Читать книгу The Postcard: Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 14

At exactly the same time in London, Ella was wiping tears away too. Tears of fury and frustration because of her mother, her irresponsible, unreliable mother, who had left her and her not-much-older brother, Henry, two tiny children, with their grandmother and disappeared to God knew where. Ella blamed her mother for the early death of her darling granny – after all, she had worried night and day about where her daughter had disappeared to, as well as being left in sole charge of two young children. But Granny had devoted every breathing moment to making their childhood magical.

Ella thought back to a time when she was about eight years old and she and Granny were walking on Shellsand Beach looking for shells.

‘I want you to find the prettiest, the smallest, the most colourful and the biggest,’ Granny had said. Ella had dashed down to the rock pools and begun scrabbling through the seaweed and sand. Something caught her eye. ‘Granny!’ she shouted excitedly. ‘I think I’ve found a hermit crab. Look.’

Her grandmother was settled on a dry piece of sand. She was sitting on a beach towel and wearing her usual garb of blue linen trousers and fisherman’s smock, faded through sun and wear. ‘Put it in your bucket and show me,’ she called back.

Ella had some trouble catching the little hermit crab that sidled speedily under a cloud of seaweed, but eventually she got him and trundled up the beach, trying not to slop the bucket. ‘Look, Granny.’

Her grandmother always took the time to examine treasures fully. ‘Oh yes. He’s a beaut. What shall we call him?’ she asked.

‘How about Crabby?’

‘Perfect. Crabby he is. I’ll look after him while you find me those shells.’

Ella smiled at the memory. How she missed her grandmother. There was nothing to miss about her mother, who just hadn’t been there.

Straightening her shoulders and wiping her eyes, Ella called Henry’s mobile. ‘Hey, it’s me. Granny’s solicitor in Trevay has just called. He thinks he may have another lead on Mum’s whereabouts.’

She heard Henry swear under his breath. ‘Hasn’t she done enough damage? If they find her she’ll swoop in and inherit everything. Granny will be spinning in her grave.’