Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (25 page)

‘So, where is this beach?'

‘Almost there now'

I glanced sideways and he turned briefly, the look in his eyes melting me. The hill veered down and we followed it, finally turning into a narrow avenue. The occasional cottage lined the way and eventually the road just came to a dead-end at a mass of sand dunes. We parked to one side.

‘Not many people know about this cove,' he said, as we got out. He locked the car and I fanned my face. The early afternoon sun made me squint. Tremain held out his hand. My fingers slipped in between his. What was this all about? He seemed so much more sure of himself and calmer. Where had he spent the night?

I soon had my answer as we reached the snuggest part of the cove—a patch of sand, right in front of a small cave. Remnants of burned sticks lay on the ground.

‘Here? This is where you slept yesterday?'

He nodded.

‘Oh, Tremain …' We sat down on the sand and I held his hand in both mine and squeezed. ‘So, you want to talk?'

With the other hand he circled in the sand. ‘I do. Finally, I do. That's why this morning, I did what I've been refusing to do the last couple of years.'

I raised my eyebrows.

Still staring ahead, he took a deep breath. ‘I … went to see the doctor. He's referring me for counselling.'

I squeezed his hand again. ‘Losing someone—it's hard,' I said. ‘You've done the right thing. Was … the red roses … two years ago … Did you lose someone special?'

Tremain pulled his fingers out of my grip and held his head in his hands. ‘Yep.' He said, in a muffled voice. ‘And it was all my fault.'

‘I'm sure it wasn't,' I said gently. ‘Talk to me. What was her name?'

‘His.'

‘Oh.' I straightened up. Wasn't expecting that. ‘OK, so …'

He took his hands away and glanced at me, the smallest of smiles on his face. ‘No. It wasn't like that. We were just proper good mates.'

‘But the roses …'

‘It had become a joke, you see …' Tremain brought up his knees and hugged them tight. We sat in the shade of a rock and had the beach to ourselves, apart from the noise of breaking waves and an inquisitive gull that stood about two metres away and cocked its head, before flying off.

Tremain stared ahead. ‘He was called Ben. We joined up together and ended up in the same battalion—deployed in Afghanistan. A couple of years ago we were there, at the tail end of the action before the war came to an end.'

I nodded, not quite sure what to say.

‘One day we were out in the field. Bullets everywhere. Adrenaline high. Ben got shot in the leg. I wanted to stay with him, but spotted a group of colleagues ahead who needed cover. It was simply a matter of numbers. There were three of them. Only one of him. I acted on automatic. Training kicked in. I was only gone for a few minutes. Ten tops. When I got back Ben had been hit by the blast of a hand grenade. I …' His voice wavered.

‘Carry on,' I said softly.

‘It's not pretty,' he said and gulped.

‘Go on. Tell me what you found.'

‘The bottom half of his body was missing. I'll never forget the smell of his burning flesh.'

I shuffled up and put my arm around his shoulders, throat feeling thick. ‘You were doing your job, Tremain. Ben would have done the same.'

He turned to face me, eyes wet. ‘Would he? Perhaps he'd have put me first and taken me with him. We were mates.'

I swallowed and recalled him talking about firing Lucas. ‘There is no room for sentimentality in some jobs,' he'd said. ‘How old were you when you joined up?' I asked.

‘Sixteen. So was Ben. He heard me talking about travelling the world and wanted the same.' He bit his lip. ‘Juliette—his childhood sweetheart—wasn't happy.

Ah. Ben must have been the friend he was talking about when he mentioned the mate with a Parisian girlfriend.

He half smiled. ‘A ballsy woman, she is. One Valentine's Day, Juliette was determined not to behave as a stereotype so
she
sent a dozen red roses to Ben. He never lived it down, and every Valentine' s Day after, me and the lads would club together to buy him a bunch.'

‘You didn't force Ben to sign up, Tremain. He would have known the risks, the dangers, when he followed you into that career.'

Tremain wrung his hands. ‘I went to see Juliette, after his death—after the funeral. She wouldn't talk to me at the service. I knocked on her front door that evening. She opened it and slapped me around the face. Said I'd promised to look after him. Told me it was my fault he ever became a soldier; my fault that he died. That I was a joke of a best friend.'

‘But that would have been her grief talking. Have you seen her since?'

He shook his head. ‘I couldn't face the resentment.'

I remembered, when we first met, on the golf course, he muttered something about please not resenting him.

‘I'm sure she won't now—time gives people perspective,' I said gently. ‘You must have mutual friends you can talk to about this.'

‘I don't open up. Don't want to get close. Don't want to get hurt again. But then …' His voice cracked. ‘I met you. Mad, isn't it? We've not known each other long but from the first minute I saw you, talking about swallows, caring about that injured rabbit and trying to sneak back onto the golf course, the banter, I don't know … it sparked something in me. It felt easy. And it made me mad to see you with Lucas. Then the fire …'

‘Sorry about that,' I whispered. ‘It must have been hard to come in and get me—amongst the smoke … all the memories.'

‘But it made me realise I cared. Apart from my parents, I haven't cared about anyone in the slightest, for a long, long time.'

‘And the fireworks?'

‘Mum knows I don't like them. The noise. Takes me back. The rotting smell. Ears hurting. Men's screams.' He glanced at me. ‘Kate. Walk away now, if you want. Honest. I've … I think the phrase is—got baggage … on a diva-like scale. Walk away if it's too much. I've taken that first step for help. I'll be OK.'

‘I'm not going anywhere—I've coped with you so far, haven't I? Is this … post-traumatic stress disorder?'

Tremain wiped his face and straightened up. ‘No. Not full-blown. To me that's like people saying they've got OCD just because they like to, I don't know, arrange their groceries in a certain way. I've got a mate with PTSD. He's lost it a couple of times in the last year. Ended up with a conviction.'

I flushed, remembering how Izzy and I wondered if Tremain might have been in prison.

‘Once, after a drunken rampage, his family couldn't find him,' he continued. ‘The poor sod had taken refuge in a wheelie bin. So …' He cleared his throat and moved to sit opposite me. ‘That's not me but I … I just need to talk it out, I guess. The guilt I feel about Ben's death. The graphic memories that mean I don't sleep well.'

I took a deep breath. Perhaps now was the time to tell him about Johnny. But then no. This was Tremain's moment; time to concentrate on him.

‘What?'

‘Nothing,' I said. ‘It can wait.'

‘Kate. No more secrets between us. Let's start with a clean slate. Please.'

My heart raced and said open up to him. Follow your heart, Kate Golightly. ‘I can sort of relate to the guilt. Ten months ago … my boyfriend, Johnny …'

‘He left, right? I remember you saying. What happened? Did it end badly? You think you were to blame?'

‘I'd been on at him all evening—said I had cravings for a takeaway curry. I'd had glass of wine and didn't want to drive. I could tell he didn't feel like going out but I persuaded him. Johnny was so good-natured.'

‘And he never came back?'

My vision went blurry. ‘No. It was October—when we'd had all that torrential rain and flooding. He had an accident. Straight into a lamppost. Killed instantly.'

‘Oh, Kate.'

‘I felt so guilty—my stupid cravings sent him out. But I hated him for a while too—for months—because he'd lost control after trying to avoid a cat in the road, according to a witness. He skidded on the saturated road.' I threw my arms in the air. ‘He died for a cat. Appropriate really—him working for the RSPCA.'

Tremain studied my face. ‘You do what you have to do in that split second. Me charging forward to cover colleagues. You rushing into the burning chalet.'

‘Yes, but I thought there was a person in there.'

‘What if you'd heard a dog yelp?'

I swallowed. ‘I know,' I said eventually. ‘Over recent weeks I've finally become less angry—and had talked it out with him.'

Tremain's brow furrowed. ‘How?'

My eyes filled again. ‘His family memorialised his Facebook page. Plus, they were keen for me to stay in touch with them as I was a link to their … their dead son.' I swallowed. ‘But it meant I could still message, even though all my words remained unread. Just as well, really—I was furious at first. Swore at him. Asked how he could risk our future like that. Then, over time, I just messaged when I felt low. Or needed advice. Or just to tell him the things I'd never tell anyone else.' I smiled. ‘Must make me sound bonkers.'

Tremain shook his head. ‘No. Sometimes I still talk to Ben.'

‘Right at the beginning—' my voice wobbled ‘—I so wanted him to reply. For the first weeks I almost managed to convince myself that we'd only broken up and that he was reading my messages and then just marking them unread.'

‘Weirdly, that must have been a comfort,' said Tremain. ‘A coping mechanism. Better than drinks or drugs.'

‘How did you manage, in the early days?' I said.

‘I haven't told Mum this, but I slept rough for a while. Got beaten up a few times. Didn't bother me—I felt numb, like I deserved it.'

‘And what made you leave the streets?'

‘Say what you want about Dad, but we'd kept in touch—I didn't want to upset Mum who is on her own. He had his new girlfriend for support. I still didn't tell him everything but he worked out I hadn't got a place to live. He tried to persuade me to move in with him but … I needed the time on my own. Anyway, eventually, Dad let slip that he'd heard on the grapevine Mum was struggling. Unless he said that on purpose because he knew it would shake me up.'

‘But he left her!'

‘I know. Doesn't mean he didn't—that he doesn't—care.'

Guess I'd only heard Kensa's side of the story.

‘So, you headed home.'

He nodded. ‘Exercise helps me release the anguish, now.'

‘Like when you were running around screaming on the golf course?'

‘Yep.'

‘Singing does it for me,' I said. ‘Helps me empty my mind.'

We looked at each other. No words necessary. We kind of had common ground.

He stood up and pulled me to my feet. ‘Fancy a paddle?'

I smiled. ‘No. Not quite yet. There's something else I need first.'

‘Me too.' He stepped forward and held my shoulders. Lips on mine. Volcanic heat erupting.

‘Oh, Tremain,' I whispered, as I pulled away for breath, my hand running over his short hair, his fingers trailing a line down my back. We fell to the ground and I pressed up close, heat emanating from him. As we kissed, I experienced a sense of release—the shedding of past romance. Now nothing mattered but Tremain. Making him better. Feeling that hot mouth on my skin. Listening to his reliable heartbeat.

‘What about the scar?' I said as, hand in hand, we eventually ambled towards the beach. ‘I saw it when you were gardening at Guvnah's. Did you get it in Afghanistan?'

‘You'd think so, wouldn't you? Nah, someone mugged me when I was fifteen. That's one reason I wanted to go into the army—to learn how to protect myself. You say Ben knew the dangers of signing up, but we were just kids. I, for one, didn't think about the consequences of everything I was going to have to see and do.'

We reached the waves. Slipped off our shoes and socks. Cool water trickled over our toes. He kicked some up at me.

‘Don't push me too far,' I said, in a teasing voice. ‘You may be army material but never challenge the deviousness of a woman and—Ow!' I pulled a face and hopped up and down. ‘I think something just bit my foot, can you take a look?'

Concern crossed his face and he bent down. I giggled and pushed him over.

‘That was a mistake,' he said, finding his balance, trousers and top dripping. Solemnly, he shook a finger. I started to run.

‘Of course he caught me,' I whispered to Johnny as, that night, I sat in my bedroom, looking at the red wind spinner. I'd pulled my suitcase out from under my bed. I held the scarlet metal and ran a finger over the curves. ‘It was good to see him laugh. You'd like him, Johnny.' Tears filled my eyes. ‘I loved you so much. You were the best. And … I just wanted to check you knew that I'm no longer angry. I had no right to be. If you hadn't cared and just run over that cat, you wouldn't be the Johnny I knew. Plus … I'm sorry I sent you out for that curry.' I sniffed. ‘But you know me after a glass of Pinot Grigio.' I gazed at the heart-shaped strips of metal. ‘You'll probably be relieved to hear that I won't bother you with my crazy messages any more. All these last
months, I had so much to say—advice to seek, problems, stories and jokes to share—but you see really …' My chest squeezed. ‘I guess it was what you'd call a long goodbye.' My throat ached. ‘'Cos we never got the chance to do that, did we? Say our farewells? So that's what this is. I wanted to do it properly.'

I took a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Johnny. For everything. You taught me so much about loving. Sharing. Supporting. And laughing—we did a lot of that. Remember that time we almost got thrown out of the cinema when, hamster-like, you puffed your cheeks up full with popcorn?' My eyes tingled. ‘You made me happy. Gave me confidence. And … I remember once you saying you felt the same. That me following my singing vocation made you surer than ever that you'd chosen the right career; that memories of fulfilling dreams would keep us content in our final years, not a pile of money.' My voice broke. ‘I'm glad you followed your heart and started to achieve your goals before … before your time here was over.'