Page 30 of Autumn at the Cornish Garden Café

When the rain began, pelting the roof and the windows like tiny pebbles thrown from all angles, she swallowed a moan. She looked up as if afraid the ceiling would fall in and covered her mouth with a hand as fear gripped her.

Thinking of Christopher and Henry, she returned to the lounge and looked for her phone. She located it on the shelf next to the book she’d been reading yesterday, grabbed it, and examined the screen. There was no signal. She was here, alone, cut off from the people she cared about.

A sudden crash from downstairs made her scream, and she placed her hands on her chest as she listened. What had happened? What should she do?

She couldn’t stay upstairs unaware of what was happening in her shop, so she opened the door, descended the stairs, and pushed open the internal door that led to The Book Nook.

It was dark, but she felt the chill of the wind on her face and arms and then the cold intensified as she reached the front of the shop. Something had broken the glass of the door and the wind and rain were hurtling in along with the debris that was being thrown around outside like paper confetti.

She looked around for something to cover the hole with, but apart from flimsy posters, there was nothing big enough. Instead, she ran to the reading chairs and grabbed the blankets from them that she’d placed there to make customers comfortable while they read, and carried them to the front of the shop. She covered the shelves that were exposed to the elements and held the blankets there as if she could hold off the storm herself.

It felt like she stood there for hours, holding blankets in place and feeling the icy sting of the rain needling at her skin and the anger of the wind as it clawed at the doorframe. But she wouldn’t give up on her shop, her books, her dream. Everything she’d had in life had been taken away from her, piece by piece, but this was hers and she wasn’t letting go. She anchored herself there, refusing to surrender.

19

HENRY

Henry had showered and dressed quickly, then pulled on his raincoat and boots and hurried to Christopher’s just as the storm was really getting going. He’d knocked on the front door, but there had been no answer, so he’d gone around the back and found the door open. After calling for Christopher, he’d gone inside and called again and heard a noise deep within the bowels of the house.

He’d found Christopher in the cellar holding a candle as he searched for camping lights. He helped him look and after they’d located some, they’d gone back upstairs using one of the camping lights to guide their way.

‘Where’s Bobby?’ he’d asked, realising that he hadn’t seen the dog since he arrived.

‘He went out to the garden and then the power went off. I knew we’d need a light and as you can see, there are candles here, but then I remembered I had camping lights in the cellar. Hasn’t Bobby come back inside?’ Christopher’s brow furrowed, the harsh white glow of the LED lamp etching deep shadows into the lines of his face, turning his wrinkles into narrow ravines.

‘I’ll do a quick check around downstairs.’ Henry placed the camping lights on the kitchen table and turned the rest of them on. ‘Why don’t you take one of these and go and sit by the fire in the lounge and stay warm?’

‘He could be upstairs so it’s worth checking up there too,’ Christopher said.

Henry was concerned because the elderly man looked gaunt, his face seeming thinner than usual as the bright light accentuated his cheekbones and sharp jawline.

‘Let’s get you warm first.’ He led Christopher to the lounge and settled him into a chair by the fire, then wrapped a blanket around his bony shoulders and draped another over his knees. At least the fire would keep him warm, and he wasn’t reliant on an electric one.

He went from room to room, searching for Bobby but he wasn’t anywhere inside, not even the cellar which he checked twice just in case he’d gone inside a box or underneath a shelf. Despair filled him because it was clear that the dog must have gone outside and possibly run off.

Back in the lounge, he said, ‘Christopher, I’m going out to look for Bobby. He’s not in the house, so he could be in the garden somewhere, perhaps sheltering under a bush.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Christopher pushed himself up, but Henry shook his head.

‘Stay there in case he comes back inside. I’ll be quicker alone.’

He went to the back door that was propped open in case Bobby had come back while he was upstairs and grabbed a towel from the radiator to mop the floor. The rain lashed in and he knew he’d need to close the door or the kitchen would be flooded. If Bobby came back while he was outside, he’d have to wait.

He pulled the door closed behind him and looked around at the garden that was lit only by brief flashes of moonlight that appeared between the racing clouds. The trees bowed low, their branches creaking and groaning. Leaves, twigs, and other debris swirled in a dizzying, chaotic dance, and a gritty, earthy smell rose in the gusty air. He pulled his hood up and tightened the strings to stop it blowing down, then he began his search of the garden.

Every time he called for the dog, the storm swallowed his voice, and he knew it was futile trying to be heard. He stayed as low as he could, not wanting to be knocked over like the deck chair he saw flying through the street on his way there, and scanned under bushes and trees, trying to work out where the small dog could be hiding.

He was about to go back to the house and start again when something caught his eye at the far end of the garden near the shed, so he fought the wind to get over there.

20

ROSA

Rosa had struggled for as long as she could to keep the water from the books and then she’d decided that she needed to move them, so she’d lowered the blankets and started taking them to the back of the shop. There, she placed them on the chairs, the tables and on any other free surface so that if the water swept in over the floor, the books would be out of the way.

It took ages because she was trembling from the cold and from anxiety. She inhaled shaky breaths, encountering the smells of salt water, wet paper, ink, and earth. The metallic taste of fear filled her mouth and sat on her tongue like a corrosive penny.

When she’d finished moving the books, she returned to the front of the shop and stared out at the street. The sea had become furious and lashed the village with its power, throwing sea foam on the wind and blasting shells, sand, windows, buildings, and anyone foolish enough to be outside.

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