Fern Britton - The Great Cornish Getaway

‘Well, of course we are worried, but he has many friends and he knows he’s welcome here.’

A television cameraman was standing at the back of the small crowd and filming everything.

‘And your wife?’ asked the girl from the Daily Mirror again. ‘How is she?’ she asked with a suspicious tone, unaware of the simple friendship between Penny and Richard.

‘Like anyone, she is very concerned and upset.’

‘Do you have a message for Mr Gere if he’s watching?’ shouted a voice.

Simon hesitated. ‘Richard, wherever you are, I hope you know that a lot of people are worried for you and …’ He hadn’t time to finish. The front door behind him flew open and Penny grabbed his arms. She pulled him back into the house and slammed the door in the faces of the press.

‘Ow,’ he said, rubbing his arms. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘There’s a television camera shooting the whole thing. You’ve just given the press the best soundbite they’ll get today. How could you?’

Simon’s expression turned from pain to horror to apology. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes, OH!’ shouted Penny. ‘I told you not to go out there.’

Dorrie looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get back to the pub for opening. I’ll go out the back way. Call me if you get any news.’

‘Likewise,’ said Penny, kissing her friend.

As she watched Dorrie climbing over the garden wall and edging around the graveyard to avoid the press, her mobile pinged with a text. It was from her best and oldest friend, Helen:

I’ve just seen the news. I’m coming over.

Penny replied: Come through the back door. Reporters at the front. We are under siege!!!!

Helen shut the front door of her cottage – which was called Gull’s Cry – and looked across the village green to the vicarage. There were several strange cars, a couple of Range Rovers and a BBC Cornwall radio car. By the front gate a group of men and women were either on their phones, stamping their feet, smoking, or doing all three.

Penny was waiting for her in the kitchen. ‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please. How long have those idiots been outside for?’

‘A couple of hours.’

‘Really? What do they think they’re going to get?’

‘God knows. Come into the lounge. Simon may be on the telly in a minute.’

On the sofa, Simon was sitting, ashen-faced, watching himself give his surprise press conference.

‘Oh, God,’ said Penny, sitting down heavily next to him.

‘Shit,’ said Helen under her breath as she sat in an armchair.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Simon blinked behind his glasses.

Penny put an arm around him and squeezed. ‘You weren’t to know,’ she said, aware of how her relationship with Richard may have been misjudged.

Just below the Starfish Hotel, Kevin was parking the car in the harbour car park. Richard nudged Kevin and pointed up to the headland above the village. ‘There she is. The reason I came here in the first place.’

Kevin looked at the familiar silver dome of the 1950s ice-cream coloured theatre. ‘The old Pavilions,’ he said, smiling. ‘June and I went last summer. The local theatre group put on Annie Get Your Gun . Really good, it was.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Give me some change and I’ll get a parking ticket.’

‘You sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. Who’d recognise me with this haircut and outfit?’

Kevin watched as Richard strolled to the ticket machine. The harbour master and another man were walking towards the harbour master’s office. They looked at Richard and then ignored him.

Kevin relaxed, and then watched as Richard fumbled with the unfamiliar coins and the machine. Successful, he returned smiling and gave the ticket to Kevin. ‘That’s for the jar parking.’

Kevin shook his head. ‘Haven’t you been listening to me? You don’t say “jar”, you say “jam”. Car rhymes with jar, but to confuse the old bill you say “jam” for jam jar.’

‘The old bill?’ asked Richard.

‘Shut your gob and cover your barnet and your boat with my titfer.’

Richard stopped in his tracks and started to laugh. ‘Stop, stop. What are you saying to me? You’re making it up.’

Kevin sighed. ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do,’ he said. ‘Come and get a coffee and stop drawing attention to yourself.’

They walked towards the Sail Loft café, a new coffee house and wine bar on a side street away from the harbour. On the way Richard pulled out his phone and saw he had a signal. Kevin was outside the newsagent’s and about to go in. ‘I’ll wait for you out here,’ said Richard. ‘Just going to make a call.’

Richard scrolled down his contacts list. He was going to try phoning Simon and Penny again. When he’d phoned earlier he’d been put off by the answer phone. Maybe they were away? He’d try again. But before he could, Kevin came out of the newsagent’s looking worried, with several newspapers in his hand. Richard hung up without leaving a message. ‘What’s the matter, Kev?’

Kevin unfolded two of the front pages while looking around to make sure no one was watching. ‘You’re on every bloody front page, mate.’

Richard felt the world tilt a little under his feet. What had he started? All he’d wanted was some peace and a moment to step out of his life, and now he was being hunted? He drew a deep breath. He had three choices. Run and hide. Turn up again and apologise. Get a coffee and think.

‘Come on, let’s get that coffee.’ He slung his arm around Kevin’s shoulder and together they walked to the Sail Loft.

Inside it was warm and comforting. A group of young women with babies was at one table juggling cappuccinos with breastfeeding. The women glanced up to check out the two older men as they came in.

What they saw was a bald man with a beer belly and a scarf wrapped around his cheery face, and his unshaven companion with very short, scruffy white hair poking out from under a baseball cap. They quickly dismissed them and went on with their chatter.

A young waiter approached. He wore tight black jeans over his skinny legs and his hair was half shaved and half in a ponytail. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Can I take your order?’

Richard kept his head down and looked at the front page of the Daily Mail . Kevin ordered two lattes with extra shots.

The waiter wrote the order down. ‘Anything to eat? Toasted teacake?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Kevin.

The waiter peered over Richard’s shoulder and read the headline. ‘I wonder what’s happened to him. He came down here once. I never saw him but my mum did.’

‘What was he like?’ asked Richard in his English accent.

‘She said he looked old but still nice.’ The boy pushed his notebook into the front pocket of his low-slung apron. ‘Two coffees coming up.’

When the waiter had left them, Richard asked, ‘How bad are the other papers?’

‘Pretty bad. Front page of all the tabloids, the Telegraph and the Guardian .’

‘What’s the mood?’

Kevin opened the Mirror and scanned the story inside.

‘They’re saying your disappearance is the biggest mystery since Agatha Christie ran off. They’re concerned about you. They think you might have had a breakdown, or run off with a lover, or gone stark staring mad.’ He put the paper down and picked up another. ‘The Sun has a reward for information leading to your discovery.’

Richard perked up. ‘Really? How much?’

‘Two tickets to your new film and dinner at Gordon Ramsay’s place with the Sun ’s film critic.’

The waiter arrived with their coffees. As Richard stirred his, Kevin asked, ‘Look, mate, if you want to go back, just say the word. But for what it’s worth, I think you need this time just to get real again. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me and do whatever you want.’