Buried in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho

choices, she thought, and clutched her woollen charity shop coat closer to her as she made her way through the deserted streets. Her long skirt flapped around her ankles as the wind funnelled down the narrow alleys she had to negotiate to reach Nick’s house. The night held no fears for her; not once had she felt afraid in the place of her birth. It wasn’t late, a little after nine thirty, but she had passed the area where there were pubs and restaurants. Now there were only quiet lanes, each one becoming narrower and narrower and progressively steeper and darker.
    Behind the tiny paned windows of the cottages the occasional light showed through thin curtains or those not tightly pulled together. She shivered, pleased to see Nick’s porch light shining in welcome. From inside she heard his voice and stood, undecided, before knocking. No other voice replied so she assumed he must be on the telephone, which was near the front door. She lifted the metal ring and let it drop. The dull thud reverberated through the street. Nick let her in, smiling and nodding his intention that she should sit down. He closed the door behind her whilstcradling the telephone receiver between ear and shoulder. ‘Okay, I’ll see you then. Bye,’ he said, giving Jenny no clue as to whom he had been speaking.
    ‘Jenny? What brings you here?’
    She would not beg but she wanted to make her position clear. ‘I was lonely. I wanted to talk to someone. Well, you, really.’
    ‘Drink?’ Nick turned his back and opened the door of an old-fashioned sideboard from which he produced a cheap bottle of brandy. ‘Of course we can talk, there was no need for us to fall out at all.’
    Jenny thought this was a good start. She took the brandy glass and sat down on the sagging sofa which he had still not got around to replacing and on which they had made love many times. The thought made her maudlin. ‘I miss you, Nick,’ she said, already aware that she would beg if absolutely necessary. ‘What went wrong?’ She bowed her head submissively. ‘Please tell me.’
    Nick frowned. If he told her, she would become even more insecure than before; if he didn’t, she would think he wanted her back. ‘Nothing really went wrong, we just weren’t suited.’
    ‘How can you say that?’ Her voice was raised. ‘We were everything to each other.’
    ‘Jenny, listen. This might come out all wrong, but if I was everything to you, you had a strange way of showing it.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Nick swirled the brandy in his glass and kept his eyes averted. ‘I kept you, Jenny, and I didn’t resent that one bit. I was fully aware of your financial position. However, despite my earning both our keep, it was still me who looked after this place and cooked most of our meals.’
    ‘Oh, Nick, I’ll cook for you. I’m quite a good cook, you know. And I’ll do the cleaning.’
    He was embarrassed, not for himself, but for this proud girl who was metaphorically on her knees before him. There was no option but to be cruel. ‘It wasn’t just that. You never forgave me for going to London alone. That was business, I couldn’t have spared the time to entertain you as well. For months after I returned you accused me of all sorts of things. I, apparently, was allowed no freedom, whereas you had as much as if we weren’t together at all. Jenny, you, of all people, know how everyone gossips. There were other men during the time you were with me. That bloke who came down from Cheshire, the one you claimed you were posing for—’
    ‘I did pose for him.’
    ‘Accepted, but that’s not all you did. He made it pretty obvious in the pubs he drank in. No, Jenny, I’m more than happy to remain your friend and I’ll do anything I can to help you, but that’s as far as it goes.’
    ‘Because of Rose Trevelyan.’
    ‘No.’ He paused. It was true, but since they’d split up he’d used Jenny. He now saw how stupid he had been.
    ‘I suppose she cooks you meals before