A Perfect Cornish Summer. Phillipa Ashley
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along with his family. Drew had been one of the townspeople who’d looked out for the Lovell family after her mum had died. He was part friend, part surrogate older brother since Ryan had been sent away.
‘I don’t know. Saturday is it? I should be working …’ Sam made her pies in a small unit tucked in a back alley and sold them direct from the kitchen or from a stall at events. She’d have loved a mobile unit herself but the business was still in its early days. She baked every morning for six days a week and did a few outdoor events as well as Friday nights on the Porthmellow harbourside. She’d managed to scrape up the cash for a second-hand stall and small oven to heat the pies. Her dream was to have a proper van like some of the bigger street food businesses but she couldn’t afford that yet. For now, she had to take every opportunity to get some revenue in to pay the rent and loans on her catering kitchen. There wasn’t much time or money for extras or treats.
‘We can go along later in the day,’ said Drew. ‘Don’t you shut at lunchtime on Saturdays?’
‘You have to have some time off,’ said Evie.
Before Sam could make an excuse, Zennor jogged up. She was barefoot, dripping, and pink in the cheeks from cold and excitement. ‘Hello! Fancy coming in, anyone? Troy? I hear you were champion tombstoner back in the day.’
Troy slapped his palm over his glass. ‘Eh. Don’t drip in my pint, maid. Watered down enough as it is without you adding to it.’
‘We were talking about going to the Mousehole Autumn Festival,’ said Sam, still unsure whether to accept Drew’s offer. She was sure that Katya might not enjoy another woman taking up family time.
‘I saw the flyer. The bands sound shit,’ declared Zennor, shaking her head. Water corkscrewed off her locks and spattered the flyer, making the print run.
‘Eh!’ Troy groaned.
Sam shot her sister a glance. ‘Zen. Do you mind?’
‘About the water or saying sh—?’
‘Both, as a matter of fact. Why don’t you go and get changed? It’s getting cold out here.’
Zennor shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’
Sam bit back any further remark. She had to remind herself she was Zennor’s sister, not her mum – even if she had had to take on that role at just twenty.
‘So, does anyone fancy going?’ said Drew. ‘The invitation’s there.’
Evie clapped her hands together. ‘Why don’t we make it a party? We could fork out for a taxi so we can all enjoy ourselves properly. It says the festival’s sponsored by the Cyder Farm.’
Sam could have hugged Evie. She’d probably guessed that Sam would be happier in a gang, even if it did include two pensioners.
‘That sounds like a much better idea,’ said Zennor. ‘I’m up for it if cider’s involved.’
‘You’re not eighteen yet, maid,’ said Troy.
‘One small one won’t hurt her,’ said Evie. ‘And we can all keep an eye on her.’
Zennor giggled. ‘Can I ask Ben? He’s having a shitty – sorry crappy – time at home at the moment.’ She shot a look at Sam.
‘The more the merrier,’ said Drew. ‘Shall I go ahead and book a minibus?’
As her companions buzzed with excitement, Sam peeled the flyer from the table and held it up. The evening rays shone through the soggy paper and the words had merged: bands, festival, food …
Their mother had loved a sing and a dance. She always enjoyed hearing the fishermen’s choir and the town band and liked nothing better than when everyone joined in at the end of the evening with a rousing chorus of ‘Trelawney’. And she loved seeing the streets packed on a sizzling summer day or taking the girls and Ryan to the Flora Dance at Helston or the Obby Oss on May Day in Padstow. Their father walked out on the family when Sam was very young and her mum, Roz, had brought them up on her own. She pictured her mum dancing on the beach at Newquay as the sun set, a flower garland in her hair, holding hands with Sam and Zennor … At the memory of those carefree times, and the reminder of what she’d lost, her heart physically ached. Sam longed to experience that again, to see Porthmellow’s streets alive with music and laughter, a buzz in the town … joy and fun …
‘Sam?’ Evie’s hand was on her arm. ‘Are you all right? Will you come?’
Sam forced a smile to her lips. ‘Yes … yes. Why not? Let’s go … but actually, I’ve got another idea.’
‘What’s that, my love?’ said Evie softly.
All eyes turned to Sam and before she could chicken out, she spoke her thoughts as they tumbled through her brain.
‘This might be mad but … why don’t we kill two birds with one stone? Go to the event, but treat it as a research trip too? I mean, look around us. The town’s going downhill fast right at a time when local people need help. We need to attract more visitors and really put this place on the map. Make it famous for something.’
‘Yeah, but for what? We’re just another Cornish harbour town with vicious seagulls, weird locals and crap weather,’ said Zennor.
Sam had to smile. ‘We’re not just another town. We’re unique. We have character – and characters – and dramatic weather that makes the headlines. We could be as famous as Padstow or Mousehole or St Ives. Why shouldn’t we be?’
Drew put his pint down. ‘I like your way of thinking, but famous for what?’
‘For our festival. I think we should have our own.’
Eyes widened. Zennor snorted. Troy blew out a long breath. ‘But who’s going to organise it? Sounds like a lot of work and disruption to me, maid.’
Troy was right, of course, but it was too late. The idea had taken root in Sam’s mind and was gathering energy and power like a great wave bearing down on the harbour. She couldn’t shake off the thought that her mum would have been at the centre of a festival if she’d been here. As the town band reached a crescendo of ‘Trelawney’, Sam imagined her dancing on the quayside, smiling and laughing.
Evie was right too, and her mum would have agreed. Sam was working too hard. She was only twenty-one and she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, a business, young sibling to support through college, another who’d come out of jail and she never saw. Organising a festival would be hard work but it would be fun too, and be a fitting way to honour her mum’s memory and maybe bring a bit of sparkle back to the town and her life.
‘We’re going to organise it,’ she declared, buoyed by bravado. ‘Us lot. We’re going to get it off the ground and we’re going to make a big success of it.’ She threw a glance at Drew. ‘Because storms or not, we have to do something to help Porthmellow.’
Early May, Eleven Years Later
The 10th Porthmellow Food Festival
June 29-30 – Porthmellow Harbour
Don’t miss our biggest and best ever festival!
Over 100 food, drink & craft stalls – live music all day
Chef’s Theatre with cooking demonstrations including
Star Chef Kris Zachary of BBC Weekend Kitchen Show
‘Cornwall’s coolest food event’ – The Sunday Times
Sam brushed rainwater from the laminated poster in her hand. Ten years. That was a third of her life. How could they have flown by so fast?
She still had to pinch herself at