Page 13 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay
‘Great,’ Peggy replied. Ted stared at her for a second, looking as if he wanted to say something more, then changed his mind and closed the door of the van.
She took over from Shona at the machine. There was little time to think as she knocked coffee grounds into the plastic dump bin, refilled the container and clamped it into place, grabbing a paper cup before pressing the on button. But confusing thoughts still broke through. It was a relief when they were interrupted by a familiar voice.
‘Morning, Peggy.’ Quentin, in his red buggy, had drawn up to the stall. ‘Missed all the action, I’m afraid.’
Peggy, mind still elsewhere, gave a brief nod.
He seemed a little puzzled by her abstraction. ‘Nothingmuch to see, though, was there? A bunch of indistinguishable dots ploughing through a choppy sea. Bit like a horse race, blink and it’s over.’
She smiled now. ‘I’ll make you a coffee and join you as soon as I can,’ she told him.
The crowds were beginning to thin out round the stall as they fell in behind the ramshackle parade of sweet little mermaids snaking its way into the centre of the village. It was led by a small ragtime band– made up of cornet, clarinet, trombone and banjo– the banjo player looking barely old enough to be out without his mum.
Peggy had once played the clarinet to quite a high level. Hearing the sound now brought it all back, making her heart contract. She unconsciously tapped her feet, visualizing how her fingers would play the tune, and felt a powerful yearning wash through her body, responding to the beat of the music. But the instrument was now in the attic. She hadn’t touched it in years… It reminded her too much of her mother, Celia’s abrupt departure from Peggy’s life on the arm of the German trombone player. ‘You all right for five minutes?’ she asked Shona.
‘So how’s things, my lovely?’ Quentin asked, eyeing her closely, when they finally settled with their drinks, Peggy perching on the damp sea wall beside him. He sipped his coffee. ‘I was sad not to see you in the pub the other night, by the way. We had a riotous time. All those sweaty runners spraying hormones about always set the tone nicely, I think.’
She laughed. ‘I would have come down if I’d known.’
Quentin tutted, cradling his cup in his large hands. ‘I assumed Ted would have told you. Naughty boy.’ He spokeaffectionately but gave a small shrug. ‘Although we barely exchanged two words. He and Lindy didn’t sit with us.’
Peggy stared at him. ‘He and Lindy?’ she asked, her voice coming out in a strangled squeak.
Quentin looked puzzled. ‘Did I say something?’
There was a pause, during which Peggy tried to get herself under control. She was so silent that Quentin reached out his hand and patted her arm. ‘You look upset. What is it, sweetheart? I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn?’
‘No, no. Sorry.’ Peggy shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the thoughts that were racing round her brain. ‘It’s fine.’
She smiled at him, an unconvincing grin. There was silence between them, during which Quentin eyed the black council bin further along the road, aimed his crumpled empty cup at it– and elegantly hit the slot. Then he turned back to her. ‘Youareupset. Tell me.’
Peggy didn’t have time to respond before she noticed Ted coming towards them through the village at a jog, fully dressed now in jeans and an orange anorak.
‘Hi, you guys.’ He bent to kiss her cheek.
But Peggy was trying to process the new information Quentin had unwittingly given her. Why didn’t Ted mention that Lindy had been in the pub, that he’d sat and talked with her all evening? He’d only mentioned Quentin, to whom– according to Quentin– he’d barely spoken.Why?she wondered. Then a thought occurred to her.Did heaskLindy to meet him? Is that why he didn’t want me there?She gave Ted a considering gaze but did not speak.
‘So I presume my hero won the race?’ Quentin teased, nudging Ted’s arm playfully.
‘Super-close,’ Ted said, laughing. ‘I’m claiming one hundred and thirty-fifth. Although no one was counting after the first three, so I might have done way better.’
‘Bloody marvellous effort,’ Quentin said sincerely. ‘Listen, may I borrow your lovely wife to go and listen to dear mad Ken, or Morton, give his annual mermaid lecture at the war memorial? It’s priceless.’
‘Of course,’ Ted said, as if it had been a serious question. ‘Rose is coming tonight, after all,’ he added, addressing Peggy. ‘She texted to say she’ll be here at six.’
Rose had initially said she couldn’t come to her father’s birthday supper, then said she might be able to, and now, apparently, she was coming. Peggy was annoyed. Not by Rose– she would enjoy seeing her– but because she wouldn’t have a chance to talk to Ted till after his daughter had left. Plus there was the problem of the ongoing awkwardness between father and daughter, which Peggy felt somehow she should mitigate when they were all together. She wasn’t in the mood today.
As they made their way along the harbour road towards the war memorial, Quentin asked, ‘Who’s Rose?’
‘His daughter.’ Quentin could be forgiven for not knowing, as Ted rarely talked about his family. Such as it was. His beautiful, talented artist mother, Lois– who’d lived in her own world of oil paint, fantasy and a certain amount of red wine– had died in her fifties. And his father, a hard-working administrator of a homeless charity in nearby Carbis Bay, had only made it to his early sixties before cancer took him. That left Rose, and Ted’s older brother, Alfie, now living close to Lake Louise, British Columbia, where he ran a ski lodge with his Canadian wife, Brianna.Ted and Alfie seldom saw each other, both wedded to their work, and four and a half thousand miles apart. Which suited them both, Peggy had worked out.
‘Ah, yes, of course. Now I think about it, he has mentioned her. She’s some sort of scientist, if I recall correctly.’
‘Yes. Marine biology. In Plymouth.’
‘Good relationship?’
‘Not that close.’
