Читать книгу A Cornish Gift: Previously published as an eBook collection, now in print for the first time with exclusive Christmas bonus material from Fern - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 9

P iran’s face broke into a smile as he saw Simon walking down the sloping slip road that lead towards Pendruggan’s harbour. He’d been sitting, waiting, huddled up in his parka in the wintery sunshine, having called Simon last night to let him know that he was back in Pendruggan.

After a warm embrace and the customary ruffling of each other’s hair, Simon stood back and took a good look at his friend. Piran’s skin was the colour of golden caramel, his black curls were thicker and more unruly than he remembered and his piercing blue eyes were glimmering roguishly. A long summer spent island-hopping in Greece had served only to accentuate Piran’s piratical appearance and the acquisition of a small hooped gold earring finished off the look perfectly. If Simon hadn’t already known that Piran didn’t give a toss about his looks, he might have suspected he’d done it on purpose, but there wasn’t a vain bone in Piran’s body.

‘Where did the earring come from?’

Piran grinned sheepishly. ‘Can’t quite remember. A few too many ouzos one night in Mykonos. More trouble to take it out, I reckon.’

‘How was Greece? Feels like you’ve been away for ever.’

‘Only five months. But Greece in winter loses a bit of its shine. The tourists all bugger off and there’s no bar work to speak of. I was ready to come home, anyhow. What about you, Canter? You’re as milky white as you were at Easter. What have you been up to?’

‘Come on. I’ll tell you over a pint at The Dolphin.’

At the bar, Piran ordered them both two pints of Best and a couple of packets of Smiths crisps, while Simon lined up a few tracks on the jukebox. Piran was more of a Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd man, but Simon couldn’t resist a bit of pop and this was a vintage year. Which ones to choose? He settled on ‘Two Tribes’ by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, ‘Wild Boys’ by Duran Duran and ‘Wake Me Up’ by Wham! – but that was chiefly to annoy Piran.

At the bar, Piran was accosted by the young barman, Don.

‘Oi, Ambrose, where you been lately? Not round these parts, judging by that suntan. My sister, Jenna, been wondering on that only the other day.’

Piran hoped that his tan covered the flush that he felt in his cheeks at the mention of Jenna’s name.

‘I’ve been travelling, Don. How is Jenna?’

‘Well, you’re not the only one been getting themselves about. Jenna finished her teacher training and now she’s been offered a job in London, she ’as.’

Don’s older sister was the same age as Piran and he’d been attracted to her ever since he could remember. They’d been more than friends at one time, but somehow, with his years away at Cambridge and her teacher training, they’d barely seen each other since leaving school. ‘That’s great news, Don. Give her my best.’

Don’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘She’ll be here in a minute – she’s been helping out, doing a few shifts – so you can tell ’er yourself.’

The thought that she might be along any minute gave Piran a thrill of excitement that he did his best to conceal as he was joined at the bar by Simon. A moment later, the high-energy bass of ‘Two Tribes’ and Holly Johnson’s nasal Liverpudlian tones burst from the jukebox.

‘Oi, keep it down. This ain’t the Hammersmith Palais, yer know!’

Piran and Simon looked over their shoulders to see Queenie, the local postmistress and proprietor of the village shop, sitting at a corner table with a port and lemon in front of her. ‘Welcome back, Piran! Come and have one of me pasties as an homecoming present – you can ’ave it on the ’ouse!’

‘Thanks, Queenie, I’ll be over in the morning.’

‘Here, Don,’ Piran handed over a one-pound note. ‘Get Queenie another.’

‘Anyway, Ambrose …’ Don picked out a bottle of Cockburn’s and poured a couple of fingers’ worth into a glass ‘… reckon you’ve been keeping a low profile these last few years ’cos you’re frightened of getting beaten again on the swim.’

‘That what you reckon, is it, Don?’

The Christmas Day swim was an annual institution in the village, drawing people from miles around. Most came to spectate, but many took part. For the majority it was nothing more than the precursor to their first brandy of the day, and a bit of a laugh – no wetsuits were allowed and some of the more exhibitionist participants ventured forth in the nude, usually to cheers of encouragement from the rowdy crowd. There were, however, a hardcore of experienced swimmers who raced out to the buoy and back again, determined to claim the honour of pulling and downing the first pint of the celebrated, home-brewed Christmas Day Ale from the special Pendruggan tankard at The Dolphin. Both members of this elite, Piran and Don had a rivalry that went back years.

‘Maybe I’ve been doing you a favour by not showing up,’ laughed Piran. ‘Not sure how happy you’d be to have a bit of decent competition.’ He eyed Don’s beer belly. ‘Looks like you’ve been enjoying the beers and pies too much, mate.’

Don frowned. ‘Oi, that’s not fat! Hundred per cent Cornish muscle, that is!’

Simon and Piran spluttered and guffawed over their pints.

‘You might laugh, Ambrose, but ain’t many in Pendruggan faster than me in the water, you included.’

‘That’s fighting talk that is, Don.’ Piran said this with a telltale twinkle in his eyes that revealed there was nothing he liked more than a challenge.

‘You’re out of the running, mate. Leave it to the younger ones like me,’ Don jeered. He pointed to the barrel conspicuously placed at the bottom of the bar. It was covered in tinsel and lights and a handwritten note stuck to it proclaimed: Winner takes all!

‘That barrel ain’t got my name on it yet, Ambrose, but come Christmas morning it’ll be me supping that lovely golden liquid.’

Piran picked up their pints. ‘Thanks, Don – here, have something for yourself …’ He placed another one-pound note on the counter. ‘Reckon you’ll need it to buy your own pints on Christmas Day.’

Don gave him a two-fingered salute but pocketed the pound all the same.

They took their seats and Simon began filling him in on all the local news, but Piran was impatient to hear what Simon himself had been up to.

‘Well, actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well …’ Simon played nervously with a beer mat.

‘Come on, man, spit it out!’

‘Remember I told you that I was going to stay on at Oxford and do a Masters?’

‘In Theology? Yes, why? Have you changed your mind?’

‘Yes. No. Well, not exactly …’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ spluttered Piran, infuriated. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I finish it for you. You’ve decided to do your Masters and after that you’re going to become a priest.’

Simon gawped at his friend in astonishment. ‘How did you know?’

Piran laughed and put his arm around Simon’s shoulder. ‘I’ve always known, mate. Even if you didn’t. All those drunken late-night chats about the nature of God and the universe? Most men our age would’ve been thinking about nookie, but not you.’

Simon’s face betrayed uncertainty. ‘Do you think I’m making the right decision? You don’t mind?’

‘Mind!’ Piran gave Simon a giant bearhug. ‘I can’t think of a better man for the job. You’ll make a great vicar! And if I ever find the right girl, I want you to marry us – you can also christen any unlucky offspring I might have. And when the music’s over, I want you to turn out the lights and give me the last rites. Mind? I’m relying on you!’

As if on cue, the door to the pub opened and in walked Jenna. She didn’t see the two men immediately and made straight for the bar. Piran watched her nervously and rubbed his hands on his 501s.

‘Go on – say hello,’ Simon urged.

Jenna was even lovelier than he remembered. She removed her red beret, purple velvet jacket and crocheted bag, then hung them all on a hook behind the bar. Her hair was the colour of wet sand and it took a moment before her clear blue eyes spotted him. When they did, she clapped her hands and a smile lit up her face.

‘Piran!’ She ran out from behind the bar and rushed over to their table. He stood and she threw her arms around him warmly. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Piran Ambrose!’

Jenna barely worked her shift that night, much to her grumbling brother’s annoyance. When Simon headed home a few pints later, Piran and Jenna were still ensconced at the bar, heads close together; talking and laughing and in no hurry to go home themselves.

*

Piran and Simon jumped up and down and rubbed their bare arms to try to keep themselves warm. It was Christmas morning and it seemed the whole of Trevay and Pendruggan had come along to the Christmas Day swim on Shellsand Bay, though the hardy souls who were willing to brace the Atlantic waters were vastly outnumbered by spectators. The ban on wetsuits had separated the wheat from the chaff; although the distance between the shore and the buoy wasn’t far, the water was only a few degrees above freezing at this time of year and it could be gruelling.

Throngs of people lined the shore, a barbecue had been set up and someone was serving bacon sandwiches while flasks of firewater were passed round; the mood was jovial and good-humoured; a gang of teenagers wore Santa hats and were singing a raucous rendition of ‘Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer’, but in their version it was another part of Rudolf’s anatomy that was going down in history. Conditions were good; despite the cold, it was a clear morning with just a hint of the morning mist in the air.

Don, already stripped down to his Speedos, came over and slapped them both on the back.

‘It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here!’ He laughed. ‘Ready for a good pasting, boys?’

Unlike Simon, who was waiting until the last minute to strip off, Piran was primed for action, his goggles sitting on his head in readiness.

‘Don’t be writing cheques your butt can’t cash, boy.’ He poked Don’s stomach good-naturedly.

Jenna joined them and put an arm around each of their shoulders as they towered over her petite and slender frame.

‘Ah, my two favourite Pendruggan boys!’

‘Who are you putting your money on, Jenna?’ Simon asked through chattering teeth.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she replied enigmatically, refusing to be drawn, but she eyed Piran’s tanned and taut six-pack admiringly. Simon saw a look pass between them and decided that things had definitely moved on since their night in The Dolphin.

At that moment, the sound of a loud bell rang out across the water. The adjudicator was the landlord of the pub, Peter. He was holding a large church bell, the same one he used to call time, and was exhorting the gathered participants to take their places.

The men and women who were taking part lined up and, when Peter fired the starting pistol, they all plunged into the sea. The coldness of the water took Piran’s breath away. The last time he’d swum in the sea it had been in the warm waters of a crystal-clear Greek lagoon, but this was something else entirely. He forced himself to focus on keeping his limbs moving and progressed quickly through the water. He sensed that Don was a little way behind him – they were both strong swimmers but Piran’s active summer seemed to be giving him the edge today and his pace quickened as the adrenalin coursed through his body, energising his muscles. He approached the buoy and risked a glance around. To his surprise and elation he was well out in front. Don seemed to have dropped back.

Having reached the buoy, Piran turned over in the water and kicked off for the return leg. He passed other swimmers on the way, all intent on reaching the buoy, but Don wasn’t among them. Slightly ahead, between him and the shoreline, he could see a figure in the water. His immediate instinct was to adjust his course in order to avoid a head-on collision, but then he realised that the person in the water was Don. How had he managed to get this far ahead? Stung into action, Piran picked up speed in the hope of overtaking him. But as he passed, some sixth sense made him slow and turn his head. It was then he realised that Don was in trouble, desperately treading water, his face ashen.

Within moments, Piran was by Don’s side. ‘What’s wrong, buddy?’

It was all Don could do to gasp out two words: ‘Can’t breathe.’

Piran looked towards the beach, trying to make out the lifeguard, but it was difficult to see from this distance. It was going to be down to him to get Don back to shore – and fast.

‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do,’ he commanded. ‘Put your arms around my neck from the back and I’ll swim us to shore, like they do in the movies.’

Too weak to argue, Don gripped Piran as best he could and they progressed slowly through the water, Don’s rasping and ragged breath sounding in Piran’s ear. Piran was beginning to tire when Simon came alongside to help. Before long they were nearing the shore, where the lifeguard paddled out in his canoe to meet them.

*

Don puffed hard on his inhaler. He was sitting on a camping chair, wrapped in towels and blankets, flanked by Jenna, Simon and Piran. The colour was back in his cheeks and his asthma attack was now well under control.

‘Felt a bit wheezy this morning, but didn’t wanna miss it.’

‘You dafty. You could have drowned out there,’ Jenna chided, but she was too relieved that her brother was going to be OK to be angry with him.

‘Just glad I brought this with me. Don’t have much call for it these days. Thought I’d grown out of the old asthma.’ He took another puff. ‘But it’s thanks to Blackbeard here that it weren’t worse. Good of you to help out, mate.’ He looked gratefully towards Piran, as did Jenna, whose eyes shone with admiration and gratitude.

‘Anyone would’ve done the same,’ he replied, scoffing at the suggestion his actions had been in any way heroic.

‘Not sure they would have if they was in the lead and looking forward to that Christmas Ale.’

‘Who won in the end?’

‘Not sure … come on, let’s get down to The Dolphin and find out – we can’t have them drinking all that ale without us now, can we?’

With that, the four friends headed off to the pub, singing ‘Rudolph the Red-Knobbed Reindeer’ …

*

‘Jenna never did take that job in London,’ said Piran, the long shadows cast by the candlelight flickering against the living-room walls.

‘She went to work at Trevay Juniors, didn’t she?’ said Simon.

‘She loved it there. Really got a kick out of seeing the kids thrive.’

‘I remember how good she was with children. Always giving of her time. Didn’t she volunteer at the hospital over the holidays?’

‘That’s right – and she usually managed to rope in a few others as well. She was nothing if not persuasive.’

‘Tell me about it!’ agreed Simon. ‘On one of my first Christmas visits home after joining the seminary, she had me dressed up as Father Christmas, giving out donated presents to the kids in the children’s ward at Trevay’s old cottage hospital.’

Piran remembered it well. ‘Didn’t one young boy accuse you of being a fake because everyone knew Santa didn’t have ginger hair and glasses?’

They both laughed at the memory.

‘Then there was the other Christmas.’ Piran’s face clouded over again.

‘The one where she …’ Simon hesitated.

‘Died. That’s the word you’re looking for, Simon. Yes, the Christmas where that bloody maniac … The hit and run … Police never got him.’

They both fell silent, thinking back to that terrible time. It was Simon who broke the silence.

‘Bad things happen all year round, Piran. Good things, too. Christmas is just a reminder of how we should be three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. It isn’t always possible and we’re only human, but we can strive. What was it that Scrooge said, after his moment of epiphany?’

Piran’s eyes narrowed – what was this obsession everyone had with Scrooge?

‘I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.’

‘You’re too idealistic.’ Piran shook his head dismissively. ‘Folk only care for themselves.’

‘I don’t agree with you, my friend. Look around and you’ll see. There is hope and love everywhere.’ He stood. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going. Some of the villagers will be anxious in this blackout and might need help. I suggest you might do the same yourself.’

Piran followed Simon out to the door.

‘Goodwill to all men is usually found at the bottom of a glass of mulled wine and disappears along with the hangover.’

‘You’re so cynical these days.’ Simon turned to face Piran. ‘I remember something that Jenna said to me once: “A man who doesn’t keep Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.”’

He pulled on his gloves and hat. ‘Goodnight, Piran, and a Merry Christmas to you.’

Then he was gone.