31 October
On the morning of Hallowe’en, Maisie was waiting at Gull Island’s lower jetty when her friend Jess Godrevy puttered in to the stone quay. The tides dictated which of the two jetties were used, but the lower was also the most convenient for Jess who had brought her little motor dinghy from St Saviour’s for the day and evening. From this side of the island, you couldn’t see Petroc but you did have a magnificent vista over most of the other islands: the four larger inhabited ones and the scores of abandoned isles, tiny islets and rocky skerries that only appeared when the tide was out.
Clouds hung low on the horizon and the sky was a muted blue, as if someone had turned the dimmer switch down on it. However, the waters were as dazzling in their myriad turquoise and azure hues, and the sandbars gleamed silver as the clouds scudded overhead. While most of the UK was savouring its first frost of the autumn, Gull Island was basking in clear skies and double figure temperatures. OK, it wasn’t tropical, but it was better than shivering at some bus stop or scraping the ice off your car window.
Maisie stayed on the jetty to help Jess tie up her boat. A couple of islanders chatted as they waited for the Gull Island service boat to arrive with morning deliveries or to take them to the main island for shopping, visits or appointments. Adam Pengelly, the off-island postman, arrived just as Maisie and Jess had secured the boat. He backed his Royal Mail van with its open metal trailer, to the bottom of the slipway and climbed out of the cab. He was wearing a navy fleece gilet over his red polo shirt and regulation shorts that showed off a strong pair of tanned calves. Maisie didn’t think she’d ever seen him in trousers.
When he caught sight of them both his face lit up. Maisie didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know why he was smiling.
‘Hello, Maisie. Hi, Jess,’ said Adam, walking the few yards to the steps and gazing down at them. His smile had faded and they couldn’t see his eyes because of his shades.
‘Hi, Adam.’ Jess flashed him a brief smile. Her greeting was pleasant enough but Maisie wasn’t too sure how happy she was to see him. They had recent history but Maisie suspected she only knew part of the story. Adam was a relative newcomer to Scilly and had moved into a rented flat on St Saviour’s island a couple of years before.
As one of the only island postmen, inevitably Adam had got to know Jess and her brother, Will, on his rounds, and he’d joined Will’s rugby team and rowed for the St Saviour’s gig crew. After circling round each other for a while, Adam had finally asked Jess out. They’d dated for a couple of months but by late August, things had fizzled out. Maisie still hadn’t got to the bottom of why yet, but as Jess had been moping around ever since, Maisie could only assume Adam had ended things. Until (and unless) Jess enlightened her, she couldn’t blame Adam outright, but her loyalty lay firmly with her friend either way. They climbed up the steps and joined Adam on the stone jetty where there was a brief but very awkward silence before Adam spoke.
‘Need a hand with the mail?’ Maisie asked him, just for something to say.
Adam pushed a pair of dark Ray-Bans off his face and shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I can manage today.’ He seemed relieved that Maisie had broken the ice.
‘Are you sure?’ she teased.
‘Well, I am feeling a bit weak.’ He deliberated for a few seconds. ‘But I’ll try to cope. There’s nothing too heavy today, hopefully.’
This was an in joke with Maisie. Adam was six foot four, spent his days lugging parcels and his spare time playing rugby, rowing or training for the island’s part-time fire service. Maisie was five foot one in her boots but whenever they met, they’d share the same banter about Adam being a wimp. The Gull Island supply boat, the Merlin, could just be seen making its way from St Mary’s towards them, bearing any heavy deliveries and the mail. Adam left them and unhooked the trailer from the van and pushed it onto the damp sand. The Merlin crew would help him unload the mail and parcels into his trailer, but it was up to Adam to haul it up the sand to the van. It was hard work. No wonder Adam had muscles like an Olympic rower. If the Royal Mail did a firemen-style calendar, Adam would definitely make Mr January, thought Maisie. And possibly every other month too.
All the more reason not to get involved with an islander, thought Maisie, although that meant either moving away or not getting involved with anyone at all.
Adam was busy loading mail into his van. Jess showed no sign of wanting to leave the quayside so Maisie waited with her, watching the supply boat crew offloading goods into the back of one of the other islander’s battered pick-up truck.
Jess and Will ran the Flower Farm on St Saviour’s, one of the other off-islands, growing scented yellow narcissi through the winter and spring and pretty pinks for the summer. They were slowly taking over the business from their mother, who, like Maisie’s parents, was looking to retire. Maisie, Jess and Will had been to school together on St Mary’s and, like all the off-island children, had had to board during the week because the boat journey between the islands was too unreliable and too disruptive to their education. Five years younger than Maisie, Jess had been horribly homesick for the first term but Maisie had taken her under her wing and acted as a big sister.
At the time, Jess and Will’s parents had been going through a rocky time in their marriage and although they’d patched things up for a bit, they were now divorced. It was hard to go through rough times in the cauldron of a tiny community. Mr Godrevy had had an affair with a local nurse and people had taken sides, causing broken friendships that persisted to this day.
‘I’m really glad you could come over. I fancy a chat,’ said Maisie, wondering what Jess’s reaction would be when she met Patrick.
‘We’re so busy harvesting the early narcissi, but Will can manage without me for a day. We’ve only just started picking the crop and I already need a holiday. Sometimes I wonder why I do it at all.’
‘You’d go nuts without the Flower Farm keeping you busy.’
‘True. I must admit I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’m not so sure about Will though. I think it gets him down. He was all set to go to university before Dad buggered off and left us in charge.’
‘That was tough, hun.’
Jess smiled. ‘But I love running the farm really, even though it hasn’t been all plain sailing. It’s relentless at this time of year, or any time. No wonder I don’t have time for a love life,’ she said. It was such a pointed remark that Maisie didn’t know what to reply, even though Jess was a close friend.
Adam closed the doors of the van with a clang. Maisie wasn’t sure if he’d overheard them chatting or not. He hovered by the van and finally came back over.
‘How’s things?’ he said in their general direction, but Maisie was sure he was talking to Jess.
She shrugged. ‘The same as usual. Busy time at the farm, as you know, Adam.’
Adam nodded. ‘You work hard … you and Will.’
Jess pursed her lips. Maisie wanted the stone to open up and swallow her. She felt like she shouldn’t be there but she also wanted to support her mate.
‘Shall we get going?’ Jess said.
‘Sure. Bye, Adam,’ Maisie said cheerfully.
‘Bye. Goodbye, Jess.’
Jess muttered a ‘bye’ and started to walk off along the path that led over the field to the pub. It was obvious to Maisie that she didn’t want to even share the same road with him. Maisie caught up with her, keeping an eye on Adam’s van as it drove off on the road that led to the Post Office.
As they walked along the road back to the Driftwood, Jess seemed to have brightened up, or at least was determined not to discuss or dwell on the awkward encounter with Adam. She shared the latest gossip from St Saviour’s – which didn’t take long – and news of a new gig, which one of the island teams had managed to get hold of. She and Jess had moved on to plans for Christmas celebrations in the various island communities by the time they reached the hillock above the pub. It was a time of year when many of the islanders who lived away from Scilly came home to see their families. Most people celebrated in their own quiet way with low-key events, and there was a popular nativity parade through the main street of St Mary’s.
There would be some visitors too, of course, staying throughout the islands and in the chic apartments and holiday homes on Petroc. They would be booked by families getting away from it all and seeking a little winter warmth. Maisie didn’t begrudge Hugo his festive bonanza: God knows his guests spent their money in the Driftwood Inn and bistro and helped keep the islands’ economy ticking over.
‘I had a visit from Hugo the other day,’ Maisie said, knowing Jess would be intrigued.
‘How nice for you. Not a social call, was it?’
‘No, although you never know with Hugo. He tried to persuade me to sell the Driftwood again.’
‘Oh God. He never stops trying, does he? What did he offer this time?’
‘The opportunity’ – Maisie bracketed her fingers around the word while sticking out her tongue – ‘to be a tenant and manage the place.’’
‘No way! Don’t give in, Maisie.’
‘Don’t worry. Hell will freeze over first. I just wish so much of what he says didn’t make sense. We’re getting by – just – but Dad’s not well and Mum’s obviously not up to the long hours and stress that she used to take in her stride. Which is another reason why I came home, aside from the obvious one. With the summer staff leaving and with winter to face, I sometimes wonder why we all do it.’
Jess gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I know. We’ve been through some tough times at the Flower Farm. Remember those years of frost when we were at school and then the wholesale flower market collapsed? That period almost finished Mum and Dad. They were so close to losing everything and having to leave St Piran’s. I don’t think Will and I realised how bad things were, but we do now we run the business … but who could ever leave here to work in a city? You tried it.’
Maisie smiled. ‘St Austell’s hardly a city, but I worked in London briefly after I’d finished college. It was great for a few months but I couldn’t go back now. Mind you, not everyone feels that way. Hugo says that the Fudge Pantry and Una and Phyllis have also agreed to sell to Petroc Holdings.’
Jess grabbed Maisie’s arm. She looked horrified. ‘You’re joking? Una and Phyllis? The Jenkins? I’m gobsmacked.’
‘Business hasn’t been too great after the summer we had last year and I guess Mr Jenkins wants to try life on the mainland since their kids moved to Truro. There won’t be many of us left to resist at this rate. Hugo already owns a couple of properties on Gull and I suppose he could buy the businesses piecemeal, but what he really wants is to make us all lose hope and buy the whole of Gull Island, complete, so he can turn it into a mini Petroc.’
‘He’s a megalomaniac,’ Jess said, curling her lip. ‘I’m so glad he’s not interested in St Saviour’s too.’
‘If it was over the water from Petroc, he might be. Gull is just too close to Petroc for comfort. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and build a bridge between the two islands if he can get his hands on most of the land.’
‘If there’s anything Will and I can do, shout up. Help you rally the islanders, dump a pile of manure in Hugo’s gardens … anything at all, you know we’re here.’
‘Thanks, hun,’ said Maisie, feeling the thrill of resistance flood her veins. ‘Nothing and no one – and definitely not Hugo Scorrier – will hound me out of the Driftwood or off Gull Island.’
They reached the top of the gentle rise as the clouds parted and a weak but very welcome sun shone through. The sun shone bravely. The thermometer hadn’t budged between nine p.m. last night and this morning. It was still T-shirt weather outside – if you were active, that is.
Maisie wasn’t superstitious but it felt like a good omen, and Jess’s support had renewed her determination to fight the Scorriers. She would visit the Fudge Pantry and Hell Cove House and organise a meeting, but for now, she had more pressing concerns.
The garden behind the pub was clearly visible, as were the people working in it. Jess grabbed Maisie’s arm. ‘Oh my God. Who is that?’
She sounded as if she’d seen a leprechaun working in the garden of the Driftwood, not a fully grown Australian. Patrick and Ray were repairing the wall that separated the vegetable garden at the rear of the pub from the rough farmland behind it.
‘Looks like my dad, if I’m not mistaken.’
Jess sighed in exasperation and pointed a finger. ‘Not your dad, him.’
Both men had their backs to Maisie, standing in the field next to a wheelbarrow and a pile of grey granite. Patrick was bending down to lift a rock from the ground. He placed it in a gap in the wall and repositioned it as Ray looked on. Ray bent down next to him. The contrast was both funny and disturbing. Maisie had no desire to see the waistband of her dad’s ancient briefs but Patrick was a different story. His faded jeans had slipped down, revealing half an arse’s worth of dark-blue boxers stretched taut over his muscly cheeks. The tan line between his lower back and his bottom was clearly visible.
‘Well, you don’t see that every day. Who is it? A guest? Friend of your dad’s?’
‘Neither. That’s our new barman.’
Maisie shaded her eyes. Her dad stood aside as Patrick picked up a heavy rock and dropped it in the barrow with a clunk. Ray wiped his brow with his handkerchief, but made no attempt to help Patrick with the next, even bigger rock. Fair enough, Ray was sixty-seven and Patrick was a full thirty years younger, but there was a time when her father would never have let another man outdo him in the work stakes, even if his back had been breaking.
Jess let out an audible gasp. ‘Bloody hell. You’re joking. He looks like a Greek god.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met a Greek god. He’s an Aussie, actually.’
‘You mean as in a genuine Bondi Beach-type surf dude Aussie?’
‘He’s from Melbourne. I’ve no idea if he surfs, but he’s experienced.’
Jess squeaked in delight. ‘I bet he is!’
‘What are you like? He’s experienced as a barman and his references checked out.’
Jess was grinning so hard Maisie thought her face might actually crack. ‘I’m sure they did,’ she said, still giggling.
Maisie sighed. If this was Jess’s reaction to Patrick from a distance, what would she be like when she experienced the full force of his charms close up? And why did Maisie feel faintly annoyed that Jess had homed in on her new barman so quickly?
Jess broke into her thoughts. ‘Your dad must like having him around.’
‘Hmm. Yes. He seems to, but he’s only here until Easter,’ she said.
They started walking again, talking while keeping an eye on the progress of the wall. ‘If he has your dad’s seal of approval, he must be OK. What about your mum?’
‘She’s reserving judgement,’ said Maisie.
Jess sighed. ‘What a bum.’
Maisie too found it impossible to tear her eyes away from the flex of Patrick’s glutes in his worn Levi’s. ‘Mmm …’ she said wistfully, before giving herself a mental slap and leading Jess the back way into the pub. It was mild enough to sit outside so Maisie left Jess in the garden admiring the wall-building while she made tea and tried to remind herself that Patrick was here to work. After emerging with two steaming mugs, she and Jess sat there enjoying the view of the garden – and the gardeners.
‘And he’s leaving in the spring?’ Jess said in a low voice.
‘Yes. Six-month contract then he goes back home.’
‘Pity,’ Jess whispered, and sipped her tea delicately.
Maisie allowed her gaze to rest on Patrick, now standing up, facing away from her, while Ray inspected his work. Patrick tilted his head from side to side and then lifted his arms over his head and stretched his back. The muscles shifted under his cotton T-shirt. Maisie shifted in her seat. This was agony, and he’d only been here three days. She hadn’t slept much last night, partly worrying about the business but also thinking about Patrick, sleeping a few yards away in his single bed, in his navy boxers, or possibly in no boxers at all …
‘Actually, it will be a relief when he goes,’ she murmured.
Jess met Maisie’s gaze head on. ‘You’re not saying that you’ve already … he’s only been here five minutes, though I can’t say I blame you and it’s none of my business.’
Patrick looked up. He spotted them and saluted. She had a feeling he knew they were watching him and talking about him.
‘Shh!’ Maisie groaned. She hadn’t told a soul about her passionate beach kiss with Patrick.
‘Well, I wouldn’t blame you,’ Jess repeated, slightly less loudly than a foghorn. ‘Where’s he staying?’
Maisie paused because she knew what would happen as soon as she shared the information about their household arrangements with Jess. ‘In one of the staff studios.’
‘On site?’
‘Yup. Just like most of the seasonal staff, as you well know.’ She despaired at Jess’s raised eyebrows and look of sheer disbelief. ‘There is nothing going on between us. Nothing beyond employer and employee, Jess. Read my lips. Patrick McKinnon is my – our – barman and I have no intention of getting involved with him in any way. I’m done forever with men like him who fancy themselves as charmers, and besides, I don’t want to do anything that might cause an experienced barman and general dogsbody to leave.’
Jess sniggered and sipped her tea significantly.
‘Don’t you think I can share a house with a colleague without it turning into Fifty Shades of Grey?’
‘So as you’re not interested in Patrick at all, you’d have no problem with me getting to know him better?’
‘Why would I?’
Jess snorted and tea sprayed out of her mouth. ‘I’m s-so sorry b-but …’
Maisie was seriously pissed off now. Tea dripped down her jeans. ‘You are disgusting, Jess Godrevy. In all kinds of ways; for snorting tea over me and imagining all kinds of filth between me and my new employee. I wish I’d never rescued you from those bullies at school. I wish you weren’t my friend.’
Jess wiped her face with a tissue and gave a series of little coughs interspersed with giggles.
‘Have you finished or will you continue to be a serious health hazard to this hostelry?’ said Maisie.
Jess rearranged her face into something resembling a human and not a hysterical clown. ‘Oh, hun. I didn’t mean to upset you. God knows you deserve to be happy after Keegan and everything. And I’ll admit I’m envious.’
‘Of what?’
Jess touched Maisie’s arm. ‘Of the sexier, older brother of Chris Hemsworth living and working alongside you. Of the way you can’t take your eyes off him and the way you keep trying to pretend you’re not looking at him. Oh, hello …’
Abandoning further pretence, they both watched the men stand back from the wall to admire their handiwork. Ray lifted his hand and made a tea-drinking sign. Patrick wiped his forehead and grinned. He knew better than to ask for a cuppa. Patrick knew better than to ask her for anything Maisie wasn’t prepared to give. She was in the driving seat and anything that happened was her decision. For all his flirty charm on their first meetings, and the fact he’d asked for the job, things between them had been strictly professional since.
‘Coming up,’ Maisie mouthed and gave her dad the thumbs up.
‘Typical men. They do a bit of work and they want a reward,’ said Maisie, although she didn’t really mean it. She was pleased to see her father enjoying his garden again and he definitely needed the help.
‘Like a dog hoping for a chew?’ said Jess.
Maisie laughed and hoped the colour in her cheeks hadn’t betrayed her. ‘Just like that.’
After a brief chat with Patrick and Maisie’s parents over their tea, Maisie introduced Jess to Patrick ahead of the party that evening. Maisie waved Jess off when she left to pop in on Katya at the campsite, and Maisie and her mum decorated the pub ready for the Hallowe’en party. Patrick and her father were still in the garden, although Ray spent more time leaning on the wall watching Patrick than helping.
Having adorned the bar with spray-on cobwebs, cardboard pumpkins and bats, Maisie sang along to ‘Monster Mash’ on Radio Scilly while she made sandwiches and baked some frozen sausage rolls to serve later in the buffet. She found it hard to keep her mind on the job because Jess’s mention of Keegan had disturbed her.
‘You deserve to be happy after Keegan and everything,’ Jess had told her.
Keegan and everything.
Maisie turned the words over in her head. When she’d emerged from the initial stage of grief, she’d consigned Keegan to the bin marked ‘life’s too short for toxic men’, but the ‘everything’ to which Jess had referred couldn’t be dismissed so easily, if ever. The ‘everything’ was the loss of her unborn baby. She’d thought of him as her little scrap of life and even called him that. Her Little Scrap who’d gone far too soon … but it was after the twelve-week scan, and it was a terrible shock.
Bread knife in her hand, Maisie paused and took a deep breath. It was ‘just one of those awful things’, the doctor had said. There was no reason that they could find. ‘Don’t blame yourself, my love,’ the kind midwife had told her when it was all over.
But the questions and doubts ate away at her and never left. Had she been working too hard? Had she eaten something she shouldn’t have? Let herself become too stressed about her job? Stepped on a crack in the pavement? No matter what the medics told her, she did blame herself, and a few days after she’d come home and was recovering, Keegan had told her he was leaving. Not because she’d lost his baby, but apparently because he didn’t want her to have it in the first place. He’d tried for her sake to pretend he was happy at the prospect of becoming a father but the ‘whole trauma’ of the past few days and the fact that he no longer owed any real obligations had given him the chance to ‘reassess his priorities’.
Just like he did with work when he decided to close down a failing pub, thought Maisie.
She concentrated on slicing a fresh loaf from the Gull Bakery, trying to focus on getting the slices perfectly even, but she couldn’t banish her gloomier thoughts from her mind. Hearing voices outside the kitchen window, she glanced up to see Patrick wheeling a barrow full of rubble down the path towards the house. Chips of stone slid off the pile, pinging on the path. Ray was close behind, issuing orders on where to take the rubble and telling Patrick to be careful not to tip the heavy barrow up.
Maisie smiled. Her dad had a little more colour than earlier and obviously loved having someone to boss around and let do the heavy work.
‘And I’m not that old …’ Maisie said to herself, laughing at her pessimism. Lots of people suffered miscarriages and went on to have healthy babies. One of the customers had three beautiful daughters, all grown up now, after four miscarriages.
It could happen to her … even though the chances were growing slimmer by the day.
Maisie stared out of the window. Having deposited the rubble, Patrick was pulling off his builder’s gloves and had caught her eye. He smiled and raised his hand in a tea-drinking gesture.
‘You cheeky—’ Her voice was drowned out by the screeching of the smoke alarm. The smell of burning filled her nose. Oh my God, the sausage rolls!