Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (2 page)

But then she ditched me. Found trendier friends. Became Miss Popular with girls and boys alike. No explanation. At first, I didn't realise what was happening. I recall it clearly, the very first time I realised she was laughing
at
me, not with. We bumped into each other at the swimming pool. I'd gone on my own. Saffron and
her new friends all wore skimpy bikinis. I wore my black sports costume that hugged every generous curve and a swimming cap that gave me hamster cheeks but Mum insisted I wear it, for the sake of my hair. Cue snide whispers about puppy fat, moon faces and unwaxed legs. Saffron giggled with her posse, yet couldn't quite give me eye contact. The broken trust broke my heart and it was a long time before I invested that much emotion in another person again. Dear Izzy renewed my belief that good people existed. As did my darling Johnny.

To my surprise, Saffron and I did have one thing in common now: an obsession with
Poldark
. She was always posting photos of the programme's lead, with his tousled black hair, brooding looks and hairy chest. Do you know, the BBC actually employ someone to trim that, during filming? Nice work if you can get it. In fact I'd pay the television company to let me do Poldark Pruning. Her Facebook banner featured that iconic image of him topless, cutting grass, and her profile photo was of her made up like his redheaded wife Demelza, for a fancy-dress party.

I cleared my throat. ‘How did you … ?'

‘Get your phone number?' Her laugh tinkled down the phone once more. ‘A bit of detective work. You're in the entertainment business now, aren't you? You linked a website to your Facebook page once, where singers could advertise their services and your profile is on there.'

Ah. Of course.

‘How are you?' she said. ‘You look fab from your Facebook profile.'

My cheeks burned hot. Was she silent-laughing down her end of the phone? Did she really like the boho chocolate dress, with hanging beads and my shoulder-length hair, with a fifties short fringe? Izzy looked at me again as I pursed my lips. My eyes tingled. This was ridiculous. How could a simple phone call summon up demons I thought I'd well and truly exorcised? Images of sneering faces on non-uniform days appeared in my mind. I was the third eldest of six children and was rarely bought new clothes or schoolbags. Keeping up with fashion? Even if I'd been interested, I'd never have had the cash.

‘And how great to follow your dream and be a singer. What's the biggest gig you've played?'

My cheeks burned hotter. ‘Riverside Stadium.'

‘Wow. Sounds like a huge venue. How many thousands did you play to?'

I swallowed. ‘Not many. That's actually the name of a bar. But it was for a fortieth birthday and brought me a couple of other bookings …' I rambled, bracing myself for some sarcastic response—like the time I'd come top in a French test. She'd laughed when one of her cronies muttered that Katie Gochastely may know the French language but had undoubtedly never once been French-kissed.

However, Saffron simply congratulated me. ‘Must be hard, trying to find singing work—no doubt you support your dream with a solid job?'

‘Yes. I work in catering,' I said and swallowed. I looked down as Izzy's brightly nail-varnished fingers curled over my free hand on the table. She squeezed tight and I forced a smile.

‘Ooh, can you cook? I love watching Jamie Oliver.'

‘No. I'm a waitress,' I said in a smaller voice and braced myself for a snigger.

‘I imagine a flexible job like that fits in well around your sporadic singing commitments,' she said in a breezy voice.

What? No insult. My shoulders relaxed. Izzy smiled and I nodded. She took away her hand and started to clear our plates.

‘Yes, it does actually. And you're a teacher?'

‘I know! Never thought I'd end up going back to school. I met Miles on one of the careers' days. He's the uncle of one of my students and came in to give a talk on being an accountant.'

‘Congratulations on your engagement,' I said. Why on earth had she rung? When would this torture end?

‘Thanks. Yes. Miles is wonderful. I'm a very lucky lady. And … are you with someone, Katie?'

Shoulders tight again, I grimaced. Oh great. She'd already won in the intellectual professional stakes, what with her following a life of academia and having a solid
direction and career. Child-minding and waitressing had seemed natural for me, after looking after younger siblings for years whilst Mum worked. And now Saffron wanted to ram home her victory by claiming the best personal life. If only this conversation had taken place earlier last year, when Johnny was still around. That would have shown her. Johnny, with his crinkly teasing eyes, and cheeks that crumpled adoringly when he enjoyed a joke; whose kisses sent prickles of heat from my head to my toes. I had a sudden urge to message him.
Johnny. Guess who's contacted me? Let's go to her wedding—show her how I've landed the dream boyfriend
.

I sighed. People said I should move on. Date someone new. Leave the memory of Johnny behind. But they wouldn't say that, would they, if I'd been married to him for years or had kids? No, but because I was young and we weren't even engaged, I'm supposed to have a new boyfriend by now. But getting over Johnny? Social media made that even harder. All his photos on Instagram … I just hadn't been able to bring myself to unfollow.

I bit my lip. Who cared what Saffron thought? I was pursuing my dream. I loved my doughnut job and had wonderful friends.

‘Yes, my boyfriend and I are very happy,' I said airily, before I could stop the false words. Clearly I cared about her opinion more than I should. Arrghh, why had
I lied? Me, who was normally so honest? I'd go back to a supermarket if they'd accidentally undercharged.

I stood up to pace around and, for a moment, I forgot I was at work, with Izzy just a metre away. All I could picture was the other girls' superior faces as I sat down during the slow dance at the school prom, whilst they were all whisked to their feet by boys. ‘I don't post about him on Facebook … he doesn't approve of social media.'

To my surprise, Saffron replied, ‘very sensible. A particular friend of mine always posts whilst drunk and another picked up a stalker. I'm very careful with my privacy settings. Facebook must be essential for you though, in terms of networking with bands.'

‘Yes, it is,' I said flatly and thought how clever she'd become over the years at hiding her real feelings. I mean, why the sudden turnaround? Why treat me like an equal when all she'd ever done at high school was put me down?

‘What does your boyfriend do?' she said.

‘He … he …' He's Ross Poldark, I wished I could say. There would be no way she could beat that.

My mind tripped back, again, to that famous grass-cutting scene from the show, in Saffron's Facebook banner. ‘He's a gardener. Self-employed. A landscape designer,' I said, warming to my theme. ‘He's called Ross.'

‘Really? How wonderful. People always need work doing in their gardens. He must be terribly fit to cope.'

‘Oh yes,' I said, knots in my stomach unfurling. ‘In fact, he looks just like Poldark—dark curly hair, tanned from his job and gorgeous eyes. There is nothing quite like a six-pack that's acquired from good honest work and not some gym where everyone is obsessing over their body fat ratio or biceps size, wouldn't you agree?'

‘The only six-pack Miles knows contains packets of cheese and onion crisps! Well, good for you,' she said.

Oh. Disappointing. She'd managed to hide every trace of envy in that voice.

‘In fact, that's great because the reason I'm ringing is … I'd like to invite you to my wedding next month,' she blurted out. ‘Could you give me your address? I can't wait to meet Ross, your plus-one.'

What?
I closed my eyes. Fair dos, universe, this is a swift punishment for my lie. Perhaps she'd guessed I wasn't telling the truth. I mean, why else would she want me there?

‘That's … very kind of you,' I said, ‘but … Saffron … I'm really busy during the coming months and … I'm sure there are closer friends you'd like to invite instead of me.'

Didn't the non-confrontational British just love an understatement?

Silence. Awkward. I awaited the shallow, meaningless retort.

‘It would mean a lot to me. Really. And several friends from school are going to be there,' she said with a super-soft tone.

I squirmed. Then it truly would be the wedding from hell. But once again, curiosity piqued me and, despite some deep-set feelings of inadequacy that occasionally made a reappearance, for the most I wasn't that insecure teenager any more. Plus, I was trying to build myself as a singer, and weddings were the best opportunity to subtly leave out business cards.

‘You'd be doing me a favour, Katie. I couldn't invite everyone I wanted but two family members have just dropped out, due to illness. That's why my invite is quite late notice. Please. Do consider it.'

Maybe things hadn't changed so much after all—I clearly wasn't her first choice of guest.

‘OK,' I found myself saying. ‘Ross and I would love to attend. I'll message you my address. Right. I'd better go—customers await.'

I pressed ‘end call', put my mobile on the table and sank into my chair. How I would have preferred to say ‘Yes, I have a boyfriend called
Johnny
.' My fingers flexed as if wanting to message him on Facebook, even though, deep down, I knew it was fruitless trying to exchange words with someone who was … dead. My eyes tingled and I gave myself a shake. I wasn't one of life's wallowers. Ever lost my job? I'd be the first in the
queue at the employment office. Argue with a sibling or Mum? It was usually me to phone first and smooth things over. But losing someone isn't the same, is it? Deep-felt feelings can't be shaken away like salt out of a salt cellar. And messaging him was still possible, you see, because after … the accident, his family memorialised his Facebook profile. That meant friends could still visit his page to flick through photo albums. It meant, in my darkest hours, I could pretend that he was alive but simply ignoring my heartfelt words.

I gave a sigh and gradually my mind cleared of images of Johnny and uncomfortable school memories, until before me I saw … Ah. Izzy, mouth open, with one eyebrow disappearing into her hairline, clearly having heard me talk of a supposed new boyfriend called Ross …

CHAPTER 2

With a sigh, I opened the lounge window, before collapsing onto my squat plum-coloured sofa. Well, the throw was plum. It hid threadbare blue cushions. I loved my flat, even though the kitchen was tiny and my clothes hung on a rail in this living room, due to the bedroom being so small that it could only house a bed
or
a wardrobe, not both. After years of sharing my personal space with siblings, however cramped, life here felt luxurious. I blinked rapidly and still couldn't believe my landlord's announcement, last week, that he wanted me out in two months. He'd decided to refurbish and sell because he needed the money to move back to Australia. Apparently ten years of grey English winters had taken their toll.

I bit the inside of my cheeks. No point moping but I'd miss old Mrs Bird from next door. She'd call on me whenever she needed a light bulb changing, as these days she was wobbly on her feet. Often I'd stay for a
cup of tea and a biscuit and she'd play her old vinyl records, her favourites by Doris Day.

I inhaled and breathed out slowly. I'd already started searching the rental ads in the local paper. Little point worrying over things that couldn't be changed, as Johnny always used to say.

I gazed up at the ceiling, in the corner of the lounge, at the shiny, red, heart-shaped wind spinner he had given me soon after we met. With every turn, the angled metal gave the impression that it pulsated. I hadn't dared hang it in the garden, in case the damp weather turned it rusty and brown.

‘Whenever you look at it, remember,' he'd said, ‘it pulsates with my love. I love you Kate Golightly and this is a constant reminder to follow your heart.'

‘Oh, Johnny,' I murmured and flinched at that vice-like feeling across my chest. I sniffed, picked up my mobile and clicked on the Facebook icon. Very quickly, I found his profile and messaged:
Johnny … How are you? I'm missing you still, every time the wind spinner catches my eye. Oh what I'd give just to hear one more of your laughs—just to kiss those lips that had a hotline to my heart
. I swallowed, the typed words for a moment looking blurry.
What should I do? Soon I'll be homeless. Mum has relocated to Scotland with her new job. Shall I follow her there?

I know. Pathetic, wasn't it—the irrational part of me still wanting a response? But I'd never been able to talk
to anyone like I could to him, apart from Guvnah. As for moving to Scotland, my instincts already knew the answer. I'd been brought up by a woman determined not to sponge off relatives or claim benefits. Mum had held down three jobs at one point, to manage on her own. ‘Independence is the key to happiness and self-respect,' she always said. True words. Nothing beat the feeling of paying your own bills or finally buying something you'd saved up for. But not even Guvnah lived nearby any more. After five years of widowhood, she'd met a lovely bloke and moved to Cornwall to marry him last year.

I couldn't help grinning at the memory of my sixty-seven-year-old grandma on her Big Day. Cupid had unexpectedly shot his arrow at her, during a bowling match, when her friend Bill had brought his friend, Geoff, visiting from the South-west. All of a sudden stubborn techno-phobe Guvnah learnt to text and Skype. She even bought a selfie stick. It gave me faith that it would never be too late to find my soul mate.

I gave the wind spinner one last glance, before prising open my laptop. If only Guvnah lived nearer or I had more paid days off work to go visit. Scrub that. I couldn't even afford the petrol to get there. Money was tight. That's why I'd offered to work a double shift today, because Suze, the afternoon waitress, had fallen ill. Mind you, Izzy's requests were hard to resist when she shook a plate of fresh Oreo-inspired doughnuts under your nose.