‘Maybe now Toby’s settled, it’ll be a chance for you to do your own thing.’ Tamara could tell Pixie was desperate to turn this into something positive for them both. ‘You could open the café you’ve talked about for years. You’re a great baker and the locals all love the puds you make here, so I’m sure they’d give you plenty of business. Then there’s all these new people moving in.’ She screwed up her face. ‘Drives up the house prices for the youngsters who want to stay, I know that, so there’s mixed feelings in the village, but it’s good for business. I’ve heard that new development up the road by the surgery is about finished. What’ve they called it?’
‘Trelawney Court.’
‘That’s the one. There’ll be a dozen fancy homes with owners who aren’t short of money.’ Pixie’s face brightened.
‘Yeah, I’ll think it over. Silver linings and all that.’
She’d learned to put on a brave face when her useless ex-husband, Fred, had left her to raise their newborn baby alone. As a naive seventeen-year-old she’d been swept off her feet by the handsome older man with his rumbling Bristol accent, whom she’d met in a nightclub in Newquay. He hadn’t been living in Cornwall long and had told her he’d had no family left in Bristol apart from a couple of distant cousins. Tamara had fallen pregnant the first time they’d had sex. Fred had only asked her to marry him under pressure from Tamara’s father, and, swallowing her doubts, she’d agreed for the sake of their baby. Any hope that they might have become a proper family had faded when Fred had left her while she’d still been in the hospitalafter giving birth to Toby. Tamara could never stand the thought of people feeling sorry for her, so worked hard to appear cheerful and positive.
‘Talk it over with Toby,’ Pixie suggested. ‘He’s a sensible boy. You did an awesome job with him.’
‘I think so too.’ Despite never going far with her own education or career, she’d pushed Toby to excel and make the most of every opportunity. It’d been one of her proudest moments when Toby had received his nursing degree last year. ‘He loves working with Josie. She’s tough, but he’s learning so much from her.’ One of her best friends in the village, and a fellow member of the Back of Beyond Book Club, Josie was a senior staff nurse at the nearby hospital. ‘Josie reckons, despite only being twenty-two, he’s incredible with the older patients and should consider specialising in geriatric care.’
‘I could see him doing that. I think he and Chloe make such a great couple.’
‘Yeah, they are. Chloe’s getting on well at Plymouth uni. They’re a bit like ships that pass in the night sometimes, but they make it work.’
It’d been a surprise when her quiet, self-effacing son had fallen for the supremely confident, strikingly beautiful Chloe. The circumstances of her arrival in Penworthal were interesting to say the least, but, after a few setbacks, the young couple had fallen in love and moved in together. They were renting Gwartha-an-Dre, a beautiful old farmhouse on the outskirts of Penworthal that belonged to Melissa, another of Tamara’s book-club friends. Melissa had married Nathan Kellow, Chloe’s uncle, a little over a year ago and had moved into his gorgeous Victorian house in the centre of the village.
‘Do you still want a bite of lunch?’ Pixie stood up.
‘No, thanks.’ She’d choke if she tried to force any food down.
‘I’ll go and take over from Jimmy. See you tomorrow.’
Tamara nodded and jumped up. She shoved the stool back under the counter and hurried out of the kitchen, taking a moment to steady herself. It was inevitable she’d meet someone she knew on the way home and it’d be intolerable to break down when casually asked how she was. She pushed away the depressing statistics about Cornwall’s ever-diminishing job opportunities and low wages, and focused on the fact she had plenty of time to get her ducks in a row.
Having a bloody good cry would have to wait.
* * *
A frisson of excitement and trepidation took hold of Gage as he drew up and parked outside the building. He was only a couple of days away from signing the deeds on the shop and then the sign in its now-dingy front window would have a bright-red sold sticker plastered across it.
He wound down his window and leaned out for a closer look. This was Church Street, the only road going through the village, and, sure enough, he could see the tall steeple from here. It was supposedly one of the highest in Cornwall. On the opposite side of the road was a pub, and a few doors away from that looked to be a small convenience store.
Gage turned his attention back to what would soon be his own premises. The local firm he’d hired to help with the renovations was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday. The old building was structurally sound and had been used as various business premises up until a couple of years ago. So, it was only a matter of giving everything a good clean, getting the electrics and plumbing checked, installing a new front door to replace the rotten one and then applying a fresh coat of paint inside and out. If all that went to plan, he could then start ordering stock and finally open his bookshop. The flat above the shop was ingood enough shape for him to move into soon, and he would get around to doing it up sometime later.
His best mate, Taff Morgan, thought he was out of his mind. They’d joined the Royal Marines together as raw, naive sixteen-year-olds a couple of decades ago, and no one had ever called Hal Morgan, a Welshman from Glamorgan, anything but Taff. Gage soon acquired his own nickname, the Prof, for always carrying a book around whether he was in a foxhole in Iraq or a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
‘I know you’ve got a decent pension so can afford to eat the losses for a while, but when I looked at a map Penworthal was hardly even on it!’ Taff said. ‘I get you haven’t settled since you got out, but there are plenty of steady jobs for ex-forces types with your background. I’ve told you before, the security firm I’m with would snap you up, dodgy leg or no dodgy leg. There’s plenty of background investigation work available, stuff you can do sitting at a desk. You could do it in your sleep.’
Taff couldn’t wrap his head around Gage’s determination to cut himself off from his old life. During a twenty-year career, Gage had seen action all over the world, but physically — and mentally — he’d paid a high price. At one point he’d tried marriage, but that had soon crumbled into dust. Now all he wanted was peace and to be surrounded by his beloved books.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true, because there was another thing he craved and it was the reason he’d paid over the odds to secure this particular shop. The tiny Cornish village of Penworthal, just three miles from the coast, had grabbed hold of his heart when he’d visited as a young boy. Gage hoped it would work the same magic now and provide the chance to re-establish a connection with Becky, the only family he had left.
He took one last look at the shop window before starting his car engine back up and driving away. He took a right turn past the hairdresser’s shop onto Wesley Lane. Gage slowed toa stop outside number nineteen. He could see it was well-cared for, from the freshly cut grass to the immaculate flower beds still boasting an impressive display of colourful blossoms. A short, stocky man with thinning fair hair ambled out of the house. He clambered into a small white van withP. Johns Plumbingon the side and then drove off down the road.
That must be Paul, Becky’s husband.
He’d been able to discover from the electoral roll that Becky still lived at the same house, but Gage had no idea whether the couple had any children. If they did, were any of his half-nieces and nephews even aware of his existence?
His heart thudded in his chest and he felt clammy all over. Perhaps he should have rung Becky first to test the waters. It’d been thirty years. Thirty bloody years, which basically made them strangers. Would she really want him here now, dragging up old wounds and stirring up family stories she might prefer to forget?
She might not even remember him because the last time they’d met, Gage had been only seven and Becky would’ve been about nine. He hadn’t been old enough to ask questions when his father, Wally Harris, had casually introduced the little girl with big brown eyes and a kind smile as Gage’s half-sister. It had been much later that he’d discovered the full story.
Gage eased out of the car and limped across the road. He pushed open the gate and made his way up the gravel path. The sight of the gleaming brass knocker, shaped like a Cornish chough, made him smile. Years ago, he hadn’t been tall enough to reach it, so his dad would hoist him up to lift the brass bird and drop it with a loud clatter. Today the door opened almost immediately.
‘I know you’ve got a living to make, but I’m not buying anything so don’t waste your breath trying to sell me new windows or insurance.’
