Sam West: Home Intruder

“Ed! Come on. ”

Jaz calling him snapped him out of his trance. When he got out of the car, he found he was trembling slightly. So many memories from his childhood, both good and bad, suddenly at the forefront of his mind. He ground out his fag with the sole of his flip flop and followed her inside.

Inside the hallway it was dark and cool, a total contrast to the blazing heat of outside.

“You okay?” Jaz asked, circling her arm around his waist.

“Yeah, fine. It’s just strange being back here, that’s all. It looks so different, yet it’s exactly the same too. God, I know how stupid that must sound.”

“Not at all. It’s been used as a holiday let for years, right? The décor must be totally different to what you grew up with.”

“Yeah.”

She was right, of course, but it was more than that. The house had changed, and so had he. They no longer had any business being together, he could feel it in his bones.

We should never have come, he thought for the umpteenth time.

He followed Jaz into the front room, a big, white washed space with a deep bay window that looked out over the cliff path to the sparkling sea.

“Wow, what a view.”

“You should see upstairs.”

He went to her as she gazed out the window, wrapping his arms around her slender middle and breathing in the flowery scent of her long blonde hair.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she sighed wistfully.

“Yeah. Complete with a beautiful leaking roof.”

Jaz elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to almost hurt.

“Hey! You can’t hit guys who wear glasses.”

“Stop being such a pessimist. Roofs can be fixed. I’m starving, I’m going to go to the car and get the supplies, maybe rustle us something up to eat in the kitchen.”

“It’s too hot to cook. Why don’t we head into town and I’ll treat you to a Cornish pasty?”

“You really know how to spoil a girl.”

“And if you’re really good I might even buy you a pint after.”

“Now you’re talking. Come on then, what are you waiting for?”

She dodged out of his embrace and skipped into the hallway. In that moment he loved her more than anything in the world. She was his life, his everything. How did he ever get so lucky? How did the geeky, skinny guy with glasses ever land a babe like her? Not only was she beautiful, but she was smart too. Her blonde hair, slim but curvaceous figure, and angelic face completely belied her intelligence and creativity. She may have only been twenty five to his thirty three, but she was wise beyond her years.

“I love you, you know that?” he called out to her.

Mixed in with in with the sudden rush of love was something else. Something dark. He was suddenly terrified of losing her and an inexplicable sense of foreboding washed over him. Just as quick it was gone again and he followed her outside into the sunshine.

They took the cliff path into town, greeting strangers on the way in.

“That’s what I love about this place,” Jaz sighed, “no one says hello in London.”

“Can you imagine Liverpool Street in rush hour if they did? It would be a cacophony of hellos, like a sketch out of a comedy show or something.”

Jaz laughed and gazed out to sea, her clear blue eyes hidden by dark glasses.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said again.

It was. The sea glistened emerald green under the azure sky. Colours seemed so bright, so fierce after the drab monochrome of London. The cliff path opened out at the end of the steep incline, revealing the edge of town.

Such as it was. Ed didn’t recognise any of the shops, but then, he hadn’t been back here since he was eighteen.

Fifteen years ago. God, had it really been that long?

Leven Bay, the miles long stretch of white, sandy beach abruptly ended where the town began. A stone pier extended outwards, signalling the end of the beach and the coastline curved inwards, providing a natural, horseshoe shaped harbour that was mainly used for mackerel fishing. Beyond the harbour and the manmade sea defences that protected the town, the sea beat directly against a rocky cliff face for many miles.

He steered them right, up the cobbled, main high street that ran parallel to the seafront. And there it was, just as it had been all those years ago.

“Treleigh pasty’s. The best in all of Cornwall,” he said with some pride, like he had cooked the damn things himself.

But it was nice to see the old guy’s shop was still here.

It was even nicer to see the very same man behind the counter. He wondered if old Jow still recognised him.

“Edward? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the passing of your mother.”

“How did you hear about that?” he asked, more harshly than he had intended to.

Jow shrugged. “Tis common knowledge that Trelisk holiday lets no longer have Dallam Avenue on their books due to the demise of your mother.”

“This is my Jaz, my wife. Jaz, this is Thomas,” Ed said, changing the subject.

“Please, call me Jow. Ain’t been called Thomas for sixty eight years since the day I was born.”

“Jow?” she asked.

“Cornish for geet lazy bastard,” he said with a smile, revealing a row of blatantly false choppers. “Married, ay? Congratulations, the pair of you. When did you tie the knot?”

“Last week, as it happens,” Ed said, putting his arm around his wife and pulling her close.

“Congratulations again. So shouldn’t you two lovebirds be off on your honeymoon then?”

“We’re going to the Bahamas next week.”

“That’ll be rich, my ‘andsome. Are you here to put the house on the market? Or are you going to move back home and start a family now you’re married?”

“Here to fix the leaky roof before the summer ends and sell it.”

“Ay. That’s a shame you’re selling. But I hear you got yourself a fine ol’ career up in London.”

“Well, you know, I have a job that I can’t afford to leave.”

Jow cocked an enquiring eyebrow.

“I’m an editor for a paper,” he said by of explanation.

“You have done well for yourself, son. Your old mum must have been so proud.”

“Yeah, she was,” he replied, a lump forming in his throat.

Her death was too recent for comfort, and had been a complete shock to him. A massive heart attack had claimed her life at the relatively young age of sixty-five. He had attended his mother’s funeral and got married in the same week. To Ed’s utter heart break, the funeral had come first.

“Treeve is gorgeous. I’d move here in a heartbeat if I could,” Jaz said.

“And what do you do, young lady?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Artistic, ay? If you can paint too that’s a job to be had here. Real strong artist community here in Treeve and St Ives. Best in Britain they say.”

Jaz looked wistful for a moment, her eyes glazing over. “I do paint a little, as it happens.”

A queue of people had built up behind them.

“We’re holding you up,” Ed said, quickly asking for the pasties, suddenly keen to go before Jaz got any more ideas about moving to Treeve.

“He was nice,” Jaz said, once they were sat on a bench on the seafront eating their pasties.

“Yeah. I’ve known him pretty much since the day I was born.”

“You never talk about your childhood much.”

Ed shrugged, suddenly uneasy. “There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell.”

“Not really. You know it all. I grew up here and when I went away to uni, I never came back. End of.”

“Why didn’t you ever come back?”

“Why would I? Mum moved in with her sister in Kent after my dad died and she let the house out. There was no reason to come back.”