betrayal? It wasn’t, of course. Ben had an absolute right to live wherever he chose. So why did I feel I’d been kicked in the stomach? Why was I so instinctively hostile to the idea that the boy who had been the closest to my son’s last moments on earth had chosen to live so near to the seas that had claimed his life?
I hid my dismay, of course. I also decided Ben could not possibly come to Coombe. So much to explain, and it would involve Adam and Danny. I wasn’t ready for that.
‘Could we meet somewhere else, Ben?’ I asked tentatively. ‘I mean, it will all be a bit of a shock for Danny. I’d like to talk things through first. I’m sorry, but this is all to do with me. I don’t want to upset anyone else.’
There was a pause, and I realised that of course I was upsetting Ben. He must hate being reminded of all this. It was ruthless, but I had to insist. So when he suggested he could meet me at the Blue Peter in Polperro tomorrow at one p.m., I agreed immediately.
It was only when I’d put the phone down that I realised I had just made an appointment to see the last person who had seen Joey alive at the very place where he was supposed to meet my son on the day of his death.
Disappearance , I told myself desperately. Not death. Not yet .
Chapter Fourteen
Polperro
I told Adam the next day that I needed to go to Fowey. Kittow’s was the only really top-class butcher in the region, and I wanted to buy a large joint of their fabulous lamb for Sunday lunch. Also they had a really good delicatessen, and I could find some excellent cheese.
Adam was indulgent. He knew I loved Fowey, and teased me that I obviously really wanted to go back to The Romantic Englishwoman to buy more toys and fripperies for Edie and Lola. ‘And for me!’ I said indignantly, playing my part to the hilt, and he laughed.
‘Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t expect anything else. But you don’t mind if I don’t come, do you? There’s cricket on the telly. I know you hate it, so if you’re going out I might as well…’
My views on football and cricket were well known in this masculine family. To Adam’s credit he wasn’t a boorish sports fanatic, the kind of man who felt his membership of the human race depended on baying for his team to win. But if he got an opportunity to watch a match when I wasn’t there to cramp his style, of course he took it. And today, that suited me just fine.
So he and Danny settled in front of the television. Lola said she was going to have a much-needed nap while Edie slept, and that if the baby woke while Daddy was watching TV, well, that was too bad. Daddy would have to look after his daughter even if it meant missing an innings win or defeat.
And so I drove to Polperro: the gateway to my son’s horrible fate.
It’s beautiful, Polperro; about as charming as a village can get. White cottages winking in the sun. Swishing little weirs and streams washing around the pretty houses, many of them built on stilts so the ever-present water burbling through the streets would not disturb the tranquil lives of those who had pledged their futures here. Beyond picturesque. Wholesome, delightful, the ultimate Cornish holiday destination. With pasties for sale, fresh fish, fudge.
When you’re in it, walking through the lanes, past the quaint tourist shops selling little brass jack o’lanterns and models of a bare-legged Joan the Wad – Queen of the Cornish Piskies as she is billed, a lissom female lucky charm to help you win the lottery – it seems like a homage to bygone days of smuggling. But it’s not. People live here. Polperro’s a dense community, and like all small and close-living habitats, it’s full of tales, gossip and rumour.
I left the Volvo in the enormous car park at the head of the village, and I thought back to happier days when we’d visited the little town. It’s a shame really, that car park , Adam always said. So much at odds with the small-scale charm of the village,
I hid my dismay, of course. I also decided Ben could not possibly come to Coombe. So much to explain, and it would involve Adam and Danny. I wasn’t ready for that.
‘Could we meet somewhere else, Ben?’ I asked tentatively. ‘I mean, it will all be a bit of a shock for Danny. I’d like to talk things through first. I’m sorry, but this is all to do with me. I don’t want to upset anyone else.’
There was a pause, and I realised that of course I was upsetting Ben. He must hate being reminded of all this. It was ruthless, but I had to insist. So when he suggested he could meet me at the Blue Peter in Polperro tomorrow at one p.m., I agreed immediately.
It was only when I’d put the phone down that I realised I had just made an appointment to see the last person who had seen Joey alive at the very place where he was supposed to meet my son on the day of his death.
Disappearance , I told myself desperately. Not death. Not yet .
Chapter Fourteen
Polperro
I told Adam the next day that I needed to go to Fowey. Kittow’s was the only really top-class butcher in the region, and I wanted to buy a large joint of their fabulous lamb for Sunday lunch. Also they had a really good delicatessen, and I could find some excellent cheese.
Adam was indulgent. He knew I loved Fowey, and teased me that I obviously really wanted to go back to The Romantic Englishwoman to buy more toys and fripperies for Edie and Lola. ‘And for me!’ I said indignantly, playing my part to the hilt, and he laughed.
‘Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t expect anything else. But you don’t mind if I don’t come, do you? There’s cricket on the telly. I know you hate it, so if you’re going out I might as well…’
My views on football and cricket were well known in this masculine family. To Adam’s credit he wasn’t a boorish sports fanatic, the kind of man who felt his membership of the human race depended on baying for his team to win. But if he got an opportunity to watch a match when I wasn’t there to cramp his style, of course he took it. And today, that suited me just fine.
So he and Danny settled in front of the television. Lola said she was going to have a much-needed nap while Edie slept, and that if the baby woke while Daddy was watching TV, well, that was too bad. Daddy would have to look after his daughter even if it meant missing an innings win or defeat.
And so I drove to Polperro: the gateway to my son’s horrible fate.
It’s beautiful, Polperro; about as charming as a village can get. White cottages winking in the sun. Swishing little weirs and streams washing around the pretty houses, many of them built on stilts so the ever-present water burbling through the streets would not disturb the tranquil lives of those who had pledged their futures here. Beyond picturesque. Wholesome, delightful, the ultimate Cornish holiday destination. With pasties for sale, fresh fish, fudge.
When you’re in it, walking through the lanes, past the quaint tourist shops selling little brass jack o’lanterns and models of a bare-legged Joan the Wad – Queen of the Cornish Piskies as she is billed, a lissom female lucky charm to help you win the lottery – it seems like a homage to bygone days of smuggling. But it’s not. People live here. Polperro’s a dense community, and like all small and close-living habitats, it’s full of tales, gossip and rumour.
I left the Volvo in the enormous car park at the head of the village, and I thought back to happier days when we’d visited the little town. It’s a shame really, that car park , Adam always said. So much at odds with the small-scale charm of the village,
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