Phillipa Ashley - Summer on the Little Cornish Isles - The Starfish Studio

‘I took some of his paints over when I saw him in the hospital after he’d had his op. I haven’t seen him since then, though I’ve called him a few times. He’s not keen on talking on the phone and I didn’t like to badger him … Has he been using them?’ Fen asked hopefully.

‘Dad set his easel up in his room, by his chair.’

‘That’s a good sign.’ Fen nodded in satisfaction and took a noisy slurp of her tea. She smacked her lips. ‘Good brew that, if I say so myself. Archie would approve. I suppose your mum likes that scented muck everyone drinks these days.’

Jake smiled, glad to have a chance to change the subject. The easel had been bare of any work and, according to his parents, the box of paints remained unopened and untouched. ‘You can rest easy. Mum had to get in Grandpa’s own personal supply of “normal tea”. He wouldn’t touch her Earl Grey.’

Fen chuckled. ‘I’m glad to hear that, at least.’ She pointed to Jake’s untouched mug. ‘You should get yours down you before it goes cold.’

Trying not to gag, Jake swallowed a large gulp of rusty liquid while Fen went to fetch the biscuit barrel. He loved her almost as dearly as Archie but he still couldn’t stomach her tea.

‘Mum wanted me to come back to help get the studio ready for the new tenants,’ he said, accepting a homemade fairing from the plate she held out. Her biscuits were a lot more palatable than her tea. ‘They’re meant to be arriving tomorrow afternoon on the Islander ferry from Penzance,’ he added.

Fen sucked on her teeth. ‘You’ll be lucky. There’s heavy seas forecast tomorrow. Word is, the Islander may not sail … Are they aware of the state of the studio?’ Fen’s voice wavered and Jake felt sorry for her. He knew she felt bad about not being able to keep the studio so spick and span these days. She’d worked for his grandpa for decades, but she, like Archie, couldn’t cope with running the business full-time any more even before his fall.

‘Don’t worry. I heard that the studio needs a bit of an upgrade. The agent gave me all their details and I’ve emailed to tell her and her partner that Grandpa had let things slide a little, but she hasn’t replied, apart from to say they’re still coming.’

‘The mainland agent who put the details on the property website must have used an old photograph. I’m not sure this Polly will recognise it.’

He suppressed a smile. ‘Poppy. Her name is Poppy McGregor and his is Daniel Farrow.’

Fen screwed up her nose. ‘Fancy name. Not sure I like this thing for naming people after flowers. Daisy, Lily, whatever. Reminds me of my gran’s day. How old is she?’

‘Mid-thirties, I think. I really haven’t had time to find out any more about them. All I have are the agent’s and solicitor’s emails. Archie had already given the go-ahead to the tenancy agreement before he had his accident and you know yourself how hard it’s been to find someone to take it on. I thought it best to let it go through and explain about Archie when they get here.’

‘They’ll have a shock. Maybe they’ll turn around and sail straight home when they see it.’ Her voice tailed off.

He patted her arm. ‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you make out.’

‘You haven’t seen it yet,’ she muttered.

‘I’ll take a look after I’ve finished here. Stop worrying. No one could have done more to help Grandpa than you and, I promise you, he will do his very best to come home as soon as he’s able.’

She nodded and a sudden rattle drew their attention to the doorway. A large ginger cat, almost of fox-like proportions, wriggled through the flap and sauntered into the sitting room.

‘Aww. Leo’s come to see you!’

Jake smiled at the cat, who did what cats do: ignored him. Jake loved animals, but Leo didn’t love him. Jake had had the scratches and bite marks to prove it ever since Fen had taken Leo in five years before. Leo tolerated his humans; Fen and Archie were his favourites and Leo had allowed Harriet to stroke him. But Jake had the feeling that if Leo had been a tiger, he’d have eaten Jake for breakfast without a second thought.

‘I hope you don’t mind that Grandpa asked me to deal with the new tenants and help them settle in. Mum and Dad have enough to do with the business and caring for him. I think he didn’t want to worry you with having to sort it all out, but that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done in looking after it while he’s been away – and in the past …’

‘Don’t worry. I’m not offended.’

Leo allowed Fen to stroke the fur between his ears. His eyes narrowed into slits, which might have been pleasure but could just as easily mean he was planning world domination.

‘I’ve done my best with the place, but since Archie’s been on the mainland, I haven’t really had much cause to go to the studio. I wasn’t really sure these new folk would actually turn up and, to be honest, I haven’t liked to go in there, with your grandpa being away. I’m a silly old devil, but it upsets me to see the place without Archie. I keep wondering if he’ll ever be back.’

‘Of course, he’ll be back,’ he soothed, wondering if he was actually being kind to Fen by making so many sweeping and optimistic statements. ‘And we didn’t expect you to have to sort it out for the new tenants. That’s why I’m here. I’ll sort out grandpa’s paintings and tidy up a bit so there’s room for the new stock the new tenants will want to buy in.’

‘And they definitely plan on living in the attic flat above the studio?’

‘Apparently. It comes as part of the lease and they’ll want to save money, so I doubt they’ll rent anything else on the island, even if they could find it.’

‘That’ll be cosy.’

Jake thought of the studio room above the gallery, with its open-plan sitting room/kitchen/bedroom and tiny shower room. It was where he’d stayed many times – and once with Harriet. It was fine for one person, or for a couple for a short time – or a couple who were crazy about each other’s company and prepared to share everything. He and Harriet had been at that stage when they’d slept in the studio, but Jake had the impression that Dan and Poppy were long-term partners.

Jake would be staying in his grandpa’s cottage while he was sorting out the handover, which he was grateful for. He’d have rather slept on the beach than in the bed he’d once shared with Harriet. The memories of the three good years he’d enjoyed with her were now tainted by the bad ones of their final month together. Their bond, once so strong, had started to unravel before the weekend on St Piran’s that was meant to give them some private time away from distractions and help them both focus on each other and resolve their differences.

Instead their stay on the island had finally ended in the most terrible way imaginable. Coming back to St Piran’s had brought the memories flooding back in vivid detail. All because of a lapse of judgement on her part, which he had contributed to, however indirectly.

It was all too much. His skin prickled, his throat was thick, he could hear the waves slapping the sides of the boat, hear himself screaming. The floor shifted like the deck of a yacht on a swell or like water. He was going to sink and drown …

‘What’s the matter? Jake?’ Fen was at his side, holding his elbow. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet.’

‘I’ll be OK …’

‘Rubbish. You’re swaying. Sit here.’ With Fen’s help, he lowered himself into the chair. ‘Quick. Get this down you,’ she ordered.

He gulped down the cold tea and almost gagged, but he covered it just in time. Luckily, the tea revived him and the room stopped moving. He felt solid floor under his boots.