from the DVLA (all addressed to Mr B. Clovelly), a postcard from Scotland (addressed to Mrs E. Clovelly) and finally a plain envelope addressed to Miss Greer Clovelly with a Truro postmark. He got out of his van and walked with dignified purpose towards their front door. Greer was lying in bed listening to the radio. Kim Wilde was singing ‘You Keep Me Hangin’ On’. As usual Greer was thinking about Jesse. She didn’t hear the doorbell ring or the bustle of her mother coming from the rear kitchen to the front door. But she did hear her mother calling her name. ‘Greer. The postman has a delivery for you.’ ‘What is it?’ she called back. ‘Something you’ve been waiting for.’ Her mother was using her singsong voice. Greer sat up quickly. ‘Is it my exam results?’ She didn’t listen for the answer as she leapt out of bed, grabbed her Snoopy dressing gown, a cherished Christmas present from Loveday, Mickey and more especially Jesse, and dashed down the hall to the open front door. She thanked the postman and slid her thumb under the flap of the envelope. Her hands shook a little as she took out the letter inside and unfolded it. The look on her face told the postman all he needed to know. He hung about briefly in case there was a congratulatory cup of coffee to be offered, but when it wasn’t he set off, desperate to spread the news. Bryn stood at the kitchen table and read the letter through again. ‘You passed! Ten O levels. My God, Greer, I’m proud of you.’ ‘Thank you, Daddy.’ ‘Ten! That’s ten more than you and me, eh, Elizabeth?’ ‘It certainly is. Oh, Greer, we are proud of you.’ ‘This means I can go to sixth-form college and do my art and design A level.’ Her father sat down opposite her and, pushing his reading glasses onto the top of his head, adopted a patient tone. ‘How about getting a good secretarial qualification? Hmm? Secretaries are always needed. Good ones, anyway. They are the oil of the engine in any business. And when you get married, you won’t need to work. You’ll be looked after by your husband, while you look after your home and your family. Like Mum.’ Greer looked at her father in exasperation. ‘I want to be an interior designer, and a wife and mum.’ ‘Well, I’d like to be a professional golfer, but we all have to be realistic.’ ‘I am being realistic. Lots of women have jobs these days and bring up a family.’ ‘You’re talking about those lah-di-dah city types with posh nannies and banker husbands. It’s different here.’ ‘And who says I can’t be a lah-di-dah city type?’ she countered mutinously. Her father glowered at her. Greer chewed her lip and there was a strained silence. She knew it was pointless to provoke her father, but she consoled herself with the thought that he’d have to stop treating her like a child one day. Her mother went to the bread bin and sliced two pieces of granary bread before popping them in the toaster. She was thinking of how best to back Greer without antagonising her dinosaur, chauvinist husband. ‘I think she’d make a very good interior designer, Bryn,’ she said quietly. ‘Look what she’s done with her bedroom. And interior designers can charge the earth for their services. She has good taste, and people are prepared to pay for good taste.’ Bryn shook his head dismissively. ‘A fool and his money are easily parted.’ * ‘Mum!’ Loveday was bouncing uncontrollably round the tiny stone-flagged hall of the cottage she shared with her mother. ‘Mum! I got seven! And an A for maths!’ She flung herself into her mother’s arms and jigged them both up and down on the spot. ‘Can you believe it, Mum?’ Beryl Carter managed to extricate herself from her daughter and, panting, said, ‘Oh, my darlin’ girl, you done so well! Your dad would be proud of you and no mistake. Seven! You’ll be going to university at this rate.’ Loveday stopped jumping and pulled her mother into a giant bear hug. ‘Mum, I’m not leaving you. I’m going to get a job and bring some good money into the house. I’m going to look after you properly. The way Dad would’ve.’ ‘No,’ Beryl told her firmly, pulling herself out of Loveday’s grip again. ‘You’m not giving up your future for me. I can look after myself. You get out and see the world. You could be a doctor or … or … a professor or something.’ ‘Not with only seven O levels,’ laughed Loveday. ‘And what do I want to see the world for? I’m happy in Trevay with you and Greer and Jesse and Mickey.’ A thought suddenly struck her. ‘I’ll ask if there’s a job going at Jesse’s dad’s or Greer’s dad’s. I’ll work as hard as they like. Harder than anyone they know.’ * Jan Behenna took the envelope from the odious postman and propped it against the teapot on the kitchen table. She prayed Jesse had done well. She wanted him to be happy and fulfil his dreams, whatever they were. If that meant emigrating to Australia, so be it. She’d barely left Cornwall herself, let alone the United Kingdom. If Jesse went to Australia, Jan could apply for a passport and fly on an aeroplane. She’d have the chance to see the Sydney Harbour Bridge. She sighed as she dreamt of Jesse’s future. The one thing she didn’t want for him was to be pushed into a marriage of convenience to Greer bloody Clovelly and her jumped-up family. ‘Morning, Ma.’ Grant came into the kitchen; he’d come home for the weekend and looked better than he had for ages. His hair was shaved close and neat and, despite being out last night drinking with his old Trevay mates, he was up bright and early this morning and looked none the worse for it. It was early days, but Jan hoped that life in the army was giving the boy the discipline he sorely needed. She fervently prayed that he’d turned a corner and was putting his old ways behind him. Movement upstairs signalled that Jesse was awake. He and Edward had come home from a long fishing trip the night before and he was only now stirring, the smell of eggs and bacon wafting up from the kitchen as good as any alarm clock. Jesse entered, naked except for his boxers. He hadn’t known Grant was due a visit home, and the sight of his brother grinning at him from the breakfast table wasn’t an entirely welcome one. ‘All right, Grant.’ ‘Hello, little brother.’ Grant ruffled Jesse’s hair roughly and Jesse jerked his head away quickly. ‘Get off.’ ‘Oo-er, someone’s a bit touchy today. That Loveday Carter not let you ’ave a feel of ’er big tits yet?’ Jesse stiffened. Jan could sense the tension between them and tried to head it off at the pass. ‘Grant, leave Jesse be, he doesn’t need your teasing this morning. Here, Jesse.’ She handed him the envelope. Jesse could have done without Grant being there while he opened the letter. Whether the news was good or bad, his brother would find some way of goading or mocking him for it. ‘Go on, son, open it,’ his mother said encouragingly. Jesse looked from her to the letter. Would any of the contents make the blindest bit of difference to his future? He doubted it. Behenna’s Boats beckoned and there wasn’t much in this letter could change that. He ripped open the envelope and eyed the contents. ‘Well?’ Jan asked anxiously. A grin spread across Jesse’s face. Six O levels. He’d failed at geography and a couple of others, but all of the key subjects were there. ‘I got six!’ ‘Oh, well done, son!’ Jan embraced him warmly and Jesse tried not to squirm. ‘Enough for college, are they?’ Grant sneered. ‘College? What – our Jesse a college boy, with all those other little stuck-up snivellers.’ ‘Fuck off, Grant. Just because you were too busy getting in trouble and never got anything.’ ‘College is just for nancy boys too shit-scared to do a proper man’s job.’ He shovelled a mouthful of bacon and eggs into his mouth. ‘Grant, stop winding Jesse up and, Jesse, mind your language at the table, please.’ ‘I’m going out on the boats with Dad,’ Jesse announced, in a bid to put an end to both his mother and Grant’s speculation. ‘You don’t have to decide now, Jesse,’ his mother told him. ‘Wait until after the summer and see how you feel then.’ ‘Anyway,’ said Grant, talking through his mouthful of food, ‘Dad’s got Jesse’s future all sewn up, ain’t that right? You’re going to be the family whore!’ He let out a snort of laughter and continued to shovel in the last few forkfuls of his breakfast. Jesse felt the urge to get as far and as fast away from Grant as possible. He stood and headed towards the kitchen door. ‘But, Jesse, your breakfast?’ his mother called after him. ‘Not hungry, Mum.’ Jesse leapt up the hallway stairs two at a time, still with Grant’s spiteful laughter ringing in his ears. * Mickey wasn’t surprised by his results. He sat up in bed as his mum brought the envelope to him with a mug of tea. ‘B for technical drawing and physics, C for maths, English and history, and the rest I failed.’ His mum was thrilled, and said so. ‘How many is that you got, then?’ ‘Five.’ ‘Five,’ she said with relish. ‘Five O levels. You’m bleddy Einstein, boy.’ The phone in the hall started to ring. Annie Chandler gave her son a last pat on the leg and went downstairs to answer it. Mickey listened, still looking at his results letter with satisfaction. ‘’Ello? …’Ello, Jesse. How did you do in your … Did you? Well done, boy … yes, Mickey’s got his … five, yeah … shall I put ’im on?… Just a minute.’ Mickey didn’t need to be called; he was already coming down the stairs two at a time and took the phone receiver from his mother. ‘What you got, Jesse?’ ‘Six. I can’t believe it!’ ‘You bleddy swot.’ Jesse laughed. ‘You did all right, didn’t you? Five!’ ‘Yeah.’ Mickey couldn’t help smiling to himself. ‘Yeah. Bleddy five O levels.’ * ‘Mum. Please,’ Greer was pleading. ‘I know it’s kind of Dad, but I don’t want to go out to dinner tonight.’ ‘You’re not going to the Golden Hind and that’s an end to it.’ Her mother’s voice was muffled as she dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the understairs cupboard. ‘But everyone’s going and I want to be with my friends.’ ‘No.’ Her mother unwound the cable from the back of the cleaner’s handle. ‘Your dad and I want to celebrate as a family.’ She handed Greer the plug end. ‘Put this in, would you?’ Greer did as she was told but wouldn’t give up. ‘Well, can we go out early? So that I can finish and get down to see everybody after we’ve eaten?’ But her mother had already drowned her out with the roar of the machine. Greer went to her room seething with frustration. She’d been everything a daughter should be to her family. She was thoughtful, obedient, clever. She always looked her best and watched her figure. She never asked for anything. Well, she didn’t need to; her parents gave her everything before she asked. And now, here she was, almost 17, and they wouldn’t let her go out on the most important night of her life. Loveday had phoned an hour ago and told her her results. Greer was pleased for her, but even happier that she had done better. Loveday had asked her to come down to Figgotty’s – a locals’ beach. No holiday-maker ventured there; it had such a steep descent that no buggy or grandma would be able to get down to it or, if they did, up from it again. ‘We’re taking some pasties,’ Loveday had told her. ‘Who’s we?’ Greer had asked. ‘About eight of us.’ ‘Is Jesse going?’ Greer had hated herself for asking, so she added hastily, ‘And Mickey?’ ‘Course they are. It was Jesse’s idea. He told me to call you.’ ‘Did he?’ Greer hugged herself. ‘Hang on, I’ll just ask Mum.’ A few moments later she was back on the line, almost in tears. ‘My mum won’t let me. She wants me to go into Truro with her.’ ‘Never mind.’ Loveday had suddenly felt sorry for her friend. ‘Maybe you can come tonight?’ she’d suggested. ‘The pub’s doing an “exam result special” night. There’s a hog roast in the beer garden and a DJ.’ But now Greer’s mum had categorically said no. * ‘Buona sera, Signor Clovelly.’ Antonio, chef proprietor of the eponymously named Italian restaurant greeted Bryn with his arms wide and a dusting of pizza flour on his cheek. ‘Good to see you, Antonio. How’s the golf?’ Bryn and Antonio were cronies both at the golf club and in the local Masonic Lodge. Antonio was taking Elizabeth’s wrap from her shoulders and replied in his heavily accented English, ‘I am playing offa sixteen.’ He shrugged. ‘But if I had more time, I could be closer to you. What you playing offa now?’ ‘Twelve.’ ‘Twelve? My God, you musta never be at work? S??’ The two men laughed and then Antonio saw Greer standing hunched and miserable in the doorway. He stepped towards her, holding his arms out wide again. ‘Look at leetle Greer! All-a grown up.’ He inclined his head to one side and brought his hands together as if in prayer. ‘But you are a beautiful young woman now!’ Elizabeth beamed with pride and said, ‘She got her exam results today. She did very well, so we’re here to celebrate.’ ‘Why she not look so happy?’ asked Antonio, staring at Greer as if it was he who had upset her. ‘I am happy,’ Greer said, trying to smile, but desperately wishing that Antonio would leave her alone. ‘Thank God!’ Antonio boomed. ‘And now, Antonio make you even more happy with his food.’ He walked them to a pretty table overlooking the inner harbour, where they could watch the visiting yachts bob on their hired moorings. The tide was high that night and Greer could see it lapping almost to the top of the wall. She heard laughter from the pavement and saw several schoolfriends walking towards the Golden Hind … and the party she wasn’t allowed to go to. ‘Well, this is nice,’ Bryn smiled, once Antonio had lit the red candle in the centre of the table and left them to get drinks and menus. ‘Isn’t it?’ smiled Elizabeth. Greer said nothing. Knowing that all of her friends were out enjoying themselves – and she was stuck here – was like a slow death. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked her father. Greer put on a bright, tight little smile. ‘Nothing.’ Elizabeth turned to Bryn and explained. ‘There’s a do at the pub. Pete’s doing a hog roast and a disco for the school-leavers. Her friends are celebrating over there.’ Bryn turned his head and looked over at the Golden Hind. ‘That sounds fun. Why aren’t you invited, Greer?’ ‘I was, but Mum said I couldn’t go as we’re having a family dinner, so …’ Greer shrugged and looked at her hands, trying not to cry. Bryn winked at Elizabeth. ‘You can go over after we’ve eaten.’ Greer immediately brightened. ‘Can I?’ ‘Of course you can. I like a bit of a bop.’ Greer’s face dropped. ‘You’re coming?’ She couldn’t think what was worse. Not being allowed to go, or going but being saddled with her parents, who were bound to embarrass her. ‘Yeah. Me and your mum haven’t had a night out for ages.’ Bryn put his hand on top of Elizabeth’s, which was resting on the table. He turned to her. ‘We’ll show the youngsters some of our jive moves.’ Elizabeth, who had been looking forward to an early night with her new Jackie Collins book, hid her dismay. ‘What a lovely idea.’ ‘Yes,’ murmured Greer. ‘Lovely idea.’ Really just wishing that the ground would open and swallow her parents up. 7 (#ulink_6fe7afd5-cef5-507c-8b4a-eb4bd9f6fe78) The air in the beer garden was heavy with the smoke of the hog roast. Long chains of coloured lights were swung in a zigzag from fence to wall and back again, above the dusty grass. The DJ Ricky and ‘his Roadshow from Liskeard’, was playing ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ and blowing bubbles over a couple of girls who were vying for his attention. The centre of the garden was a heaving mass of dancing, sweating teens. Greer arrived and stood on the periphery. She was on her own. Her mother had nipped to the Ladies and her father was at the bar chatting. Loveday spotted her and came bowling over, wreathed in smiles. ‘You made it! How did you manage it?’ Greer briefly explained and Loveday handed her a glass of punch. ‘My mum’s here too, see.’ Loveday pointed over to the bar area where her mum was laughing and joking loudly over a large vodka and orange with a group of fishermen and their women. Her cheeks were flushed, and when Loveday waved over to her, she blew her daughter an ostentatious kiss. Greer couldn’t understand why Loveday wasn’t more embarrassed by her mother. She dressed in clothes more appropriate for a girl half her age; her own mother would have said that she was mutton dressed as lamb. ‘Here, try this. It’s mostly fruit juice, with some sort of wine in it.’ Greer took a sip. It seemed innocuous enough. ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ was playing now. ‘I love Whitney!’ Loveday shouted above the noise. ‘Come on, Greer. Let’s dance.’ Greer was not the dancing type but she took another mouthful of punch and, looking around for Jesse, reluctantly followed Loveday into the throng. Jesse was in the pub kitchen with Mickey, making another industrial-sized bowl of punch. The landlord, Pete, told them to help themselves to the cartons of fruit juice that he’d put into the huge fridge, and to add half a bottle of Lambrusco to each batch. ‘No more, mind! I don’t want to lose my licence.’ Mickey and Jesse had assured him they wouldn’t overdo it but, as soon as they were on their own, Mickey stepped outside the kitchen door and fetched the bottle of vodka he’d hidden in the hedge and he and Jesse took a swig each from it before pouring a good slug into the punch. ‘Well, Pete never said nothing about vodka, did he?’ ‘No,’ agreed Jesse, assiduously measuring only half a bottle of Lambrusco into the deep container. The two boys took another mouthful of vodka each before hiding the bottle back under the hedge. * Loveday was hot. The music was getting faster and louder and she was getting thirsty. She spotted the boys lugging the punch tureen towards a trestle table. ‘Want a drink, Greer?’ she shouted. Greer nodded and gently dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand. She was glad to stop, and gladder still to see Jesse. Mickey saw the girls approaching and, emboldened by the vodka, nudged Jesse and slurred, ‘I’m going to make sure I give Loveday a big one.’ Jesse giggled. ‘You ain’t got a big one.’ Mickey snorted with laughter, ‘I don’t mean give her my big one.’ He creased over with hysteria. ‘Well, I’ll help you out and give her my big one if you like,’ hooted Jesse. Mickey stopped laughing and squared up to his friend. ‘What did you say?’ Jesse was shocked that he’d said anything at all. The drink was muddling his thinking, but thoughts of Loveday were always bubbling just beneath the surface these days. ‘It was a joke. Just a joke. That’s all.’ He put his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, mate.’ Mickey looked stony faced. ‘Loveday means the world to me and one day I’ll marry her, so no more talking that way about her. She’s my girl, you got that?’ For a brief moment, Jesse wanted to push back at Mickey, to ask him who said that Loveday was his girl. Why should he have her? Mickey stood his ground, staring hard into Jesse’s eyes. Jesse saw the fierce possession that burned there and instead of challenging Mickey, the words that came from his mouth were ones of appeasement. ‘Of course, mate. I’m so sorry. I just … I don’t know … must be the booze.’ Then suddenly Mickey began to giggle again. ‘Yours is just a little chipolata anyway.’ Jesse, relieved, started to laugh too. ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Loveday as she arrived at the table. ‘What you two bollock-heads laughing at?’ The boys gave each other sidelong glances and started giggling again. Loveday shook her head, dismissing their silliness. ‘Honest, Greer, how these two ever managed to get any O levels is beyond me. Bleddy idiots.’ She reached for the industrial catering ladle lying in a sticky pool on the paper tablecloth and dipped it into the punch. ‘Give it a good stir, Loveday,’ hiccuped Mickey, putting his arm round her fleshy waist and giving it a squeeze. ‘All the good stuff is at the bottom.’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘’Ave you been drinking?’ ‘No.’ She turned to Jesse. ‘Has he?’ Jesse attempted to focus his eyes on Loveday. ‘No.’ Loveday shook Mickey’s arm off her and leant forward to sniff his breath. ‘I can smell alcohol.’ Mickey was affronted. ‘You can’t smell vodka, ’tis a well-known fact.’ She opened her eyes in disbelief. ‘Yes you can, and where the bleddy hell did you get vodka?’ Jesse owned up. ‘Grant got us two litre bottles to celebrate. He’s home for the weekend.’ ‘Your Grant is trouble – and now he’s going to get you into trouble.’ She stood with her hands on her hips, frowning at both boys. ‘Where is he now?’ Greer, who’d been listening to all of this, looked around the garden and pointed to Grant, who was dancing with a couple of girls. He was in a skintight T-shirt which enhanced his muscular shoulders and tattooed pecs. The girls looked very pleased with themselves for having netted the handsomest man at the party. DJ Ricky was not looking happy – it looked as if he’d be going home alone … again. ‘He’s over there,’ Greer said. Jesse was unimpressed. ‘Janine and Heather? Is that the best he can do? Anyone can pull them.’ Grant was now bumping and grinding his hips, bum and crotch towards the girls as ‘Le Freak’ by Chic was blaring out over the speakers. The girls willingly followed his moves. Loveday leaned towards Jesse’s ear and – above the noise – managed to ask him to dance with her. ‘No thanks,’ he answered, pouring himself another glass of punch. ‘Not in the mood.’ ‘What are you in the mood for?’ she asked, putting her hand on his chest. She was wearing a low-cut baby- pink vest and the skimpiest of denim skirts. Her hair was tied in a side ponytail with a pink scrunchie, and her lips were parted seductively as she gazed up at Jesse. He felt the warmth of her skin through his shirt and wanted more than anything to drop his mouth to hers and kiss her deeply. They were so close, with barely a hair’s breadth between them; all he’d have to do would be to lean in … but all at once Jesse became aware of Mickey standing right next to them. He took a step back, knocking the table as he did so. Loveday let her hand drop back by her side. ‘I’ll dance with you, Loveday,’ grinned Mickey. He grabbed her elbow, guiding her erratically onto the dance floor as she looked disappointedly over her shoulder at Jesse. He and Greer were left to watch as Mickey and Loveday were swallowed by the crowd. ‘Want another drink, Greer?’ asked Jesse. Greer drank very little, but the last glass of punch had left her feeling a little woolly around the edges, and she was enjoying the sensation. ‘Yes, please.’ She handed her empty glass to him. Carefully he dipped the ladle into the bowl and filled their glasses to the brim. ‘Cheers, Big Ears,’ Greer surprised herself by saying; the punch was definitely kicking in. ‘Cheers, Greers,’ he replied solemnly. They clinked and drank. ‘Why aren’t you dancing?’ he asked. ‘No one’s asked me. Except Loveday, and she doesn’t count.’ ‘Loveday’s a good girl,’ Jesse said quietly. ‘Mickey thinks so.’ Jesse pulled his mouth down at the corners. ‘Yeah.’ ‘They’re well suited, don’t you think?’ ‘I s’pose.’ Greer, powered by the warmth of vodka, elucidated. ‘I mean they’re two of a kind. Loveday has no ambition to leave Trevay. Mickey’s future is mapped out for him on the boats. Whereas you and I …’ She took a step closer to him. ‘We’re lucky. We come from families who have made something of themselves.’ Jesse was now feeling very drunk but also – and this surprised him – he suddenly felt attracted to Greer. She wasn’t sexy and exuberant like Loveday, but her shiny, blunt-cut bob and neat, even teeth were fascinating him. He wasn’t sure what she was saying exactly, but whatever it was, she was saying it very sweetly. ‘You’re all right really, aren’t you, Greer?’ he managed. ‘I don’t think you’re a snob. Like some of them say. You’re just a bit different. That’s all. Want a top-up?’ Greer frowned slightly. ‘Yes, please, and I’m not a snob. Who said that?’ ‘Janine and Heather.’ Greer drank some more punch and enjoyed its zing as it ran down her throat and hit her stomach. ‘They are a pair of bitches.’ She put her glass down. ‘I’m going to sort them out.’ She took a step forward but her knees sank a little. Jesse caught her. ‘No you don’t.’ He pulled her closer to him. ‘You’re staying with me.’ Her slender frame felt surprisingly good – firm, but there was a softness there too, not soft like Loveday, but … He felt a shot of desire stir in his groin. She relaxed into his arms and raised her face to his. She giggled. ‘You’ve got strong arms, Jesse Behenna.’ He demonstrated his strength by pulling her closer to him. ‘You’d better believe it.’ She snuggled into his arms. She could feel his warm breath on her hair as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to melt into him, to feel the heat of his body against hers. Greer felt a heady thrill at being in Jesse’s arms. This was it. This was their moment. The pounding beat of Jackie Wilson giving his all to ‘Reet Petite’ broke through the moment as Greer heard a familiar voice. ‘Scuse us, you two,’ said her father. ‘Your mum and I are going to show you young ’uns some real dancing.’ Her parents pushed past them and cleared a space on the dance floor before going into an incredible jive routine. Bryn spun Elizabeth under his arm and towards him, then spun her out and away from him. They were good. They rocked back on their heels at arms’ length and pinged back together with their arms round each other. Pushing Elizabeth a little away from him, Bryn caught her by the waist and bounced her high above his head then swept her down and between his legs. Elizabeth had enjoyed two large gin and tonics and was unembarrassed as her skirt slid up her thighs to reveal comfy mum knickers. Greer was mortified. The spell was broken and she extricated herself from the bliss of Jesse’s embrace to take in the full horrific embarrassment of her parents. Couldn’t they see how ridiculous they looked? How could they do this to her? In front of all her friends. On tonight of all nights. She turned and ran to the Ladies where the combination of alcohol, her yearning for Jesse and the grimness of her parents’ behaviour made her vomit violently. After a while, she felt a bit better. She closed the loo lid and flushed, then sat down on the seat and dabbed at her perspiring face with a wad of loo paper. She had never had so much to drink. She stayed put, with her head in her hands, praying that the room would just slow down for a moment. A timid knock on the cubicle door made her jolt. ‘Is anyone in there?’ It was Loveday’s mother. Greer got to her feet and flushed the loo again to make it look as if she hadn’t been sitting there trying to sober up. She opened the door and Mrs Carter smiled kindly at her. ‘You all right?’ she asked. ‘Fine, Mrs Carter. Thank you.’ ‘I saw you run in here and wondered if you might like a glass of water or something, darling?’ Greer wondered how much Mrs Carter had seen and understood. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine, really.’ ‘That’s good.’ Mrs Carter made no move to go into the cubicle. Instead she put her hand comfortingly on Greer’s shoulder and leant in closer. She smelt of alcohol mixed with Dior Poison. ‘Seeing your mam and dad dancing like that has taken me back.’ She shifted unsteadily and her eyes seemed glazed over. Greer wanted to sit down or go home or both, but this wretched woman wouldn’t leave her alone. She made an attempt at good manners. ‘Taken you back to when?’ ‘When we was all at school together. Your dad was so handsome. All we girls wanted to dance with him. He’s still got it, hasn’t he? I haven’t seen him dance like that since he married your mum.’ Mrs Carter had a faraway look in her eye that Greer didn’t like. ‘He used to dance like that with me, you know.’ Greer was feeling queasy again. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘He and I went out with each other for a little while, but your mum took dancing lessons and before long they were a couple on the dance floor …’ Mrs Carter sighed again. ‘And in life.’ Beads of sweat popped out on Greer’s top lip and forehead. She didn’t want to hear any more. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Carter, but I must get some fresh air.’ She made a dash for the door and just heard Mrs Carter’s imploring, ‘Don’t tell Loveday, will you? She thinks her dad was my one and only boyfriend.’ God, what was going on with these adults? What kind of role models were they? She slipped through the pub bar and out to the front where she found an empty bench tucked into the shadows. She breathed the cool night air. It was tinged with the familiar smell of salt, seaweed, diesel and fish and chips. She took stock of her evening. Her parents were some kind of dancing nuts, and her best friend’s mother had gone out with her dad. She didn’t want to imagine how intimate they might or might not have been. Her world seemed to have turned upside down. Then she thought of Jesse and the way he had held her tonight. She was sure she’d seen a flicker of real emotion in his eye. Until her parents had shown themselves up. What would he think of her now? She buried her face in her hands for the second time that evening. After a while she sensed that she wasn’t alone. Someone sat on the bench next to her and the wooden slats gave way a little, making her bounce slightly. ‘All right, are you, Greer?’ asked Jesse. She stayed hunched but took her hands from her face. ‘Yes.’ ‘Loveday’s mum’s worried about you. She thought you might not be feeling well.’ ‘I’m fine.’ ‘Sure?’ ‘Sure.’ Jesse stretched his long legs out in front of him and stretched his arms over his head. She turned to look at him. He was staring at the stars. She drank in his wonderful profile. His always tousled blond hair was carelessly sticking out in all directions. His eyebrows framed his honest sea-green eyes. His lashes were fair but long and his nose straight and strong. His lips, slightly parted, were on the thin side but they framed his teeth perfectly. He spoke. ‘Satellite. Look.’ She tilted her head up and followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, across the heavens a bright light was moving at speed. ‘I wanted to be an astronaut when I was young.’ She smiled. ‘You are young.’ Now he turned those sea-green eyes to her. ‘Greer, I’ve got six O levels and I’m leaving school to work with my dad. I’m already old.’ ‘You’re only sixteen. You can go to college, get some more qualifications.’ ‘That’s for people like you. You want to go to college, don’t you?’ ‘Art school. But my dad wants me to do a secretarial course.’ ‘Sensible.’ ‘I don’t want sensible. I want to be an interior designer. To make beautiful houses for beautiful people, and …’ She looked down at her feet in their pretty pink suede court shoes, ‘and I want to be married and have children.’ Jesse lifted his arm and put it round her shoulders, aware of what he was doing, thinking again of her smooth skin and her firm thighs. He couldn’t seem to stop himself: the mix of alcohol, the heat of the pub and his raging hormones had put his body and his mind at odds with each other. ‘Do you now? And who have you got your eye on?’ It was now or never, under the starry night sky, and still slightly drunk she looked him full in the eye and breathed, ‘You.’ His father’s words – you’d do a lot worse than to marry that girl – drifted through Jesse’s alcoholic haze. Greer felt his arm lift a little away from her and he was silent for a moment before he started to laugh. Now his arm was back by his side, searching for his other arm to cross defensively over his chest, his heart. ‘You’re a funny one when you’re drunk, aren’t you?’ He stood up. ‘Let’s go back. The others will be wondering where we are. We don’t want to start any rumours, do we?’ She stayed where she was, horrified and ashamed that she’d played her hand so openly. ‘I’ll join you in a minute.’ He looked down at her and held out a large hand. ‘Come on, you. We all say silly things when we’re pissed. I promise not to tell. Now take my hand and let’s go back.’ * The party had degenerated into several couples clinging to each other in a slow dance. Around the edges sat groups of people chatting or snogging. The fire pit for the hog roast had died down to a mellow glow and the hog itself was just a charred carcass. Greer glanced around to find her parents. She saw them through a window sitting inside in the bar. Her feeling of relief was swiftly abated when a breathless Loveday ran up to them in distress. ‘Jesse, your brother’s challenged Ricky the DJ to an arm-wrestling match. He’s ever so drunk and I’m frightened he’s going to hurt him.’ ‘Oh shit,’ said Jesse, and he sprinted off into the pub. A crowd had gathered around Grant and Ricky. Ricky was a big lad with strong arms and a beer belly, and he was holding his own. Grant’s tattooed muscles, though, were as dense and hard as granite. He was staring into the DJ’s pudgy face and through bared teeth said, ‘Come on, fat boy. You can do better than this, can’t you?’ Ricky dug deep and strengthened his grip. ‘You don’t scare me, soldier boy. I was in the Falklands. I’ve killed people.’ ‘Yeah?’ grimaced Grant, pushing his muscles till they quivered. ‘Well, you’re a tub of lard now, aren’t you?’ There was a sudden parting of the crowd as Mickey and Jesse pushed through. Their arrival momentarily broke Grant’s concentration and Ricky, seeing his chance, slammed Grant’s arm down. The crowd cheered but quickly quietened as they saw Grant smash his fist into Ricky’s face. There was the sickening sound of crunching bone and a splatter of blood arced from the DJ’s nose across the crowd. Someone must have dialled 999 because within minutes two police cars and an ambulance had arrived, their sirens and blue lights strobing the peace of the harbour. A few of the more drunken and troublesome teens lingered on the harbour, looking for trouble, before they were herded away by the police; the party quickly broke up, with only the hardened rubberneckers lingering. Ricky the DJ was put in the ambulance with a police officer and driven off to Truro and Treliske Hospital. Grant was handcuffed after attempting to resist arrest and was being questioned in the bar. It wasn’t long before a Royal Marines Police vehicle arrived and he was locked in the back for the return journey to his Plymouth barracks. Jesse could only watch helplessly as Grant was driven away. Thanks to him, the night had ended on a downer and all the excitement and expectation that had been flowing through the crowd had now drained away, just like the remains of the punch that Pete was pouring down the sink. Jesse was left with the difficult of job of going home to tell his parents that Grant was, once again, in trouble. 8 (#ulink_bd0aca3c-7f5a-5665-a1fd-7feff40b6e4b) 1989 Greer stepped off the train at Bodmin and walked out to the pavement, where cars were parking ready to collect her fellow travellers. She shielded her eyes against the dazzling June sunshine and stood her suitcase and two canvas ‘overspill’ bags at her feet, face turned to the sun, inhaling the scent of clean Cornish air. ‘Greer darling!’ Her mother’s voice carried on the breeze. Elizabeth was stepping half in and half out of the passenger seat of Bryn’s latest car. Her left leg was still in the footwell, her right on the tarmac, and both hands holding onto the top of the open car door. She was beaming and waving frantically. Greer could see her father pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head and then opening the heavy door of the big BMW. He got out and walked to the boot. He opened it and then strolled towards her, giving Greer a chance to admire how fit and tanned and successful he looked. ‘Darling, welcome home.’ He kissed her and picked up the suitcase and one of the canvas bags. ‘You can manage that one, can’t you?’ He nodded his head to the remaining bag. ‘I’ve managed all of them from London, Dad.’ ‘Hope you haven’t gone all women’s lib on us?’ He laughed. Greer was thinking that her dad was being as embarrassing as usual and was struggling to come up with a suitable retort when her mother bustled up. ‘Darling Greer. You look so lovely! So slim in that dress. But what have you done with your hair?’ Greer’s free hand flew to the back of her neck where perfect feathers of hair lay short. ‘I got bored with the bob.’ ‘But it was a classic cut. You’ve had it since you were three.’ ‘Exactly. I’m eighteen years old. I needed a change.’ Her mother sniffed disapprovingly before saying, ‘Never mind. It will grow.’ Her father loaded her bags into the boot and Greer stepped into the back seat. As with all her father’s cars it was the best he could afford. Top of the range, walnut, soft leather and deep-pile carpet. ‘I like your new car, Dad.’ ‘Only picked it up two days ago. Wanted to collect you in style.’ He put the gearstick into drive mode and pulled away from the kerb. Her mother craned round to chat to her daughter. ‘Congratulations on your typing speed and shorthand. And how you’ve mastered the word processor, I’ve no idea. Your father has two in the office. The girls were showing them to me but it’s all so complicated.’ Her mother turned back to face the road. ‘Not when you know how, Mum.’ Greer was looking out of the window, enjoying the sights she hadn’t seen for two long years. The valley to her right held woodland and fields. To her left were the steep lanes leading to Lanhydrock House. ‘There’s a job for a secretary in the office at the moment.’ Her father caught her gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Tessa’s going off on maternity leave in a couple of weeks. She says she’ll be back, but she won’t. Women don’t come back once they’ve started a family. But I have to pay her while she’s away. It’s a government con.’ Greer tried to let her father’s misogynistic stream flow over her. She had got what she’d wanted. She’d done a two-year course in interior design at a smart private college in Surrey, and, to keep her father happy, studied for a secretarial course in London during the holidays. That had left her no time to return to Cornwall while she focused on gaining her qualifications, but it meant she’d achieved them as quickly as possible. ‘I got a distinction in my design course.’ There was a tight silence from the front seats. ‘Good,’ her mother finally said. Greer persevered. ‘Actually, I have a surprise for you.’ Silence. ‘I got Student of the Year.’ She saw her father raise his eyebrows in a look that said, ‘What’s the bloody use of that?’ before her mother managed: ‘That’s nice.’ Greer said nothing more. She knew that she’d done extremely well, despite their dismissive attitude. They could ignore it if they liked, but Greer had worked hard for that distinction and it wouldn’t go to waste, no matter what her father might think. She continued to look out of the window, content to watch the familiar landmarks slide by. Trelawney Garden Centre, the bridge over the river at Wadebridge, and the Royal Cornwall Showground. They continued along the dramatic and romantically named Atlantic Highway until the first sign to Trevay came into view. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/fern-britton/a-good-catch-the-perfect-cornish-escape-full-of-secrets/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.