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I sense he’s weakening so I move in for the kill. ‘We can negotiate on the terms. I’ve never been afraid of hard work.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t.’
‘And I won’t throw stuff over the customers. It was only Mawgan who got my back up.’
He smiles, properly this time, and my stomach does a funny little flip but it’s only the excitement and adrenaline of being so very close to getting this job and a new home.
‘Believe me, you can throw a whole bucket of anything over Mawgan. However, on a serious note, in addition to dealing with customers, there’d be a lot of fetching and carrying and cooking and cleaning and boring admin. We all have to muck in at Kilhallon.’
‘I can do all that.’
‘What about building work?’ He eyes my skinny arms as if they’re twigs. ‘Any experience in gardening? Plastering? Roofing? Carpentry?’
‘I can learn,’ I say defiantly.
He stares at me, biting his lip briefly. He is wavering. ‘Yes, I’m sure you could but you won’t have to, that was a joke.’
I try to laugh but I’m too wound up, waiting for a definite offer.
‘I’m afraid the accommodation is a bit poky. It’s only a little cottage.’
‘A cottage?’ I try not to get too excited.
‘A tiny cottage that needs refurbishing. I’m sure you’d want something bigger and smarter,’ he adds.
‘No way. I mean … I’m sure I could manage if I had to and I could refurbish it myself. Look, everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they? And let’s face it, you look like someone who needs the help fast; or why would you have come straight down here today to interview me? Give me a trial period – we can both see how we like each other and if you change your mind or I do, there are no hard feelings. Go on, take the risk, live dangerously.’
He leans back in his chair, his eyes wide. Even before I finish speaking, I realise I’ve probably gone too far, ruined my chances again with my big mouth and my attitude.
‘I must be mad,’ he mutters.
Well, I think that’s an offer. I try not to punch the air in triumph.
‘I can’t offer you much money – not much more than the living wage – until I get the place back on its feet, which could be a while, if any time,’ he says, jangling his keys.
I point to Mitch who pricks up his ears at the mention of his name. ‘What about Mitch? He’d need accommodating too,’ I say, fizzing with triumph, knowing I have the upper hand now.
‘Right. Well, of course, I suppose Mitch can come too. I need a dog that can pull his weight.’
‘He doesn’t work.’
‘OK, then I need a dog who can look appealing and pathetic.’
‘You won’t regret this,’ I say, wanting to run round the cafe terrace shouting ‘yessss!’.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. ‘No … but you might.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_95cbf8b4-be11-567a-9718-6d774c216a0a)
‘This is your car?’
Demi wrinkles her nose as I kick the brick from under the front wheel of the Land Rover. I don’t trust the hand brake on the sloping car park perched above St Trenyan harbour, until I can get the car serviced.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You should lock it. There are thieves around.’
‘One, the door lock’s busted and two, do you really think anyone would want to steal this?’
She takes a longer look at the rusting paintwork, the dented side panel and bumper hanging off and curls her lip. ‘For scrap, maybe.’
I’d like to smile at Demi – she has a habit of making me want to smile – but my facial muscles seem to have seized up after my trip to the bank. Demi took Mitch for a run on the beach while I saw the manager. The probate from my father’s estate was sorted out before I left, and I’ve transferred most of his legacy from my savings to a business account. There wasn’t a huge amount but I own Kilhallon Park and with careful management and some extra investment, I should be able to make the changes I need to re-develop the site. I open the rear door. ‘Mitch can travel in style.’
‘In you go,’ she says, as Mitch hangs back. ‘Come on, get in, you daft dog.’
‘Maybe he’s worried about getting into a strange man’s car,’ I say.
‘He’s probably got more sense than I have.’
Demi hesitates too, her arms folded, her chestnut hair flying in the wind, like the flames of a bonfire.
‘I’m not desperate, you know.’
‘I know you’re not desperate.’ Actually, I think she may be more desperate than she’d ever let on but I can’t take advantage of that: she deserves better, and I don’t want to exploit her. There’s enough of that going on round here from what I can see.
She laughs at me. ‘It’s too late to back out now, Cal Penwith.’
‘Don’t you believe it. Now, get in. We’ve got a lot to do,’ I say, more gruffly than I mean to.
The Land Rover groans up the steep hill from the harbour and onto the moor road. The tax has run out, though Polly told me I can do it online now, and its last MOT was before I went off on my last aid project. I’ll sort it all out soon, for now I have more pressing concerns. I glance at Demi but she’s staring out of the window.
‘How long had you been sleeping rough before you started working for Sheila?’
She turns sharply. ‘How do you know I was sleeping rough?’
‘I can tell someone who has had a tough time. I worked for a charity, remember?’
She shrugs. ‘I do but I told you, I’m not a charity project.’
‘I know that.’
A glance tells me she’s staring out of the window again but then she finally answers. ‘I slept rough for a couple of months.’
‘In St Trenyan?’
‘Truro too. Penzance for a week or two but here mostly.’
Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed her but I’d like to know more about the new employee who’s going to be sharing my home. ‘Any particular reason?’
She waits before replying. ‘I fancied a change, I suppose.’
I leave it, figuring she’ll tell me more when she’s ready. I’m hardly in a sharing mood myself and more importantly, Kilhallon is around the next corner. The road dips, curves sharply and the Land Rover shudders its way around the bend, then I press the gas pedal to the floor to make it up the other side of the hill. I turn the wheel sharply and we rattle over a cattle grid through two stone pillars that frame a narrow gap in the wall. The sign lies on the ground by the pillars but half the letters have weathered away so it now reads Kil l Park.
‘Oh my God,’ Demi mutters.
‘What’s up?’
‘Sheila said this was the back of beyond and now I know what she means.’
‘That’s how I like it.’
‘You must do … I mean, it’s, er, very peaceful and wild out here.’
While steering the Land Rover between the larger potholes, I try to keep a straight face while taking a sneaky glance at her. She holds her rucksack tightly in her lap while Mitch starts snuffling and whimpering in the back. When I put out the feelers for a new assistant, I never bargained on someone like Demi, let alone a great shaggy hound. I’ve no idea what variety he is.
She lets out a squeal as the Land Rover bounces over a particularly deep rut and into a pool of water. ‘There’s no need to look so terrified,’ I say.
‘I wasn’t until you said that.’
‘Thanks.’ I turn the engine back on and coax the Land Rover out of the puddle. ‘Soon be there.’
She wrinkles her nose. It’s a very pretty nose, I have to admit, even though it’s turned up at the moment. Freckles dot her face; she’s so vulnerable and yet fierce too. An image flashes into my mind out of nowhere of a painting my mother hung at Kilhallon of a beautiful girl floating in a river, surrounded by willow trees.
I stop the car in the middle of the yard that was once our car park. Demi stares at the dandelions and grass sprouting between the gravel.
‘Is that it?’
‘Yup.’ I jump down onto the yard, wondering if she’s ever going to get out of the car. Finally I open the door and she slides down reluctantly from the passenger seat, her rucksack in her arms. She looks around her, at the old office block on one side of the yard, and the peeling wooden veranda that served as our reception and the moss-coated 1970s touring caravan blocking the entrance to the barn.
‘You said it was a holiday park …’ she says, her eyes widening as she takes it all in.
‘It was. It is. There’s a lot more to the place than this.’
She glances at me, agonised.
Still clutching her rucksack, she wanders up to the barn, eyes wide at the decaying, tumbledown wreck that confronts her. I wouldn’t blame her if she turned right round and ran back to St Trenyan.
‘I can see we have a lot of work to do,’ she says.
‘You did say you weren’t afraid of it.’
As she walks towards the reception, Mitch scoots past her to a pile of rusting signage that once read ‘Welcome to Kilhallon Park. Your holiday starts here.’
Then he cocks his leg and proudly pisses all over the signs.
I don’t blame Demi for being less than impressed by Kilhallon but when someone who’s been sleeping in a shop doorway is shocked by the state your place is in, well, there’s something seriously wrong. I was a bit taken aback myself when I walked home from Bosinney after crashing Uncle Rory’s birthday party. Though I have to say that the state of my house was somewhat dwarfed by the state of my mind on finding out that I’d lost my girl to my best mate, and it was all my own fault.
Now I’m seeing the place through fresh eyes – Demi’s – and the scale of the task that lies ahead of me comes painfully into focus. Resurrecting Kilhallon is going to be a huge challenge. Why would anyone want to come here on holiday when it’s in this state? After my meeting at the bank I’ve also decided I’ll need to drum up some extra money to refurbish the place in the way I want to.
I know Polly thinks I’ve gone mad but I need to focus on something or I really will go nuts. I can’t do anything about Isla for now but that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on her. She’s not married yet; there’s still time for her to change her mind, although I’m sure Luke would have something to say if he knew how I felt. I keep trying – and failing – to feel guilty about my resentment of him. I ought to wish him well, but the pain is still too raw and I can’t see our relationship healing any time soon.
But first, Demi.
‘There’s Polly,’ I say as our housekeeper bustles out of the front door. She looks younger since she dyed her hair an ash blonde while I’ve been away. The neat bob has taken years off her, not that I’d dare risk such a personal remark to her. However, judging by the glare on her face, she doesn’t look ready to roll out the red carpet for our new employee. But Mitch seems to have taken to Polly and races forward and leaps up at her.
‘Get that dog off me!’ Polly’s from hardy Cornish farming stock. She’s a formidable woman, even though she’s now in her mid-fifties. She pushes Mitch away, not roughly but firmly enough to startle him.
Demi dashes forward and grabs Mitch’s lead. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.’
‘I don’t care. I don’t like dogs and neither does Cal. You never mentioned an animal on the phone.’
‘I’ve decided to make an exception for this one, and he can act as a guard dog,’ I say as Mitch cowers under one of Polly’s withering looks. ‘This is Demi, she’s going to be working for us.’
Polly plants her hands on her hips, sizing up our new employee. ‘I know her name. You don’t look like you sounded on the phone.’
‘How did I sound?’ Demi replies, so smoothly I can feel the danger.
‘Polly, if you don’t mind,’ I cut in before there’s a wrestling match right here in the farmyard, ‘I’d like Demi added to the payroll, and a contract and all the proper paperwork done as soon as possible.’
Polly narrows her eyes at me. ‘There’s no need to be so high handed.’
‘I’m sorry. Before you do that, can you find some clean bed linen and towels for Stables Cottage? I’ll help Demi get it into some sort of habitable state.’
‘Of course, boss. I’ll get onto it right away.’
Polly flounces off, muttering to herself. I grit my teeth. Polly’s been used to running the place without me while I was away and I’m out of practice with the social niceties these days. I know things have been tough on her but it’s time we both got used to having other people around again.
Demi pulls a face behind her back. ‘Polly doesn’t look very happy to see me.’
‘She’ll get over it. Come on, I’ll show you around the place.’
Cal leads me towards a wood and glass porch that looks modern, if you count the 1970s as modern, and is tacked onto the front of the old stone farmhouse itself.
‘This is – was – the reception area. Sorry. This sticks in the damp,’ he says, giving the peeling door into the reception a heavy shove.
There’s still a counter in there and the type of dial phone you’d find in a retro shop, with dusty ring binders piled all around it and a faint whiff of damp and food. The metal racks by the window still have leaflets and brochures on them, faded to monochrome by the sun. I’m sure one of them says Escape to Kilhallon Park, 1985 on it. Escape to Kilhallon? They’d be trying to escape from it these days.
There’s a button on the desk with a sticker next to it, on which I can just make out ‘Please ring for attention’.
‘This way,’ says Cal, pushing open a white-painted door that reads Private on a once-gold plastic plaque. We fight our way past old fleeces and wax jackets and Cal curses. ‘Who left that bloody boot scraper there?’ he grumbles. ‘Be careful.’
Sidestepping over the scraper, I glimpse a chink of light as Cal pushes open a heavy oak door.
When I was little, my mum read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to me. As the coats part, and my eyes adjust, I feel I just stepped into another version of Narnia. Except this Narnia smells of curry and is like a skip – and that’s from someone who’s actually rummaged in a few.
‘This is the sitting room. Obviously.’
He stands awkwardly but I’m fascinated. The windows are tiny with bottle-shaped panes, like an old harbour-side pub, but they’d probably let in more light if someone had cleaned them. Dead ashes powder the air when Cal shuts the door to reception behind him.
