The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Cressida McLaughlin
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bright sunshine chased down by heavy rain showers that seemed to linger in the cove. Charlie had already been walking in the rain, sheltering inside a large orange mac, the hood pulled low, the plasticky fabric making her skin sweat. She loved watching the rain patter onto the sea, and had walked to the end of the jetty while the waves churned and broiled around it, the horizon a wavering line of charcoal.
It was understandable that the beach was quiet; it wasn’t swimming weather, unless you were incredibly hardy, and while there was Myrtle’s shop and the pub, a bed and breakfast and SeaKing Safaris, there was no ice-cream shack or café; nothing for families who wanted to spend a whole day on the sand and have the necessary amenities at hand.
‘Aren’t there any public toilets?’ she asked, and Myrtle looked up from her book.
‘Why? You caught short? I’ve one out back if you’re desperate.’
‘Oh no, I just … wondered.’
‘There was a block at the edge of the car park,’ she said, tapping her fingers against her lips. ‘A while ago. But it got so run-down the council demolished it. No funds for a replacement, supposedly, despite a few of us makin’ noise. You’d think Mister High-and-Mighty in his sparklin’ palace might have helped, but no such luck.’
‘Daniel Harper, you mean?’
Myrtle wafted a hand in the vague direction of Crystal Waters. ‘It’s out of place, I reckon. All cold glass and metal in a simple seaside village. He could’ve gone to the Seychelles if he wanted to charge sky-high prices. Or Padstow. He’s an outsider, knows nothin’ about the place. I can see Porthgolow for what it is. Some areas could do with an update. But we’re friendly enough,’ Myrtle added, and Charlie tried not to snort. ‘He’s tarnishin’ that reputation, turnin’ it into a village of two halves. Anyway,’ she said, tapping Charlie’s hand. ‘These your biscuits, then?’
Charlie nodded. Myrtle put her custard creams and bourbons in a brown paper bag, Porthgolow Pop-In stamped on the side. As she strolled back to Juliette’s house, detouring to take Marmite onto the beach and throw a sea-smoothed stick for him over the damp sand, Charlie thought she might have made progress with Porthgolow’s general-store owner. It seemed that – in a place where not all the locals were happy with an influx of new, younger residents – Daniel Harper was the ultimate enemy. And if even Juliette thought he was bad news, then there must be something to it.
Charlie blinked and gasped as a huge plume of sea spray hit her in the face.
‘Whoa, that was a big one!’ Paul called above the sound of the engine. He was steering and, on this breezy Wednesday morning, Charlie, Juliette and Jonah were the only passengers. Charlie needed to have a word with him about being business savvy. She had insisted on paying for her and Juliette’s tickets, even though he had at first protested, saying she was Juliette’s friend and needed to be shown Porthgolow from the sea. But even then, the tour was in no way viable.
Hal, the kindest man she’d ever known, hadn’t run his tour if there were less than eight customers, otherwise he wouldn’t break even, let alone make a profit. Charlie couldn’t imagine how much the fuel for this trip was costing, let alone Paul’s time, the fact that he could be promoting his business instead of taking out a couple of residents – one of whom had already been on the tour – and his son. Juliette had also told her that Paul had recently had to get a part-time job as a courier – a time-consuming occupation in Cornwall – to supplement the income the Kerrs were getting from their main business. This seemed especially sad when the SeaKing Safaris experience was so brilliant; Charlie had seen seals, cormorants and razorbills, and even a pod of five dolphins that had swum alongside the boat for a while as if they were in some kind of Disney adventure.
Jonah hadn’t held back, and she now knew more than she’d ever thought possible about common and bottlenose dolphins. Thousands of people would love this tour. Why weren’t they coming? Charlie was sure it was mainly because they didn’t know about it.
‘Have you offered your marketing services to them?’ Charlie asked Juliette out of the corner of her mouth.
‘Yes,’ Juliette hissed back. ‘Paul and Amanda said they’d think about it, but I’m not sure they have the money at the moment. I’ve even offered mates’ rates, but I can’t go any lower because then I’d be losing out.’
‘Vicious circle,’ Charlie said, nodding. Juliette was a digital marketer, producing websites, social media plans and campaigns for small businesses. Charlie knew the jobs she liked best were working with people local to her, so she could meet face to face even if what she produced was online. Charlie could see already that several of the businesses in Porthgolow would benefit from Juliette’s services; she just needed to find a magical pot of money to pay for it all.
‘It’s much bumpier at the front,’ Jonah said as Charlie was hit with another face-full of water. ‘This type of boat is called a RIB – Rigid Inflatable Boat, and because of the design, the bow cuts through the waves and it’s light, too, so it sort of rides them.’ He was leaning against the side of the boat, looking calm and authoritative in a blue waterproof coat, his lifejacket black and stylish as opposed to Charlie and Juliette’s, which were the colour of road cones.
‘Bumpy is fun!’ Charlie said. And it was. Salt was good for the skin too, wasn’t it? Loads of expensive products used sea salt. Perhaps after a day on the waves she would have a perfectly exfoliated, dewy complexion. Chance would be a fine thing.
Paul turned the RIB around, and Charlie took in the coastline, heading north towards Padstow, south towards Newquay, and then the cove of Porthgolow, cut out as if with a hole punch from the land. She could see the clusters of houses, the pale strip of the beach, the spray rising up as waves battered the rocks on either side. She also had an excellent view of Crystal Waters, which sat snugly against the cliff, its gardens running down to the very edge. She wondered how much work had gone into securing the foundations. There had obviously been no expense spared.
And then Charlie’s gaze was drawn to the other side of the cove, and the little yellow hut.
Jonah must have followed her eye-line, because he said, ‘That’s Reenie’s place. She’s an old mermaid who lost her tail and has been cursed to live out her days in the sea-shanty cottage. She never speaks to anyone.’
‘Jonah,’ Paul called, ‘don’t talk rubbish!’
Charlie was taken aback. She had believed Jonah was a fountain of knowledge, gathering facts like pebbles. But he believed in mermaids?
‘It’s true,’ Jonah protested.
‘According to who?’ his dad asked, steering the RIB towards the jetty.
Jonah dropped his head and shrugged. ‘She’s strange.’
‘Eccentric, maybe,’ Paul called. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have the right to make up stories about her.’
‘Flora liked it!’
‘Flora is six and obsessed with The Little Mermaid.’ Paul laughed, giving Juliette and Charlie a good-humoured eye-roll.
‘Well,’ Jonah said, folding his arms. ‘I’ve seen her, early in the morning and in the evening, standing on the edge of the cliff and signalling with some sort of light. I think she’s communicating with her mermaid friends who are all still underwater. That’s why she doesn’t talk to anyone in the village.’
‘Of course she does.’ Paul lined the boat up against the jetty and waited for his son to jump onto the stone so he could throw him the rope. ‘She talks to Myrtle, and she pops into The Seven Stars occasionally for a cheeky half. She’s a normal, probably very lovely woman, who likes to keep to herself. Anyway,’ he added, jumping onto the jetty and helping first Juliette, then Charlie, onto dry land. ‘When have you been up early enough to see her winking her mermaid light at dawn?’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dad,’ Jonah said, and stalked off towards the road.
Paul