Tremarnock Summer Read online

  Bramble could hear the noise of cars in the background, the odd hoot. It was still warm out and her dad probably had his window down. When she asked for advice, she could often guess more or less what he was going to say before he uttered a single word, but she wasn’t prepared for what came next.

  ‘We’ll get that old place straight on the market. It’s gone to rack and ruin, by all accounts. The sooner it’s off your hands, the better.’

  Bramble felt a stab of disappointment and wondered why, until it dawned on her that she’d already been mentally wafting around the property, running her hands through the floor-to-ceiling drapes, testing out the quaint old chairs and silver cutlery, trying out the dusty beds for size.

  ‘Do you think it’s true?’ she asked. ‘I mean, the letter could be a hoax.’

  Her father growled, a low sound like a baited bear.

  ‘It’s legit all right, you mark my words. Just the sort of thing that man would do – spring a surprise like this to throw everyone into a flat spin. Evil, that’s what he was. Malevolent.’

  Bramble swallowed. She trusted her dad over anyone – he always had her best interests at heart – but right now she couldn’t see his point of view.

  ‘Shouldn’t we at least go and visit the place? I mean, it’s not every day you inherit a manor. We might even want to do it up and live there!’

  Her father snorted. ‘Not on your life. You take the money and run, my girl. Buy yourself a nice new house round here, one of them detached ones on Gloucester Road, maybe, with a carport and a decent bit of garden. Enough bedrooms so you and Matt can start a family when you’re ready. After you’re married, I mean,’ he added hastily.

  ‘Put the rest in the bank for a rainy day and don’t tell no one, no one...’ he repeated fiercely. ‘You don’t want to be one of them daft types who comes into some money and goes, “Wahay”, and blows it all on foreign holidays for Uncle Tom Cobley and all. I don’t know what that manor’s worth, not a lot is my guess, but the cash’ll go soon enough if you’re not careful. You should be canny. Spend just what you need and not a penny more.’

  He paused. ‘We’ll call that lawyer fella in the morning and tell him what we’ve decided. There’ll be someone wants a gloomy old pile in the middle of nowhere, but not us, for sure. The sooner it’s sold, the happier I’ll be. That man caused nothing but trouble while he was breathing. I’m not having him casting a shadow over my girl now he’s turned up his toes.’

  When he’d rung off, Bramble leaned back and closed her eyes. For a few short hours she’d almost allowed herself to feel excited, to think that something was actually happening at last. She gave herself a shake. She was coming into money, for goodness’ sake; rather a lot, in fact, more than she’d ever dreamed of. As her dad said, she and Matt could get married, buy a really nice house round here and settle down. What more could she wish for?

  She found herself googling three- and four-bed houses for sale in the area on Matt’s tablet and gazing at an array of master bedrooms, en-suite bathrooms, utility rooms. Cassie would kill for one of those. She said she’d always hated having to do the ironing in the front room.

  Bramble was still eyeing up properties when Matt walked in, jangling his keys in one hand, the jacket of the pale-blue suit that they’d bought together at the designer outlet slung over his shoulder. Matt was of medium height and solidly built – ‘dependable’, Katie used to say – with a small nose, soft grey eyes and fair hair that was just beginning to recede at the sides. He was the general manager of a nearby gym, but he wasn’t all that keen on using the facilities himself; he said he was more of an armchair athlete.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he said, strolling over to the sofa and giving Bramble a kiss. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and the collar was undone – no tie. ‘Good day?’

  He didn’t even have time to take off his suit or grab a glass of water before she was telling him all about the letter, which she produced from the bag beside her and thrust into his hands.

  ‘My dad says I should sell the manor immediately, not even go and visit,’ she said, watching impatiently while he sat down beside her to read. ‘What do you think?’

  Bramble and Matt had attended the same comprehensive school and had been going out together since Year Ten. With her striking looks, she’d already been receiving a lot of attention from the boys, but Matt was the only one who’d never used her hated nickname, Gawky.

  ‘They only take the mick because it annoys you,’ he’d whispered during one particularly dull maths lesson when they’d been sitting side by side. ‘If you pretend not to care, they’ll soon stop. Anyhow,’ he’d continued, ‘I think you’re beautiful.’

  They’d been to a film together that weekend, had a burger and a milkshake after, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  He seemed to take an age to get to the bottom of the letter, and when he’d finished, he scratched his head slowly and stroked his chin.

  ‘Your dad’s right,’ he said at last. ‘What would we want with an old ruin anyway? Even if we had enough money to do it up, I can’t think of anything worse than living in some draughty hall, miles from anywhere, with hundreds of empty rooms, creaking floorboards and creepy corridors. Ugh.’ He shuddered. ‘There are probably loads of spiders, too.’ He hated spiders.

  Bramble tipped her head to one side and a strand of hair fell across her face. She stuck out her bottom lip and puffed it away, only for it to settle back in the same position.

  ‘It might not be creepy, it might be amazing,’ she persisted. ‘We should take a look, don’t you think?’

  Matt rubbed his palms up and down his sturdy thighs. Bramble had always liked his thighs; they made her feel safe.

  ‘Why would we want to leave here? We’ve got everything we need.’

  She thought of the familiar suburban streets that she’d tramped up and down since she was old enough to walk, the high street stores that she knew like the back of her hand, the cinema, the trains that could whiz you to London’s Waterloo in thirty-six minutes on a really good day, the doctor’s and the bowling alley. It was true, they didn’t want for anything. Yet...

  She stared at him with wide-open eyes, and at that moment it was as if the heavens parted and a bolt of lightning flashed through the ceiling into the little sitting room, landing on the dark-grey carpet right in front of her nose.

  ‘Stop being an old stick-in-the-mud!’ she cried. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you see? This could be just what we’ve been waiting for!’

  2

  One year later

  SOME TWO HUNDRED and fifty miles away, on a remote Cornish peninsula, a woman called Liz was sitting under a big pink parasol while her toddler daughter tried to pick sand and pebbles off the beach and stuff them into her mouth.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Liz chided, pushing the little girl’s pudgy hand away for the umpteenth time. ‘Nasty. Yeeuch!’

  She wiped the grit off the baby’s palms with the corner of a towel, but a moment later Lowenna, who was not quite one, was reaching out again and the whole process had to be repeated.

  ‘Why does she keep doing that?’ laughed Liz’s older daughter, Rosie, who was lying on her side on a turquoise towel nearby. ‘She’s so silly!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Liz sighed, ‘but it’s getting on my nerves. Come on, let’s take her for a paddle.’

  It was, in many ways, an idyllic spot. The small beach was flanked by rocky promontories that gave it a safe, sheltered feel. Behind was the sea wall, and beyond that, a row of gaily painted houses, shops and a pub, festooned with hanging baskets bursting with blooms. High above, set a little way back from the jagged cliff, you could just perceive the outline of a grand, grey-stone building, complete with decorative turrets, that cast a rather solemn eye over the frivolity below and seemed to say, ‘Laugh now, by all means, but you wouldn’t be so merry if you’d seen what I’ve seen these past three hundred years. Then, perhaps, you might feel melan
choly, too.’

  Lowenna was unsteady on her feet, having only just learned to walk, so Rosie held one hand and Liz the other as they picked their way slowly through numerous towels and bodies to the shoreline, taking care not to tread on anyone. On the third Thursday in July, when the schools had broken up and the summer season was in full swing, you expected to have to jostle for space with visitors on their annual break, and today was no exception.

  The bright-blue sky overhead reflected on the surface of the sea, which was alive with children splashing and shouting and folk on paddleboards or in rubber dinghies, while further out, gaily coloured boats bobbed gently, like fairground ducks waiting to be hooked from the water. Lowenna’s chocolate-brown eyes, just like her mother’s, seemed to grow as big as her face as she gazed in wonder at the show, her head swivelling, owl-like, this way and that, so that she wouldn’t miss a thing.

  ‘Look, Lowie, sea,’ Rosie said, bending down to run a hand through the white ripples. ‘It’s cold – brrr!’

  Lowenna, who was wearing nothing but a cream bonnet and pink waterproof pants over a bulky nappy, copied her sister, crouching down on chunky thighs and allowing the tide to trickle between her fingers.

  ‘Come on,’ Rosie said when they’d had enough, ‘let’s go a bit further,’ and she held the little girl’s hand tightly as they waded out a short distance, being careful to avoid a group of rowdy boys to their left who were diving in and out of the waves after an orange ball.

  Liz paused for a moment to watch as the girls went on ahead, the water up to the base of Lowenna’s nappy, while for Rosie it was just calf high. Now fourteen, Rosie was in a cobalt-blue bikini – this was the first summer that she’d felt confident enough to wear one – and although she was small and thin for her age, her womanly curves had begun to take shape. She was growing up fast.

  All of a sudden a rogue wave lapped up to Lowenna’s chest, making her squeal in fright, and Rosie bent down and scooped her up, balancing her on one hip and rocking tenderly to and fro, just as she’d seen her mother do. Lowenna was lucky to have such a big sister, Liz thought; she hoped that they’d always be as close as they were now. She herself, an only child, had always felt the absence of a sibling.

  It had been hot and sticky on the beach, but here the slight breeze and chilly water brought goosebumps to her arms and she felt less inclined to swim. Lowenna, though, was struggling to get down, so Liz took the plunge and immersed herself completely before reaching for the little girl’s hands. Lowenna gasped as the pair bobbed up to their shoulders beneath the surface, unsure whether to laugh or cry, but was soon reassured by her mother’s smile and began kicking wildly.

  ‘She likes it!’ Rosie cried, dipping down herself and popping up again just as quickly. ‘She’s a water baby, just like me!’

  ‘She is,’ Liz laughed, ‘a proper little mermaid.’

  When they’d had enough, they jogged back up the beach and grabbed their towels, making shivering noises as they rubbed themselves dry.

  ‘Fancy an ice cream?’ Liz asked when they’d settled back down, squinting in the sunlight. ‘Run and get them for us, will you, Rosie? I’ll give you the money.’

  But Rosie wasn’t keen. ‘I have to go home and shower. I’m meeting some friends at the cinema.’

  ‘Really?’ It was the first Liz had heard of it. ‘On a lovely day like today? Wouldn’t you rather be outdoors?’

  Rosie hesitated. ‘Everyone’ll be there...’ Her voice trailed off and a dark line, like a pencil mark, appeared between her eyebrows.

  ‘You don’t have to be like everyone else,’ Liz said gently.

  ‘Tim’s going – and Amelia.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Amelia had joined the class at the beginning of term. She was fun, pretty and very popular, it seemed, especially with Tim, who was Rosie’s particular friend.

  ‘We’ll give you a lift to the ferry?’ Liz offered, trying to ignore the niggle of anxiety that had lodged in her stomach. She’d always worried about her eldest daughter, who had mild cerebral palsy, but you couldn’t shield your child from everything.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Rosie firmly. ‘I’ll get the bus.’

  After that, Lowenna was whingey and unsettled, and Liz decided to pack up their things as well and take a short detour via the gift shop, Treasure Trove, to buy ice creams for just the two of them. She was thinking, as she often did, that it was a good job Rosie was so independent; her life wasn’t easy and stubbornness helped to sustain her. Still, Liz did wish sometimes that she’d accept a little more support.

  It was dark and poky inside the store and it took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust, but soon she could make out the imposing frame of Rick Kane behind the counter, chatting to his friend Audrey, who ran Seaspray Boutique, the clothes shop up the road.

  Rick and Audrey, who were in their late fifties, had known each other since they were children, but there was no romance. Villagers used to wonder why, when they were both single and seemed to get on so well, until Audrey had confessed once in the pub that fond as she was of Rick, she couldn’t stand his bushy beard and sideburns. Naturally, this had been all around the locality in the blink of an eye.

  Having worked his way through a mind-boggling array of other attractive mature ladies, Rick had settled more recently on Liz’s friend Esme, the potter. This had been something of a revelation, as Esme had never married – or seemed much interested in men, come to that. Art had been more her thing, and her collection of vintage teapots. Nor was she particularly glamorous, unlike her predecessors, favouring navy fishermen’s smocks and droopy, flowing skirts over high heels and bling. Nevertheless, she and Rick had seemed to rub along all right for nearly a year until their big bust-up of a couple of months ago, and now they barely spoke. No one had managed to ascertain the cause of the rift, but the general consensus was that Rick had tried to ‘go too far’. Unfortunately, the experience seemed to have robbed him of his mojo and everyone – apart from Esme – had been keen to cheer him up.

  ‘Good day to you, and the little lady,’ he said, breaking off his conversation with Audrey and managing a mournful smile. ‘Been to the beach, have we?’

  It must have been pretty obvious, as Liz’s hair was still damp and she was wearing nothing but flip-flops and one of Robert’s old white shirts over her soggy swimsuit, while Lowenna, bare-footed and sandy, was waving a red plastic bucket in one hand, a spade in the other.

  Liz nodded. ‘It’s a gorgeous day. Have you had a swim yet?’

  Rick used to be seen come rain or shine, winter or summer, plunging into the waves and thrashing to and fro in his strong crawl, sometimes for half an hour or more, but less so of late.

  ‘Couldn’t face it,’ he replied gloomily. ‘Too many emmets.’

  ‘Emmets’ was the local word for the hordes of tourists who came each summer, loved and hated in equal measure by the villagers, who relied on them for business but weren’t so fond of their loud and sometimes inconsiderate ways.

  Lowenna squealed tetchily, and Liz walked over to the giant freezer in the corner of the shop and picked out two lollies. Rick didn’t want to take any money, but she insisted. He couldn’t make much on his Cornish fudge and fairing biscuits, cheap souvenirs and postcards. In fact, it was a wonder he managed to stay solvent, especially in winter when hardly anyone ventured in, except for a chat.

  ‘Where’s our Rosie then?’ he asked, putting the cash in the till.

  Liz told him about the cinema trip and Rosie’s FOMO, or Fear of Missing Out. She’d didn’t mention Tim, though – or Amelia, come to that.

  She was about to leave when Audrey tapped her on the arm, halting her in her tracks.

  ‘Have you heard about Felipe’s brother?’ she said, lowering her voice confidentially.

  Liz hadn’t.

  ‘He’s left Rio and he’s living with Felipe and Tony now. They’re bringing him here this weekend. He’s about fifteen, and a right tearaway by all accounts. His mothe
r was at the end of her tether. Couldn’t wait to see the back of him.’

  Audrey sniffed, as if there was a bad smell, and raised her carefully plucked eyebrows expectantly.

  ‘How nice!’ said Liz, much to the older woman’s disappointment. ‘We can all practise our Portuguese!’

  Tony, who lived some of the time in London and worked in PR, owned a cottage nearby, which he and his partner, Felipe, visited frequently. Liz was extremely fond of them both. She smiled to herself as she left the shop, thinking that a Brazilian bruiser in sleepy Tremarnock was going to be interesting. That would put the cat among the pigeons for sure.

  *

  Lowenna made contented sucking noises as they trundled up South Street, Liz pushing the buggy with one hand and holding on to her own ice cream in the other. The little girl would be a shocking mess by the time they reached home, but it didn’t matter; her clothes could go straight in the wash after she’d settled down for a nap. They passed by Robert’s restaurant, A Winkle in Time, on the other side of the cobbled street, and Liz took care not to catch the eye of customers still sitting at tables beneath the window, enjoying a late lunch. She and Lowenna must look like hillbillies and she didn’t particularly want her husband to see them, let alone clients and staff; not till they’d scrubbed up.

  Annie, the fitness trainer, was knocking on the door of Jenny Lambert’s pink terrace house, Gull Cottage, and she turned and smiled at Lowenna, who brandished her ice cream proudly. Annie was small and pretty and her blonde hair was tied back in two girlish plaits.

  ‘Mm. Nice lolly. Lucky Lowie!’ she said in an excited baby voice as Jenny, who was normally in jeans and wellington boots, emerged in an old orange T-shirt, somewhat unbecoming purple Lycra leggings and bright-white trainers. They must have been brand new. She slammed the door behind her and Liz could hear Sally, her Jack Russell, yapping desperately inside.

  ‘I’ve persuaded Jenny to come to my Mature Movers class,’ Annie explained. She and her boyfriend, Nathan, the postman, had gone travelling earlier in the year, but after various escapades involving gippy tummies, mosquitoes and stolen wallets, they’d come home early, concluding that Tremarnock was the only place for them after all.