to do a proper man’s job.’ He shovelled a mouthful of bacon and eggs into his mouth.
‘Grant, stop winding Jesse up and, Jesse, mind your language at the table, please.’
‘I’m going out on the boats with Dad,’ Jesse announced, in a bid to put an end to both his mother and Grant’s speculation.
‘You don’t have to decide now, Jesse,’ his mother told him. ‘Wait until after the summer and see how you feel then.’
‘Anyway,’ said Grant, talking through his mouthful of food, ‘Dad’s got Jesse’s future all sewn up, ain’t that right? You’re going to be the family whore!’ He let out a snort of laughter and continued to shovel in the last few forkfuls of his breakfast.
Jesse felt the urge to get as far and as fast away from Grant as possible. He stood and headed towards the kitchen door.
‘But, Jesse, your breakfast?’ his mother called after him.
‘Not hungry, Mum.’ Jesse leapt up the hallway stairs two at a time, still with Grant’s spiteful laughter ringing in his ears.
*
Mickey wasn’t surprised by his results. He sat up in bed as his mum brought the envelope to him with a mug of tea.
‘B for technical drawing and physics, C for maths, English and history, and the rest I failed.’
His mum was thrilled, and said so. ‘How many is that you got, then?’
‘Five.’
‘Five,’ she said with relish. ‘Five O levels. You’m bleddy Einstein, boy.’
The phone in the hall started to ring. Annie Chandler gave her son a last pat on the leg and went downstairs to answer it. Mickey listened, still looking at his results letter with satisfaction.
‘’Ello? …’Ello, Jesse. How did you do in your … Did you? Well done, boy … yes, Mickey’s got his … five, yeah … shall I put ’im on?… Just a minute.’ Mickey didn’t need to be called; he was already coming down the stairs two at a time and took the phone receiver from his mother.
‘What you got, Jesse?’
‘Six. I can’t believe it!’
‘You bleddy swot.’
Jesse laughed. ‘You did all right, didn’t you? Five!’
‘Yeah.’ Mickey couldn’t help smiling to himself. ‘Yeah. Bleddy five O levels.’
*
‘Mum. Please,’ Greer was pleading. ‘I know it’s kind of Dad, but I don’t want to go out to dinner tonight.’
‘You’re not going to the Golden Hind and that’s an end to it.’ Her mother’s voice was muffled as she dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the understairs cupboard.
‘But everyone’s going and I want to be with my friends.’
‘No.’ Her mother unwound the cable from the back of the cleaner’s handle. ‘Your dad and I want to celebrate as a family.’ She handed Greer the plug end. ‘Put this in, would you?’
Greer did as she was told but wouldn’t give up. ‘Well, can we go out early? So that I can finish and get down to see everybody after we’ve eaten?’
But her mother had already drowned her out with the roar of the machine.
Greer went to her room seething with frustration. She’d been everything a daughter should be to her family. She was thoughtful, obedient, clever. She always looked her best and watched her figure. She never asked for anything. Well, she didn’t need to; her parents gave her everything before she asked. And now, here she was, almost 17, and they wouldn’t let her go out on the most important night of her life.
Loveday had phoned an hour ago and told her her results. Greer was pleased for her, but even happier that she had done better. Loveday had asked her to come down to Figgotty’s – a locals’ beach. No holiday-maker ventured there; it had such a steep descent that no buggy or grandma would be able to get down to it or, if they did, up from it again.
‘We’re taking some pasties,’ Loveday had told her.
‘Who’s we?’ Greer had asked.
‘About eight of us.’
‘Is Jesse going?’ Greer had hated herself for asking, so she added hastily, ‘And Mickey?’
‘Course they are. It was Jesse’s idea. He told me to call you.’
‘Did he?’ Greer hugged herself. ‘Hang on, I’ll just ask Mum.’ A few moments later she was back on the line, almost in tears. ‘My mum won’t let me. She wants me to go into Truro with her.’
‘Never mind.’ Loveday had suddenly felt sorry for her friend. ‘Maybe you can come tonight?’ she’d suggested. ‘The pub’s doing an “exam result special” night. There’s a hog roast in the beer garden and a DJ.’
But now Greer’s mum had categorically said no.
*
‘Buona sera, Signor Clovelly.’ Antonio, chef proprietor of the eponymously named Italian restaurant greeted Bryn with his arms wide and a dusting of pizza flour on his cheek.
‘Good to see you, Antonio. How’s the golf?’ Bryn and Antonio were cronies both at the golf club and in the local Masonic Lodge.
Antonio was taking Elizabeth’s wrap from her shoulders and replied in his heavily accented English, ‘I am playing offa sixteen.’ He shrugged. ‘But if I had more time, I could be closer to you. What you playing offa now?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Twelve? My God, you musta never be at work? Sì?’
The two men laughed and then Antonio saw Greer standing hunched and miserable in the doorway. He stepped towards her, holding his arms out wide again. ‘Look at leetle Greer! All-a grown up.’ He inclined his head to one side and brought his hands together as if in prayer. ‘But you are a beautiful young woman now!’
Elizabeth beamed with pride and said, ‘She got her exam results today. She did very well, so we’re here to celebrate.’
‘Why she not look so happy?’ asked Antonio, staring at Greer as if it was he who had upset her.
‘I am happy,’ Greer said, trying to smile, but desperately wishing that Antonio would leave her alone.
‘Thank God!’ Antonio boomed. ‘And now, Antonio make you even more happy with his food.’ He walked them to a pretty table overlooking the inner harbour, where they could watch the visiting yachts bob on their hired moorings. The tide was high that night and Greer could see it lapping almost to the top of the wall. She heard laughter from the pavement and saw several schoolfriends walking towards the Golden Hind … and the party she wasn’t allowed to go to.
‘Well,
