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He heard his mother’s sigh of exasperation over the phone. ‘He slipped over while he was painting on the harbour. They had to airlift him from St Piran’s to Cornwall for an emergency operation. Once he’d been discharged from the hospital, we managed to persuade him to spend some time with your dad and me.’
‘I’m glad he’s OK, but I’m sorry to hear about his accident. I’m getting the train straight to Truro now, if you can pick me up later this afternoon? I can see how he is and spend some time with you all.’
There was a pause. ‘Of course, we can collect you, darling, but you can’t stay here long.’
He glimpsed his camera bag on the carousel through a gap in the thinning crowds. ‘Can’t stay? Why not?’
‘Because we need you to sort out the handover of the studio to the new tenants.’ His mother sounded desperate. She had a demanding job as a senior nurse in the day surgery unit of the local hospital and his father ran a building firm and was always working. Jake guessed things had been tense at home because of Archie’s arrival.
‘What new tenants?’ he said, stalking his bag like a panther as he moved towards the belt.
‘The new people who’ve taken over the Starfish Studio, of course. I did mention it in my email. Never mind … Archie’s rented the gallery to a young couple. Running the place has been too much for him and Fen for a good while now.’
‘It won’t take long,’ his dad piped up, and Jake realised he must be listening on speaker. ‘And with our jobs and your grandpa to care for, we’d be ever so grateful if you could help out.’
‘Help out how? Sorry, Mum, I’m not quite following you.’
‘By going to St Piran’s tomorrow. I know you hate the place, and we wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate, but now you’re back and you’ve got some time off, we thought you wouldn’t mind.’
Jake stopped dead in his tracks. ‘St Piran’s? Tomorrow? I’ve only just got back in the country.’
‘We know, darling, but it will only take a day.’
‘Or two,’ his dad added. ‘A week, tops.’
‘You’ll be back home with us in Cornwall before you know it.’ His mum was using her soothing ‘nursey’ voice. It was the one she saved for her patients and ‘difficult’ conversations with the family, thereby instantly raising everyone’s blood pressure. Jake was anything but soothed.
‘Hang on, I have to get my camera kit,’ he said.
He jostled aside a red-faced father wearing a hat with corks and grabbed his camera bag with his free hand. Muttering an apology, he lugged his bag to safety and put the phone to his ear again.
‘S-sorry, M-mum. I’m s-still here.’
‘Jake? What’s going on? You sound very out of breath.’
‘I j-just rescued my k-kit from the carousel.’ He rested his bag against his bruised knee. ‘Mum, did you really say you want me to fly off to St Piran’s tomorrow?’
‘Yes, love. We’ve booked you onto the afternoon flight and Fen’s expecting you. You don’t mind, do you? I know it will be hard, but it’s been almost three years since you-know-what now, not that it makes things much easier, of course. Like I say, we wouldn’t dream of asking you if it wasn’t urgent, but you’d be doing us – and more importantly Grandpa – the biggest favour in the world.’
Jake opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He stared at the phone screen before dragging a reply out of the depths against every urge to say: ‘No chance on the planet am I ever setting foot on St Piran’s again as long as I live.’
‘If you really need me, of course I’ll help.’
He felt his mother’s sigh of relief down the phone. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that. We’d half feared you’d say no. I’m glad you can help. And let me say, you facing up to St Piran’s might even turn out to be a good thing for everyone.’
Great. Bloody great. Jake was still muttering to himself when he stepped onto the quayside at St Piran’s harbour. From Heathrow, he’d caught a train straight to his parents’ place, where his grandpa was recovering, and spent the evening catching up with them. The next day he’d whizzed by his own flat, repacked his rucksack and camera bag, and the following morning taken the first helicopter to Scilly.
Although the last thing he’d wanted to do was spend his ‘break’ on St Piran’s, he’d kept his true feelings hidden, for his grandpa’s sake. Besides, it surely wouldn’t take long to hand over a set of keys, show this Poppy McGregor and Dan Farrow the basics of the Starfish Studio and then escape.
It was hard to believe that only two days previously, he’d been in Auckland after a six-week photography expedition to some of the remoter parts of New Zealand and Australia. He’d been looking forward to spending some time at his own place in the coastal village of St Agnes, a few miles from his parents’ home in Perranporth. His flat and attached studio was more of a base than a home these days, as he’d spent most of the past few years travelling the world on professional photography assignments or leading tours for keen amateurs.
He’d filled his time with travel and work, worried that if he stopped to think about the terrible events of that summer’s day on St Piran’s, almost three years before, he might crumble and break apart. But even Jake couldn’t keep working forever and finally he now had a couple of months free before he jetted off on his next project. Going to St Piran’s wasn’t how he’d imagined starting his break but he wasn’t intending to hang around.
There was only one other passenger on the boat as it docked at the harbour, a guy with an Eastern European accent who said he was helping out behind the bar at the island pub, the Moor’s Head. He didn’t speak much to Jake, which was a relief; at least one person here didn’t know his ‘tragic past’ and wasn’t going to offer their sympathy.
The barman hurried up the slope towards the pub, while Jake took a more leisurely pace, steeling himself for the next few days. Halyards clanked, gulls squabbled outside the fish shed and he could hear the distant chug of a tractor in a field somewhere. From the harbour, he headed straight for Fen Teague’s cottage. As Grandpa Archie’s near neighbour and closest friend, Jake knew she’d have been waiting to see him ever since she’d heard he was coming over on a ‘mercy dash’, as his mum called it.
Fen’s place was one of a row of old fisherman’s cottages, perched on the road that led from the harbour to the tiny village that was St Piran’s only real settlement. He had the presence of mind to duck as he entered the sitting room of her cottage, straight from the road – the only road – on St Piran’s.
She’d obviously been watching for him because she gave him a bear hug as soon as he got through the door.
‘Hello, Jake! How was your journey? My, you look thin! Worn out too but very brown. Now, let me make you a nice cup of tea.’
‘Hmm. Lovely.’ Jake let Fen’s comments wash over him and hugged her back. He’d known her his entire life and it was best to bend like a willow in the wind as far as Fen was concerned.
Fen brought in the tea tray and placed it on the coffee table. Jake winced as she stirred the pot vigorously as if it was a cauldron of witch’s brew. He’d seen at least three teabags go in. He’d obviously turned into a softy since he’d left home, more used to delicate herbal teas or artisan coffee, but builder’s strength was how his grandpa had always liked his cuppas.
While Fen splashed milk into two faded Cornish-ware mugs in the kitchen, he turned his attention to the painting propped up against the gateleg table under the window. Even though the work was only half finished, it was still a beautiful picture. It showed the tiny harbour of St Piran’s on a late February afternoon with a storm threatening. The contrast of spring sunlight on the boats and the looming clouds was so striking and evocative that he could almost feel the keen wind tugging at his hair and taste the salt on the air. The picture had all his grandad’s trademark deftness of touch and eye for light and colour, but the ugly splodge of yellow paint across the bottom corner disturbed him. That definitely wasn’t Archie’s style.
Fen joined him in the cottage sitting room and set the mugs down on the old Ercol coffee table.
‘It’s a shame about Grandpa letting go of the Starfish,’ he said, looking at the picture again. He was still fixated by the yellow scar of paint.
Fen put her hands on her hips and rested her fingers on the edge of the canvas. ‘Archie is eighty-two, Jake. You have to expect these things. He’s already had a good innings. I knew the studio was getting too much for him, but I must admit I never thought your grandpa would actually sell it,’ said Fen.
‘I suppose the fall finally helped him make his mind up … Was this the picture he was working on when he fell?’
‘Yes. Pity about that smudge. Apparently, Archie’s brush marked the canvas when he slipped over on the wet cobbles of the harbour. He said he was trying to stand back and get a better view, poor thing. Still, I suppose it’s lucky he got away with a broken hip …’ Fen’s face crumpled. ‘It’s a long road to recovery when you’re getting on like your grandpa is and I know he’s better off with your mum and dad but I do miss him. It’s been two weeks since his fall and I was hoping he’d come home soon.’
‘I’m sure he misses you too. In fact, I know he does.’ Jake put his arm around Fen’s bony shoulders. She’d never had any spare meat on her lean frame after a lifetime spent working in her market garden on St Piran’s and, until recently, helping Archie with the studio. In her late seventies now, she was still on the go all the time. However, Jake didn’t recall her being quite this thin – but then again, it had been two years since he’d last seen her. Or was it longer than that? Jake racked his brains. It had been March – so just over two years – when he’d last made it back to St Piran’s to visit his grandpa, and even then, he’d only stayed a couple of days. Apart from the pleasure of Archie’s company, he’d been desperate to leave as soon as possible and he didn’t feel any different now.
‘Did he say he misses me?’ Fen’s sharp green eyes searched his face. Jake wished he hadn’t lied.
‘Not out loud, but I could tell.’
Fen looked unimpressed. ‘Hmm. But he didn’t say when he might be home?’
‘I’m sorry, Fen, but no. You’re right that it’s a long road to recovery and he had that bout of pneumonia after the op. He’s much better now, but I think the fall has shaken him. You know he’s always been as fit as a fiddle until this. They did get him up and walking quite soon afterwards, but I guess being properly mobile takes much longer.’
He let Fen go. She picked up her mug and took a sip. Jake left his alone.
‘It’s not like Archie to sit around indoors for five minutes, let alone for weeks. I’d hoped he’d be back to the studio by now, but I suppose your parents are enjoying fussing over him and he doesn’t like to leave. Maybe I should go and see him again. He kept telling me not to go to the time and expense and that he’d be back soon.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ said Jake, feeling that he was stretching the truth again. Archie was living temporarily in the ground-floor room converted from the garage that used to be Jake’s. He’d been sitting in a chair, his legs covered by a rug when Jake had visited. Jake had been shocked by his grandpa’s frail appearance. His bright blue eyes had seemed watery and dimmed, and his beard – Archie’s pride and joy – was unkempt. Apparently, he’d refused all offers or attempts to have it trimmed and shaped. From what Jake had seen of the situation, it was Archie who didn’t want to leave … or do anything much at all. Who was Jake to judge? His grandpa might finally be feeling his age and have lost his confidence.
‘I took some of his paints over when I saw him in the hospital after he’d had his op. I haven’t seen him since then, though I’ve called him a few times. He’s not keen on talking on the phone and I didn’t like to badger him … Has he been using them?’ Fen asked hopefully.
‘Dad set his easel up in his room, by his chair.’
‘That’s a good sign.’ Fen nodded in satisfaction and took a noisy slurp of her tea. She smacked her lips. ‘Good brew that, if I say so myself. Archie would approve. I suppose your mum likes that scented muck everyone drinks these days.’
Jake smiled, glad to have a chance to change the subject. The easel had been bare of any work and, according to his parents, the box of paints remained unopened and untouched. ‘You can rest easy. Mum had to get in Grandpa’s own personal supply of “normal tea”. He wouldn’t touch her Earl Grey.’
Fen chuckled. ‘I’m glad to hear that, at least.’ She pointed to Jake’s untouched mug. ‘You should get yours down you before it goes cold.’
Trying not to gag, Jake swallowed a large gulp of rusty liquid while Fen went to fetch the biscuit barrel. He loved her almost as dearly as Archie but he still couldn’t stomach her tea.
‘Mum wanted me to come back to help get the studio ready for the new tenants,’ he said, accepting a homemade fairing from the plate she held out. Her biscuits were a lot more palatable than her tea. ‘They’re meant to be arriving tomorrow afternoon on the Islander ferry from Penzance,’ he added.
Fen sucked on her teeth. ‘You’ll be lucky. There’s heavy seas forecast tomorrow. Word is, the Islander may not sail … Are they aware of the state of the studio?’ Fen’s voice wavered and Jake felt sorry for her. He knew she felt bad about not being able to keep the studio so spick and span these days. She’d worked for his grandpa for decades, but she, like Archie, couldn’t cope with running the business full-time any more even before his fall.
‘Don’t worry. I heard that the studio needs a bit of an upgrade. The agent gave me all their details and I’ve emailed to tell her and her partner that Grandpa had let things slide a little, but she hasn’t replied, apart from to say they’re still coming.’
‘The mainland agent who put the details on the property website must have used an old photograph. I’m not sure this Polly will recognise it.’
He suppressed a smile. ‘Poppy. Her name is Poppy McGregor and his is Daniel Farrow.’
Fen screwed up her nose. ‘Fancy name. Not sure I like this thing for naming people after flowers. Daisy, Lily, whatever. Reminds me of my gran’s day. How old is she?’
‘Mid-thirties, I think. I really haven’t had time to find out any more about them. All I have are the agent’s and solicitor’s emails. Archie had already given the go-ahead to the tenancy agreement before he had his accident and you know yourself how hard it’s been to find someone to take it on. I thought it best to let it go through and explain about Archie when they get here.’
‘They’ll have a shock. Maybe they’ll turn around and sail straight home when they see it.’ Her voice tailed off.
He patted her arm. ‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you make out.’
‘You haven’t seen it yet,’ she muttered.
‘I’ll take a look after I’ve finished here. Stop worrying. No one could have done more to help Grandpa than you and, I promise you, he will do his very best to come home as soon as he’s able.’
She nodded and a sudden rattle drew their attention to the doorway. A large ginger cat, almost of fox-like proportions, wriggled through the flap and sauntered into the sitting room.
‘Aww. Leo’s come to see you!’
Jake smiled at the cat, who did what cats do: ignored him. Jake loved animals, but Leo didn’t love him. Jake had had the scratches and bite marks to prove it ever since Fen had taken Leo in five years before. Leo tolerated his humans; Fen and Archie were his favourites and Leo had allowed Harriet to stroke him. But Jake had the feeling that if Leo had been a tiger, he’d have eaten Jake for breakfast without a second thought.
‘I hope you don’t mind that Grandpa asked me to deal with the new tenants and help them settle in. Mum and Dad have enough to do with the business and caring for him. I think he didn’t want to worry you with having to sort it all out, but that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done in looking after it while he’s been away – and in the past …’
‘Don’t worry. I’m not offended.’
Leo allowed Fen to stroke the fur between his ears. His eyes narrowed into slits, which might have been pleasure but could just as easily mean he was planning world domination.
‘I’ve done my best with the place, but since Archie’s been on the mainland, I haven’t really had much cause to go to the studio. I wasn’t really sure these new folk would actually turn up and, to be honest, I haven’t liked to go in there, with your grandpa being away. I’m a silly old devil, but it upsets me to see the place without Archie. I keep wondering if he’ll ever be back.’
‘Of course, he’ll be back,’ he soothed, wondering if he was actually being kind to Fen by making so many sweeping and optimistic statements. ‘And we didn’t expect you to have to sort it out for the new tenants. That’s why I’m here. I’ll sort out grandpa’s paintings and tidy up a bit so there’s room for the new stock the new tenants will want to buy in.’
‘And they definitely plan on living in the attic flat above the studio?’
‘Apparently. It comes as part of the lease and they’ll want to save money, so I doubt they’ll rent anything else on the island, even if they could find it.’
‘That’ll be cosy.’
Jake thought of the studio room above the gallery, with its open-plan sitting room/kitchen/bedroom and tiny shower room. It was where he’d stayed many times – and once with Harriet. It was fine for one person, or for a couple for a short time – or a couple who were crazy about each other’s company and prepared to share everything. He and Harriet had been at that stage when they’d slept in the studio, but Jake had the impression that Dan and Poppy were long-term partners.
Jake would be staying in his grandpa’s cottage while he was sorting out the handover, which he was grateful for. He’d have rather slept on the beach than in the bed he’d once shared with Harriet. The memories of the three good years he’d enjoyed with her were now tainted by the bad ones of their final month together. Their bond, once so strong, had started to unravel before the weekend on St Piran’s that was meant to give them some private time away from distractions and help them both focus on each other and resolve their differences.
Instead their stay on the island had finally ended in the most terrible way imaginable. Coming back to St Piran’s had brought the memories flooding back in vivid detail. All because of a lapse of judgement on her part, which he had contributed to, however indirectly.
It was all too much. His skin prickled, his throat was thick, he could hear the waves slapping the sides of the boat, hear himself screaming. The floor shifted like the deck of a yacht on a swell or like water. He was going to sink and drown …
‘What’s the matter? Jake?’ Fen was at his side, holding his elbow. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet.’
‘I’ll be OK …’
‘Rubbish. You’re swaying. Sit here.’ With Fen’s help, he lowered himself into the chair. ‘Quick. Get this down you,’ she ordered.
He gulped down the cold tea and almost gagged, but he covered it just in time. Luckily, the tea revived him and the room stopped moving. He felt solid floor under his boots.
‘Are you all right? You look awful.’
‘Fine. I had a bit of a bug before I left and, on top of the jet lag, I just felt a bit light-headed. Nothing that some sleep won’t cure. Thanks for the tea.’ He pushed the mug away from him. ‘You were saying something about the new tenants and the flat above the Starfish?’
She blew out a breath. ‘Yes. It’ll be a big test for two strangers, moving out here. They’ve not run a business before, have they? And they’re coming from the city.’
‘I think they live in a market town, but you’re right, they’ve never done anything like this.’
‘But they’ve signed up for it now, so they can’t back out.’
‘I’m sure they won’t,’ he said more confidently than he felt. Even though he hadn’t been up to the studio yet, he was worried about what the new tenants would think of it. If it was as dilapidated as Fen made out – not to mention his parents, who had said they were shocked by the state of the place when they’d last visited a few months previously – he wouldn’t blame the new arrivals for claiming the place wasn’t as advertised and they were heading home.
Maybe they already had heard on the grapevine somehow … Poppy McGregor clearly didn’t share her partner’s enthusiasm, judging by the email the property agent had forwarded to Jake.
Don’t worry, I’m coming. Let’s face it, I’ve no choice now, ha ha. :( :(
Let’s face it, I’ve no choice now … It wasn’t very professional for a business email, but maybe Poppy was the quirky type. And the ‘ha ha’ and double horrified emojis had rung a few alarm bells. There was quirky, and then there was bonkers and impossible to deal with. Jake didn’t want any hassle. He simply wanted to hand over the Starfish Studio to Poppy and Dan and bugger off back home to see his family and his own flat.
Personally, he thought the two of them were nuts to leave civilisation and come to the back end of beyond, but maybe they had wide-eyed dreams of starting a new life away from the rat race. Maybe it had been her partner’s idea to move and now she’d burnt her bridges, she had no choice but to go along with his lunatic scheme. Shit. He really hoped they wouldn’t cause him too much hassle. They’d signed the lease and technically couldn’t back out now, but the Starfish was in a state … In twenty-four hours, could he make a difference? If the Islander ferry was stuck in Penzance he might have longer … unless, of course, Poppy and Dan decided to take the plane or helicopter.
Fen broke into his thoughts. ‘Do you want a hand sprucing the place up? Will you be going in there this evening?’
Jake smiled. She had enough on her plate keeping her own place from falling down without labouring at the Starfish.
‘That’s good of you, but I don’t think there’s a lot I can do this evening. I plan to get an early start in there tomorrow. Think I’ll go up to Grandpa’s cottage now and settle in, if you don’t mind.’
She eased herself out of the chair. ‘Course not. I’m here if and when you need me. Plenty of bleach and rags here too, if you want them. I put some milk and butter in the fridge and left you a fresh loaf and a pot of my hedgerow jam. I knew the shop would be closed when you got here and wasn’t sure if you’d have time to get some food in Hugh Town. I don’t know what they’ve got left anyway. If the supply boat can’t make it tomorrow, the mainland and the off-islands will be running short of everything.’
He hugged her warmly. ‘That’s very kind. I’d probably have starved without you.’
Her face creased in pleasure. ‘If you want anything else, just pop in.’
