A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets. Fern Britton
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The sea in front of her was devoid of boats, reflecting the emptiness she felt inside.
*
Loveday Chandler knocked and waited for several minutes. She pulled her mobile phone from the pocket of her fleece and dialled Greer’s number. She heard it ring out behind the closed front door. Snapping her phone shut and putting it back into her pocket, she turned away from the house and headed towards the only other place where her friend could be.
‘Greer,’ Loveday called as she jogged breathlessly down the beach. ‘Greer!’
Greer hung her head and blew out a stream of warm breath into the cold wind. Why would no one leave her alone?
Loveday reached her, panting. ‘Greer, darlin’, you OK?’
Greer dragged her eyes from the horizon and focused on her oldest friend. ‘I’m fine,’ she said flatly.
‘Only we was worried. You left so quickly.’
‘I wanted to be home.’
Loveday sat down on a bunch of mussels next to Greer. ‘’Twas a tough day.’
Greer nodded, grim faced.
‘Brings it all back again,’ said Loveday, picking up a small pebble and throwing it into the lapping water.
Greer turned her gaze back to the horizon and again nodded. ‘I can’t believe he isn’t coming back,’ she said quietly.
Loveday put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. ‘I know.’
Greer turned her white and stricken face towards her friend. ‘And I can’t believe that you’ll soon be gone too. My oldest friends are leaving me.’
Loveday felt the tightening belt of guilt around her chest. ‘You’ve got lots of friends … And as soon as we’re settled, I want you to come out to New Zealand and spend long holidays with us.’
‘I haven’t got lots of friends. I have clients, I have acquaintances, but there’s no one who knows me like you do.’
Greer found an old tissue in the pocket of her coat, blew her nose and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just self-pity.’ It took a supreme effort for her to plaster a tight smile on to her face. ‘I’m happy for you. I really am. And, anyway, I can’t leave. Not yet. I must be here … in case …’
Loveday pushed a strand of her corkscrew hair behind her ear. Once such a brilliant copper red, it was now faded to a rust colour and flecked with white. She thought how lucky she was to have this opportunity of a fresh start. Looking at Greer she felt lucky that she had made the right decision all those years ago.
Awkwardly, she fumbled for Greer’s hand and gripped it hard.
Greer said softly, ‘Do you think he ever really loved me?’
Loveday pulled Greer towards her and hugged her tightly, but couldn’t answer.
The dice had been thrown a long time ago.
Autumn 1975
Greer’s mother had planned on sending her daughter to a small private school in Truro but her husband had soon squashed another of her dreams. ‘Trevay Infants’ was good enough for you an’ me, and it’ll be good enough for Greer.’ Which is how Greer was to meet Jesse again.
It was early September. Trevay had said goodbye to all the holiday-makers and could get on with being the small Cornish fishing port that it was.
Greer was in her uniform of grey pleated skirt and navy-blue blazer, with dazzling long white socks and shiny buckled shoes. She walked between her parents as they covered the five-minute stretch from home to school. She was nervous. She had never been left anywhere on her own before. As they got closer to the school, more and more children filled the narrow pavements around her. Some of them she recognised but barely knew. Her mother had few friends herself, having always put them off with an extreme shyness which was often interpreted as an unwarranted air of superiority.
In the playground, Bryn bent to kiss Greer. She might not be the son he had wanted, but she was everything to him. His sun and his moon. He would – and did – give her everything. ‘You be a good girl, mind.’
‘I will, Daddy.’ She put her arms round his neck and hugged him tight. ‘Will you come and get me when I’m finished?’
‘Aye.’
Her mother kissed her too. ‘Have a good day, darling. See you later.’
Greer watched as her parents walked out of the playground. Her father striding out and nodding at acquaintances, her mother trotting to keep up with him and turning to give one last wave to her only child.
Greer’s legs started to move towards the school gate and her parents and away from the school building. She was picking up her pace and tears were pricking her eyes. I don’t want to be at school. I want Mummy, she was saying to herself.
She was getting closer to the gate. She took a breath, ready to call out to her mother. She could see her father chatting to man in a fishing smock. Her mother was surreptitiously wiping her eyes while her father was laughing at something the man was telling him.
Greer’s lungs were now full and ready to shout to them. She opened her mouth but, before she could get any sound out, a small but firm hand caught her round the waist.
‘Where you going?’
The air in her lungs escaped soundlessly at the surprise pressure on her diaphragm. She struggled but was held even more tightly.
‘Hey. You’re going to get into trouble if you go through the school gates.’
Something in the voice made her stop and turn to see who her captor was. It was the crab fishing boy from the quay.
A woman carrying a handbell was walking through the playground. She began ringing it loudly.
‘Come on,’ Jesse said.
He took Greer’s hand and ran with her into the school.
*
A male teacher was standing inside the building, at the door to the school hall, identifying the new children. ‘New boys and girls, walk to the front of the hall, don’t run, and sit on the floor, cross-legged, facing the stage, please.’
Greer was feeling