Phillipa Ashley Untitled Book 1

‘You’ve had a rough few years, but keep the faith. Keep at it. Stargazey will be a success. We’ll just have to ride out the storm somehow. We can’t stop it from coming.’ Drew grinned. ‘And anyone who’s Porthmellow born and bred will tell you that.’

Nodding, Sam held open the door for Drew. A burst of brass band music hit her ears and she blinked at the contrast of the gloomy interior with the bright sunlight glinting on the water. Sam zoned in on the ‘To Let’ sign on the fish and chip shop at the end of the harbour. Gabe and his family had worked there and lived in the flat above it until he and Sam had split up; his parents had retired a few months previously and no one had taken it over yet.

The ice-cream parlour next door was shuttered up and wouldn’t re-open until spring. Bryony Cronk’s new dog grooming business had set up in the old greengrocer’s shop, but both units either side had blanked-out windows. Despite its shabbiness, Porthmellow was in Sam’s blood, she loved its harbour and its quirky clock tower, every sunny day and each wild winter storm. Drew was right: no one could predict the climate, economic or otherwise. Just as there was nothing she could do about tourists choosing to go elsewhere.

While Sam and Drew had been inside, Troy’s wife Evie had joined their table. Sam saw her wincing a little, knowing she’d started to suffer from arthritis in her knees. It was a steep hike down to the harbour from Stippy Stappy Lane where the Carmans’ terrace stood a few doors down from Wavecrest Cottage, the home Sam shared with her sister, Zennor. Until a year ago, their brother, Ryan, had lived there too.

Drew fetched Evie a G&T and they returned to watching the kids jumping in the water.

‘Is that your Zennor?’ asked Evie, pointing to a tall, slender girl with long black hair, poised ten feet up on the wall above the harbour. ‘Haven’t got my driving glasses so I can’t really tell.’

Sam shook her head. ‘Yes. It is,’ she said, wincing as Zennor threw herself off the wall and landed with a splash. She bobbed up immediately, squealing in triumph, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief.

Zennor was just one more kid who thought they were invincible … same as their brother, Ryan, had. Same as Sam’s ex Gabe used to do when they were kids. She could picture Gabe now, in his board shorts, lean and slender, his smooth olive skin glistening with water as he climbed again to the top of the wall around the pub.

People would jeer or urge him on, but Gabe never cared what anyone else in Porthmellow thought – except perhaps for Sam.

She’d stand by, trying to act cool while all the time her heart would be in her mouth. What if he hit his head on the rocks or some piece of rubbish under the water? She remembered the time he’d vanished underneath and not come up as quickly as usual; he’d been under just long enough to make her squeal out in horror and cause everyone to stare at her. Then he’d popped up yards away by a boat. She’d been ready to jump in after him … ready to risk it all to save him.

Not anymore.

At twenty-one, her days of risking life and limb for a bit of a laugh were long gone, She had too many responsibilities these days.

A loud scream startled her out of her reverie, but it was followed by gales of laughter from the teenagers.

Troy clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Bloody dangerous. Harbourmaster would like to stop it but there’s no point. Kids’ll do it anyway.’

‘Zennor’s no kid,’ Sam said, ‘but I can’t stop her. I thought she’d have grown out of it by now.’

‘She’s just having a bit of fun. I’d have a go myself if my knees would let me. How old is she? Fifteen?’ said Evie.

‘Just,’ said Sam.

‘She’ll soon stop when boys get on the scene,’ said Drew.

‘They already are. Ben Blazey’s up there too,’ said Sam, spotting a skinny young lad in a shortie.

Evie laughed. ‘Young Zennor will eat him for breakfast. He never says boo to a goose, that boy.’

‘He creates enough racket on that scooter of his,’ Troy grumbled. ‘How he makes it over from Mousehole to here without killing himself I don’t know.’

Drew smirked at Sam and she bit back a giggle.

Evie held up a finger. ‘Ah, thanks for reminding me, Troy.’ She delved in a large shopping bag. ‘Have you seen this?’

‘What’s that?’

She spread a crumpled flyer on the table. ‘Picked it up in town the other day when I went to my computer class. Thought you might fancy coming?’

Sam peered at the leaflet. ‘Autumn Festival on Mousehole quayside. Folk Bands. Hog roast. Food fair. Cookery demos. Cider tent. Sounds good.’

‘I saw that too. How do you fancy coming with me and Katya? Thought we’d take Connor along too,’ Drew asked Sam. Katya was Drew’s wife; they had a baby son together, Connor.

Sam wanted to go, but she was sure Drew was only being kind, inviting her along with his family. Drew had been one of the townspeople who’d looked out for the Lovell family after her mum had died. He was part friend, part surrogate older brother since Ryan had been sent away.

‘I don’t know. Saturday is it? I should be working …’ Sam made her pies in a small unit tucked in a back alley and sold them direct from the kitchen or from a stall at events. She’d have loved a mobile unit herself but the business was still in its early days. She baked every morning for six days a week and did a few outdoor events as well as Friday nights on the Porthmellow harbourside. She’d managed to scrape up the cash for a second-hand stall and small oven to heat the pies. Her dream was to have a proper van like some of the bigger street food businesses but she couldn’t afford that yet. For now, she had to take every opportunity to get some revenue in to pay the rent and loans on her catering kitchen. There wasn’t much time or money for extras or treats.

‘We can go along later in the day,’ said Drew. ‘Don’t you shut at lunchtime on Saturdays?’

‘You have to have some time off,’ said Evie.

Before Sam could make an excuse, Zennor jogged up. She was barefoot, dripping, and pink in the cheeks from cold and excitement. ‘Hello! Fancy coming in, anyone? Troy? I hear you were champion tombstoner back in the day.’

Troy slapped his palm over his glass. ‘Eh. Don’t drip in my pint, maid. Watered down enough as it is without you adding to it.’

‘We were talking about going to the Mousehole Autumn Festival,’ said Sam, still unsure whether to accept Drew’s offer. She was sure that Katya might not enjoy another woman taking up family time.

‘I saw the flyer. The bands sound shit,’ declared Zennor, shaking her head. Water corkscrewed off her locks and spattered the flyer, making the print run.

‘Eh!’ Troy groaned.

Sam shot her sister a glance. ‘Zen. Do you mind?’

‘About the water or saying sh—?’

‘Both, as a matter of fact. Why don’t you go and get changed? It’s getting cold out here.’

Zennor shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’

Sam bit back any further remark. She had to remind herself she was Zennor’s sister, not her mum – even if she had had to take on that role at just twenty.

‘So, does anyone fancy going?’ said Drew. ‘The invitation’s there.’

Evie clapped her hands together. ‘Why don’t we make it a party? We could fork out for a taxi so we can all enjoy ourselves properly. It says the festival’s sponsored by the Cyder Farm.’

Sam could have hugged Evie. She’d probably guessed that Sam would be happier in a gang, even if it did include two pensioners.

‘That sounds like a much better idea,’ said Zennor. ‘I’m up for it if cider’s involved.’

‘You’re not eighteen yet, maid,’ said Troy.

‘One small one won’t hurt her,’ said Evie. ‘And we can all keep an eye on her.’

Zennor giggled. ‘Can I ask Ben? He’s having a shitty – sorry crappy – time at home at the moment.’ She shot a look at Sam.

‘The more the merrier,’ said Drew. ‘Shall I go ahead and book a minibus?’

As her companions buzzed with excitement, Sam peeled the flyer from the table and held it up. The evening rays shone through the soggy paper and the words had merged: bands, festival, food …

Their mother had loved a sing and a dance. She always enjoyed hearing the fishermen’s choir and the town band and liked nothing better than when everyone joined in at the end of the evening with a rousing chorus of ‘Trelawney’. And she loved seeing the streets packed on a sizzling summer day or taking the girls and Ryan to the Flora Dance at Helston or the Obby Oss on May Day in Padstow. Their father walked out on the family when Sam was very young and her mum, Roz, had brought them up on her own. She pictured her mum dancing on the beach at Newquay as the sun set, a flower garland in her hair, holding hands with Sam and Zennor … At the memory of those carefree times, and the reminder of what she’d lost, her heart physically ached. Sam longed to experience that again, to see Porthmellow’s streets alive with music and laughter, a buzz in the town … joy and fun …