‘Of course, they’re the ultimate des res around here at the moment. I’ve always fancied seeing inside one of them. You’ll have to tell me all about it.’
‘Or you’ll have to come over one night. See for yourself.’ Pippa smiled in response to this, a smile that flooded her already happy face and lit up her eyes, which then developed a cheeky glint. That was cute.
‘Okay, I’m free tonight so I was considering asking if you wanted a hand. We could get you all moved in and then go for a drink later, either in Treporth or walk back over to Penmenna and I’ll induct you into village life in The Smuggler’s Curse. You’re not a proper local until you’ve had a pint of Rattler in there. Oh, or a soft drink, obviously, if you don’t drink. Lottie, my flatmate, she doesn’t but I like one now and again.’
‘No, it’s okay, I definitely appreciate the odd pint. That would be great but you said “considering asking”.’
‘I didn’t know if it was appropriate, plus you’ve been stuck with me all day so I figured you may want to escape.’
‘Hmmm, you are quite hard work…’ Kam watched as Pippa’s face fell. ‘Hey, where’s that smile gone that’s been beaming all day? I was only joking. I’ve really enjoyed working alongside you today; I think we’re going to have fun working together. It’s whether you can put up with me for any longer.’
‘It has been tricky but I’m a bit of a saint so I can probably cope with a little bit more. Just a little bit.’
‘In that case, Miss Parkin, if your offer is still open I would greatly appreciate your help. But I don’t have much to move so why don’t we just meet at The Smuggler’s Curse later tonight and you can fill me in on all the local gossip. And maybe give me tips to stop that PTA woman from devouring me alive in front of the children.’
‘I can’t promise anything.’
‘Not even a drink at eight o’clock this evening?’
Pippa drained the sink, dried her hands and walked over to put trays and brushes back in the cupboard before turning around and flashing a great big smile at him.
‘That is a promise that’s far more achievable. That one I can make and keep. Eight tonight in The Curse. It’s a date.’
Chapter Ten
Pippa smiled as she approached The Smuggler’s Curse that evening. She had deliberately come a bit early so she would be there to welcome Kam when he turned up. Living in the village all her life meant she was under no illusions about the local pub but she did love the way it was a community hub with its interesting collection of regulars propping up the bar most evenings.
There was Mickey, a music sensation of the nineties who had made enough money off the back of three very popular dance anthems that meant he could spend the rest of his life in happy obscurity, pint in hand, his hair still in his eyes and missing a fair chunk of his teeth, firm in the belief that there had never been a summer to match that of 1989, and hitting on any woman under seventy who dared enter the dark insides of The Curse.
Then there was Andrew, in theory the village’s taxi driver, who could guarantee to be so inebriated by half past six on any evening that he wasn’t fit to walk anyone home, let alone drive them. He was, however, a good friend of her dad’s and always willing to put his hand, albeit only possessing three fingers and a thumb, in his pocket to buy Pippa a drink.
Walking in was a bit like going home. If Roger liked you, there was a strong chance your drink of choice would have been poured by the time you got to the bar, alongside a packet of dry roasted thrown in for good measure.
However, as friendly as the pub was to locals, out-of-towners were a different story. The pub would go silent when someone unknown walked in, every head turning to appraise the visitor. If conversations were resumed then it was fair to assume you had been accepted; if not, it was best to make a run for it and never return, in case the proverbial pitchforks were gathered and brandished.
Somewhere back in the mists of time and at the height of Cornwall’s smuggling prowess, the regulars had run the Custom’s men out of Penmenna, forks, scythes and torches in hand, and the pub still rested on that reputation. In fact, Pippa suspected they were itching to do it again.
Roger, the landlord, tall, wiry, having lost most of his hair and all of his manners several years ago, deliberately kept the outside run down so as not to attract any emmets – tourists named after ants because of the way they would scurry all over the county, bright red with sunburn, come high season. Indeed, the outside of the pub looked so ramshackle that holiday makers would walk straight past, unaware that The Curse regularly dished up the best roast in the county and had highly illegal lock-ins at every possible opportunity. However, with locals regularly filling it to bursting point and it being practically impossible to secure a table for Sunday lunch unless you were sixth generation Cornish and your family had had a table for years, it meant the brewery were reluctant to change the formula. Plus, everybody knew that Roger kept a twelve bore behind the bar and wouldn’t be afraid to use it.
Pippa loved the pub because of all its idiosyncrasies, rather than in spite of them. It had a roaring fire all year long, and right now it had the additional advantage of not smelling like formaldehyde – unlike her flat. She had mentioned this to Lottie who had laughed off all Pippa’s concerns about toxicity, remarking that lemon juice was hardly likely to preserve the animals quite as effectively, although if she wanted to get her some arsenic she was happy to give that a go. Pippa really hoped she became a raving success soon and rented a workshop.
She had even resorted to pointing out that the chemical stench and dead wildlife littering the flat could be the reason that none of Lottie’s dates ever came back. Lottie pointed out that if her dates couldn’t get past her hobby and see the joy in the dormouse scene on the mantlepiece, then they weren’t girlfriend material anyway.
Pippa pushed the pub door open and saw all the regulars sitting at the bar.
‘Alright, darling? See you’ve been raiding my nan’s wardrobe again.’ Andrew greeted her. Pippa swirled a full circle for them in the cute little floral tea-dress she had decided to wear for tonight’s date. No, not date – professional meeting of two colleagues with the intention of one welcoming the other into the community. Anyway, it was still a super cute dress and she loved it almost as much as she did the red patent Mary-Janes she had paired it with.
‘Yup, she asked me to tell you to give her underwear back. Says she’s sick of asking and coral has never been your colour anyway,’ Pippa winked as she teased him, whilst Mickey flicked his hair out of his eyes as he laughed at his mate’s face.
‘You deserved that. You look fair ’ansum, little one. Come sit here and let me buy you a drink, and then you can tell us how come we’re blessed with your presence on a school night.’
‘I’m actually here for work.’
‘For work?!’ The two men chorused. ‘Does that mean that headteacher of yours will be in as well?’ Mickey’s eyes lit up at the thought of two young women in this evening.
‘Nah, a new colleague. I said I’d let him know all about the area and suggested he meet me here.’
‘He, is it? a man? Up at the school? Hoo hoo hooo, has anyone told Richard Marksharp?’
