We’re not quite on a Greek island but you are doing a bit of a Shirley Valentine, aren’t you?
Sabrina laughed to herself at Belle’s response.
My mum loved that film– and hardly! Thanks for the goodies, you’re an angel.
I try. Have an amazing day. I think you’ll love Hartmouth and especially the market. Pop over the estuary on the ferry if you can, too. There’s a Cornwall Trust property the other side, and the gardens there are beautiful.
OK… thank you… have an enjoyable day too xx
The ten a.m. Penrigan to Hartmouth trundled its way noisily around the windy Cornish roads. It had been a while since Sabrina had been on a double decker bus and it brought back feelings of being a teenager again. Of when she used to hop on and off the iconic red city buses with her North London mates, without a care in the world. Her impulsivity and spontaneity were at a high, back then. Without fear, she would say yes to the risky and no to conformity, both of which had got her into trouble many times. It constantly surprised her that she had kept working on the same soap role for five years. Her butterfly mind rarely settled in one place for that long.
Belle had talked her out of driving to the busy estuary town on a market day; said it would take as long to find a parking space as it would be to sit on the bus, and that it really was a lovely route where she could take in the stunning elevated coastal views along the way. Like the old days, she had headed upstairs and sat right at the front in the goldfish bowl-like window. A woman in her late forties, who was in a seat at the top of the stairs, had smiled at her and Sabrina was relieved that there was not a sniff of recognition. That could be because the woman wasn’t a fan, of course, as she wasn’t so up herself as to think that everyone watched the biggest soap in the UK. But still, it was a good sign. She had thought about maybe changing her accent too, but as her alter-ego Polly Malone was Liverpudlian and she clearly found Scottish difficult, she thought that keeping her North London twang would be alright.
With the bus stopping every five minutes, Sabrina realised she could be on here for a while, so she pulled the local newspaper she had found on Penrigan Pier. Pushing up her glasses (which she was just about getting used to), she laughed to herself at the ‘Off their trolley’headline. The story explained that trolleys from the localFrescosupermarket had been going missing daily. Themystery trolley nickerhad eventually been discovered in neighbouring Penhaven, lining them with bin bags and growing cannabis plants in them in a greenhouse packed full of heat lamps. Then under cover of darkness he would wheel them around the streets selling his wares, fresh from the vine, so to speak. She wondered what Dominic would think of this headline, and even more how he would cope with being faced with such regular slow news days. She put the paper down next to her and reached for her phone, which showed an icon for a new voice message. On hearing his aggravated tones, she sighed deeply.This is getting ridiculous now. Just pick up the phone. Let me know you’re safe, at least. I haven’t got time for all this mucking about. Sorry, sorry. I love you Swifty. Just come home, will you? Or text me at least.
Her dad’s mantra of “Treat others as you would have them treat you”, sprung to mind, and she felt chastened. She would give it until tomorrow and then message him. Yes, he had been a complete arse, but two wrongs didn’t make a right. He needn’t know where she was, but he could at least rest assured she hadn’t done a Lord Lucan on him. Today was for making her decision aboutPrancing on Iceand enjoying a little mosey around an old market town, something she had so enjoyed doing before she had met Dominic three years previously. And something now she found she rarely had time for. In fact, her life had become so busy recently, she rarely had time for anything that made her happy. She thought back to what Dee had said. She had been on such a constant treadmill of working, wedding planning, eating, sleeping and repeating that her focus on reality and what her relationship stood forhadbeen lost.
Sabrina looked out of the huge upper deck front window of the trundling double decker. To her right a long stretch of sand dunes was being licked by an inviting looking turquoise blue sea. The decent weather was holding and there was not a cloud in the sky. This place really was a taste of heaven. She was suddenly catapulted back into reality as they rounded a corner and the left side of the bus scraped the tops of trees, causing a few branches to break off and poke through the tiny push open windows. She gave a small, gleeful laugh.
The view from their Bloomsbury flat was as far from this as one could imagine. Just rooftops after more rooftops. Grey, noisy, pollution-ridden London seemed a million miles away right now and if she was honest with herself, at this moment in time she wasn’t missing it or everything it held for her one bit. Having time away from Dominic had made her realise just how little time she did spend with him anyway. They were like ships that pass in the night on a working week, and at the weekends, he would play golf, she would go to the gym and if they did do something together, they were rarely alone, it was usually a dinner party with one of his cronies or a weekend at his ageing parents in Dorset. She had hoped that marriage would change this, that they could do more just as Mr and Mrs Best. The reality of leaving him suddenly hit her. However much they didn’t see each other. He was still a heartbeat in her home and in her life. For all his faults, she did love him but the butterflies he used to ignite in her tummy, even up until their wedding day, now felt dead inside of her. She felt a physical pain of both hurt and regret for ever getting involved with a cheater. Dee had untactfully intimated that maybe this hadn’t been the first time. Maybe it wasn’t. But she didn’t need to know that, for she genuinely believed a leopard did not change his spots and that once was enough for Dominic Best to have blotted his own copybook.
The top of the bus was filling now, with the chitter chatter of families and a handful of lonesome individuals of various ages, all heading to the market, she assumed. Thankfully nobody had joined her at the front. Maybe they could smell her wish that they would keep away from her. On noticing a ‘two miles to Hartmouth’ sign, she stuck her head back into the paper to get as much of a sense of the place as possible before she arrived. There was an advertorial page covering Ferry Lane Market, and Sabrina read with interest. It explained that the market consisted of indoor shop units but on the outdoor market days– every Friday and Saturday, whatever the weather– the owners would sell their wares in front of their shops.
There was a story covering Star’s Crystal and Jewellery stall. Telling how Steren (which meant Star in Cornish), a teenage single mother at the time, had started by selling jewellery along Penrigan beach and after receiving a small inheritance had set up her own shop in the market where she made bespoke jewellery as well as selling individual crystals. She had found love and now had two small boys as well a teenage daughter, Skye, who worked for her half-sister, Kara, in Passion Flowers, the florist next door. It all sounded a bit incestuous, Sabrina thought, but then rationalised that if people stayed in their hometowns, there was no avoiding it. Not like anonymous old London town, where you were lucky if your neighbour so much as raised an eyebrow at you, and where your family was most likely to be spread around the globe.
Sabrina read on to discover that Monique’s Café, formerly Tasty Pasties, while not a market stall as such, sold delicious pasties and pastries with outside seating. It was owned by Big Frank Brady who also owned Frank’s, the American-style diner-café next to the ferry crossing, where the article claimed you could buy the best breakfast in Hartmouth. Sabrina also learnt with interest that there was an eclectic mix of stalls to keep both the tourists and the locals happy, given that it was a year-round market. On Star’s side of the street, you could not only find Passion Flowers, but also the Hartmouth Gallery & Art School run by Glanna Pascoe and her fiancé, Oliver Trueman.
‘Ah, I see,’ Sabrina said far too loudly as she put the facts in her head together. Glanna Pascoe– that was the name of the artist of the rainbow painting above the cottage fireplace and the woman Isaac had been associated with in the newspaper article, wasn’t it? With head fully down into the magazine after her outburst, she read that there was the artisan bakery Holly and Glover, where Belle got her goodies from, and Clarke’s the butchers made up that row. On the other side, the units were made up of the Dillon family’s fruit and veg stall. Nigel’s Catch the fishmonger, The Sweet Spot belonging to Alicia, selling home-made fudge and local honey including the Honeysuckle Honey made at Bee Cottage by the old ferryman Joe Moon and another stall that was loaded with antiques and run by, in the article’s words, an ‘eccentric Welsh gentleman named Gideon Jones’. At the bottom of the article, it stated that Brian Todd, who had run the second-hand books and records stall for the past fifteen years, was taking a sabbatical. Rather than somebody take over running his unit, he had stored his stock in a lock up and an empty market unit was to be available for a three-month let from October to December. Interested parties were to contact Lowen Kellow, Market Inspector for further information. A mobile number followed.
The bus stopped with a jolt, and everyone started gathering their belongings and making their way to the stairs. Assuming this must be last stop, Ferry Lane Market, Sabrina donned her huge sunglasses, stood up and joined the queue.
Chapter Nine
‘Bet they’re lining up like hot cakes to get their hands on this one before Christmas, ain’t they?’ Charlie Dillon shouted across from his already heaving fruit and veg stall. ‘They so rarely come up, I’d take it myself, but I’ve not got enough hands-on deck.’
The brooding market inspector gave the greengrocer a reluctant thumbs up and made his way inside the empty unit.
‘Good morning, madam.’ Charlie Dillon directed straight at Sabrina as she began to make her way down the hill and through the middle of the bustling market. ‘Fancy getting your north and south around one of my ripe and juicy Cox’s. Rich and aromatic, they are– not unlike myself.’ Sabrina laughed and walked on as the bald man gave her a huge wink. The straggly-haired woman next to him shook her head and shouted after her. ‘Don’t mind him, love, he thinks he’s bleeding Casanova.’
Opposite, Sabrina noticed a heavily pregnant woman putting bunches of mixed coloured dahlias into buckets outside the florists. Feeling a sense of recognition on spotting Star’s Crystal and Jewellery stall next door to the bloom-laden oneofPassion Flowers, she walked over to it and started perusing the decorative array of handmade jewellery laid out neatly in front of her.
‘Hi.’ The petite, long-haired blonde greeted her. Sabrina recognised her as Star from the newspaper. A tiny baby was nestled close to her chest in a papoose. ‘Love your nose ring.’
Sabrina put her hand to her face to touch it. ‘Err, yes. Thanks. I was just reading about you in theHartmouth Echo. Well done on following your dreams.’
‘Aw, that’s kind. It was hard work, but I got there in the end. Good to see selling my soul to anEchojournalist got me one customer, at least.’ Star stroked her baby’s downy head softly. ‘Welcome to my humble market stall.’
‘Aw, it’s lovely and bloody journalists, eh.’ Sabrina felt a pain in her tummy again at the mention of a journalist. ‘How old is your little one?’
‘Two months today. Thankfully, he sleeps a lot. He luckily seems to like the hustle and bustle noises of the market already. His name is Storm but he’s more like a gentle breeze– so far, anyway.’ The stallholder gave a tinkling laugh.
‘Great name!’
‘Yes, my husband is not so keen, but I compromised on Matthew for our first born, so he’s coming around to it.’
Star looked to Sabrina’s left hand. ‘Your engagement ring is stunning, by the way.’
Sabrina felt a dart of panic. She knew she should have taken the huge sparkling diamond off as other questions would surely follow. But it just felt so final doing that.
