Layla arrived back at the cottages to discover that her dad had at last turned up to take a look at the broken immersion heater that supplied Maggie’s shower with hot water. He’d squeezed his white van into the parking space next to Nick’s flash sports car. Sporting a hi-vis orange vest over his white overalls, he leant against the van, arms folded across his chest.
‘Hi Dad.’
He threw a not unimpressed look at Nick’s hire car. ‘I gather you’ve got company. Don’t take any nonsense from him. Maggie got the nice brother, or so I hear. That one’s nothing but trouble. I’m telling you. Caps lock style, TROUBLE. You watch yourself there.’
Ignoring the embarrassing dad warning she looked him up and down. ‘Interesting look you’ve got going. Not unlike a giant traffic cone.’
‘Hey, less of the cheek, you.’ He performed a mock bow. ‘Mr Fix-It at your service. What kept you?’
An irritated shiver ran down her spine. Concerned father patter and stabs at humour apart, they both knew they were on eggshells still. ‘What kept me? Where in the name of Cornish pixies have you been dressed like that?’
‘I’ve been up a ladder.’ He opened the van and took out his toolbox. ‘Clearing some blocked guttering at one of the holiday lets. I wanted to make sure everybody could see me. Didn’t want some plonker walking under the ladder and sending me flying.’
‘Nobody walks under ladders Dad. It’s bad luck.’
‘Bad luck for the poor so-and-so on the ladder.’
‘I haven’t seen you for days.’ A wince of embarrassment lanced her realizing that she could have asked her dad for help with the padlock instead of getting Nick involved. ‘You’re like the invisible man.’
He pulled a face and she had to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement given his hi-vis get-up. ‘Well I’m here now.’ He threw a look at the bedraggled dog. ‘What’s she been playing at?’
‘Rolled in a puddle.’ She closed the gate to stop Ophelia from escaping and running off, and pulled a bunch of keys out of her pocket. Fidgeting more than necessary over fitting the right key in the lock she opened up. As she burst through the door, avoiding her father’s concerned look, she bent down and scooped up the handful of junk mail from the doormat.
‘I popped by earlier and things were rather quiet.’
‘I was at the kiosk,’ she said, finally meeting his eyes, ‘keeping things ticking over for Mum.’
‘It’s high time the three of us sit down and take a look at all this. You’re working too many hours. It can’t be good for you.’
Her parents had split their assets in the village fifty-fifty. They’d built up a portfolio of properties in the area running them as holiday lets. When her grandmother died they’d converted her lovely rambling old house into a boutique B&B. In the divorce settlement her dad got the cottages and her mum the house.
That left the Kandy Shack. The beachside kiosk was a popular landmark and her dad was excessively proud of it. He’d bought land from an elderly fisherman, demolished the run-down boathouse on the plot and built the Shack. Her mum was attached to it too and they hadn’t been able to agree on who should keep it. Although it had started life as his idea, her mum had taken charge of the business, made a success of it.
She suppressed a flicker of reaction sensing that what was really bothering him was not knowing how to broach the topic of Joe. Swiftly she changed the subject. ‘Come see.’ She closed the door to keep Ophelia in the tiny front garden. ‘I’m ready to start the mural. I’d appreciate your advice on which colour blue to go with.’
Upstairs she opened a window and bobbed her head out to check on Ophelia while Ralph stared at the paint tester colours on the wall. ‘The lighter of the two,’ he said, ‘but you don’t need me to tell you that.’
She smiled.
‘Listen. This business with Joe. It should have been you, Layla love. I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing to say. We’re finished. He’s with someone new.’
‘Still. You’re bound to be upset.’
‘Nope.’ She crossed her arms tightly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Right.’ He nodded and opened his toolbox to take out a screwdriver. ‘I’ll see to that shower then.’
A bundle of awkwardness and avoidance, she made to scuttle off. ‘I’ll be next door. Bathing the dog.’
‘Hang on a second. I need you to turn the power off at the mains.’
Feeling fragile and determined not to let it show she went down to the cupboard under the stairs and flicked up the switch in the box in the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘Done,’ she called out. ‘See you later.’
‘Don’t go yet.’ Her dad’s head leaned over the bannisters and he shouted into the stairwell. ‘This won’t take a minute and there’s something I need to speak to you about.’
‘There’s really no point Dad. I told you. As far as me and Joe go the subject is closed.’ She groaned and plodded unwillingly back upstairs.
‘It’s not about that.’ He stuck his head in the airing cupboard and got busy unscrewing something. ‘The timing’s terrible. And Jasmine says we should leave it a few days. But I don’t want you hearing from someone else, so …’
‘Leave what?’
He shuffled backwards out of the airing cupboard and stood up. ‘That thing’s as old as the hills. It’s completely knackered. I’m amazed it’s lasted this long to be honest. I’ll price up a new hot water tank for Maggie and you can run it by her. I won’t charge for labor, obviously.’
‘Hear what Dad?’
All her life her dad had been busy with this and that. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she’d ask her mum when she was too little to understand much of anything. ‘He’s off gallivanting,’ she’d say, a euphemism for his womanizing. At some point, she wasn’t sure exactly when, she’d learned not to ask. Now he was here, talking about Joe when she didn’t want to, and he looked hassled and it felt like it would be best if he would just leave.
‘You haven’t heard already, have you?’
‘Blast it, no. What haven’t I heard?’ she demanded.
He looked down at his feet. He dug his hands in his pockets and pulled them out again not knowing quite what to do with himself. He looked at his watch, although he patently didn’t need to check what time it was. ‘Here goes. It’s like this …’ He sucked in a gulp of air. ‘Jasmine made an announcement last night.’
‘That sounds ominous.’ Layla almost laughed.
‘She proposed,’ Ralph blurted.
‘Why? It’s not a leap year! Anyway, February was months ago.’
Her dismissiveness masked the fact that she didn’t want to deal with this news, let alone predict the fallout. Since the accident her parents had put any decision-making about the Kandy Shack on hold. She had a gut feeling that a new round of wrangling over the shared ownership was on the horizon. Her dad shuffled from one foot to the other. His blank expression gave the impression that the proposal hadn’t sunk in yet. ‘Jasmine’s pregnant. We’re getting married.’
‘Ohhhh!’ Her exclamation drifted out through the open window into the garden and Ophelia gave a yelp at the sound she’d learnt to recognize as her name. ‘That’s – terrific. Congratulations.’
* * *
Nick had come to Cornwall to hide, not from the paps and the journalists, not from anyone but himself. Porthkara was just as he’d remembered it – tranquil and beautiful. Even now at the height of summer when the place was a hive of activity, the pub and restaurant buzzing and the beach alive with people and surfers galore, there was a sense of calm about the place that he loved. And the weird weather was really something else. He’d just walked past a house that looked like something straight out of Poldark, only it had a palm tree growing in the front yard.
Heading back up the hill towards the bridge he smiled and tried to look nonchalant as a family of holidaymakers rounded the hairpin bend. They were the whole enchilada, mum, dad, and three kids of varying sizes, topped off with a baby in a buggy. The sight of them spooked him.
‘Hey!’ Nick said, waving and trying to look like he belonged. It was difficult to blend with the scenery sporting a hessian eco shopper bearing the message ‘I Heart My Old Bag’ in big green letters.
The couple gave him a funny look. It was one he recognized. Such looks often came accompanied with words along the lines of ‘I know who are, but I can’t quite place you. Have you been on TV? It’ll come to me in a moment.’
His heart twisted wondering if he should bring Layla up to speed with the reasons he’d decided to spend some time in Porthkara, or whether to keep her at arm’s length. She was nice and she had the problem ex on her mind. Best keep his baggage to himself and spare her the details.
He and Fran hadn’t lasted long. That didn’t mean she hadn’t mattered. He couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment when the hurt had gone. Her email all these years later had hit him like a lightning bolt. Meeting her had turned him upside down.
He’d fathered a baby. It hadn’t sunk in at first. He’d wanted to believe it was a mistake but reality had hit him square on the jaw when they’d talked. She wasn’t lying. Why would she? The dates, the timing, the photos of a child who tangled up his heartstrings, it all added up. Fran had seen no point in telling him about the pregnancy. He was in LA, and she was in the UK, focused on her career, determined to make a success of being a single mother. He had to hand it to her. Her career was on fire, her daughter was amazing, and he felt like a third wheel. The emptiness was terrible. He’d been a dad without knowing it and no amount of regret would bring the lost years back.
For years, pretending to be his co-star Ella Swift’s lover for the cameras and for the publicity had given him carte blanche to do what he wanted, with whoever, whenever. It was PR perfection, got lots of attention for the show, and kept the team in the press office happy. In the world-according-to-Nick his thing with Ella Swift was fake, the women he hooked up with were on the same strictly-no-strings page as him, and he wasn’t harming anyone.
Or so he’d thought. The notion of his cheating-player-love-rat image affecting his tween daughter’s view of him was nowhere on his radar. Until now. It was one thing acting for a living. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. It was who he was. But he’d carried it over into his personal life, and a publicity stunt that had started as harmless fun had gone way past its best before date.
Back at the bridge, tugging on the unwanted lovelock, he had a sense of déjà vu. He’d give anything for his life to be like one of those movies where time keeps repeating over and over. They’d done an episode like that on Vampires. He looked about almost expecting to see a crew ready to shoot.
He peered over the edge of the bridge through the railings and his head swam. He felt fearful and nauseated at the thought of how the sides dropped away into the deeply carved gully. He’d pay good money for a head for heights like Layla’s. As he grabbed onto the railing to steady himself he caught sight of something hurtling through the air in his peripheral vision. He groaned sensing that a form of distinctly undesirable goo had landed in his hair. He touched his head and a wet, chalky sensation confirmed his suspicion.
‘Yuck!’ Looking up he spotted a magpie watching him beadily. ‘Thanks a lot! Dammit!’
Regretting that he’d pitched in with his offer to help he got out the pliers that he’d bought from the DIY section at the village store and set to work. They snapped easily through the metal, so he quickly dropped the tiny lovelock in to his environment friendly bag and set off up the hill.
Striding up the lane his heart sank at the sight of the police officer from earlier approaching on his bike. He didn’t look any more pleased to see Nick than he had the first time, making him feel like he actually had slipped into a life-on-a-loop time warp. Mervin braked to a halt eyes glued on Nick like he was the prime suspect in a crime drama.
‘What have we here then?’
‘Provisions. Champagne and dog shampoo – and a few other things.’
‘Ophelia up to her old tricks?’
‘She got quite muddy. After it rained.’
The policeman coughed. ‘Is that … er?’
‘Bird crap on my head. Yep.’
‘Lucky you got that shampoo!’
The policeman chuckled at his own joke and Nick couldn’t help but warm to him ever so slightly. ‘So if you’ll excuse me?’ he said, smiling.
Wait.’ Mervin evidently had something important on his mind. ‘So. Layla. She’s had a setback.’
‘I know that.’
Mervin shot him a steely look. ‘It’s nobody’s business but hers.’
Nick nodded solemnly. ‘I totally agree.’
‘Keep it in mind,’ he warned. ‘There are only so many let-downs that girl can take. She hides it well and things might look fine on the surface, but underneath Layla’s been hurt.’ He stopped, then added. ‘Look I don’t want to be rude but I’m going to come right out and say it. It’s well known that you’re not a reliable type.’
‘Okay. Right.’ He straightened his shoulders in an effort to look less dodgy than he felt. He felt like an idiot schoolboy caught red-handed about to prank the teacher. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Make sure you do.’ He eyed the shopping bag suspiciously. Nick shouldn’t have mentioned the champagne. He’d bought it to leave in the fridge as a thank you for putting him up, but it probably sounded to Mervin like he planned to take advantage of her. ‘She’s well-liked. People round here are gutted seeing her upset. And I don’t want some fly-by-night making things worse.’
‘You don’t trust me. I get that, but …’
‘No offence. You seem nice enough. But you don’t need to be a psychic to work out why I’m sceptical.’ With that he pedalled off down the lane on his bicycle.
Nick attempted a friendly wave and called after him. ‘There’s no need to worry. I promise. I’m not here to cause trouble.’