Page 2 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
‘This is the kitchen,’ Mel said, walking through the nearest door on the right. Thea followed, stepping into a room with cream cupboards and pine work surfaces, a breakfast bar running along the front-facing window, two stools placed below it. She could drink coffee looking out at the sea, she realised with a skip of excitement. ‘Dishwasher,coffee machine, oven, microwave,’ Mel ticked off on her fingers. ‘A washing machine concealed here, if you need it.’
‘Brilliant,’ Thea said. ‘It all looks so lovely.’
Mel grinned. ‘I like to think so. Let me show you the bedrooms and bathroom, and there’s a downstairs loo too.’
The stairs were soft and uneven, as if the wood beneath the thick carpet had started to warp with age. Mel showed Thea the two double bedrooms, and the large bathroom that was clean and colourful, with blue, pink and turquoise tiles interspersed with the white, a deep bathtub, and a rainfall shower in a separate cubicle.
‘At least you won’t have to pick straws for who gets the master,’ Mel said, as Thea stood, looking out of the window in the bedroom at the front of the house. A floor up, the view over the coast was magnificent, the stretch of deep blue sea beyond the clifftop so vast and overwhelming that she felt as if she could fall straight into it from where she stood. The bed was wider than she was used to, with a dark wooden head and footboard, and there was a small, fabric-covered bench at the end of it, like something out of a country house hotel. It was touches like this that tipped the cottage from lovely into luxurious.
Thea thought she might have cried if she hadn’t had this bedroom; if Esme had found a way to convince her that she needed it. For the first time, she was glad her friend had bowed out of their holiday, but that thought was chased down by a twinge of guilt at her selfishness.
‘It’s glorious,’ she said, turning to Mel. ‘Three weeks here isn’t going to be a hardship at all.’
Mel clapped her hands together. ‘I’m so glad! There’s a folder downstairs with all the useful information you mightneed, along with my mobile and home numbers if you run into any problems. We’re only five minutes down the road, in the town itself, and always happy to help if we can.’
‘Oh no,’ Thea said. ‘I’m sure I won’t need to call you. This place is going to suit me so well.’
‘It is a beautiful spot. Not just here,’ Mel flung a hand towards the window, ‘but the whole area. The town has a lot of character, and obviously there’s the surrounding coast and countryside. Beaches and coves and endless walks you can go on.’
‘Would you say Port Karadow’s a lively place?’ Thea asked, running her hand over the light blue fabric of the bench at the end of the bed. It felt velvety against her skin.
‘Oh yes,’ Mel said, folding her arms. ‘It’s got a real creative energy to it: lots of independent places, still, which isn’t always the case, and there are always events happening. I think there’s a sand sculpture competition taking place while you’re here, actually.’ She took her phone out of her pocket and started scrolling.
‘Sand sculptures?’ Thea asked with a laugh. ‘That might be fun to watch.’
‘Yes, here we are.’ Mel held her phone out, and Thea looked at the page, which seemed to be a list of events on a community website. ‘I’ll send you the link.’
‘That would be great, thank you.’ This was exactly what her research had told her – though she hadn’t come across the site Mel was showing her – and to have it backed up by a resident gave her an additional glimmer of hope.
Mel showed Thea the heating controls, reiterated that if she had any problems she shouldn’t hesitate to call, then got in her car and drove away. Thea stood in the doorwayand watched until she was out of sight, as if they were best friends rather than two near strangers who’d met for the first time half an hour ago.
Then it was just her and the gentle shushing of the sea, and no noise at all from the cottage next door. It was soquiet, she thought, as she slipped off her sandals and padded into the kitchen. She examined the welcome hamper that she’d noticed when Mel had been showing her around. There was a box of Cornish teabags, a bottle of white wine that Thea put into the fridge – where, she discovered, there was also a pint of milk – a packet of chunky biscuits, and a bag of fudge with an attractive label that said it was from somewhere calledCornish Keepsakes.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and she would have to go to the supermarket she’d passed on her way in, but half an hour’s rest would revitalise her before she got back in the car. She made a cup of tea and put two biscuits on a plate, their chocolate chips glistening.
The sofa she chose was as comfortable as it looked, and Thea drew her legs up under her. There wasn’t even the ticking of a clock to break the quiet. She could hear the drift of wheels on tarmac as cars passed on the road, and beneath that the constant, gentle thrum of the waves. She had already decided she would leave the window open at night to let the sound of the tide creep into her bedroom.
Three weeks here, all on her own. Could she do it? No, that was the wrong question. Of course shecoulddo it, but there was a difference between hiding in this calming room with coffee and an endless supply of books, and actually getting out there: doing all the things that she and Esme had planned. They had drawn up a holiday bucket list, andnow Thea was going to be doing all those things by herself because, even though Esme had bowed out at the last minute, she was still going to hold Thea to it.
As if connected by some psychic bond, her phone pinged, and Thea saw it was her friend.
Are you there yet? I need photos! Ex
Thea was tempted to send her zero photos, and only the briefest reply. Esme continued to be the busy, optimistic whirlwind she always was – which was one of the reasons Thea loved her, except she was struggling to love her right now, because she was acting as if nothing had happened.
Esme was one of the library managers, while Thea was a library assistant, and she understood that her friend’s hands were tied, she really did, but it didn’t make her irritation and hurt much easier to bear. They had been planning this holiday for two whole years. Three weeks of leave was a rare enough occurrence as it was, and the fact that they’d been able to get the time off together was a minor miracle. Esme had found someone to cover the library’s annual summer festival – Jane, one of the other managers, who was competent and reliable – and had made back-up plans of her back-up plans, and everything was under control.
But then Jane had been in a freak accident involving her daughter and her dog, a TikTok dance routine and a spilled jug of lemonade, and had broken her leg. The summer festival was a busy, frenetic event at the best of times, and when Michael Morpurgo confirmed, Esme had been left with no other choice than to take over the festival’s final preparations and stay behind.
She had apologised, had taken Thea out to dinner to make up for it, and since then had acted as if the slate was wiped clean. They had put down a significant deposit on the cottage, and Esme had said she would still pay her half, as long as Thea still came, on her own, to Cornwall, and had the holiday they had both dreamed of, while she stayed behind with the writer ofWar Horse, and Alex Marchant.
Alex was the operations manager for the council with responsibility for the library, taking care of everything from procedures and protocol to health and safety. Thea and Esme had agreed, on countless occasions, that Alex, with his easy smile, blue eyes and ability to make manual handling training fun, was the least stereotypical operations manager of all time.
Esme and Alex and Michael Morpurgo were all in Bristol, and Thea was here.
She gazed at her new surroundings, the bookshelf heavy with stories for her to explore, and felt the comforting warmth of the tea through her mug. Mel had left the window on the latch, and the outside was drifting inside, surrounding her with a fresh breeze.
She had three weeks of peace and calm, and if she didn’t want to fulfil the bucket list, then so what? She could take a few photos, fool Esme into thinking she’d been to more places than she had. Besides, she had her own agenda. One that was looking even more hopeful after her chat with Mel.
She smiled and polished off the first biscuit, then replied to her friend.
I’m here! Will send photos in a bit – I’m just having a cuppa. P.S. the view is amazing! xx
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the sofa, thinking how quiet, how tranquil, it was.
And that was when the banging started.
