‘Of course she’ll like you,’ Lucy laughed. ‘If you just stop … you know.’
‘What?’ Tamsyn asked her.
‘Being you.’
The first thing Tamsyn saw when she got back to the table was the rear end of a dog, its grey and white tail wagging furiously, and her heart leapt. ‘Buoy! It’s you.’
The dog ignored her and, bending down, she noticed that the other end – his head – was firmly buried in her handbag.
‘Hey, mutt,’ she said amiably. ‘There’s nothing in there that a little doggy would like.’ At the sound of her voice, the dog turned around and Tamsyn realised she was wrong. This was not Buoy; the animal was far too young to be her sometime companion and cohort of her youth. This one was still mostly puppy and, it seemed, particularly partial to her very expensive lipstick, which was now liberally spread around his chops, giving him a sort of ‘evil clown’ look.
‘Whose bloody dog is this?’ Tamsyn asked, sticking her fingers into the young animal’s mouth to retrieve the mangled lipstick barrel, and instead bringing out a handful of slime.
‘Skipper! Naughty boy!’ Alex came over from the bar, grimacing as she grabbed the animal by his collar and pulled him away. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I thought he was chewing Ruan’s old boot out the back – it’s his favourite, normally!’
‘Sit!’ she told the dog, who looked at her for a long moment as if he’d never seen her before, and then, noticing a packet of pork scratchings being opened at the other end of the pub, cheerfully trotted off without a backward glance, positioning himself in front of the unlucky snack owner and proceeding to menace him with his steely, doggy glare.
‘You’ve got him well trained,’ Tamsyn said, unable to stop herself from smiling.
‘He takes after his father, I’m afraid,’ Alex said. ‘But with less of the redeeming qualities. His mother is a poodle of very fine breeding, but you’d never know it. He’s basically a criminal.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘I don’t know much about make-up, but I know that brand: that’s about fifty quid I’ll be clearing up in a pooper-scooper tomorrow, right?’
‘Its fine,’ Tamsyn said, looking at her gooey hand and wiping it on a napkin. ‘Really. I work in the industry, and I got that free in a goody bag. It’s so last season, anyway; your dog is very behind the times. When I get back to Paris I’ll pop the latest shades in the post and he can snack in style.’
‘Thank you,’ Alex said, ‘for being so good about it.’
‘He is a very cute dog,’ Tamsyn said, glancing over at Skipper, who was now drooling with intent on the owner of the pork scratchings’ knee. ‘Wait. You said he was like his dad. His dad is …’ Tamsyn looked around. ‘Buoy?’
‘You know him?’ Alex asked her.
‘For a while, back in the day, I used to feel like he owned me. He took a shine to us Thorne kids, and he was always around. I heard about the accident. Mum told me how you saved Ruan, and how Buoy pulled you out of the water. I thought that might be the end of him, but he’s still going?’
Alex nodded. ‘See for yourself. By the fire.’
Tamsyn pushed through the crowd of people and there, curled up in ball by the open fire, was Buoy, his grey and white hair clean and brushed out, his nose buried in his paws. He looked just the same; well, except that now he seemed to be sporting a rather rakish eye patch.
Crouching down next to him, Tamsyn gently rested her hand on Buoy’s head. He lifted it at once, growling, his one good eye menacing her, even though Tamsyn could see he was weary. She held her fingers under his nose for a moment, and wondered if he remembered when, as a younger animal, he used to tag along with her and Ruan, Lucy and Merryn too, sometimes even Cordelia if they couldn’t get rid of her, trailing through the woods on long summer evenings, dropping him off at the harbour master’s cottage on the way home, sneaking a bottle of beer from old Alf Waybridge as a thanks for wearing the young dog out for an hour or two. Buoy’s nose wasn’t as wet or as cold as Tamsyn remembered it, but he delicately examined her hand and then licked the tips of her fingers, hoisting himself up into a sitting position and nudging his head under her hand. Finally, someone she could be happy to see without fear of complications.
‘He remembers you,’ Alex said as she joined her by the fire, smiling. She bent down beside them both and ran her hand down the dog’s back, as his tail thumped on the rug. ‘Oh look, he’s pleased to see you. That’s a good sign. Buoy is only ever pleased to see nice people.’
‘So, if you were going to accept a character reference from either this dog or my brother, whose would you trust the most?’
Alex laughed and kissed the top of Buoy’s head. ‘This dog has never been wrong about anything yet.’
The rain outside suddenly seemed to intensify, hammering against the window, and Buoy got to his paws, cocking his head to one side. Shrugging off the attentions of his female admirers, he trotted off towards the pub door.
‘He’s getting old,’ Tamsyn said, as she watched him disappear on some unknown mission. ‘I suppose that must mean that I’m getting old too.’
‘How old are you now, Tamsyn?’ Sue Montaigne asked her, appearing at her side. ‘Forty?’
Tamsyn curled her mouth into a tight little smile. Sue Montaigne, descended from a long line of aristocrats, daughter of the family that had once owned Poldore and all who lived in it, and who now still owned what was essentially a castle, built right in the middle of the town. Her family name was such a part of the history of the town that her husband had been the one to change his name when they got married, which pretty much summed up the force of nature that was Sue Montaigne, and who was also very slightly her nemesis.
‘Sue, if I’m forty, that would make you about seventy-eight, I think?’ Tamsyn smiled and Sue narrowed her eyes. There had been very little love lost between them ever since Tamsyn had held a mini illegal rave one year on the set of the nativity, the day before the pageant took place, and had left Bethlehem looking like it could feature in an episode of
Road Wars
.
‘There’s barely ten years between us, and you know it. Although you did your best to age me prematurely in your short and terrifying career as a Brownie.’
‘Now then.’ A heavy arm fell around Sue’s shoulder, and Tamsyn grinned as Eddie Godolphin shook himself like a big wet yeti all over Sue. ‘You aren’t still holding a grudge over that camp-fire incident, are you, Sue? Arson was never proved. All right Tamsyn, love?’
Tamsyn shrieked as he hugged her without any regard for his dampness.
‘Eddie, you’re soaking!’
‘I just popped out to bring the window boxes in; it’s rough out there,’ Eddie said. ‘Big waves breaking over the harbour, high as houses. Rain’s really coming down, never seen nothing like it; reckon we’re in for a rocky ride tonight.’
‘Sandbag-bad?’ Sue asked him, concerned. ‘We left Rory’s mother looking after the children. I do hope they aren’t too upset by it.’
‘Might be heading that way; we’ll keep an eye on it. Alex has already closed the harbour, so it’s the people on dry land we need to keep an eye on tonight. That’s if it stays dry land.’ He grinned at Tamsyn. ‘It’s good to see you, girl, you haven’t changed a bit!’
‘Haven’t I?’ Tamsyn felt dismayed: she had worked quite hard to banish from her life the awkward, skinny, naughty frizzy-haired girl who had grown up in Poldore.
‘Not a bit, still as thin as a rake, I see,’ Eddie grinned. ‘Hey, Rosie! Bring this girl some chips, would you. She’s starving!’
‘I’m fine, really, Mum’s already ordered me some food …’ Tamsyn said, but Eddie manoeuvred her away from Sue and sat her back down at the table where her sisters were deep in conversation with her mother. She could see Ruan was at the bar, his arm around Alex’s waist, as she talked and laughed with Lucy.
‘Now, you sit there,’ Eddie said as a plate of sausage and chips was set in front of her, next to another plate of sausage and chips that she suspected also belonged to her, by Rosie who bent to kiss her briefly on the cheek. ‘You tuck in, get some meat on your bones, love. And at least tonight I can serve you legally. I remember you and your mates, always hanging around outside, trying to get tourists to buy you alcopops.’
‘I’m totally reformed,’ Tamsyn told the room in general. ‘I haven’t been an underage drinker for years, not since I turned eighteen. And I eat like a horse. Although I draw the line at actual horses.’
No one seemed to be listening, and if this had been a welcome-home party just for her, it was certainly over now. Shrugging, she took a chip, scooped up a large dollop of ketchup and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment as she revelled in the joys of saturated fat. French food was wonderful, but somehow nothing said ‘home’ like a really good chip.
Which was when Skipper appeared, positioned himself in front of her and fixed her with a gimlet stare. But Tamsyn didn’t mind; she was happy to share. She had two dinners, after all.
‘Aunty Tam, do you want to come and play with us now?’ Joe asked her as he appeared, his brother behind.
‘No,’ Tamsyn said. ‘I never play. I don’t do playing, as you well know.’
‘We’ll hide,’ Jamie said. ‘You look for us, count to twenty-seven million and a hundred.’
‘I’m not going to,’ Tamsyn called after them. ‘I never play. Ever!’
‘So, still single?’ Laura asked her, sliding along a seat so that she could interrogate her daughter.
Tamsyn had decided early on not even to attempt to explain her relationship with Bernard to anyone, but especially not to her mother. Laura Thorne had done that thing, that thing that only happens in films and books; she’d fallen in proper romantic love with Tamsyn’s dad and they’d never stopped feeling the same way about each other in all the years they were married, and even after her dad had died. Tamsyn knew how much Laura still missed the one love of her life, even if she rarely talked about it any more. And she also knew that if there was one thing that Laura Thorne wanted for all her children, it was that they could find the same happiness she had. Well, Keira had been married for the best part of ten years, Ruan was about to be married and Cordelia had big plans and dreams, and seemed quite content to tell any potential suitors where to go in no uncertain terms. Tamsyn was the obvious target for her mother’s matchmaking attentions. But she couldn’t tell her about Bernard, because Laura would never understand why Tamsyn chose to be in a relationship with a man that was all business, except when it wasn’t. She would never see what it was that Tamsyn got out of it, which was fair enough because a lot of the time Tamsyn wasn’t that sure either. The only thing that she was sure of was that it seemed to work.
‘What does that word even mean, if you really think about it?’ Tamsyn said, feeding Skipper another chip.
‘It means that you don’t have another person in your life,’ Laura said. ‘That you don’t have that companionship that can mean so much.’
‘Well, that’s not true,’ Tamsyn said. ‘I’ve got you, and my sisters, those horrible children who won’t leave me alone …’ She couldn’t bring herself to mention her brother. ‘There are loads of people in my life determined to keep me company whether I like it or not.’
‘But not that special someone, someone you can fall in love with,’ Laura pointed out. ‘Share everything with.’
‘I am sharing everything, all the time. Not just with one person at a time. Look, I’m sharing my dinner with this dog, right now.’ Tamsyn pointed. ‘Why is it so important to be in what you call love?’
‘What do you think, Vicar?’ Laura caught the eye of Jed, who’d been pretending not to listen in, half in conversation with Sue’s husband, Rory Montaigne, who’d been doing his best to explain the very complicated plot of his as yet unfinished novel to the vicar, and by the look on his face Tamsyn guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. The Reverend Jed Hayward seemed perfectly happy to get sucked into a tricky mother-and-daughter conversation if it saved him from Rory’s epic fantasy. ‘Do you think love is important?’
‘Love,’ Jed said thoughtfully. ‘Love is putting the welfare of others ahead of all else. It’s sacrifice, joy, contentment and fulfilment. Yes, I think love is what makes us human.’
‘Well, yes,’ Cordelia said, picking up another unattended glass, this time one that looked like lager, and downing it. ‘And it’s about meeting someone you want to snog the face off too, right?’
‘Well,’ Jed blushed, rather charmingly, Tamsyn noticed. ‘I would say that was more of an animal instinct.’
‘Even you must fancy someone, Vicar,’ Cordelia said, and Tamsyn realised that her little sister was rather neatly diverting her mother’s attention away from her and onto the poor, unsuspecting Reverend Jed. ‘I mean, it’s allowed isn’t it, in the C of E, getting together with another person. A woman … Or a man?’
Jed raised a brow at Cordelia, who did her best to look innocent.
‘I’m just saying, you’ve lived in Poldore for more than two years now, and we’ve never seen you on a date,’ she grinned mischievously. ‘And it’s not like you haven’t got options. How many ladies does the St Piran’s sewing circle have, at the last count?’
‘Forty-seven,’ Jed conceded.
‘That’s one heck of a lot of hassocks,’ Cordelia pressed him. ‘And how many are currently single?’
‘I don’t actually know!’ Jed laughed. ‘Most of them are retired, and one of them is a man.’
‘Thirty-eight, thirty-eight single women who are all secretly hoping that you need someone to help you manage that big old vicarage, but we’ve never seen you with a woman. Or otherwise.’
Tamsyn was reasonably sure that Cordelia had made up the figure, but she delivered it with such confidence that nobody questioned her knowledge of the marital status of the sewing circle.
‘And there is a very good reason for that,’ Jed said. Cordelia leant forward in her chair, as the vicar looked into her eyes with his silvery-blue gaze.
‘I just haven’t met anyone I want to snog the face off yet,’ Jed replied, and this time it was Cordelia’s turn to blush.
‘Well, neither has Tamsyn,’ Laura said. ‘She’s not what I’d call a churchgoer, but all my lot were christened …’
‘I better go and look for the boys,’ Tamsyn stood up abruptly before her mother could make an attempt to foist her onto a man of God. ‘I must have had time to count up to twenty-seven million and a hundred by now – at least, it certainly feels like it!’