Page 17 of Autumn at the Cornish Garden Café

‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Christopher said as she drove them back to the shop.

‘It is indeed. A beautiful day filled with possibilities.’

‘Do you know what I haven’t done in a long time?’ he asked.

‘What’s that?’

‘Crabbing.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do today,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Today we can do whatever you want, Christopher.’

‘How wonderful.’

When she’d parked the van behind the shop, they got out and she set Bobby on the pavement, then handed his lead to Christopher. People already bustled through the village, making their way to the square and harbour where the stalls were set up. Aromas of hot dogs, onions, and roast chicken permeated the air, and she laughed as Bobby sniffed hard, his small head raised with interest.

‘I think Bobby’s hungry,’ she said.

‘Bobby is always hungry.’ Christopher laughed. ‘He has hollow legs.’

‘Let’s see what we can get him to fill them, shall we?’

Rosa took Christopher’s arm, and they strolled down to the harbour with Bobby trotting along in front, nose in the air, small tail wagging with excitement. Rosa was glad she’d made the effort to invite Christopher and that he’d appreciated the hug. The thought that he’d been without a hug in so long made her sad and she hoped she was making a difference in his life. Kindness was free, and she thought people should show it as often as they could do.

As well as embracing an attitude of gratitude … And right now, Rosa was feeling very grateful indeed.

10

HENRY

Wandering around the village harvest festival was a delight for the senses. It was a crisp, bright autumn Sunday and Henry was dressed warmly, aware that he would be outside for most of the day.

He stood in the village square and turned slowly, soaking up the sights, sounds, and smells. The salty tang of the sea lingered in the air, along with the earthy musk of cobblestones drying in the sun. Stretching away from the pretty coastal village were country lanes and rolling fields with patchwork meadows. Stone farmhouses and large barns dotted the landscape that was divided by hedgerows and bathed in shades of claret, ochre, orange and green. Further still, lay more villages and towns and if you kept going, as a crow flies, you’d reach the northern coast of Cornwall.

Stalls lined the pavements, brimming with local produce. Baskets of fat orange pumpkins, ruby-red apples, dark green cabbages, and potatoes of varying sizes sat on trestle tables. Scrumpy cider, elderflower cordial, ginger beer, and Cornish seaweed gin filled baskets on one stall. Another was selling baked goods: Cornish pasties with crimped edges and flaky golden pastry, fat shiny scones that looked irresistibly fluffy, clotted cream fudge with various additions like dark chocolate chips and rum and raisin, and apple turnovers stuffed with fresh white cream. His mouth watered as he gazed at the produce and pastries, the drinks, and treats.

People wandered around the stalls and the harbour dressed in waxed jackets, cosy knits, boots, and hats, carrying pumpkin spiced lattes, hot chocolates and mulled cider. Children queued for face painting, hot dogs, crepes and turns at crabbing and parents chatted to friends and neighbours, smiling and raising hands when they spotted Henry walking among them.

He stopped to buy a pasty and a coffee, then he walked down to the harbour and sat on a bench. The pastry was rich and buttery, the filling of meat, root veg, and potatoes savoury and satisfying. He washed the pasty down with the bitter coffee, its steam curling into the cool morning air, while watching as boats left the harbour, taking people on trips around the coastline. The boat engines hummed as they sliced through the glinting water and white wakes fanned out behind them like frothy lace.

Aware that there were activities taking place around the village today, he decided to make his way up to The Garden Café where he’d promised some of his pupils he would meet them and their parents to join their teams.

He dropped his rubbish in a bin, then walked along the path that led to the café. Music filled the air, and he gazed down at the beach where a choir had gathered to sing some traditional harvest hymns. The haunting beauty of the sea and cliffs stilled him; goosebumps erupted on his skin as he listened. This village, located here between the land and the sea, surrounded by endless sky, was the perfect place to be. He hadn’t realised until he’d come here how much he needed this, how different he would feel when he was here and how it would help him unravel all the things that had weighed him down for so long.

Taking a few deep breaths of briny air, he turned and strode towards the café, a smile on his face and joy in his heart.

When he got there, a sight that would have been perfect in a movie greeted him. Bales of hay were arranged in circles with braziers at their centres, country music played from hidden speakers, aromas of wood smoke and barbecue drifted through the air, and piles of pumpkins sat in front of the café, ready for the carving competition.

‘Sir!’ He turned to see Johan Vandermeer running towards him. ‘You came! Are you going to be on our team?’

Henry laughed. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Behind Johan, his mum, Sita, smiled and raised a hand in greeting. She had her five-year-old son Willem on her hip and he had his face buried in her neck.

‘I’m so glad you came, Sir. I asked my mum to join our team, but Willem is being a cry-baby so she can’t put him down.’

‘What’s wrong with Willem?’ he asked, concern filling him.

‘Nothing, really.’ Johan rubbed a hand through his thick, black hair. ‘He wanted to wear his superhero costume today, but Mum said it wouldn’t be warm enough and he’s been sulking since we left the house.’

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