Cornwall 2016
Slow shilly-shally steps down through the village towards the sandy cove. My mind deliberating over what I need to spill; all I can afford to leave out. It feels so odd now – how did I ever exist in that life before Cornwall? A story of two distinct people; or is it? Maybe it’s not so removed. Can anyone ever be totally detached from their past? My mouldable brain still reflects the past trodden pathways carved so deeply. New neural pathways for new experiences exist; yet the gentle foliage is not sufficient to disguise old dirty tracks. Several times, this week alone, I’ve woken in the early hours; my skin damp and hot, my heart running on overtime, my mind subservient to old templates.
Now, as I amble towards The Wheal, I think back to last week, when I decided to clear out the spare room. It had been nagging at me for a while and we could do with the space. I opened the door and cautiously peeked in before being transported back in time, face to face with two crates crammed with A4 ring binders. Each binder bursting with legal document after court order after personal statement after antagonistic solicitors’ letters. Thousands and thousands of pounds’ worth of absolutely pointless court orders and legal representation. They take your money but they don’t tell you these orders are often not worth the paper they’re typed on. Why did I bother going through a divorce? I knew it would never be the end.
I quicken my step, thinking of how I needlessly fed the fat pockets of so-called family solicitors and honourable barristers. Poor Gloria had popped her head around the door to catch me humping stuffed black bin liners that I’d emptied the crates into down to one of the outhouses. I’d promised her the liners didn’t contain amputated limbs, but they may as well have.
I arrive at the entrance to the pub, knowing Bea and Ruan are waiting inside for me to spill the beans. When I agreed to come, I’d forgotten Jack would be at football training. I’ve sent him a couple of texts and he hasn’t as yet replied. I push worrying thoughts from my mind as I enter. I duck my head ever so slightly to avoid the battered Mind the Beam sign. Drifting between oak-beamed low ceilings is the scent of onions, homemade pastry comforts and what smells like some kind of casserole, making my stomach groan. Nooks and crannies everywhere are already filling up for the night; the atmosphere dances with the usual buzz of local chatter.
I spot Ruan, casually leaning over the pumps chatting to Ted, the owner; he’ll be there a while. Bea has found her favourite table tucked away in the corner with a view onto the road through the leaded-light window. I zigzag through the tables to her, tapping Ruan on the back and acknowledging Ted as I pass, hoping this will serve as a reminder to Ruan to stop chatting and hurry up with our drinks. They both give me a nod, before continuing with what I’m guessing to be idle chatter.
I’m feeling jittery, knowing I’m to disclose fragments of my past; after last night, I no longer have a choice in this. I’m about to open one of the locked doors in my mind; behind it is a dark room with a fading fire. The pungent smell of smoulder, blocking my airways, stifling my breath. I’d rather throw a cloak over, smother it, but I can’t. It will simply catch alight again. Whilst smouldering embers are manageable, what comes next may not be. I know you’re out there. It’s not just the building evidence, it’s also my super-sensitive sixth sense. I can almost smell you getting closer.
I kiss Bea on her cold cheek. ‘You got here quickly. Did you come across the fields or something?’ She smells of honest salt air; the human contact is comforting.
Her full lips upturn. ‘Ha, you know me, when on a promise of alcohol. Got here just in time to bag our favourite seat…’ she searches the room ‘… in case anyone else had plans for it.’ She reminds me of a small child.
I rub my icy hands together. ‘So I see. Well done, you. I must admit I could kill for a drink tonight.’
She takes my hand, rubbing it between hers, then blowing on it, as I used to do to Jack. ‘Are you dead?’ she asks me. ‘You’re colder than me. Cold hands, warm heart, that’s what they say, isn’t it?’
‘Or bad circulation,’ I offer.
‘I prefer warm heart, Eve. You keep it at bay, but I see it, every day.’ She smiles affectionately. ‘A hard day for you?’ She lets my hand go and places her elbows on the table to rest her face in her hands.
A sigh escapes me. ‘You could say that. I seem to be having quite a few of them lately.’ I look out of the window as my words run out on me. I can’t quite fathom what to say next. What’s wrong with me? I’m behaving like a teenager who has something awful to divulge to her parents. I’m supposed to be an adult, for God’s sake. But my brain has just left the party and walked out of the door.
She lifts and tilts her head. ‘You do look ever so tired, Eve, if you don’t mind me saying.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. I recognise I’m looking a little rough at the moment.’ I smile at her. ‘And some have already pointed this out to me this week.’
‘No. No, I didn’t say rough.’
‘No, you didn’t, but only because you’re too polite, this time. Anyway, you didn’t need to. Unfortunately, we have mirrors in our house.’ We smile at each other.
‘How’s that adorable boy of yours? I do love him; he’s so gorgeous.’ She tactfully changes the subject.
I smile impulsively, thinking of him. ‘Still being a pain in the arse in the mornings; still leaving his gear all over his floor for Mum to pick up. Other than that, he’s mostly lovely.’
‘Matt still does that, probably because he had a mum like you. Doing everything for him,’ she adds.
‘Probably.’ I nod.
‘Oh, well, if that’s his only vice, you’re doing pretty well, I’d say.’
Briefly, I think of Milly again. It seems I might have been right, from what Ruan has revealed. The day we met, I was sure she had been smoking weed. ‘Except for being glued to his mobile twenty-four-seven, it is really.’ I don’t say I’m concerned by how secretive he seems to be with his mobile recently. Slightly angling it away from my view, rarely separated from it. This business with Milly hasn’t helped. Ruan has made further shocking online discoveries looking into self-harming behaviours. Even when we think our children are safely behind the locked doors of home, in their eyes, in their thoughts, they can be anywhere in the world, connecting to dangerous parasites. And then, there’s you, on the hunt.
‘Oh, that’s normal, isn’t it? My nieces and nephews are just the same. My brother’s always going on about it. Constantly scrolling, flicking, texting.’
‘Hmm, the problem is, it’s an accepted part of the world they live in. What do you do? If you ban them, you make them freaks, but it’s so difficult when you’re exposed daily to the damage it can do.’
We exchange a look. ‘So, what do you do? What’s the advice?’ she enquires.
‘I tell him, or nag him as he’d tell you, the same as other parents have to, in the hope that at some point the penny will drop. Usually while he’s transfixed on his game. Silly as it sounds, it’s the best time to get anything through to them, whilst they’re super-focused on something, you know, in a trance state almost. I drop little snippets of information at him, then walk away before he’s time to disagree. I live in hope that at some point he’ll use it. Anyway, as you’ve probably already worked out, it’s the least of my worries at the moment.’ I hope.
Moments pass between us; two close individuals, with a sudden gawking gap between them. Bea shifts in her seat and pretends to adjust her cosy cardigan. Ruan always teases her; it’s supposed to be me who wears the cardigans. He says I’m at risk of damaging years of valuable stereotyping by not wearing them. It’s exactly why I think I can’t bring myself to, as if I did I would also be required to wear loafers and be peering at people above my half-moon spectacles. Then I’d need to keep enquiring, how does that make you feel?
Bea’s attention is now somewhere else over my shoulder. She turns back to me, whilst lowering her head. ‘You see that guy over there.’ She nods in the direction over my right shoulder. ‘Him, quick, look now. Quick, Eve, he’s going. Quickly. Quick, you’re going to miss him!’ She’s not the most discreet, so I ignore her and turn slowly so as not to be blatantly rude. But too slowly evidently, as I only catch a calf, an ankle and some form of trendy shoe-like trainer as the rest of the body escapes the opening door. We’re hit by a cold rush of air as the person in question exits, sending a chill through my muscles.
‘Didn’t see him. Why, who is it?’
Bea tuts and sighs at me. I’m so not good at this gossip stuff. ‘No idea.’ She sighs again.
‘What? So what are you fussing about, asking me to look?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘For that very reason.’ She smiles. ‘We’ve no idea who he is, or where he’s from. That’s the point.’
‘So?’ Confused, I am. Why do people always insist on talking around the point?
‘So? So, we know who everyone else is in here, at least this time of the year we do. Except him. No one’s seen him before.’ She nods back over at the now empty chair.
‘We?’ What’s the big deal? This is a locals’ pub, granted, but even so we do get unknown people in here; lots of them in season.
‘Oh, God, Eve, all of us in here, no one knows him. I’ve asked just about everyone; nobody knows who he is. Ted, Lizzie, Karl, Matt, Abi and Frank so far.’ She leans into me again, as if to reveal some dark secret. ‘Apparently, he first appeared last Monday night on Frank’s shift. Out of the blue. He came in, alone, ordered a drink at the bar, sat at a table for a couple of hours, alone.’ She pauses, then flashes her eyes over towards the bar, nodding in their direction. ‘They said he’s always dressed casually, but smart; usually in dark colours. Each time, he’s sat there, by the fire in the gallery room.’ It’s referred to as the gallery room as each and every inch of wall space between the oak beams reflects the work of local artists and photographers. I shrug at Bea; sometimes she can be so local. I let her ramble on for a little as she’s clearly enjoying herself and it’s a welcome distraction from where I need to be. Eventually, she comes to a stop and looks to me as if she’s just revealed some highly sensitive, shocking disclosure.
‘Really! I mean, how bizarre. Someone visiting a village public house, buying a drink, then sitting at the table by the fire on a cold evening. Not once, not twice, but possibly now for the third time. I see what you mean. Really, Bea.’ I laugh. ‘Come on, please.’ Then it occurs to me; why didn’t it before? Is this you? Have you been stalking my local pub, sussing out the area? Have I just been sitting with my back to you for the last twenty minutes, after all these years?
Bea leans in again, and whispers with a frown, ‘You’re doing that thing again.’
‘What’s that?’ I say as I begin to stand.
‘Firstly, behaving like a migrant from up-country,’ she pauses. ‘And, secondly, thinking you’re an expert on human behaviour.’ She winks at me. ‘I don’t care what you think. It’s odd.’
I press my face up against the window, but it’s too dark to see outside. ‘Am I?’ I say, sitting back down. I’m being ridiculous. It wouldn’t be you; drinking alone in a local pub would never be your thing.
‘Have I missed something?’ Ruan asks, gently placing our drinks down so as not to spill the precious contents.
‘No, you haven’t. Just Bea being Bea. Thinking she’s Sherlock Holmes. Searching for clues, then condemning and hanging poor unexpected tourists for daring to enter a bar without introducing themselves first.’
‘Oh, you mean that guy.’ Ruan turns to point. ‘Where’s he gone?’ He dramatically spins around.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t you start, please. Sit down and let’s just have our drinks, shall we? You two are so blinking base sometimes.’ Ruan shrugs and takes a pew next to me, in a youngster way, perched on the edge of his seat. He takes an enormous slurp from his pint glass, moans out a sigh of relief before slumping back into his chair to outstretch his legs.
‘That’s better, I needed that,’ he informs us.
My throat feels constricted, despite my rationalising. Have you been trailing my local haunts, gathering information? Did you only leave, having noticed me?
‘What did you say he looked like?’
‘Who?’ Bea asks.
‘That guy, the one you were pointing out, speculating about. Describe him.’
Bea and Ruan exchange glances. ‘Only seen him from behind,’ said Ruan.
Bea tutted. ‘You’re useless,’ she tells him. ‘Like I said – good-looking, smart-casual, kind of elusive.’
My heart bounces up my body. I reach for my mobile; still no word from Jack. But then my signal here is so hit and miss.
‘I’m just going outside to try and catch a signal, call Jack. Be back in a minute,’ I tell them, and leave.
It’s pitch black. The light taken by stealth as the winter nights move in. Rendering me on edge, for things hiding, lurking in the shadows. Are the shadows watching me? Watching Jack? A twitchy feeling of being observed crawls over me like an old jumper. I jerk my thoughts away just in time to the purring tones of a 911 passing at speed, only to turn itself around in the car park across the way. I stand frozen as it faces back up the road, preparing to pass by again, away from the cove. I steel myself to gain a glimpse of the driver, stepping slightly back into the porchway so as not to be noticed, but as the car draws level a group of locals bumble and jostle their way in through the doorway, obscuring my viewing point. Then, it’s gone. Did the driver only come down here to turn around? It’s possible. Or did it come with purpose? At a guess I would say the former. It didn’t attempt to slow; it was leaving the village, not coming.
Jack’s face flashes into my mind, quickly I call his number again.
Thank God, it’s ringing. ‘Jack?’
‘Yeah, Mum. I’ve loads of missed calls. I told you I was at football tonight.’
‘I know, I was—’
‘Anyway, I’m here now, outside the gate, talk to you in a sec.’
‘No, wait. I’m not at home, Jack, I’m at The Wheal.’
‘Cool. Just presumed you were in, as the front-room light’s on.’
It can’t be. I’m sure as I can be I turned it off after I left, just an hour ago. I remember wishing halfway down the road I had left it on, for when Jack returned home.
‘Jack, stop. Don’t go in!’
‘What?’
‘Don’t go in the house.’
‘Why?’
I don’t want to panic him, but I’m still shaking from the sighting of the car, and something doesn’t feel right. ‘Come down and meet me, would you? I’ll not be too much longer here with Bea and Ruan, and I could do with the company to walk home after. I’ll come and meet you halfway now.’
‘But—’
‘Please?’
‘Okay, see you in a sec.’
I need to keep him on the phone. It will only take a few minutes for us to meet. ‘So how was football?’
‘Yeah. Good. What’s wrong? Why you being weird?’
‘I’m not. It’s called conversation.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll be with you in a sec. Something’s happened, hasn’t it? To do with him.’
We can’t be far away from each other now. ‘Not sure, Jack.’ He comes into sight and we both hang up.
As we meet, we turn around and start walking back to the pub together.
‘What’s happened? The truth, Mum?’
‘Did you see that car again, a few minutes ago?’
‘What car?’
‘The 911!’
‘No.’
How could he not have seen it? It must have passed him, either coming down or driving back up. ‘Are you sure? It must have passed you. How did you get home?’
‘A lift.’ He pauses. ‘Seb’s dad, like I told you earlier. He dropped me back.’
‘Did you? Well, I can’t believe you didn’t notice the 911.’
He shrugs. ‘Dunno. Maybe we passed it when I was changing my boots over to my astro’s – would have had my head down.’
‘You still would have heard it, surely?’
He shrugs again. ‘Probably not. Seb was playing his dad’s eighties CDs really loud.’
I let it go as we reach the entrance to the pub. I turn to Jack. ‘Actually, I’m quite tired, I think we’ll leave after all, Jack. I’ll just get my things. Bea and Ruan are over there. I’ll ask them to come back with us.’
‘You think someone’s in the house?’
‘No, of course not.’ I must have left the light on when I left.
Jack pulls an ‘of course, yes’ face at me. ‘Hmm. That’s why you wanted me to come here, isn’t it?’
I close the door behind us. ‘Stop it, Jack. I told you, I wanted some company, thought I might stay on here a little longer. I’ve changed my mind that’s all.’ Jack bites down on his bottom lip before making his way to the gents. I carry on to our table where Bea and Ruan are finishing their drinks.
‘There you are. Jesus, how long does a call take? Ted was looking for you, by the way. Did he catch you?’ asks Ruan.
I shake my head. ‘No, he didn’t. Look, sorry about this, but a slight change of plan. I’ve brought Jack back with me. Could we do this at mine? Talk, I mean.’
Bea speaks first. ‘Only if you want to, Eve, if you want to tell us.’
‘Yeah, only if you want to. Be good to know why you were freaking out big time, last night,’ Ruan expands.
I raise my eyebrows at him
‘You’ve got to admit, Eve; you’ve been acting really odd lately. I mean that in the nicest way.’ He looks to see if he’s overstepped the mark with either Bea or I, but we love his blunt talking. ‘I mean, you’ve been even odder than usual,’ he adds with a grin before going on. ‘To be honest, no messing about now. I’m really worried about you. You looked like you’d seen a ghost. Vexed us all right out.’
Bea stands and touches my hand from across the table. ‘You do know you can trust us. I know we tease, and mess about, but we’re always here for you. We’re just worried you’re in some kind of trouble. Is this all to do with Jack’s dad? It’s just you mentioned him last night,’ she said.
‘Please don’t call him that. Biology does not make a dad.’ I’m snapping at the wrong person. I know it’s not fair; how else could she have referred to you? I mentioned you only last night. But somehow, whereas the title of father is painful, the title of dad is like a dagger through the heart.
‘Sorry, Eve, I didn’t mean to—’ she offered, lowering her gaze like a chastised child.
‘No, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m sorry, it just grates, you know.’
‘Sure. I understand.’
‘Shall we call him “you know who”, or “he who cannot be named”?’ Ruan suggests with a deadly serious face.
I kicked him with the tip of my stiletto under the table.
‘Ouch. Just jesting. Just jesting.’
‘Well, don’t. This isn’t funny.’ Bea scowls at him.
‘I promise, this has never been about me not trusting either of you, because I do, implicitly.’ I feel myself blush slightly as the envelope in my briefcase comes to mind. How I queried them in my confused mind, considered that one of them could have planted it. But the fact remains, someone has planted it and I still don’t know who. I notice Jack swaggering over towards the table.
‘Ready?’
‘Yeah,’ he says.
I leave Bea, Ruan and Jack chatting, while I hunt out Ted through the crowds. I catch him laden with dirty empties and tap his arm. ‘Ted, were you looking for me?’
‘Yes, love, I was.’ He tilts his head towards me and lowers his voice. ‘Just thought I should mention, a couple of people have been asking after you.’
‘Really?’ My stomach rolls.
‘Didn’t think much of it, but then when two different people asked, who were, I assume, unrelated…’ he shakes his head ‘… just found it a little odd.’
‘Who was it, Ted? What did they ask?’
‘The first, a few days ago now, was a woman, proper glamorous, didn’t look local, asked if I knew you. I said I did, but then we were interrupted. I looked for her but didn’t see her again. Then, earlier tonight, a guy, who we’ve seen kicking about recently, he asked of you. I asked him who he was, who was asking, like. He didn’t seem to like it. Just said, “No reason,” and walked off.’
I thank Ted, tell him not to worry, lots of clients ask after me. But why would they ask here? It’s not like you, is it, to show your hand publicly, so what are you up to? As for the woman, this must be a coincidence, a client, or a connection to a client. Just bad timing surely? But what about the note? Sam? Why did she send me those excerpts, with the note? I’ve not heard from her in years, not for fifteen years. Has she been looking for me? There’s not a chance she’s had access to my briefcase, so who else has she been speaking to about me? Who else knows what she’s up to? She hated you with such intensity, it makes sense she’d want to warn me, but what does she know and how?
‘Mum, we’re leaving.’ Jack’s arm curls around my shoulders, bringing me back to the moment. We step outside the pub as I visually comb the area. I must have left the light on; you wouldn’t be that obvious. My head is spinning with surely, buts and anxious questions, as the amicable banter passes over my wired mind. You’re getting inside my head again. I need to fight it, except it’s not so easy if you’re changing the game plan. I’m banking on understanding your every move, but these latest incidents are not what I would have anticipated.