‘I’ll have the deep-fried brie with gooseberry marmalade, please,’ said Connie, handing her menu back to the young waiter.
Pru gave her order: ‘Dressed crab with a plain green salad, thank you. And the same for my husband.’
‘I was thinking about the courgette soup and chargrilled quorn burger,’ said Francis.
‘You’ll prefer the crab.’ Pru looked over Francis’s head to Greg. ‘Greg, what’ll you have?’
‘When did pubs stop serving proper pub food?’ Greg grumbled, ‘I’ll have the steak, very rare, with chips, fried mushrooms and grilled tomatoes, please.’
‘Very good, sir. Would you like your French fries chunky or skinny?’
‘I don’t know. What do I like, Con?’
‘Chunky.’
‘Chunky, please.’
‘Very good.’ The waiter made a note on his pad – probably something insulting, thought Greg – before enquiring, ‘And to drink …?’
When the small party was finally settled and the drinks had arrived, Greg raised his pint to Pru and Connie. ‘Cheers, girls! Thank you for looking after the house and two old crocks of husbands.’
They all chinked their glasses.
‘Lovely spot,’ remarked Francis.
‘Isn’t it,’ said Connie fondly. ‘Greg brought me here when we were first together.’
‘How did you find it?’ asked Francis, curious.
‘The old AA book recommended it.’
‘It’s amazing you made it here at all,’ sniffed Pru, ‘if your sense of direction was as bad then as it was today.’
‘That junction said Tadcombe left,’ protested Greg. ‘I can’t be held responsible for the mysteries of Cornish signposting.’
‘OK, children. Stop now,’ pleaded Connie, anxious to quell any further debate on the subject.
The food arrived and was eaten in near silence. The sound of the river running playfully outside and the view of its fern-lined banks was enough to keep them occupied with safe topics of conversation to the end of the meal.
*
As Greg paid for the meal, which Pru noticed went on his Carew company credit card, Connie asked him, ‘Would you come with me down to the harbour? We can take the cliff path and look at the view, the same as we did all those years ago.’ She snuggled against his cast as he used his good arm to put his wallet back into his trouser pocket.
Connie’s intention was to spend a bit of time alone with her husband, but once again she was to be thwarted.
‘OK,’ sighed Pru. ‘As long as it’s not too far.’
*
The view from the cliffs was worth the walk. To the left was the open sea and to the right the ancient fishing harbour. They found a bench and sat watching the sea as it curled over itself and sent wisps of spray flying like smoke in the wind. Then they turned their attention to the harbour and watched as a woman and a teenager, presumably her daughter, drove a Land Rover towing a small motorboat down a slipway. At the water’s edge the Land Rover reversed to the water and the daughter jumped out. In a few minutes, she had detached the boat and eased it into the waves.
‘Abi’s party is going to be great fun,’ said Francis. ‘Belinda is taking her role as party organiser very seriously.’
‘Isn’t she just?’ Connie winced, then continued: ‘My baby – seventeen. She wants to learn to drive, but I’m not keen on encouraging that.’
‘She’ll have to one day,’ said Greg.
‘I know. But seventeen is too young. I mean, the roads at home are so busy and narrow.’
They were still watching the girl and her motorboat. The older woman had driven up the slipway and off down the road. Meanwhile the girl climbed aboard and started the boat’s engine. Within minutes she was heading confidently out to sea.
‘That’s very cool,’ said Greg. ‘What a nice little boat.’
‘And a beautiful day to take it out,’ said Francis.
Connie watched her husband with pursed lips. ‘No. You are not having a boat.’
‘Not for me! A birthday present for Abi. Give her some adventure without the dangers of the road. It’ll be fun for us all.’
*
On the journey home from Polperro, Greg and Connie bickered over the proposed new boat.
‘What would she do with a boat?’ Connie argued.
‘She’d use it for fun and water skiing with her friends.’
‘She doesn’t water ski.’
‘Precisely. Now she can learn.’
‘She’s got the Dorothy if she wants a boat.’
‘You know what Henry’s like about that thing. He won’t let anyone take it out without him. She needs some freedom.’
‘But I don’t want her to have that sort of freedom.’
On and on they went while, in the back, Francis read his Kindle and Pru gently snored.
*
‘Helloooo!’ Belinda was bellowing from the front door.
‘In the kitchen,’ called Connie, noticing Francis scuttle out to the garden.
Belinda pushed her way into the room with armfuls of bags. Her bracelets were tight on her podgy wrists, the buttons on her shirt mostly undone, revealing her tanned bosom and a pink bra. Her tiny mini skirt was riding up over freckled thighs.
‘Where’s Francis? I have some ideas on the party food.’
Catching sight of Francis scampering across the lawn towards the beach gate, Connie summoned him in a loud voice: ‘Francis! Belinda is here and would like to speak to you.’
He stopped running and turned towards the house, knowing when he was defeated.
‘Look at all this lovely stuff Belinda has bought for the party, Francis!’
He could see a lot of shimmering net fabric and boxes of fairy lights bursting out of the carrier bags Belinda was dumping on the kitchen table.
Plucking some of the netting out of the bag, she walked towards Francis and wrapped it around his shoulders. ‘You’d make a wonderful sea nymph, Frankie.’
He tried to smile and shrug the fabric off himself at the same time,
