A PERFECT CORNISH SUMMER
Phillipa Ashley

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Phillipa Ashley

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers 2019

Cover illustration © Hannah George 2019

Phillipa Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008316129

Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008316136

Version: 2019-03-28

Dedication

In memory of Mike Fosbrook, my inspirational English teacher

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher

Prologue

September 2008

Porthmellow.co.uk Town Blog Forum

MoaningOldMinnie: Another shop closed? That’s three in the past six months. This town’s going to the dogs! Why doesn’t somebody from the council or chamber of trade do something before we have tumbleweeds rolling round the harbour?

‘I swear someone’s going to drown one of these days,’ the old man said in his thick Cornish burr. ‘And guess who’ll be the one to have to fish the little buggers out.’

It was all Sam Lovell could do to hide a smile at her neighbour Troy Carman’s expression as he watched the teenagers in wetsuits opposite the Smuggler’s Tavern. They were laughing and jeering as they egged each other on to leap off the harbour wall into the inky waters. Every Sunday evening in Porthmellow, from spring through to autumn, it was the same: the town band playing outside the pub and teenagers tombstoning into the harbour. A last hurrah of the weekend before everyone had to go back to work and school the next morning.

Sam rested her half of lager on the peeling table. Like a lot of things in Porthmellow, the tavern was in dire need of a spruce up. ‘Didn’t you do a bit of tombstoning when you were a lad?’ she asked.

Troy shook his head at the kids shrieking as they climbed onto the top wall above the harbour. ‘Back in the day I might have, and we didn’t have these fancy wetsuits, then. I used to do it in my cotton underpants. Our mum went mad. I only had three pairs. One to wash, one to wear and one for Sunday best. Full of holes, they were too, by the time they’d been through her mangle a hundred times.’

‘Troy. I love you to bits, but that is way too much information,’ said Sam, trying to purge from her mind the image of her elderly neighbour leaping into the harbour in a pair of pants as murky as the water.

Although the sun was shining on the terrace of the Smuggler’s Tavern this September evening, it was too little too late. The summer had been grey and gloomy far too often, keeping visitors away from their remote part of Cornwall. Times were hard and many families had had to miss out on a holiday altogether. It was exactly what the little harbour town didn’t need – not to mention Sam herself, who had left her job to start her own catering business the previous year. Who could have foreseen a global crash? Certainly not Sam, who’d been too busy keeping her family together after losing three of the people she loved most within the space of a couple of years.

But on evenings like this, Sam almost found herself able to put that to the back of her mind.

Troy finished his pint of Proper Job and wiped foam from his lips. At seventy, he was still working part-time as a deputy harbourmaster and no one knew the waters around Porthmellow better than he did. Although, Sam thought with a smile, the man approaching her table came pretty close. Drew Yelland was a few years older than her, tanned as tea, his fair hair burnished by the sun, a gold earring glinting in the evening light.

‘Hello. Sorry I’m late.’ Drew kissed her on the cheek and nodded cheerfully at Troy. ‘We were late sailing back into the harbour. Bunch of bankers on the boat today. Didn’t know their arses from their elbows. Didn’t seem too bothered about the recession either. Don’t think it’s going to dent their consumption of Bolly. Talking of which … your glasses look empty. I’m dying for a pint. Can I get anyone a drink?’

Troy flashed a mouth full of teeth, which, oddly, made Sam think of tombstones. He rubbed his hands together.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

‘I’ll help,’ said Sam and gathered their empty glasses onto a tray. She always did this, wanting to help the landlady who’d had to let some staff go because trade had dropped off. She also wanted to talk to Drew.

‘How’s business on the Marisco?’ she asked as they waited for the landlady to pull their pints. Drew ran a small sailing charity that took groups out for trips on a vintage trawler.

‘Could be better.’ Drew handed over some cash for the beers. ‘To be honest, bookings have fallen off a cliff since the crash and things aren’t going to get better over the winter. We rely on the corporate and private money to subsidise the educational trips. The business customers are cutting back on teambuilding days and Joe Public can’t afford luxuries like learning to sail. Which basically means we can’t afford to take out the kids who really need a treat and a chance to build their skills and confidence.’

‘I’m so sorry, Drew … I know where you’re coming from. It’s tough at Stargazey Pie too – people still need to eat, luckily, but it’s still hard,’ said Sam, grimacing. ‘I’m not sure I’d have set up the business if I’d known what was coming. I had a good job already at the craft bakery and it felt mad to leave it last spring, let alone now.’

‘Would any of us do anything if we could see into the future?’ Drew picked up the tray of drinks from the bar.

Sam shook her head. ‘I’m glad I couldn’t see what was coming with Mum and Ryan.’ And Gabe, of course, she almost added, but she didn’t want to mention his name. The pain was still too raw. When the love of your life shopped your own brother to the police and then left town while your brother went to prison – well, it tended to leave its mark on you.

‘You’ve had a rough few years, but keep the faith. Keep at it. Stargazey will be a success. We’ll just have to ride out the storm somehow. We can’t stop it from coming.’ Drew grinned. ‘And anyone who’s Porthmellow born and bred will tell you that.’

Nodding, Sam held open the door for Drew. A burst of brass band music hit her ears and she blinked at the contrast of the gloomy interior with the bright sunlight glinting on the water. Sam zoned in on the ‘To Let’ sign on the fish and chip shop at the end of the harbour. Gabe and his family had worked there and lived in the flat above it until he and Sam had split up; his parents had retired a few months previously and no one had taken it over yet.

The ice-cream parlour next door was shuttered up and wouldn’t re-open until spring. Bryony Cronk’s new dog grooming business had set up in the old greengrocer’s shop, but both units either side had blanked-out windows. Despite its shabbiness, Porthmellow was in Sam’s blood, she loved its harbour and its quirky clock tower, every sunny day and each wild winter storm. Drew was right: no one could predict the climate, economic or otherwise. Just as there was nothing she could do about tourists choosing to go elsewhere.

While Sam and Drew had been inside, Troy’s wife Evie had joined their table. Sam saw her wincing a little, knowing she’d started to suffer from arthritis in her knees. It was a steep hike down to the harbour from Stippy Stappy Lane where the Carmans’ terrace stood a few doors down from Wavecrest Cottage, the home Sam shared with her sister, Zennor. Until a year ago, their brother, Ryan, had lived there too.

Drew fetched Evie a G&T and they returned to watching the kids jumping in the water.

‘Is that your Zennor?’ asked Evie, pointing to a tall, slender girl with long black hair, poised ten feet up on the wall above the harbour. ‘Haven’t got my driving glasses so I can’t really tell.’

Sam shook her head. ‘Yes. It is,’ she said, wincing as Zennor threw herself off the wall and landed with a splash. She bobbed up immediately, squealing in triumph, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief.

Zennor was just one more kid who thought they were invincible … same as their brother, Ryan, had. Same as Sam’s ex Gabe used to do when they were kids. She could picture Gabe now, in his board shorts, lean and slender, his smooth olive skin glistening with water as he climbed again to the top of the wall around the pub.

People would jeer or urge him on, but Gabe never cared what anyone else in Porthmellow thought – except perhaps for Sam.

She’d stand by, trying to act cool while all the time her heart would be in her mouth. What if he hit his head on the rocks or some piece of rubbish under the water? She remembered the time he’d vanished underneath and not come up as quickly as usual; he’d been under just long enough to make her squeal out in horror and cause everyone to stare at her. Then he’d popped up yards away by a boat. She’d been ready to jump in after him … ready to risk it all to save him.

Not anymore.

At twenty-one, her days of risking life and limb for a bit of a laugh were long gone, She had too many responsibilities these days.

A loud scream startled her out of her reverie, but it was followed by gales of laughter from the teenagers.

Troy clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Bloody dangerous. Harbourmaster would like to stop it but there’s no point. Kids’ll do it anyway.’

‘Zennor’s no kid,’ Sam said, ‘but I can’t stop her. I thought she’d have grown out of it by now.’

‘She’s just having a bit of fun. I’d have a go myself if my knees would let me. How old is she? Fifteen?’ said Evie.

‘Just,’ said Sam.

‘She’ll soon stop when boys get on the scene,’ said Drew.

‘They already are. Ben Blazey’s up there too,’ said Sam, spotting a skinny young lad in a shortie.

Evie laughed. ‘Young Zennor will eat him for breakfast. He never says boo to a goose, that boy.’

‘He creates enough racket on that scooter of his,’ Troy grumbled. ‘How he makes it over from Mousehole to here without killing himself I don’t know.’

Drew smirked at Sam and she bit back a giggle.

Evie held up a finger. ‘Ah, thanks for reminding me, Troy.’ She delved in a large shopping bag. ‘Have you seen this?’

‘What’s that?’

She spread a crumpled flyer on the table. ‘Picked it up in town the other day when I went to my computer class. Thought you might fancy coming?’

Sam peered at the leaflet. ‘Autumn Festival on Mousehole quayside. Folk Bands. Hog roast. Food fair. Cookery demos. Cider tent. Sounds good.’

‘I saw that too. How do you fancy coming with me and Katya? Thought we’d take Connor along too,’ Drew asked Sam. Katya was Drew’s wife; they had a baby son together, Connor.

Sam wanted to go, but she was sure Drew was only being kind, inviting her 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.’

Chapter One

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 how the festival had grown since that first mad idea outside the Smuggler’s Tavern. Blinking raindrops from her eyes, she tried not to look down. She was only six feet up on the stepladder, but it was more than enough for someone who hated heights at the best of times. This was most definitely not the best of times. The rain and wind had been torrential since she’d set out from the cottage at six a.m., hoping to get the posters up before she had to get things going at Stargazey Pie. It was hard to believe it was the start of May.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to clip the cable tie around a council sign warning people not to drive off the quay. One false move and she could topple onto the cobbles or plunge through the deck of the Marisco. Now, that would go down really well with Drew: a great big Sam-shaped hole in his precious boat. Her fingers were slippery and numb with cold, but she wanted to have the posters up now spring was – allegedly – well underway. Hordes of people would start to flock to the town and hopefully flock back again at the end of June for the festival.

‘Woof! Woof! Woooffffff!’

Sam gripped the ladder as deafening barks rang out across the harbour. Her foot slipped and she had to let go of the poster to hang on. It fell onto the wet cobbles and into a large oily puddle. Still holding on for dear life, Sam twisted round to see a Rottweiler jumping up and drooling as it tried to sniff – or possibly taste – her feet.

A woman in a long leather coat and a Megadeth T-shirt glared up at Sam as she struggled to hold the beast back. Sam steeled herself. ‘Morning, Bryony. Mizzly out here today, isn’t it?’

Bryony prodded the laminated poster with the toe of her Doc Martens. ‘I’d hoped you’d decided to give the festival a rest for a year.’ The dog barked again so Bryony ramped up her own volume. ‘My Sacha hates all the noise and smells.’

Bryony stroked Sacha’s head while Sam tried to let the words wash over her. It didn’t do to argue with Bryony, Cornwall’s self-declared canine expert and the most unlikely metal fan on the planet. Woe betide anyone who dared question her views on dogs, music … or the festival, or tourists, or the weather, or anything else. Sam had often thought that if Professor Stephen Hawking had ever visited Porthmellow, Bryony would have been sure to take issue with his theories on black holes. She lived in a small house not far from Wavecrest Cottage. Sam often heard Sacha barking from fifty metres away.

Spotting a rare gap in Bryony’s tirade, Sam dived in while she could. ‘Well, the festival does bring lots of people into the town who might not otherwise come. Local people and tourists and it’s put Porthmellow on the map as a foodie and arty haven.’

Bryony huffed. ‘Arty? The crowds are horrible and the music is trash. Sometimes I think I should close up altogether and leave town for a week.’

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’ muttered Sam, then instantly regretted taking the bait. She couldn’t afford to deliberately rile people in her position as festival chairman so she kept her tone firm but polite. ‘You know that the people spend loads of money in the galleries and other businesses while they’re at the festival,’ she said. Including yours, Sam wanted to add, knowing full well that Bryony’s Grooming Parlour did a roaring trade at festival time. Funnily enough, despite her objections to the festival, she hadn’t yet made good on her yearly threat to clear out while it was on.

‘Sacha almost choked on a wooden chip fork after the last one,’ said Bryony. ‘Probably left behind by some idiot watching that crappy folk band.’

‘I’m sorry Sacha was ill but the chip fork might have been from anywhere and we do our best to clear everything up. You know we’re all volunteers …’ Bryony curled a lip, and Sam gave up. ‘Would you mind passing me that poster?’ she asked.

‘I’ve got to open up. Some of us have proper jobs.’ Bryony rubbed her dog’s head. ‘Come on, Sacha, sweetheart. We’ve got a standard poodle and two cocker spaniels to lick into shape this morning.’

Bryony marched off with Sacha, leaving Sam still two feet off the ground. She’d known Bryony since her schooldays and so she ought to be used to her grumpiness by now. While there were people who didn’t like the festival, Bryony was probably one of the most vocal. By and large, the villagers had been very supportive, but as her mum used to say, ‘you can’t please all of the people all of the time’. Over the years, Sam had seen plenty of snide comments on the festival Facebook page, and more recently, Instagram and Twitter. When it had happened the first time, she’d been annoyed and upset but she’d toughened up since. Anyway, she didn’t care. Getting the festival up and running had been a lifesaver at a time when she desperately needed something to throw herself into and, just as important, it really had helped to revive the town.

The rain crackled on her waterproof and ran down the gutters, threatening to wash her poster down a drain. She scrambled off the ladder to retrieve it, but another figure, this time in a scarlet waterproof, white jeans and flowery wellies, darted forward and fished it from the gutter before Sam reached it. Sam smiled. A friendly face was just what she needed after her encounter with the prophet of doom.

‘Here you go. I saw Bryony barking at you. Has she been a pain?’ Sam’s friend Chloe handed over the poster. Chloe was a newcomer to Porthmellow, having moved from Surrey the previous autumn after her divorce. Chloe had been an events organiser and still did some freelance work for her former company. Despite her tiny stature, she was a bundle of energy, endlessly brimming with ideas. Sam was convinced she was powered by some kind of nuclear reactor.

‘She had another go at me about the festival and wouldn’t even pass me a poster. She’s obviously in the wrong job. She should be running Alcatraz.’

Chloe’s dark brown eyes shone with amusement. Her black hair was caught in a chic updo that complemented her delicate features. Chloe’s mother had been born in Hong Kong, while her father was Welsh, and her combination of Han Chinese and Celtic genes had literally given her the best of both worlds in terms of looks. Even early in the morning in a Cornish downpour, her make-up was subtle and she looked elegant and unruffled. Sam’s own crinkly russet hair was plastered to her head. She’d dragged on the first thing she’d spotted; her jeans from the bedroom chair, a long-sleeved T-shirt straight from the tumble dryer and her ancient waterproof off the peg in the cottage porch.

In contrast, Chloe was a living, breathing advertisement for the designer boutiques that clustered around the trendier end of Porthmellow harbour. Three had moved in since the food festival had started, along with a prestigious gallery, a stylish homeware shop and a deli. There were only a few units to let now, and even the chip shop had gone more upmarket, offering salads and wraps alongside the cod and saveloys.

It might be a coincidence, but Sam was convinced that the new businesses had been encouraged by all the visitors who flocked to the festival and the town in the summer months. Stargazey Pie had done well too. A couple of years previously, she’d been able to move from her back-street kitchen to a smart catering unit on the edge of town and buy a mobile van that was now a popular fixture for events all over Cornwall with its artisan pies. It was hard work and she might never be rich from it, but she adored being her own boss and making a living from doing something she loved.

‘I delivered most of my posters and leaflets to local businesses yesterday,’ Chloe was saying. ‘You got the short straw, I’m afraid, being out of doors. I was just about to pop back to HQ for another batch. I think I can get around the whole of Porthmellow by coffee time. Can I help you first? I feel so guilty being in and out of the shops while you’re braving the full force of the Atlantic.’

‘This isn’t the full force. Not by a long way.’ Sam smiled. ‘It’s when the waves crash over the top of the clock tower that you have to worry.’

‘Ah yes. I’ve been on holiday here in some bad weather and seen the photos of the huge storm from a few years ago, but never experienced anything like it myself, fortunately.’ Chloe paused. ‘Dear God, we wouldn’t get conditions like that during the festival, would we?’

Chloe peered at the white crests beyond the breakwater that protected the harbour from the sea. Sam had seen waves a hundred feet high crashing against it a few times, and yes, sending spray higher than the clock tower. During the worst storms, the village frequently featured on the TV news, but its occupants were well prepared. It was generally only foolhardy emmets who fell foul of the rough weather, hence the sign at the end of the harbour warning visitors of ‘danger of death’ if they ventured out onto the quayside in a storm. Which they often did, despite the cautions.

‘This is Porthmellow and you never know what the ocean might throw at us,’ she said, amused at Chloe’s horrified expression. ‘But I doubt it in June, so don’t worry about it. Even if it rains, people will still turn up. We’re hardy types down here.’

Chloe let out a sigh of relief but before she could reply, her mobile buzzed. She fished it out and a smile spread across her face.

‘It’s a message from Kris Zachary’s PA asking me to phone her asap. She said she’d call to finalise the arrangements. Probably wants to make sure the kitchen theatre is up to scratch. Booking Kris was such a coup though, even if he was pricey. He’s already attracted a lot of press interest, especially with his um … private life being all over the telly lately. Those twinkly blue eyes … and the way he handles that dough. It’ll be worth it.’

‘Hmm. He’s certainly high profile at the moment, even if it is for the wrong reasons,’ said Sam, thinking of the headlines about the chef’s break-ups with his wife, and his new girlfriend. Kris was an on-screen charmer with a reputation as a tough business character.

‘Him accepting at all is a sign that Porthmellow’s on the foodie map on a national scale. Though I know you want to keep it community focused, we have to make money and bring people and sponsors in,’ said Chloe.

‘I just hope Porthmellow will be good enough for him. If not, it’s tough,’ said Sam. A raindrop ran down her nose. Time was racing by and she had to finish the posters and get to work in Stargazey Pie. ‘There’s no rest for the wicked, eh?’

Chloe nodded. ‘Then I must have been very wicked indeed.’ She tugged her hood forward as the rain came down harder. ‘I must admit the festival is a much greater demand than I expected. No one has any idea of how much work is involved. I’ve run events but none as big as this. Even though we’re all volunteers, it’s still serious stuff.’

‘I don’t think I’ve really thanked you for joining the committee, by the way,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you and the other volunteers.’

‘Oh, I wanted to get involved. I can’t bear to sit around doing nothing and it’s been a great way to meet new people.’ Chloe’s eyes lit up at the praise.

Sam agreed. The festival had helped Sam make new friends too and cement relationships with people of all ages and backgrounds. Chloe had said she’d chosen Porthmellow because of the happy holidays she, her daughter, Hannah, and her ex had spent in the area, and the fact that Porthmellow was still a real community where people lived and worked year-round, not simply full of holiday homes or deserted in the off-season. Even so, Sam thought it must have been hard for Chloe to move so far from home, especially as Hannah was in her first year at uni in Bristol. Chloe clearly adored her daughter, but Sam had yet to meet her. Sam thought, not for the first time, that Chloe must have been quite a young mother to have a daughter at uni. She didn’t look a day over thirty-five.

‘Thanks, Chloe. Will Hannah be coming to the festival?’

Chloe hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it. She’ll have exams, I expect, and she said something about wanting to go travelling afterwards. I’d be way too busy to see much of her anyway.’

‘I guess so,’ said Sam, detecting an edge of disappointment in Chloe’s voice. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. Hannah had shown no signs of making an appearance in Porthmellow since Chloe had arrived eight months ago, so perhaps it was a source of family tension. Sam certainly knew all about that.

‘I’d better call Kris’s PA back then carry on with the posters,’ said Chloe. ‘See you on Wednesday at the committee meeting?’

After Chloe had left, Sam carried on fixing posters. As she worked, she couldn’t help reflecting on the last ten years – and even further back. A decade on and the festival was growing year on year, with well over a hundred stalls, plus live cookery demos in the Chef’s Theatre and music and fringe events in the festival marquee. Funding was as much of a headache as ever and sponsorship from the council, grants and business was vital. Even with that support, the committee still had to beg favours and borrow so many of the things they needed, not to mention giving masses of time for free.

Not everything had gone well. Sam’s own love life had suffered while she’d been trying to make a living. At thirty-two, there was still no Mr Right on the horizon – not even so much as Mr Right Now. Sam had thrown almost all her energy into work, the festival and looking out for Zennor. She’d had plenty of interest and offers – a bit like one of Porthmellow’s sought-after harbourside cottages – but once any guy had seen the work required to maintain the place, they’d given up.

And being honest with herself, Sam had never truly wanted to put in any work on a relationship herself. No matter how much she hated to admit it, she’d never really got over Gabe. She certainly still hadn’t forgiven him for turning Ryan in to the police.

As Sam climbed the ladder to pin up her last poster, she found herself replaying what had happened eleven years before on the night Ryan had been arrested. She’d been alone in Wavecrest when Gabe had arrived. Zennor and Ryan were out and she’d been looking forward to them having some time together in the cottage. The moment she’d opened the door, a smile on her face, she’d leapt on him.

‘You’re late. I’ve been going mad with lust,’ she’d whispered.

Before he could reply, she’d kissed him but he had pushed away gently – so gently – and said: ‘Sam. Sam, I need to tell you something. It’s not good news.’

And her heart had stopped, her chest had tightened. Was Gabe going to tell her it was over between them? That he’d met someone else?

Instead he’d sat her down and said, ‘It’s about Ryan.’

The fear had taken her breath away. ‘Oh my God. What’s happened to him?’

‘He’s OK. He’s not hurt,’ Gabe had said. ‘Not yet.’

And so, it had started.

Although it had really started the year after their mum had died.

Ryan had been in trouble ever since he’d hit his twenties and quit working on Troy’s mate’s fishing boat, and gone to ‘manage’ the amusement arcade. Manage was a joke word as he’d spent as much on machines as the youngsters who came in. He’d run up debts and borrowed money. Sam was very worried about the people he hung around with, a bunch of wasters from Porthmellow and roundabout. She was convinced he was going to end up in trouble, but he seemed to get by; breezing along as usual, pretending everything was fine.

What Sam didn’t know – until Gabe found out and told her – was that to pay off his debts, Ryan was planning to take part in a robbery of the arcade where he worked. Even worse, the same gang were also planning to rob various premises in Porthmellow. They were people who Ryan knew well, and drank with in the pub; friends of the Lovells who’d helped them after their mother had died. Sam’s stomach clenched at the memory, even now.

Gabe had come to the cottage and told her that he’d discovered Ryan had been involved and that he was going to have to call the police. Sam loved Gabe, but Ryan was family. She’d known he was no saint but had no idea exactly how much trouble he was in.

She’d pleaded with Gabe not to shop Ryan, convinced that if he could only have another chance, he’d turn over a new leaf. But Gabe had gone ahead anyway.

Ryan and the gang were arrested while the robbery was in progress but that was only the start of even more turmoil. While he was awaiting trial, Ryan had refused to come home and stayed with some ‘mate’. He said he felt guilty for letting down his sisters and was too ashamed of the village’s reaction. He told Sam he never wanted to come back, even though he loved her and Zennor.

Even though Sam knew he deserved his punishment, he was her flesh and blood. She was shocked when he’d been given a custodial sentence of eighteen months, but thought that with her support he’d get through it. After the first time she’d visited him in prison, he’d refused to see her again, telling her he didn’t want his sister in such a place. Even after he’d finished his sentence, he told Sam he was too ashamed to come back to Porthmellow and wanted a fresh start, away from his past.

Sam recalled his words: ‘I’m toxic for this family. Don’t forget me, but accept that I can’t go back to the bad days and that means staying away.’

After that, Ryan vanished from her life for a few months without a trace. It was one of the most agonising times of Sam’s life when she didn’t even know if he was alive or not. She’d spent ages on the Internet looking for any trace of him. She’d called him every day until he’d changed his number. Once or twice she’d hear a rumour he’d moved to an area of Plymouth, then drive round the local pubs, looking for him. It had been hopeless, of course, and only led to disappointment and heartbreak.

Throughout this time, her relationship with Gabe had also imploded. Before, during and after Ryan’s trial, Gabe had tried to explain his reasons to her, insisting he had to go to the police for Ryan’s sake as much as because it was the right thing to do. He said he wanted to prevent anyone else from getting hurt in the village and to save Ryan from himself.

Everything Gabe said made perfect sense to Sam. He was right, of course, but that didn’t matter. She could never forgive him for turning in her own brother. Sam was forced to choose – and Ryan won. She’d brought him up, acted like a mother to him even though he was older, and Gabe had let her down so badly. She dumped him.

Gabe tried to make her change her mind but, in the end, he gave up. He found a job as a trainee chef in London, left Porthmellow and she’d never heard from him since. In the space of a few years, Sam had lost her mum, her brother and the love of her life.

After a few months, Ryan finally got in touch and Sam thought she might be able to persuade him to come home. But his call was only to say he was ‘OK’ but was never coming back to Porthmellow. Since then, she’d had very little contact with him.

All she heard of him these days was the odd card on her birthday and Christmas. In fact, she hadn’t seen him face to face since that first jail visit, and didn’t even know exactly where he was living or what he was doing for a job.

The scandal also took its toll on Zennor and Porthmellow itself. Some people blamed Ryan while others saw Gabe as the villain of the piece for turning on one of their own. It had cast a long shadow over Sam’s life too. Despite a few short-lived relationships and dates, there had been no one serious since Gabe. Sam’s heart had never really been in it when it came to meeting someone new, even if she kidded herself that she’d tried. Over the past year or so her growing festival and work commitments had given her the perfect excuse to put her personal life on the back burner, but she couldn’t help thinking her youth was slipping by. She wanted her own family and to find love again, but at the moment, she couldn’t see how it was going to happen.

She couldn’t blame Gabe for that. She had to change her own mindset and perhaps this tenth festival ought to be a turning point. She should get out there again, go on some dates, really try to make it work this time …

Sam shivered and realised that she was now soaked to the skin. Even her waterproof had started to leak and her jeans were literally dripping wet.

She slapped up her final leaflet and hurried off towards Stargazey’s business unit. She’d almost reached it when Chloe thudded up behind her. She was breathing hard and waving her hands. It wasn’t like Chloe to look so worried so Sam was instantly on the alert.

‘Sam! So glad I’ve tracked you down.’

‘Why? What’s up?’

‘That phone call earlier from Kris Zachary’s PA. It wasn’t great news. He’s had to pull out of the festival.’

Chapter Two

Sam groaned. That was all she needed. ‘What?’

Chloe scrunched up her face. ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s been declared bankrupt and his whole organisation’s gone into administration. He might even face tax evasion charges.’

‘Wow. I had no idea.’

‘No one did, but it’s true. His PA said he’s had to cancel all his future engagements for the next few months at least. It could be next year before his case comes up, if it gets that far.’

‘Crap.’ Sam pushed her hands through her damp hair in frustration. ‘Where are we going to get a new star chef at short notice?’

‘I’m sorry … it is a shock …’ Chloe brightened. ‘But the good news is that at least we’ve only paid part of his fee.’

Sam let out a groan. ‘Part of it is still a couple of grand. That’s money we can’t afford to lose. Plus we need to find the money for a new chef.’

‘Hmm …’ Chloe considered. ‘That’s not so good.’ She looked deflated, and if Chloe seemed beaten, they really were in trouble. The festival had grown from its early days and made a small profit but it was run on a very tight budget. There was no way they could afford to lose thousands of pounds.

‘I suppose there’s no chance of us recovering the money we’ve already paid him?’ Sam asked, clutching at straws.

Chloe wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, I did broach the subject with his PA and she said she’d try to see what she could do, but wasn’t hopeful. From experience, I think we’ll just join a long list of creditors and be right at the bottom of the pile. I doubt if there’s any point trying to sue.’

‘We can put it to the committee tomorrow evening,’ said Sam, giving herself a mental shake. They couldn’t let this setback, big though it was, ruin the festival, although she had no idea what she was going to do.

‘In the meantime, I’ll have a think about what we might be able to do. Perhaps we can get one of the local chefs to step in, although Kris was going to be a big draw and get lots of publicity. Thanks for trying, though …’ She slapped her hand on her forehead. ‘Arghh. We’ll have to change all the posters we just hung. They have Kris’s name splashed across them.’

‘Yes, we will.’ Chloe grimaced. ‘Although I suppose that’s the least of our worries now. I’ll phone around some of my contacts in the events world and see if anyone has any bright ideas. Give me a couple of hours?’

‘Anything you can suggest would be brilliant. Thanks, Chloe. I don’t know what the committee – or I – would do without you.’

Chloe beamed. ‘Ditto. It’s given me something to do since I moved to Porthmellow but you must let me know if you think I’m taking over?’

‘Don’t worry, I will but you’re not,’ said Sam, revising her opinion of Chloe being a little over-enthusiastic. She was very grateful for her help.

‘I’ll keep you posted.’

‘I’ll WhatsApp the rest of the committee and have a think while I get on with work. I’m late opening as it is and Stefan will be fuming.’

Sam and Chloe hurried off in opposite directions. In two minutes, Sam had reached the small unit on the mini trading estate on the outskirts of Porthmellow. The food festival was important, but she also had a business to run.

Stargazey was her bread and butter, or rather, her pie and mash. It had also helped to feed and clothe Zennor, until she’d finished studying and established her own successful graphics design company with Ben. The two of them had set up ZenBen Graphics in an old garage premises in the back streets behind the harbour and were doing well, in a modest way, designing websites, ads, publicity material and signs.

Sam pushed open the door of Stargazey, unhooked her apron from the staffroom door and started to wash her hands.

‘What time of day do you call this?’ Stefan stood in the doorway to the kitchen area, holding out blue latex-gloved hands dusted in flour. Stargazey made all its own crimped pie cases, using a traditional all-butter pastry that Sam had perfected over the years.

‘I’ve had a few problems, sorry I’m running late.’

‘You’re drenched.’ Stefan tutted and rolled his eyes. He was part right-hand man, part surrogate father to Sam and had been a friend of her mother’s. He acted as if he were the boss, could be snarky and sarcastic but he had a heart of solid twenty-two-carat gold, and Sam would have hated to lose him from her business or her life.

‘I know.’

‘Were these festival problems, by any chance?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. I was putting up posters—’

‘In this weather? Have I ever told you that you’re mad as a box of frogs?’

‘Many times.’ She smiled, thinking of Bryony’s barks almost toppling her off the ladder. ‘Sadly, the rain’s the least of my worries. Our headline chef’s pulled out.’ Sam tugged an attractive blue hair net over her mop of russet curls. She reached for a pristine white overall from the staff cupboard.

‘Kris Zachary?’ Stefan pulled a face. ‘Can’t say I’m devastated about that. He has far too high an opinion of himself, that man. Thinks he’s God’s gift to focaccia, though Kieran fancies him … says he has “twinkly eyes” and was hoping you’d introduce him. Personally, I’m always worried one of the hairs from his goatee will end up in one of his dishes.’

Sam burst out laughing, despite her worries about the festival. Kieran was Stefan’s husband. They’d been together for the past eight years. Kieran did the accounts for Stargazey and audited the festival finances free of charge.

‘I’m afraid Kieran isn’t going to be able to get a selfie with Kris any time soon. He’s facing a possible trial for fraud, apparently, and I guess that’ll be all over the web soon, as if we didn’t have enough to do.’

Stefan tutted. ‘You know I think you’re mad running the festival and this place at the same time. This town doesn’t know how lucky they are to have you.’

Sam allowed herself a smile. There had been a time when she’d felt she was on the verge of being her community’s worst enemy. Her brother had caused so much trouble and heartache in the village, and she’d always – and still did – felt partly responsible for that. She’d asked herself a few times if that was another reason why she’d started the festival.

‘Better get back to work. We’re behind.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ said Stefan, shaking his head.

‘OK. I get the message.’ Sam tied a plastic apron over her white overall, washed her hands again and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. In the kitchen area, Stefan resumed preparation of the pie cases, while Sam focused on the fillings. She was serving the spring menu at the moment and offering a choice of four flavours including two vegetarian and two meat. They used nothing artificial and she insisted on high-quality ingredients such as locally milled flour, local meat and fish, and the fresh vegetables grown in abundance in the mild Cornish climate. Even the quality pie tins were an investment. Sam knew her pies might cost a bit more than a mass-produced chain version, but she was adamant they were worth it and so far, her customers had agreed.

Competition in the artisan and street food industry had grown massively since Sam had started the business but she was proud of her product and loved coming up with new recipes to tempt hungry customers. So what if she had to work all the hours to survive? She was quietly proud of having grown the business.

She thought back on the weeks she’d spent helping to convert the horsebox into an eye-catching van that was a fixture on local market days, events and festivals throughout the year. She changed the menu to suit the seasons, and in summer, offered cold quiches, pies and savouries alongside pre-prepared salads. She even had some bookings for quirky weddings and evening parties and she loved devising a special pie to the couple or birthday person’s own requirements.

There was no event that evening so Sam and Stefan spent the day filling, lidding and egg washing pies, all by hand ready for their next event the following day. The time flew by and while Stefan took a lunch break, Sam called Zennor to talk about the news and the removal and redesign of the posters. She wished they hadn’t added Kris’s name in the first place, but every cloud had a silver lining because the bad weather earlier in the day meant that the other committee members hadn’t managed to post even half the leaflets. Ben and Zennor offered to remove as many as they could in their lunch break and after work, Drew had promised to join them.

Sam had tried her hardest to think of how they could get another headline name at short notice but was too busy with work to do anything more than mull it over in her head. By the end of the day, she’d resigned herself to running the festival without a big name and using local chefs – it would certainly be a lot cheaper, but not the ten-year anniversary celebration they’d been hoping for. She was cleaning down the kitchen with Stefan when Chloe rapped on the back door. Through the glass, Sam could see her waving her hands in the air and grinning like the Cheshire cat. Sam threw a used piece of paper towel in the bin and opened the door.

Her friend burst into the lobby like an excited spaniel. ‘You will not believe what I’ve come to tell you. It’s amazing.’

‘What’s amazing?’

Chloe held up a finger. ‘Now wait, you have to guess.’

Sam was weary after a day of climbing ladders, making pies and crushing disappointment but she couldn’t help but be infected by Chloe’s enthusiasm.

‘The festival has been given a lottery grant to fund it for the next zillion years?’

‘No … but it’s almost as good.’ Chloe smiled. ‘Go on, guess.’

‘Aidan Turner has agreed to open it by emerging from the harbour wearing only a mermaid’s tail?’

‘In your dreams. And he would have to be a merman, but, sadly, no. Try again.’

‘I can’t. I’m too knackered so please, please put me out of my misery.’

‘I’ve got another chef for the festival! And he’s massive – and cheap!’ Chloe did a jazz hands pose. ‘Ta da!’

‘Wow. That is amazing. It’s a bloody miracle. It’s fantastic! You’re a star …’ Sam rocketed from the depths of despair to sunny skies in the course of ten seconds. ‘How did you manage that?’

‘I thought you’d be pleased! I phoned a colleague in my events company for help and she’d worked with him at a big TV food show and said he might help. I couldn’t believe he was available, but it turns out he has links to the local area that go way back—’

‘Who is it?’ Sam demanded and a micro second later, icy little fingers plucked at her skin. No. It couldn’t be … it wasn’t …

Chloe burst into a grin, and actually jigged around on the spot with delight.

‘It’s Gabe Mathias!’ she trilled. ‘Can you actually believe that? Much better than Kris Zachary. More famous, and he’s Cornish!’

Sam’s stomach turned over. Every hair on her stood on end. With a massive effort she forced a smile to her face. ‘Gabe Mathias? Wow. Wow … wow …’ she kept saying like a toy dog whose batteries were running down.

She was just so shocked … so horrified; the penny had started to drop the moment that Chloe had mentioned local connections. God, why hadn’t Chloe found someone else? Sam would have welcomed anyone, anyone else with open arms. In fact, if they’d asked SpongeBob SquarePants to headline the food festival, rather than Gabe, she’d have snapped him up in a trice.

Chapter Three

@PorthmellowChick: Festival posters are up. Kris Zachary’s coming. I love his shows. #summerfestival

Chloe seethed with doubts as she trudged up the steep road that led to her apartment. Oh dear. Had she done the right thing in asking Gabe to take over from Kris?

She’d assumed Sam had enough on her plate, and had been thrilled when her contacts had led to the actual Gabriel Mathias stepping in as star chef at such short notice. In fact, she hadn’t been able to believe her luck. He was well-known, well-respected – solvent – and let’s face it, extremely easy on the eye. His Mediterranean recipes, Greek heritage and Cornish background seemed like a dream combination for the festival. In fact, hadn’t he even been born in Porthmellow?

She couldn’t understand why the festival had never booked him before. Perhaps he’d been too expensive – although his agent had said he was willing to do them a ‘good deal’ that wouldn’t be as pricey as Kris Zachary. It had all sounded almost too good to be true – and judging by the look on Sam’s face, perhaps it was. There was definitely an air of panic behind Sam’s expression of surprise. Oh … bugger.

Too late now. Chloe dropped her keys in a ceramic jar on the kitchen counter top. It was pale blond wood, free of clutter, just like the rest of the apartment. Whitewashed walls with a few well-chosen pieces of art from local galleries. The Crow’s Nest was perched high above Porthmellow at the top of a captain’s house that had been converted into three smaller flats.

It was quite a climb up from the harbour, but it kept her in good shape and its nooks and crannies were the total opposite of the neo-Georgian pile she’d shared in a leafy Surrey suburb with Fraser, her ex-husband.

Chloe had bought the Crow’s Nest after she and Fraser had split and had it completely renovated before she’d moved in. The plastic turf on the terrace had been ditched in favour of wooden decking, and the stone wall replaced by glass so she could see over the rooftops of Porthmellow towards the harbour and open sea. She did feel as if she was sitting on the bridge of a ship, gazing down on the comings and goings of the harbour and with a grandstand view of the waves.

She’d kept the cheesy Crow’s Nest name: it was rather fun after all, and she definitely needed a bit of fun. Besides, she knew her Hannah would love the name … at least she hoped she would. Chloe wasn’t sure about anything as far as her daughter was concerned and with the way things were between them, it was unlikely that Hannah would ever see the flat anyway.

Chloe liked her kitchen and her home to be immaculate, with nothing out of place. She hadn’t always been like that. Before Hannah had gone to uni she’d been more than happy to live amidst the chaos of daily family life. Shoes discarded in the hall, school books and magazines littering the sitting room, a hamster’s cage on the dining table, and Hannah’s room resembling a junk shop.

Since she’d moved to the Crow’s Nest, it made her anxious to have a thing out of place in the apartment, or a hair out of place on her head. She knew a shrink would say it was her way of bringing order to the chaos in her personal life and she didn’t care. It was her way of coping with the loss. She missed her ex still, and even though he’d had an affair with the barista at the office coffee shop, she still harboured an idea that he might come crawling back to her, apologetic and reformed. She knew that was unlikely and she should forget about him but she was only human. She missed Fraser’s company, before his affair, they’d been happy enough. For all his faults he was a good if over-protective father, funny and for most of their marriage, a loving husband.

Most of all, she missed Hannah like an organ that had been torn out of her body.

Chloe sank onto one of the kitchen stools as a fresh pang of guilt seized her.

Sam had asked her again about Hannah that morning and once again Chloe hadn’t been quite honest in her reply. In fact, she hadn’t been honest with any of her friends in Porthmellow. She hadn’t exactly lied to them, but she certainly hadn’t told the truth either.

Because the truth was too painful to admit. Hannah wasn’t a Fresher. She’d actually left university the previous year and was now living in Bristol with her boyfriend, Jordan, and their baby – Chloe’s granddaughter – Ruby. Neither Sam, nor any of the committee members knew she was a granny. She couldn’t face talking about the situation. It was too raw and bizarrely, Chloe also felt ashamed of it. Everyone around her seemed to have close bonds, especially Zennor and Sam. Even though she’d heard on the grapevine that they were estranged from their older brother and that Sam might empathise, she still couldn’t bring herself to talk about her own family problems. She might break down or act unprofessionally. It felt like something she had to deal with herself so she buttoned it up and put on a front.

She poured a glass of iced water from the chiller and took it out onto the balcony. The drizzle hadn’t quite stopped, though she didn’t much care. On the horizon, a shaft of light had pierced the pewter clouds and lit up the angry waves.

Although it didn’t make her feel any better to see the sun, she couldn’t help thinking of how much Hannah would enjoy the view. Her daughter always loved Cornwall, and they’d spent many happy holidays in Porthmellow right up until Hannah had gone to university.

Ruby would love the beach, she was just getting to the age when the sand would be fascinating. Chloe allowed herself a moment to picture her granddaughter – just over ten months now – clutching her granny’s hand while paddling in the sea. She would sit on the beach rug she’d bought in the hope that Ruby would visit, Ruby letting sand trail through her chubby fingers … Ruby giggling and Hannah wiping ice cream from her daughter’s mouth. Later, while Ruby slept in the cot that Chloe had bought for the spare bedroom, she and Hannah would make jiaozi dumplings together and share a glass of wine on the terrace while the sun set over the headland.

However, her fantasy seemed more ridiculous than ever. Hannah knew that Chloe had moved to Cornwall, but it had made no difference. Hannah had responded briefly that she didn’t want to have any contact with either her mother or father and they were to leave her alone. Only that morning, Chloe’s latest email had come back with a terse line saying; ‘Don’t try to contact me, Mum.’

So Chloe had thrown herself into organising the festival not only for the good of the town, or to make new friends, but to blot out the agony of being estranged from Hannah and Ruby, who she’d never met. People thought she was privileged and had a perfect life. If they knew the truth, they might say she hid her inner self and the pain behind her veneer of clothes and make-up and designer interiors.

That would have been far too simplistic. What had happened between Chloe, Fraser, and Hannah was more complicated. It was like a gold chain that had rusted and knotted and tangled until it was now impossible to undo.

However, helping with the festival was one aspect of her life she could control, and she was determined that the chaos of her own family life wouldn’t ruin that.

Chapter Four

Gabe’s PA strode into the office above his London restaurant, brandishing a tablet. ‘Hey, Gabe. What’s this in your online diary?’

Gabe braced himself. Suzy was on the warpath and Gabe couldn’t blame her.

‘Why have you blanked out a month in your diary with the words Porthmellow Festival?’ she asked.

‘I won’t be away for the whole month, just the festival weekend. I just wanted to make sure you knew I might have to make a few re-adjustments to my schedule.’

‘Gabe. I love you to bits but you might have run it by me first. You have a meeting with a publisher in Scotland the weekend of this festival.’

‘I thought this was more important.’

‘Really? A little Cornish knees-up?’

He smiled. ‘A, it’s not little. B, it’s in my hometown. And C, they’d booked Kris Zachary as star chef.’

Suzy opened her mouth then shut it and opened it again. ‘Ahhh. I see. So, you wanted to go riding to the rescue on your white charger?’

He grinned. ‘Something like that. The call came from a friend of a friend too. I could hardly turn it down.’

‘You find it easy to turn most things down. I thought you’d cut your ties with Porthmellow. I always had the impression you felt you owed the place nothing. You told me you never go to the place now, even when you visit your parents.’

Suzy was correct. Gabe hadn’t set foot in Porthmellow since his parents had sold the chip shop. They lived in the countryside ten miles away now and on his regular visits to them he had no reason to go back to the town itself. No matter how much his heartstrings had tugged, or how strong his curiosity to see Sam Lovell again, any sentimental or romantic feelings had been blown apart after Sam had thrown him out of the house the night that Ryan had been arrested. In the months afterwards, he’d not exactly had a warm reception from some of the villagers. He’d been spat on and called a ‘grass’ and much worse. They had no idea of the impossible decision he’d had to make and he couldn’t tell them.

After over eleven years, he’d thought he no longer cared … then the call had come from Sam’s deputy, Chloe, via a mutual friend. While Chloe hadn’t explicitly mentioned that Sam had asked him to step in, Gabe had wondered if she might – just might – have suggested his name. Perhaps Sam was holding out an olive branch.

‘What’s so special about this festival, then?’ Suzy asked, cutting into his thoughts. ‘It must mean a lot to you.’

‘Like I said, I didn’t want to let down a friend,’ he said, being deliberately vague about who that friend was. ‘Besides, anything I can do to get one over on Kris bloody Zachary is fine by me. Rumour has it that two of his suppliers will go bust because he’s been cooking the books and I’ve already had calls from some of his staff who are out of a job. Most of us in the business knew he was on the fiddle so it was only a matter of time before he was caught. I don’t want the people at this festival to suffer too, so this is my small way of helping out.’

Suzy raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘So, you do have a heart. You’re not the ruthless super chef that everyone thinks.’

‘I’m just a regular Cornish bloke who loves his food. Haven’t you read my PR, Suzy?’

Suzy laughed. ‘I wrote some of it, Gabe.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll get on the phone and grovel to the publisher and rearrange your stay in Edinburgh.’

Suzy left, leaving Gabe pacing his office. When the call had come from Chloe Farrow, via a hotelier friend, he’d been ready to refuse … Porthmellow Festival. He’d seen it grow year on year to become the well-regarded event it was now. He’d heard good reports of it, although he’d never been. Once or twice, he’d wondered why no one had ever asked him to take part. Then he’d answered his own question. He was hardly one of Porthmellow’s favourite sons and most of all, there was no way he would ever be invited to any event run by Samphire Lovell.

This Chloe, who’d said she was deputy chairman of the committee, hadn’t sounded local which meant she might not know the history between him and Sam. She’d been so charming and breezily unaware of what had gone on that Gabe had been swept along. He shook his head, recognising that Sam would never have asked him for anything ever again. It was wishful thinking on his part to think she was behind the invitation.

This realisation brought the powerful emotions of the past flooding back: anger, bitterness, determination to show that he’d moved on, was a new person now. This festival would be the perfect way of demonstrating that.

Gabe opened the browser on his computer. He clicked on a page he’d bookmarked after Chloe had called.

Gabe picked up his phone. ‘Suzy?’

‘Yes, Gabe.’

‘Um … Can you do me another favour?’

‘That’s what you pay me for,’ she said.

He smiled to himself. ‘What’s my schedule looking like over the next four or five weeks?’

‘Four or five? Er … hang on.’

He waited while she hummed and ahhed then she said, ‘There are a few meetings here in London. An after-dinner speech you agreed to do in Birmingham.’

‘Besides that. Anything really vital?’

‘Not really vital … apart from running the restaurants, of course. Can I ask where this is going?’

Gabe ignored her sarcasm. ‘You know that new offshoot I was thinking of buying in the south west.’

‘The one in Brixham or Salcombe? Actually, I’ve had the agents on asking for a decision on the Brixham restaurant. They have another offer on the table.’

‘Tell them to accept the rival bid. I’ve got another idea.’

‘Wow. That’s two in one day.’

Gabe laughed. ‘I’m on a roll. I’ll send you the details of the restaurant later. After you’ve phoned the agents, would you mind finding me a place to stay in Porthmellow for a couple of months? Not a hotel. I need my own space. A short-term rental if there is one. Holiday cottage or something like that. Make sure it has a great kitchen.’

Suzy let out a squeak of horror. ‘A couple of months! You want to disappear off to Cornwall for months.’

He smiled to himself. Suzy was a great PA, but one of those types who thought civilisation ended at the M25. ‘I can do most of my work things online and drive or fly back here for anything else. Porthmellow’s not the moon, you know.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll get onto it but it won’t be easy. Finding a place for that long in prime holiday season … I’ll do my best, but you might end up in a caravan.’

‘I don’t really mind what it is as long as it’s close to the village. Pay what you have to.’

Gabe put down the phone. A mix of fear and exhilaration coursed through his veins, but he couldn’t deny the truth. Despite all the ill feeling and bad memories, when it came to the crunch, he didn’t have the heart to let down Porthmellow in its hour of need – and certainly not Sam.

Chapter Five

@Pastyking: This festivul is crap. More feckin’ grockels. #summerfestival #wasstoftime

Sam rolled her eyes as she scrolled through her Twitter feed. There were always going to be some folk who weren’t into the festival spirit. It did take over the town for days, after all. Parking could be a nightmare and the streets were packed with visitors from all over the country. However, if people were going to troll the festival, she thought, she at least wished they could spell.

She shoved her phone in her bag, determined not to read any more social media posts for the rest of the day and closed the cottage door behind her with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, starting at dawn in the rain, working hard at Stargazey topped off with Chloe’s bombshell about Gabe headlining the festival.

She walked into the sitting room where Zennor was cleaning out the guinea pig palace. The pigs themselves were snuffling around the floor, wheeking in delight while Zennor scraped their dirty hay into a bag. Sam had to smile at the contrast of the yellow Marigolds with her sister’s outfit: DMs, leather leggings, a tutu and their mum’s floppy felt hat.

Colt-like and slender, Zennor affected an eclectic, ‘trolley dash round the charity shop’ look. She could throw on a bin bag and still look cool, thought Sam.

Sam tossed her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the sofa with a huge sigh.

‘How are Harry and Gareth this evening?’ she said as she placed a cushion on her lap and scooped Gareth onto it, feeling his soft black and white fur under her fingers. He was a shy and delicate soul, but he let her stroke him and uttered little yips of pleasure

Zennor smiled. ‘OK. Harry’s lively enough, but Gareth seems down in the dumps.’

Sam stroked his head with her fingertip. ‘Aww, Gareth. What’s up?’

‘Harry suddenly decided he didn’t hate cauliflower leaves anymore and that he had to have Gareth’s leaf so he nicked it from right under his nose. Gareth just stared at Harry as if he’d been mugged. Which he had. Harry didn’t even eat the leaf. Naughty Harry,’ Zennor raised her voice. ‘That was so rude. I don’t know if Gareth will ever get over it.’

‘Poor Gareth. He’s too nice to mug Harry back, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ Sam lifted Gareth up and blew him a kiss and caught Zennor smiling smugly at her. Sam sometimes joked about the pigs being a nuisance and smelly, but Zennor knew she adored them. It was strange how soothing it could be to watch them zooming round the living room or chewing a carrot at the end of a tough day. If only her own life was that simple … she was still reeling from the news that Gabe was to star in her festival and wondering how to tell Zennor.

‘Anyway, let me chuck out their crap and wash my hands and I’ll fix the mojitos. I bloody need one after the day I’ve had,’ said Zennor.

Not as much as me, thought Sam, while Gareth squeaked contentedly in her lap and his brother, Harry, a peach-blond stunner of a pig, whizzed through his play tube on the carpet. The two pigs lived in harmony most of the time and no wonder as their home and toys were palatial compared to the rest of the cottage. They were actually the fifth and sixth pigs since Zennor and Sam’s mum had passed away.

Sam remembered Brad and Angelina – two gorgeous long-haired creatures who’d had to be kept separate in the end because they were always either trying it on with each other or fighting. They were followed by Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde who’d got on surprisingly well. Sadly, for the Lovell sisters – but probably happily for the pigs – they’d expired within two days of each other.

Zennor had wept for ages after every demise while Sam fetched the trowel and prepared another plot in the guinea garden of remembrance at the rear of the cottage. Each little grave was marked with a different shell arrangement, designed by Zennor, to suit the departed pig’s personality. Zennor had threatened to dig up the skeletons if they had to move, not that Sam could ever see a day when they’d leave Wavecrest Cottage. Too many memories, happy and heart-breaking, were woven into the fabric of that house. Wavecrest was as much a part of them as a bone or vital organ.

Zennor’s re-entry into the room was marked by Mexican-style whoops from Sam as she weaved her way between Harry and the guinea pig toys with a glass in each hand.

‘Right. Mojito time! With actual mint from Mum’s herb patch. I thought we’d have fajitas for dinner. I’ve prepared the veg and salad. I thought you wouldn’t want to cook after a day at Stargazey.’ She glanced at Sam. ‘Everything OK?’

Sam prevented Gareth from escaping down her legs and under Zennor’s feet. ‘Yeah. How about you?’

Zennor put the glasses on the coffee table. She flopped down onto the sofa beside Sam, sipped her mojito and let out a deep sigh.

‘What a day I’ve had. Our biggest client keeps changing their mind over their new corporate logo. Fifteen times we’ve reworked the bloody thing and the MD has finally deigned to look at the designs and wants us to revisit the original one.’ She sipped again as Sam listened, trying to focus on Zennor’s brain dump. ‘Then the wifi packed up for three hours – three whole sodding hours – just when we needed to test out the garden centre website we’ve been working on like for evah. And when I called the bank to sort out the charges on our account, the fuckwit at the call centre asked me to spell my name four times and asked me if I was named after a laxative? I have no idea what he meant but personally, I thought it was as funny as stepping in dog poo.’

‘So rude,’ said Sam, echoing one of Zennor’s favourite phrases while putting off the news about Gabe’s return as festival headliner. Gareth was squirming on the pillow, clearly ready to join Harry for a bit of a kickabout on the carpet, so she gently returned him to the field of play where the pigs started nudging a ball around.

Zennor sipped her drink again and leaned back against the couch. ‘Why can’t I be called something simple and normal like Emma or Kelly? It would be so much easier.’

‘At least you were named after a beautiful mermaid,’ said Sam. ‘Mum called me after a plant. I mean – have you ever met another Samphire?’

‘No, but you do go so beautifully with a nice piece of fish.’

Sam laughed. ‘I suppose we should be grateful that Mum had a good imagination. She was never conventional. She said Dad wasn’t either, which might be why he ran off with that exotic dancer.’ Sam couldn’t remember much about her father although looking back on her mum’s old photos of him, she supposed he was handsome in a nineteen-eighties big hair and moustache kind of way. None of the Lovells had any contact with him whatsoever and Sam was content to leave things that way.

In contrast, she saw her mum as clear as day, as if she were standing in front of the girls now. Roz Lovell had been slim and pretty even in her late forties, always stylishly if Bohemianly dressed in clothes she’d ‘re-purposed’ from charity shops and festivals. With only one parent working as an art lecturer at the local college, there had never been a lot of money around at Wavecrest, but there had been plenty of creativity and laughter.

Zennor looked a lot like her mother, apart from the green hair. Sam’s own light brown curls were her mum’s too, but her mother, always honest, had said her oldest daughter had her father’s features. Barry Lovell had left them when she was only eight. From the few photos of him, Sam found it hard to judge. Ryan had looked like their mum, in Sam’s opinion, but maybe that was because she didn’t want to think her brother took after their father in any way.

‘I’m not even sure we all have the same dad. How do we know?’ Zennor had once said.

‘Because Mum said so. Her word was good enough for me,’ Sam had replied with a fierceness that surprised even herself.

Plus, the two girls looked just like each other. Or they would, if Zennor didn’t have mojito-coloured hair. She lifted a tendril.

‘Do you like it?’ Zennor swished her locks. ‘It is very mermaidy. Ben said it was “cool” and I didn’t even need to ask him first.’

‘Wow. That’s progress.’ Sam pictured Ben, six feet five of gawky awkwardness who took the idea of ‘strong but silent’ to the extreme, in Sam’s opinion. Half the time, you could hardly get a word out of him he was so shy. Sam had been amazed that he’d volunteered for the festival committee. On the other hand, Zennor had enough to say for the pair of them. ‘I’m still sure he’s completely smitten with you.’

Zennor sighed. ‘I thought so too, once, but he’s keeping it very well hidden if he does fancy me. We’ve known each other since school so I’ve given up waiting for him to say anything. He’s a brilliant designer and I trust him as a business partner one hundred per cent and he is gorgeous in a geeky has-no-idea-of-his-own-attractiveness way.’

‘Isn’t that the best way?’ Sam said, remembering how Gabe’s lack of ego and lack of respect for appearances had attracted her when she was younger. He’d brushed off all the abuse while he was serving at the fish and chip shop – some of it bordering on racist – but it must have stung.

‘Sam?’

‘Ow!’

Zennor had touched her arm with the cold glass, making Sam squeak like the pigs.

‘You were miles away.’

‘Yeah …’ Sam looked down at her hands. ‘Gabe’s coming back to Porthmellow.’

Zennor almost dropped the glass and mojito splashed onto to the couch. ‘What? I don’t understand – why? When?’

‘I found out earlier today. Kris Zachary had to pull out because his business has gone bust. Gabe’s taken his place.’

Zennor’s remaining mojito splashed out of the glass in her excitement. ‘Now, hold on. Slow down. Why does Gabe had to be involved?’

‘Because Chloe asked him to.’

‘What? Doesn’t she know about you and him – about Ryan and the trouble he caused?’

‘No. Why would she? She’s had no cause to even think of Gabe until today but when she heard Kris had pulled out, she phoned round some of her London events contacts. One of them knew Gabe and you can guess the rest.’

‘Fuccckkk. You must have almost fainted.’

‘Not quite. I was gobsmacked, but what could I say? Chloe had no idea of the connection and she still doesn’t. I had to pretend I was pleased, but I’ll have to tell her something at least before she hears it on the village gossip mill.’

‘My God. I’m amazed. I mean – Gabe must know you run the festival. How can he even think of showing his face again?’

‘I suppose he knows I’m involved but Chloe did ask him directly so perhaps he felt obliged.’

Zennor whistled loudly and the guinea pigs ran up to her feet. ‘Well, boys,’ she said. ‘Whoddathought Gabe Mathias would be back in town. He was the love of your auntie Sam’s life. She was always saying “oh, he’s so insecure underneath the bravado. He has no idea how gorgeous he is—”’

‘That was years ago!’ Sam protested. ‘When I was young and naïve. I know better now and anyway, I could never have stayed involved with a guy who’d turned my own brother in to the police.’

Zennor stroked the pigs. ‘No way. It’s a deal breaker.’ She sat next to Sam. ‘I really wish he wasn’t coming back. I know how hurt you were when he told the police about Ryan. I hated him too, so God knows what you must have gone through. Even though I was young, and probably not much help, I understood a lot more than you thought. I just didn’t know how to say it, or help you.’

Sam looked at her and a lump formed in her throat. ‘No one could help. There was no answer to a situation like that. I suppose Gabe did what he had to do. I had no right to ask him not to report Ryan. I wished I hadn’t even tried.’ Sam swallowed the lump, thinking back to the night that Gabe had told her he was going to the police. He’d turned up on her doorstep with a face as white as uncooked pastry. He’d started the conversation with some shit about being sorry and that he’d had to make the most difficult decision of his life. Then he’d dropped the bombshell that he’d found out Ryan had been part of the gang planning a robbery of the amusement arcade, and was planning others, and that he was going to tell the police.

Sam shuddered when she remembered that night. She’d totally lost it. She’d cried and shouted and begged Gabe not to do it. She’d even grabbed at him and flung the ultimate piece of emotional blackmail at him: ‘If you loved me, you wouldn’t do this to my family …’ She’d clung to him to stop him from leaving, but he’d prised her off him and walked out of the door.

She’d tried to call Ryan as soon as Gabe had left, but it was too late. It turned out that there had been no point begging Gabe. He’d already made the call before he turned up at the cottage, probably in case Sam warned her brother. Which was exactly what she had tried to do. Ryan was caught red-handed with two accomplices while the theft was in progress. Gabe hadn’t even trusted Sam …

He’d been right not to.

‘Sam?’ Zennor was at her side, her arm around Sam’s back. ‘Even though I’m angry with Gabe, it’s you I’m really worried about. This has really rattled you, hasn’t it?’

Sam’s body tensed. That night she’d not only lost Gabe and Ryan, but her self-respect and pride, not that she’d ever admit as much to a soul, not even to Zennor. ‘A bit, but it’s gone now. Gabe and me – we’re history. The festival is way bigger than me and if he can help it be a success then I suppose I’ll have to live with it.’ She forced a smile. ‘Let’s not waste any more time and energy on the past. Why don’t I put the pigs away while you dish up dinner?’

Once the pigs were tucked up, Zennor served the fajitas and the girls sat around the little kitchen table so they could help themselves to the peppers, onions, beans and accompaniments. Despite her long and busy day, Sam had no appetite though she did her best with the meal for Zennor’s sake.

No matter what she thought, Gabe was going to be part of the festival and she’d inevitably have to have some contact with him, even if Chloe did most of the liaising. How would she react when she saw him again? She’d thought she’d put him to the back of her mind but that was while he was hundreds of miles away. How would he have changed in eleven years? She knew he was knockout gorgeous from his TV shows, and his dry sense of humour and easy air of self-confidence came over well on screen, but was it only a persona? It was one thing watching him through the safety of a screen. How the hell would she handle seeing him in the flesh?

Chapter Six

@Porthmellowchick: Wow. Gabe Mathias is heading the #summerfestival. Can’t wait. @cornishmaid

@pastyman: LOL. he is a Grade A Tosser. #summerfestival #snitch

‘Mizzle’s coming in.’ Troy brushed water from his cap as he walked into the Fisherman’s Institute for the committee meeting. Sam had rarely seen him out in public without it. It was a classic fisherman’s cap with a soft top and a peak, and must once been black but was now faded by the sun and creased by saltwater. Beneath it, she knew Troy still had a decent growth of hair, having glimpsed it when he’d removed the cap briefly to attend the funeral of a local sailor.

‘It is,’ said Sam, laying out her notebook and tablet on the table in the upstairs meeting room. ‘How’s Evie?’

‘All right enough. Knee’s playing her up. Always does when mizzle comes in.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Sam liked Evie a lot. In fact, everyone liked Evie and Troy was devoted to her, but over the past few years, painful osteoarthritis had reduced Evie’s mobility massively. She was waiting for a knee op in the hope that would help.

‘She doesn’t complain, my Evie. Is there a brew on?’ Troy asked hopefully.

‘Not yet. I’ve only just got here myself.’

Troy grunted. ‘I’ll put one on. If you want a job doing, you know what they say.’

‘I do,’ Sam said, smiling to herself. Troy rarely required an answer to his questions. Irascible and grumpy, with a very dodgy sense of humour, he drove a few people up the wall. He also knew every inch of the town and everyone in it. Small and lithe, he still worked part-time for the harbour commission even though he was now eighty. His official title was ‘Festival Facilitator’, which really meant ‘Fixer’. Troy liaised with the harbour commission and numerous other local issues and people, who could otherwise have been very tricky to deal with.

She heard him whistling ‘Trelawney’ in the kitchenette off the smaller upstairs meeting room. The granite building had ceased to be a refuge for the fishermen many years previously and was now a community venue that anyone could use. Downstairs, the larger function space played host to always-sozzled parties, sometimes-sozzled wakes, the ‘Knit and Knatterers’ and many other local groups. The festival committee met there at least once a week in the run-up to the festival. During the event itself, the Institute acted as Festival HQ, providing a hub to deal with any problems or emergencies and a place where all the volunteers could refuel and refresh.

In addition to Troy and the other six main committee members, there were dozens of people who helped to manage all the different aspects of the event. There were countless issues to think about: she’d been astonished when she’d realised quite how much. Without all her helpers, it would never even have got off the ground. With scores of stalls, thousands of visitors over the festival weekend and a budget of tens of thousands, it had evolved into a proper big deal.

Word had travelled that Gabe would replace Kris, as she’d known it would. It had to. Chloe, Sam and their helpers had spent the past day taking down the posters. Fortunately, Kris’s name had only gone on around a hundred flyers and his name wasn’t on the festival banners, thank God, so that had saved money and work.

Zennor had also taken charge of altering all the online website literature, while Chloe had drafted a press release about the change and sent it out to her contacts. It had generated a few stories in the regional media, Kris’s bad fortune had a silver lining for Porthmellow, attracting some extra and much-needed publicity. But as for dealing with the return of the man himself, Sam was still dreading it. Many of the locals would still remember that she’d split with Gabe and why. She’d gone to the meeting at the Fisherman’s Institute, bracing herself for comments about their past relationship. She’d already begged Zennor not to make any sarcastic remarks about Gabe, which would make the situation even more awkward than it already was.

A few minutes after Troy, Zennor arrived, chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen with Ben and Drew. Ben said very little in reply and slouched by the table, as if he was trying to melt into the background. Sam was amused because if Ben had wanted to be inconspicuous, he’d have been better off not wearing black motorcycle leathers and eyeliner that made him look like a character in the steampunk novels that Zennor loved so much. He’d ridden into Porthmellow from his place, a wooden chalet on a site near Mousehole. He really had turned into a stunning young guy, but was still painfully shy.

Sam did hear him say a few words to Drew about his new bike; some exchange about engine capacities that temporarily silenced Zennor. Ben had known Drew since childhood, and besides, Drew was the type of guy who was so unobtrusively approachable, you felt you could tell him your deepest darkest secrets.

Zennor flitted over to Troy who was carrying a tray out of the kitchen. ‘Want any help with the drinks?’ she asked.

Troy chuckled. ‘Thanks, my maid. We’d better put the kettle on again now the rabble have arrived.’

Zennor whipped a teabag out of her messenger bag. ‘Will do. I’ve brought my own tea.’

Troy did his best gargoyle impression. ‘Not that scented muck?’

‘If you mean Earl Grey, no. It’s Moroccan mint. I got it from the deli in Newlyn.’

‘Why d’you waste your money on that? I’d have dug you up a few plants from my garden. Bloody garden’s overrun with mint. It’s only a posh nettle, you know.’

‘I like it,’ said Zennor firmly. ‘And it’s very good for your gut health.’

Troy chuckled. ‘Mebbe I will try some then. You know I have a few problems in that direction.’

Zennor paled. ‘I’d better put the kettle on!’ she said, zipping into the kitchen, leaving Sam trying to hold in her laughter. Troy wasn’t shy in discussing his digestive problems, in front of anyone, friend or stranger. None of them seemed too serious, but they often surfaced – apparently – when he’d had too many pickled eggs in the pub.

Soon everyone had a steaming mug in front of them, and Sam steeled herself for a brew that was bound to be strong enough to strip paint off a trawler’s hull.

‘So, the local hero is finally coming back to Porthmellow, eh?’ Troy sipped his tea and smacked his lips. ‘Mind you, he probably wants to get in our good books himself on account of how we’re going to be seeing a lot more of him from now on.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked, disquiet rippling her stomach.

Troy’s bushy eyebrows waggled in surprise, like a couple of excited caterpillars. ‘Haven’t you heard? I’d have thought you’d have been up to date with all his movements. He’s taken a lease on Clifftop House and I reckon he might be interested in expanding his empire down here. You know the old Net Loft is empty? The one that was a Thai restaurant … or was it Malaysian? Or Spanish? I dunno, I don’t eat much foreign food.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

‘No, you’re only on the committee of one of the south west’s most successful food festivals, aren’t you, Troy?’ Drew said, shaking his head, and Troy chuckled at the joke.

Sam was less amused. Her stomach swirled again as the implication of Troy’s comment sank in. Gabe was renting Clifftop House? That was moments from her own front door … and he was possibly looking at buying a restaurant in Porthmellow? This got worse and worse …

‘I’m strictly here to advise on matters relating to the harbour. Ask me about moorings or vessel wash, and I’ll give you chapter and verse, but I’m no gourmet. Unless it’s out of the sea. I know my dab from my whiting,’ Troy said proudly.

‘Sorry to interrupt the culinary discussion but where did you hear all this?’ Sam asked.

‘And moving into the big house? That’s almost next door to us!’ Zennor shot Sam a none-too-subtle glance.

‘Where did you hear about Gabe being interested in the Net Loft, Troy?’ Drew asked, his interest obviously piqued. Even though he’d been older than Gabe, Sam knew they’d got on well.

‘Maddie Mylor’s auntie told me,’ Troy said. ‘Mind, she did say it was confidential and Maddie had asked her not to pass it on but she won’t mind you knowing. Half the town does anyway or will soon enough. Maddie said that some London type called her about empty premises and about a house for rent. That’s probably why he could step in at short notice, because he’s moving down here … Didn’t you and Gabe have a thing a while back?’ Troy said, turning to Sam. ‘You were sweet on him until that business with young Ryan, weren’t you?’

Even though she could have cheerfully throttled Troy, Sam managed to keep her tone light. ‘We went out briefly, a very long time ago. We were only kids.’

‘You were twenty. Gabe was twenty-one,’ said Drew. ‘From what I can recall.’

‘Sometimes, Drew, I wonder why we’re friends,’ said Sam, with a smile in her eyes.

‘So do I.’ Drew’s cornflower eyes twinkled in his face as they exchanged glances. He was in his late thirties now, with caramel hair naturally highlighted from his life outdoors brushing his shoulders. He was rugged, fit and gave off an air of easy capability that was very appealing, especially tonight, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue shirt that suited his colouring really well. Sam was slightly surprised to see him out of his usual T-shirt and work trousers and wondered if he had a date. Sadly, his marriage to Katya had only lasted a few years, and Connor, now eleven, lived with his mum. As far as Sam was aware, there hadn’t been anyone ‘significant’ since. They had that much in common. A thought suddenly struck her … Gabe … what if he brought a partner with him? A girlfriend. Oh God.

Sam’s mind churned at the prospect of Gabe’s love life.

‘Sam?’ Troy’s eyes bored into her. ‘You were miles away, maid.’

‘Sorry.’ Sam forced herself to focus on the festival. ‘Well, if Gabe does intend to move to Porthmellow, it can only make our job easier,’ she said briskly. ‘If he’s around, it will be simpler for the committee to deal with him, not that I expect he’ll want to get his hands dirty by talking to us direct until the day itself. He’ll have a team of people for that. I’ll put Chloe in charge of liaising with them, since she dealt with them in the first place and has contacts.’

She was aware she sounded a bit stuffy and pompous but she didn’t care. It was inevitable she’d have to speak to and see Gabe at some point, but she intended to have as little to do with him as possible. After what had happened between them the last time they’d seen each other, she was absolutely sure he felt the same.

She checked her watch. They should have started the actual meeting almost fifteen minutes ago, but one of their party was missing. ‘More importantly, where’s Chloe got to? It’s not like her to be late. I hope there’s nothing wrong.’

Chapter Seven

Chloe perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and punched Hannah’s number into her phone before she could chicken out. This was a bad idea. Her daughter would see it was ‘Mum’ calling and probably not pick up. The most likely scenario was that the call would go to voicemail again.

Her thumb hovered over the off button.

‘Mum?’

She gripped the phone. ‘Hannah?’

‘Who else would it be?’

‘No one, but … it’s good to hear you.’

Silence. A pause. Would her daughter ring off? ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yes. Fine … We’re fine. I’m fine and Dad was, the last time I spoke to him. I only wanted to see if you and Ruby are OK.’

Another pause. ‘Yes. We’re OK.’

Chloe couldn’t stand the tension. She heard noises: doors opening; doors slamming?

‘I should go,’ Hannah said.

‘Not yet, please. I … Are you …’ Is he there? Chloe ached to ask the question but it was too incendiary. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘I was. But not now.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘Why do you ask, Mum?’

Hannah wasn’t stupid. ‘No reason. I only wanted to see how you were. To see if there’s any way we can … come together. I hate – I mean I’m really sad about – the way things have gone between us.’

Chloe heard a man’s voice clearly saying ‘Hannah? Who is it?’ That had to be Jordan. Was he controlling Hannah? Threatening her? Chloe wanted to be sick.

‘I have to go, Mum. Ruby’s crying.’

‘Is she OK?’

‘Of course she’s OK. Why wouldn’t she be? I can look after her.’

Suddenly, the conversation had taken a turn for the worse. ‘Hannah. Wait. I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t …’

‘I have to go.’ There was a note of desperation in Hannah’s tone. Chloe couldn’t hear Jordan anymore, but could sense his presence from two hundred miles away.

‘OK. Hannah, I want you to know that you can call me any time or text or email me. Or your father. If you need us.’

‘Mum. I’m fine. Please, why won’t you understand that I’m fine …’ There was a child’s wail and then the male voice again. Chloe couldn’t hear what was said but Hannah muttered, ‘Yes, I’m coming!’ Then, ‘Sorry.’

The phone clicked off. Chloe stared at it in her hand before tossing it onto the sofa. She hugged herself and paced around the flat. Fine. I’m fine. For God’s sake, that phrase had to be the biggest lie on the planet. Hannah and Chloe had both said it to each other more than once when the opposite was clearly true.

Yet Hannah had at least taken the call. That had to be something and all Chloe’s instincts as a mum told her that Hannah wanted to take a step towards reconciliation … but the call had also left her no further forward. Jordan was in the house, and possibly listening in to Hannah’s side of the conversation. Maybe when her daughter had some time alone, she might call back … Plus those final comments … what did they mean?

‘Yes, I’m coming!’ That was obviously meant for Jordan. Or possibly little Ruby. And the ‘Sorry’ – that could have been directed at either of them, or at Chloe herself. Or maybe she was overthinking things. She was at a loss for what to do next, if anything at all. Instinct made her want to rush over to Bristol that minute, but common sense told her to leave things as they were, and hope Hannah reached out to her.

Chloe caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her mascara had smudged, leaving her with two spidery imprints under her eyes. She’d better go and wipe it off in the bathroom. She picked up the phone again on the off-chance Hannah had texted her. There was no message, of course, but she did notice one thing.

The time.

‘Oh shit!’

She was late for the festival meeting. In fact, it had probably already started.

Chapter Eight

Sam glanced at her watch again. Almost half an hour late. That was nothing for some people, but it was unusual for Chloe whose punctuality and organisational skills were terrifyingly good. It didn’t matter too much because Sam and the others had passed the time by looking through the new publicity material that Zennor and Ben had created. Her fingers had itched to google ‘Gabe Mathias girlfriend’, but she hadn’t dared in case someone caught her.

Ben chipped in a few times during the discussion, explaining that he’d taken the opportunity to revamp the poster design and fix a few things he wasn’t happy with in the first place. A hundred posters had been scrapped and obviously it had created extra work but he and Zennor seemed cool with that, so Sam counted her blessings.

However, time had now run out and they needed Chloe’s input so Sam began writing a text to see if she was OK. She hadn’t even finished the message when the door was flung open and the woman herself breezed in on a cloud of citrussy perfume and enthusiasm.

‘Evening. So sorry I’m late! I got a call from a client and I couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried. Doesn’t he know I have far more important things to deal with than his international conference? I had to fly down the steps from the Crow’s Nest so apologies if I look a bit dishevelled.’

‘Hi Chloe, it’s fine,’ said Sam, relieved that her right-hand woman had turned up safe and sound.

‘You look all right to me,’ said Troy. ‘Couldn’t you tell this bloke to bog off because you were late for us?’

Chloe laughed. ‘I should have done. Thought he’d never get off the phone.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Anyway, I’m here now. What have I missed?’

‘Nothing much,’ Troy said.

Sam cringed.

‘Ben and Zennor’s new posters,’ Drew said. ‘They’re brilliant.’

‘Great.’ Chloe beamed at them.

‘They’re not bad, not that I’m an expert,’ Troy said. ‘Cuppa?’

‘Yes, please. I’m gagging for one,’ Chloe replied.

Troy got up. ‘Builder’s brew all right for you?’

Chloe’s smile slipped momentarily before reappearing. ‘Um. Yes. Fine. Thank you, Troy.’

Sam exchanged a glance with her. Chloe liked her herbal teas, but Sam knew she didn’t want to offend Troy. While he went to make the drink, Chloe dumped a box file on the table and whipped out a pale lime MacBook.

Despite her comments about being dishevelled, Sam thought her friend looked as camera-ready as ever, in printed wide-leg trousers, a vest-top and buttery leather biker jacket all of which looked like it’d been tailored to fit her petite frame. It felt like an exuberant pedigree Shi-Tzu had entered the Scrufts section of a dog show.

Sam instinctively shoved her short and unvarnished nails under the table.

‘I hear you’ve saved the day with our star chef,’ said Drew.

‘Oh, no. I had a lucky break, that’s all. You know I still can’t believe the actual Gabriel Mathias is going to headline our festival.’

‘There you go,’ said Troy, placing a steaming mug in front of her. ‘That’ll put hairs on your chest.’

‘Sounds gross,’ said Zennor, but everyone else was smiling, and even Ben had a smirk on his lips as he tapped away.

Chloe took it in good part. ‘Perhaps not too many hairs … but it’s the thought that counts. Thanks, Troy.’

‘So, how much does Gabe want?’ Troy asked. ‘Stepping in at the last minute to bail us out is sure to cost.’

Chloe brightened. ‘Ah but there’s the thing and it’s another reason why I’m so late. Before my client called, Gabe’s PA phoned me with some great news. Gabe knows we lost money because of Kris going bust, so he’s offered to do it for …’ Chloe did a jazz hands gesture. ‘Free!’

Zennor snapped to attention at this news and mouthed ‘WTF?’ at Sam.

‘Wow,’ Sam said it again. It seemed her go-to reaction for any announcement regarding Gabe. It covered so much: surprise, amazement and horror.

‘That’s very generous of him,’ said Drew, sliding a questioning glance at Sam, which she couldn’t fail to notice. Zennor pressed her lips together, as if she wasn’t as impressed by Gabe’s generosity as the rest of the committee.

‘It’s bloody gobsmacking. I’d have thought he’d have been keen to make as much money as he could from his poor relations,’ said Troy.

‘Actually, he said it would be a pleasure to put something back into the community,’ said Chloe. ‘And it could be me, but I think he seemed rather surprised that he hadn’t been asked before.’

‘We haven’t been able to afford him before,’ said Sam quietly. ‘I mean his fees are way out of our price range. I heard it from one of the organisers of the Devon Grub Festival,’ she added quickly.

‘Well, he must still feel he has a connection to Porthmellow, even if he hasn’t been back much since.’

‘I haven’t seen him round here at all,’ said Troy.

Drew joined in. ‘I think he comes down to visit his parents. I saw him at the market in Truro a few years back when I was taking my mum out for the day. In fact, it was my mum who spotted him buying something at a posh bread stall. She’s always had a soft spot for him.’

‘Unlike some,’ Troy muttered. ‘He left here under a bit of a cloud. But Sam’d be able to tell you more about that than me.’

Sam found her voice. ‘That was years ago, Troy, as you well know. We were kids and we’ve all moved on a very long way since then. The important thing is that he’s agreed to bail us out now, which as you say is very generous of him. Chloe – what’s the next step? Are his team coming down to talk about the details?’

Chloe exchanged a glance with Sam. She obviously suspected that Sam and Gabe had ‘history’.

‘Erm …’ she said, uncharacteristically flustered. ‘No. Actually, Gabe said he’d come and discuss things himself.’

‘What? When?’ Sam shrieked, she couldn’t help herself.

‘Next week,’ Chloe said. ‘I hope it was OK … I told him you’d speak to him direct to make arrangements, but I think he wants to meet everyone on the committee. You’re the chair. I don’t want to take over.’

Sam spotted Drew hiding a smile. She needed to change the subject.

‘So. There’s a lot to get on with, even without our unscheduled change of chef. Zennor and Ben are amending the marketing and publicity. Drew wants to update us on how he got on with the insurance and health and safety people, and Troy was going to tell us if the harbour authority is happy with the plans to put a temporary bridge over the harbour entrance. We can charge an extra fee for crossing it and it would be a real novelty.’

Troy gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘You’ll be lucky.’

Sam braced herself. ‘OK. We’d better have Drew’s report first and then Troy can give us the bad news, if there is any, so we can come up with a solution. Then I’ll update everyone with the latest on the stallholders and sponsors.’

Sam hid a smile as Chloe laid out a lacquered pen next to a Moleskine notepad. She might be a newcomer and a little over zealous, but she’d become popular among the committee because she was willing to get involved. Some of the die-hard locals didn’t like her ‘taking over’ the festival, but as they weren’t prepared to take on the responsibility themselves, the rest of the committee thought it was tough. Sam had had to grow a thick skin as festival chairman. Not all the decisions she and the committee made were popular. Admittedly, it meant disruption, road closures and crowds for a few days, but on balance, the whole community benefited from the increased trade.

They came to the end of the agenda and while they were packing away their stuff, Chloe spoke up.

‘I have an announcement,’ she said and everyone’s ears pricked up. ‘It’s not official committee business but it does involve you all.’

‘Sounds serious,’ said Sam.

‘Only for me.’ Chloe smiled. ‘Actually, it’s pleasure, for all of us I hope. Some of you know I have a special birthday coming up next month.’

‘Are you twenty-one again?’ Troy quipped, and everyone tittered politely.

She rolled her eyes. ‘In my dreams.’

‘But you’re only a maid.’

Chloe laughed. ‘Thank you, Troy, but not anymore. I’m not having a big party but I couldn’t possibly let the occasion pass without celebrating with the people who’ve made this incomer so welcome in Porthmellow. So, if you can make it, I thought we’d have a bring-your-own-supper evening on Saturday the fifteenth. It’ll do us good to have a bit of R&R before the preparations turn completely manic. I’ll provide all the booze, of course, and cook something, but if anyone wants to bring along a favourite dish, that’d be fantastic. Evie’s invited too, of course,’ she said to Troy.

‘She’ll like that. She’s a good cook, my Evie, one of the best.’

‘That sounds brilliant,’ said Sam, delighted to have a distraction from anything Gabe-related.

‘Thanks. Don’t think you have to make anything, Sam,’ Chloe said. ‘I know it’s your day job.’

‘I’d love to bring something.’

‘OK.’

‘Are vegans included?’ Ben piped up, reminding Sam of a baby bird worrying if he was going to get his share of the worms.

Chloe smiled at him. ‘Absolutely.’

Troy huffed. ‘As long as it’s not rabbit food.’

‘We can both rustle up delicious vegan meals,’ Zennor cut in, much to Sam’s amusement. She was like a big sister, defending her little brother.

‘Well … some of them are really nice …’ he mumbled.

‘Your veggie chilli is amazing,’ Zennor declared.

Troy looked as if he’d swallowed a wasp but stayed silent, much to Sam’s relief.

‘Sounds good to me, Ben,’ said Drew. ‘I love chilli and it’s a great idea to have different types of food. I’ll do my best. It won’t be gourmet cuisine and it’ll probably involve fish.’

‘I love fish,’ said Chloe. ‘And um … I was going to say that partners are invited too, of course, if you – if anyone – wants to bring someone. Unless you think they’d be bored with us all talking shop about the festival.’

Chloe had directed this last remark at the whole committee, but Sam suspected she meant it for Drew mostly, and she supposed herself. After all, Evie and Troy were obviously going to come along together, as were Zennor and Ben even if they weren’t officially a couple.

‘I think we’d drive any outsiders mad,’ she said lightly. ‘So, it’ll just be me.’

Troy tutted. ‘You’ll have the floor of that flat down on top of your neighbours if you ask any more and that old balcony can’t be rated for more than half a dozen folk.’

‘Troy’s right about the health and safety,’ said Drew with uncharacteristic seriousness before breaking into a smile. ‘I’m joking, Chloe, but Sam’s right. I don’t know how anyone else would put up with us, so I’ll be on my own too.’

‘OK. I only wanted you to know that friends would be welcome,’ said Chloe but Sam thought she’d visibly relaxed now she knew ‘plus ones’ weren’t coming along. ‘Thanks, guys. I hoped you wouldn’t think it was cheeky to ask you to bring some grub, but it sounds like it’s going to be a lot of fun and I promise to keep the fizz flowing. There may even be some nice champagne.’

‘Champagne,’ Drew whistled. ‘Well, I guess you’re only forty once.’

Chloe started to reply, but she was cut off by Troy’s snort. ‘Pah. Forty’s nothing. I’ve done it twice over, but we’ll be there. My Evie likes a drop of French fizz. Don’t see the attraction myself. Makes me gassy. You might like to keep the windows open.’

Zennor gasped in horror. ‘Troy! That’s way too much information!’

Everyone else burst out laughing and Chloe smiled politely. ‘In that case, I’ll get the air freshener ready, Troy,’ she said, to more sniggers.

Sam wasn’t quite sure Chloe was so amused by the banter as she pretended. She didn’t know them that well, and perhaps Drew’s bringing up her age hadn’t gone down too well. Maybe she was sensitive about it after her divorce. Forty was a big milestone in anyone’s life, but not one Sam had to worry about for a good while yet … even so, the years could fly by and she’d once thought – hoped – she might have settled down and possibly be thinking of a family by now. The trouble was she’d never been able to see herself with anyone but Gabe. Once again, the idea that he might be – probably was – in a relationship with a partner he might bring to Porthmellow churned away in her mind.

The meeting broke up as twilight descended over the harbour. Usually the committee rewarded themselves for their hard work with a trip to one of the local pubs, meeting up with others who helped with the organisation.

Chloe slotted her tablet and files into a leather case. ‘I’ll join you later at the pub if it’s OK. I need to make a call first. It’s work again.’ Her grimace was apologetic.

‘OK,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll keep your seat warm.’

‘Thanks.’

After Chloe had left, Zennor and Ben scooted off to the pub to get a round in and Troy decided to head home to Evie so only Sam and Drew were left behind to pack up.

‘Want a hand with your stuff?’ he asked as Sam put her iPad in her bag and picked up a box of files.

‘Thanks. I’ll have to cart it to the pub with me so I could do with some help.’

‘It should be quiet at the Tinners’ tonight. The Smuggler’s has a folk band on and it’ll be noisy and packed.’

‘Oh. I wondered why Zen and Ben were so keen on the Tinners’. Mind you I wouldn’t have minded a bit of a sing along. And a very large glass of wine.’

‘I can do the wine … but I can’t stay too long this evening.’ He took the box from her while Sam locked the room. She followed him down the stairs and returned the key to a hook on the wall.

‘Plans?’

He smiled. ‘Maybe …’

‘Oh. Sounds intriguing.’

Drew answered with a cryptic smile and Sam walked out of the Institute and skirted the harbour. There was no point taking the boxes back to the house, as the Tinners’ was conveniently half the way home in one of the back streets behind the harbour.

Drew carried the box in his arms, while Sam had her laptop and bag. They passed by the Harbour Café where the closed sign was turned over. Faint music drifted over the water from the Smuggler’s on the opposite side of the water. Now the meeting had ended, Gabe had been on her mind again. She knew she’d be googling him as soon as she got home.

‘Tell me to mind my own business but are you OK?’ Drew asked, breaking into Sam’s thoughts

Sam had a sinking feeling. ‘Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Because I know you too well and we’ve been friends for too long. I know how you felt about Gabe and how he felt about you. We were all mates, after all, even if I was a few years older than you both. How do you feel about him coming back to take part in the festival?’

‘Not thrilled, but you’ve worked that one out.’ She threw a smile at her friend. He deserved her honesty, or something like it. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it and the simple fact is that we need a headline chef, and one that’s going to appear for free – well, I’d be nuts to turn it down. Think how it would look, if I refused his offer because of a family dispute that half the town will have forgotten by now?’

‘I can see you’re in an impossible position. I just wanted you to know that I’m aware it’ll be tough for you.’

Sam laid her hand on his arm. ‘You’re a lovely guy. Has anyone ever told you that?’

‘Not as often as you might think.’ His eyes twinkled.

‘Is that going to change?’

‘I can’t possibly answer that.’

Sam narrowed her eyes. Drew did seem jaunty this evening and his mysterious comments led her to put two and two together.

‘Yes! I thought you were seeing someone new.’ She stopped in her tracks. ‘There’s a new woman, isn’t there? Don’t try to deny it.’

He appeared to be considering then smirked. ‘OK. She’s very new. She’s called Caitlin.’

Sam gave a little whoop of triumph that her guess had been right. ‘Caitlin? Do I know her?’

‘Don’t think so. As a matter of fact, I’m seeing her later this evening only I didn’t want to say so earlier. This is only our third date.’

She let out a mock gasp. ‘Third date? My God, should I buy a hat?’

‘Not just yet, but I don’t mind admitting I’m pretty smitten.’

‘Wow.’ She planted a kiss on his cheek, delighted to have been trusted with the news about his new girlfriend. ‘But you’re not bringing her to Chloe’s party?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure she’d fit in. After all, would you bring a new bloke to one of our committee booze-ups?’

‘On careful reflection, no. Not unless I wanted to split up with them. And besides, there is no one in my life at the moment.’

‘At the moment, eh? I heard you were seeing Hunky Carl Trenow.’

She gasped, shocked that Drew knew about her most recent ‘relationship’ with the handsome helm of the Marazion lifeboat. ‘What? I only went out with him three times and we were meant to be keeping it quiet.’

‘Not quiet enough. It was all around Porthmellow.’

‘In that case, you’ll know we called it a day,’ she said curtly, still taken aback at how fast the gossip had spread.

‘Word has it you wouldn’t let him wear his yellow wellies in bed. Most women beg him to wear them, apparently.’

‘What? That’s outrageous!’ She huffed loudly. ‘I hope Carl didn’t say that or I’ll sort him out. Things never even got that far …’ She paused, realising she’d shared too much information with Drew. ‘Who told you about the wellies?’

‘Oh, it was a bit of banter at the station and on the quayside. We all knew it was rubbish. Most people thought it was more likely that Carl bored you to death.’

She made a mock strangling gesture. ‘This bloody place. The gossip is terrible. Carl – and I never called him Hunky Carl – and I decided not to see each other again because we didn’t click, and that’s all. He was obsessed with playing with his Xbox and he thought gourmet food was having HP sauce on his chips rather than tomato ketchup. To be honest, I was sooo relieved when he was called on a shout before our final date, and when he asked me to go to a lifeboat barbecue, I told him I couldn’t make it because I had a meeting about the Portaloos. He didn’t call me again and that suited me fine.’ Sam’s cheeks turned warm, thinking of people discussing her sex life – or lack of – with Hunky Carl, the most boring ‘hero’ on the planet.

Drew laughed. ‘What are we like, eh? Both as bad as each other at romantic stuff.’

‘Yes, but you have the mysterious Caitlin now … Where’s she from? When do we get to meet her?’ Sam asked.

Drew grinned. ‘She comes from Falmouth way. Penryn as a matter of fact.’ Drew pushed open the pub door. ‘You’ll see her soon, I promise. I don’t want to introduce her to you until we’re both ready.’

‘Fair enough. I’m very happy for you,’ she said, burning with curiosity yet trying to respect his privacy.

‘Thanks.’ Drew left Sam’s stuff by their table in the pub and delivered the news that he couldn’t stay to a wide-eyed Zennor before heading off out of the door, whistling a sea shanty.

Sam smiled to herself. He loved to play up to the rugged man of the sea thing, but was a sensitive soul really. He was part of the local fishermen’s choir and played the guitar and wrote his own songs, which he occasionally performed with a couple of mates in the local pubs. In fact, Drew’s band were booked to play at the festival on the Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon.

Since his marriage had broken up he’d had a couple of girlfriends, one who he’d lived with for a while, but he was the first to admit his job took him away from home a lot, which didn’t fit in with a conventional family life. Not all the sailing trips were based around the local coast. Most were to Scilly or south Devon, but odd times he sailed as far as the Channel Islands or the western isles of Scotland. Sam wished him well, but something less than pleasure stirred amid her professed happiness for him. Drew sounded serious about this Caitlin in a way she hadn’t heard before. Why did she feel slightly torn about that fact? Was it the idea that everyone seemed to be coupling up? No, that was silly.

Chloe arrived and found Sam queuing at the bar to get in another round. ‘Hi there. Zennor just told me that Drew has a date tonight. He’s so lovely. I often wondered if you and he were a thing when I first moved here,’ she said, then paled. ‘Sorry, that’s a bit cheeky of me.’

‘No, it’s not and yes, some people have been waiting for us to get together but we’re just good friends, as they say. If anything had been going to happen, it would have by now but we’re very happy as mates. And anyway, as you say, Drew’s seeing someone called Caitlin.’ Sam hoped that by stating the situation between her and Drew out loud, she might remind herself of how she ought to feel about it.

‘Oh. That’s a shame. I mean, whoops, not a shame for him and the lucky Caitlin, obviously but I thought … well, he is very easy on the eye.’ Chloe smiled again. ‘Not as gorgeous as Gabriel Mathias, of course. I mean … I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised that you’d known him so well when he lived here.’

Sam realised that she’d have to tell Chloe the truth about her and Gabe before she heard the full details elsewhere.

‘I ought to tell you something before half the town does. I didn’t just know Gabe, we once went out. It was years ago before he was famous when his mum and dad still ran the chip shop next to the post office.’

It was fair to say that Chloe’s jaw dropped.

‘We’d been to the same school and we’d always fancied each other but we started going out properly after we left. I was nineteen and Gabe was just a year older than me.’

‘Wow. You went out with Gabriel Mathias?’

‘Yes. Hard to believe, eh?’

‘Yes. No, not at all, you’re so lovely, Sam, and I can see why but it’s so … so surreal.’

Sam smiled to herself at being called ‘lovely’. Not everyone in Porthmellow would agree, but it was nice of Chloe to be kind. ‘Gabe wasn’t quite as gorgeous then. I mean, he was gorgeous to me. By far the sexiest boy in the village, but he was skinny and bolshie and he worked in the chip shop so he was always covered up in an overall and a hair net and some of the other kids used to tease him and call him Vinegar Face and Grease Ball.’

‘How awful for him.’

‘I liked him. I used to go in late or early to the shop and chat to him. I’d hang around and order stuff I didn’t want so I could talk to him. I can’t tell you how many pickled eggs and saveloys I fed to the seagulls.’

Chloe laughed.

‘Joking apart, I knew he was a nice guy. Thoughtful, ambitious and he loved his parents. We both loved cooking, even then. Mum had taught me to cook and Gabe had big dreams of becoming a chef, but he told me he didn’t feel he could leave his mum and dad to run the business. His grandparents had built it up from nothing after they’d escaped from Cyprus during the war with Turkey. The family had made a new life here and Gabe didn’t know how to tell them he didn’t want to carry it on. He was training to be a chef at catering college by the time we started seeing each other, as well as doing shifts at his parents’ chip shop. He was doing well and ambitious even all those years ago.’

Wow. Sam paused for breath, suddenly aware of how much she’d been gabbling. Why she felt the need to explain, she had no idea. Then she realised that actually, her shoulders felt slightly less tense. It was almost a relief to tell Chloe about her relationship – past relationship – with Gabe, and as Chloe was new to the town, and had no preconceptions, Sam felt she could be honest and open.

‘I had no idea. I knew he’d lived here but his PA never mentioned he knew you … damn. I’m sorry. That sounds dreadful,’ said Chloe.

‘No, not at all. Why would his staff even be aware he knew me?’

‘I thought that Gabe might have mentioned the connection … sorry.’

Sam shrugged. ‘Don’t be, but I’m not the slightest bit bothered that Gabe hasn’t told anyone he knows me. In fact, I’m relieved, because the reasons we split up are … a bit personal, although there are a few people around here who have their own idea. It was complicated and—’

‘Sam. Please don’t think you have to tell me any of the details. It’s your business.’

‘Thanks, but, well, let’s say that Gabe and I grew apart. We split up at the same time as my brother, Ryan, was having some problems. You’ve probably heard about those.’

‘A little. I do know he spent some time in prison. I’m sorry. It must have been very difficult for you.’

‘It was and it came not long after my mum had passed away.’ Sam sighed.

While Zennor and Ben took their drinks over to the pool table, Sam told Chloe just enough about what had happened between her, Gabe and Ryan to explain why seeing him again might be awkward for her, but no more. No one but Gabe and herself knew everything that had passed that night and Sam had no intention of ever sharing it.

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