could be replaced, but his two professional Canon cameras, tripod and an array of specialist lenses filters could not. He’d spent years building up an arsenal of camera equipment that would be impossible to assemble again. Thank God, he’d kept the memory cards in his jacket and emailed most of the best shots he’d captured while he was on assignment.
There was no way he was going to be able to push through the melee now to reach his bag in time; he’d have to wait until he could make his way through. Rubbing his knee, he limped to a quieter spot near the travel money centre and heaved a sigh of relief. His phone screen was cracked but still functioning.
His heart almost stopped when he saw the text. It had come through along with a dozen others, but it was only the message from his mother that brought him out in a cold sweat.
Jake. Where ARE you? Call us please. It’s about Grandpa.
He dialled his parents’ number and held his breath, waiting for the news he’d dreaded for some time now, but hoped would never come.
‘Jake!’
‘Mum. What’s up?’
‘Where have you been? We’ve been trying to get you for the past day.’
‘Flying halfway round the world. I only got your message a moment ago. I’m in the baggage hall at Terminal Five. What’s wrong with Grandpa?’
‘We didn’t want to worry you while you were so far away …’
His pulse rate rocketed. ‘Oh Jesus …’
‘Don’t panic. He’s not dead. He’s had a fall and fractured his hip.’
‘What? Is he OK?’
‘Yes. Fine. Considering. It was almost two weeks ago and he’s feeling a bit better now, but at his age it’s going to take a long time for him to fully recover,’ said his mum.
Jake was torn by relief that Grandpa Archie was alive and horror that his beloved grandfather had been hurt. No wonder his mum had sounded a bit odd in her most recent email. It was typical of her and his dad not to want to alarm him and to save the news until he was safely home. ‘Poor Grandpa. How did it happen?’ he asked.
He heard his mother’s sigh of exasperation over the phone. ‘He slipped over while he was painting on the harbour. They had to airlift him from St Piran’s to Cornwall for an emergency operation. Once he’d been discharged from the hospital, we managed to persuade him to spend some time with your dad and me.’
‘I’m glad he’s OK, but I’m sorry to hear about his accident. I’m getting the train straight to Truro now, if you can pick me up later this afternoon? I can see how he is and spend some time with you all.’
There was a pause. ‘Of course, we can collect you, darling, but you can’t stay here long.’
He glimpsed his camera bag on the carousel through a gap in the thinning crowds. ‘Can’t stay? Why not?’
‘Because we need you to sort out the handover of the studio to the new tenants.’ His mother sounded desperate. She had a demanding job as a senior nurse in the day surgery unit of the local hospital and his father ran a building firm and was always working. Jake guessed things had been tense at home because of Archie’s arrival.
‘What new tenants?’ he said, stalking his bag like a panther as he moved towards the belt.
‘The new people who’ve taken over the Starfish Studio, of course. I did mention it in my email. Never mind … Archie’s rented the gallery to a young couple. Running the place has been too much for him and Fen for a good while now.’
‘It won’t take long,’ his dad piped up, and Jake realised he must be listening on speaker. ‘And with our jobs and your grandpa to care for, we’d be ever so grateful if you could help out.’
‘Help out how? Sorry, Mum, I’m not quite following you.’
‘By going to St Piran’s tomorrow. I know you hate the place, and we wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate, but now you’re back and you’ve got some time off, we thought you wouldn’t mind.’
Jake stopped dead in his tracks. ‘St Piran’s? Tomorrow? I’ve only just got back in the country.’
‘We know, darling, but it will only take a day.’
‘Or two,’ his dad added. ‘A week, tops.’
‘You’ll be back home with us in Cornwall before you know it.’ His mum was using her soothing ‘nursey’ voice. It was the one she saved for her patients and ‘difficult’ conversations with the family, thereby instantly raising everyone’s blood pressure. Jake was anything but soothed.
‘Hang on, I have to get my camera kit,’ he said.
He jostled aside a red-faced father wearing a hat with corks and grabbed his camera bag with his free hand. Muttering an apology, he lugged his bag to safety and put the phone to his ear again.
‘S-sorry, M-mum. I’m s-still here.’
‘Jake? What’s going on? You sound very out of breath.’
‘I j-just rescued my k-kit from the carousel.’ He rested his bag against his bruised knee. ‘Mum, did you really say you want me to fly off to St Piran’s tomorrow?’
‘Yes, love. We’ve booked you onto the afternoon flight and Fen’s expecting you. You don’t mind, do you? I know it will be hard, but it’s been almost three years since you-know-what now, not that it makes things much easier, of course. Like I say, we wouldn’t dream of asking you if it wasn’t urgent, but you’d be doing us – and more importantly Grandpa – the biggest favour in the world.’
Jake opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He stared at the phone screen before dragging a reply out of the depths against every urge to say: ‘No chance on the planet am I ever setting foot on St Piran’s again as long as I live.’
‘If you really need me, of course I’ll help.’
He felt his mother’s sigh of relief down the phone. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that. We’d half feared you’d say no. I’m glad you can help. And let me say, you facing up to St Piran’s might even turn out to be a good thing for everyone.’
Great. Bloody great. Jake was still muttering to himself when he stepped onto the quayside at St Piran’s harbour. From Heathrow, he’d caught a train straight to his parents’ place, where his grandpa was recovering, and spent the evening catching up with them. The next day he’d whizzed by his own flat, repacked his rucksack and camera bag, and the following morning taken the first helicopter to Scilly.
Although the last thing he’d wanted to do was spend his ‘break’ on St Piran’s, he’d kept his true feelings hidden, for his grandpa’s sake. Besides, it surely wouldn’t take long to hand over a set of keys, show this Poppy McGregor and Dan Farrow the basics of the Starfish Studio and then escape.
It was hard to believe that only two days previously, he’d been in Auckland after a six-week photography expedition to some of the remoter parts of New Zealand and Australia. He’d
