She laughed. ‘He’s a bit too exotic a flower for Cornwall these days. Man-bags and those tight ditsy trousers that stop short of your bare ankles aren’t really the thing here. One of the yachty lot made kissy faces at him in the pub and Steve bundled him outside and gave him a lecture about homophobia, but it turned out the bloke did actually fancy him, just had a clumsy way of going about things.’
‘Steve? Who is …?’
‘Oh, you remember Steve!’ Jess said. ‘Or you should do. Didn’t you and he …?’
Miranda smiled. ‘Yes. Y’know, just for a few weeks. Not long. I mean, I was only sixteen. Silly sixteen.’ She looked along the beach to where the sand piled close to the small cave near the headland. That had been the spot. A sunny afternoon, a bottle of local cider, a gorgeous, desirable older boy telling you how beautiful you are – what more did it take to persuade a girl to part with her virginity? ‘So he’s still around then?’ she asked, trying to sound completely don’t-careish. She was surprised how hard her heart was thumping. It had no reason to – it must be the coffee. She put her hand up to feel it beating, half expecting her ribs to be the actual soft spot that she kept for that first lovely boyfriend.
‘He is. I heard he’d been away for years but came back to take over the family business. It’s all expanded and he not only owns the ferry operation but the fish side supplies posh restaurants from here to London. He’s done OK, your Steve.’
Miranda laughed. ‘Not my Steve! But hey, I’m glad. Hope he’s happy. A bit like you with Andrew, I was pretty ashamed about how I treated him. It was just a holiday thing for me, just something to do, but then one night he said he loved me. I was vile – I laughed, mostly because I was too embarrassed to know how to react. Thinking about it now, I remember how sweet hewas, but I’m sure he ended up thinking I was a nasty little up-country snob.’
‘He probably thought we all were. Most of the locals thought that about us second-homers. You couldn’t blame them really, the way we all swanned down here in the holidays and took over the place but never took any interest in things like local politics unless we wanted some councillor to back a planning application or something.’
Miranda watched as a family who seemed to be entirely clothed from the Boden catalogue came and set up camp on the spot where she’d had sex with Steve. A sudden feeling that she might cry surprised her. She turned her face away from the wind and wiped the ridiculous moisture from her eyes.
Jess shivered. ‘Shall we go back to the house? The children will either have become best friends for ever or be killing each other by now. Lola can be tricky so I wouldn’t like to call it, frankly.’ She reached to pick up her newspaper and it fell further down the rock towards Miranda, who glanced at the big photo on the front page.
‘Oh, bloody hell! Look at this footballer being chucked out of a club; he’s my sister Harriet’s boyfriend. She lives with him,’ she said, feeling cold. It looked like an all too usual story – Premier-League player staggering drunk out of a club, draped over a well-stacked, very young blonde wearing more hair extensions than clothes. Poor Harriet.
‘Ooh, give us a look. Ha! So your little sis is a WAG? And there’s me still thinking of her with plaits and a chocolatey face. Wow, she’s foxy-looking.’ Jess scrambled across to peer at the page, ‘Eeuw, nasty,’ she commented, reading the first few lines of the story.
‘Ah, no. This girl he’s with,’ Miranda said as they set off back up the path to the top of the cliff, ‘she isn’t Harriet.’ Just then the phone in her pocket beeped and she took it out to read a text that had been sent half an hour before. Down on the beach beneath the cliff there had been no signal. Coming down on plane tonight. Meet me at Newquay? H .
‘Well, you’ll see for yourself
‘Steve? Who is …?’
‘Oh, you remember Steve!’ Jess said. ‘Or you should do. Didn’t you and he …?’
Miranda smiled. ‘Yes. Y’know, just for a few weeks. Not long. I mean, I was only sixteen. Silly sixteen.’ She looked along the beach to where the sand piled close to the small cave near the headland. That had been the spot. A sunny afternoon, a bottle of local cider, a gorgeous, desirable older boy telling you how beautiful you are – what more did it take to persuade a girl to part with her virginity? ‘So he’s still around then?’ she asked, trying to sound completely don’t-careish. She was surprised how hard her heart was thumping. It had no reason to – it must be the coffee. She put her hand up to feel it beating, half expecting her ribs to be the actual soft spot that she kept for that first lovely boyfriend.
‘He is. I heard he’d been away for years but came back to take over the family business. It’s all expanded and he not only owns the ferry operation but the fish side supplies posh restaurants from here to London. He’s done OK, your Steve.’
Miranda laughed. ‘Not my Steve! But hey, I’m glad. Hope he’s happy. A bit like you with Andrew, I was pretty ashamed about how I treated him. It was just a holiday thing for me, just something to do, but then one night he said he loved me. I was vile – I laughed, mostly because I was too embarrassed to know how to react. Thinking about it now, I remember how sweet hewas, but I’m sure he ended up thinking I was a nasty little up-country snob.’
‘He probably thought we all were. Most of the locals thought that about us second-homers. You couldn’t blame them really, the way we all swanned down here in the holidays and took over the place but never took any interest in things like local politics unless we wanted some councillor to back a planning application or something.’
Miranda watched as a family who seemed to be entirely clothed from the Boden catalogue came and set up camp on the spot where she’d had sex with Steve. A sudden feeling that she might cry surprised her. She turned her face away from the wind and wiped the ridiculous moisture from her eyes.
Jess shivered. ‘Shall we go back to the house? The children will either have become best friends for ever or be killing each other by now. Lola can be tricky so I wouldn’t like to call it, frankly.’ She reached to pick up her newspaper and it fell further down the rock towards Miranda, who glanced at the big photo on the front page.
‘Oh, bloody hell! Look at this footballer being chucked out of a club; he’s my sister Harriet’s boyfriend. She lives with him,’ she said, feeling cold. It looked like an all too usual story – Premier-League player staggering drunk out of a club, draped over a well-stacked, very young blonde wearing more hair extensions than clothes. Poor Harriet.
‘Ooh, give us a look. Ha! So your little sis is a WAG? And there’s me still thinking of her with plaits and a chocolatey face. Wow, she’s foxy-looking.’ Jess scrambled across to peer at the page, ‘Eeuw, nasty,’ she commented, reading the first few lines of the story.
‘Ah, no. This girl he’s with,’ Miranda said as they set off back up the path to the top of the cliff, ‘she isn’t Harriet.’ Just then the phone in her pocket beeped and she took it out to read a text that had been sent half an hour before. Down on the beach beneath the cliff there had been no signal. Coming down on plane tonight. Meet me at Newquay? H .
‘Well, you’ll see for yourself
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