The sky is heavy with clouds and a thick mizzle settles over the cove, subduing it in a cloak of grey melancholy. As Oliver rides the Harley onto the dirt track he notices only four cars in the café’s car park. No doubt, summer visitors in Cornwall have found other things to do on this wet and dreary day. He’s made good time, even though the driving conditions are lethal. The rain let up somewhere around Taunton and gave brief respite, but from Launceston onwards the mizzle has set in, mirroring the feeling in his heart. He cannot shake off the idea that fate plays its final card and the outcome is anything but certain. He pulls up in front of The Lookout; his stomach in knots. Removing his helmet, Oliver takes a deep breath, only to find his lungs incapable of taking in enough air.
Dear God, please not a panic attack now!
He hasn’t got time for any hold-ups. Taking rapid, shallow breaths, Oliver props the Harley on its stand and walks to the porch door. It’s locked. He rings the bell, but there’s no answer. With a mouth dry with apprehension, he walks around the bungalow, cupping his hands at the windows and peering in. All is neat and tidy. Everything is in its place, apart from Sky’s room. The floor is typically strewn with toys. He checks the shed, to see if Bethany’s rabbit is in its hutch, but there is no hutch. A different time. He continues to circle the property and arrives at Cara’s bedroom with its seaward-facing French windows, but the shutters are closed. He cannot see in. Standing back from the bungalow, Oliver takes a long hard look. Closed up. No signs of Cara or the children… or Barnaby. Even Basil, the cat, has not put in an appearance. He turns and scans the cove, but no one is on the beach today. All is silent and still. The tide is halfway out and quiet waves lap the shoreline where a flock of gulls carefully eye the grey sands.
Oliver strides down the track towards Janine’s house and knocks on the door. Silence. No one at home. Letting out a groan of frustration, he goes back to the Harley and puts his helmet on. He starts up the bike and turns it in the rough circle at the side of The Lookout, and then rides down the track towards the car park.
The café’s interior is warm and welcoming and gentle music plays in the background. The doors leading to the glazed decked area are closed to keep out the weather, and the few customers sit at tables in the main café. Oliver glances towards the counter. A middle-aged woman observes him, and her eyes open wide when he removes his helmet and walks towards her.
‘I’m looking for Janine,’ Oliver says, without pleasantries. ‘Is she around?’
The woman shakes her head.
Oliver groans. ‘When will she be back?’ he asks urgently.
‘Not until Monday, my ʼansum. She’s taken the twins to visit her sick father.’
Oliver drags a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t suppose you know where Cara is?’
The woman shakes her head again.
Disheartened, Oliver walks away. At the door he turns back. She’s still watching, wide-eyed, and he smiles briefly at the startled woman. ‘Thanks.’
He steps outside and scans the cove again, hoping that Cara will suddenly appear, but the beach remains empty. ‘Where are you?’ he shouts into the mizzle.
The gallery?
With renewed hope, Oliver fires up the bike again, puts on his helmet and roars away up the lane leading out of the cove. There are a number of cars on the wet roads – the occupants seeking out the next indoor activity on this miserable summer’s day – and Oliver weaves in and out of the traffic as fast as he dares. Although Porthleven is no more than a few miles from the cove the journey seems interminable but, eventually, he arrives. Turning down Harbour Road, he rides into the alleyway leading to the courtyard and quickly dismounts. Removing his helmet, he peers through the gallery window. The lights are on but there’s no sign of anyone. With heart in mouth, Oliver enters.
‘I’ll be out in a moment,’ Carol’s voice carries from what Oliver knows is the small kitchen at the back of the gallery.
On edge, he waits; his patience thin.
Carol appears in the doorway, a mug of something steaming in her hand.
‘Oliver! What are you doing here?’ She deposits the mug on the sales counter and rushes forward to give him a hug. His leathers are wet, and she stands back quickly.
‘Carol, I’m looking for Cara.’
Something in his voice makes Carol pause. She looks up into strained eyes and starts at the pain reflected within; such obvious signs. Her face crumples and the tears come unbidden. Quickly, she wipes them away.
‘What, Carol? What?’ Grabbing her by the arms, Oliver searches Carol’s face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and he knows she’s been crying for some time.
‘She’s gone,’ Carol whispers, breaking out into a fresh set of tears.
Turning away, Oliver rakes a hand through his hair. If he were of a violent disposition he’d pick up one of those glazed pots and throw it at the wall. He turns back to Carol.
‘What do you mean gone?’ he demands, as blind panic engulfs him.
‘Gone,’ Carol repeats, sobbing uncontrollably.
Oliver hugs her to his chest. ‘Where has she gone?’ he asks more gently.
Carol takes a deep breath. ‘America. Greg has stolen my beautiful daughter and grandchildren.’
Feeling his legs are about to buckle, Oliver grabs the counter to steady himself as the blood drains from his face.
Too late! In the end he was just too late…
‘When?’ He feels like howling.
‘This morning,’ Carol replies between sobs. ‘I can’t believe it. I never did like that man. I always thought he was trouble.’
But Oliver is hardly listening as his mind considers the possibilities. ‘Carol, are you saying she flew out this morning?’
‘No, she and the children left for London this morning. She’s on the ten past eight flight.’
Oliver glances at his watch. Shit, it’s going to be tight.
‘Heathrow, I take it?’
‘Yes. Virgin Atlantic.’
He hurries towards the door, but turns back. ‘I will do all in my power to prevent her from going. And, Carol, I promise to do all that I can to bring your grandchildren back to Cornwall.’
Through bloodshot eyes, Carol watches him go.
Impatiently, Oliver fires up the Harley. Turning the motorbike in the tight courtyard, he rides through the alleyway, checks there are no cars coming down Harbour Road, and then roars out of town and away to the main road. If this weather persists – or worsens – the journey to London will be hell, but there’s no time to lose. He has to get there to prevent her from boarding.