A Cornish Christmas (18 page)

After that, with Muppet coming along for the ride, I helped them search for any abandoned or lost animals. Luckily most people had made sure to get their animals to safety, but there were a few that had gone missing. Like Flavia's cat, Massimow.

Flavia was the Italian rose expert, and one of the members of The Thursday Club, and it hurt to see her so devastated. ‘A week before the flood, the handle broke on the cat carrier. So I throw it away, thinking I would get a new one soon. Then zis happen. We couldn't keep Massimow in the car, and we were in and out getting all our things when he disappear. We've looked everywhere,' she said with tired eyes, exhaustion etched on her pretty face.

I shrugged off my jacket and put it over her. ‘You're freezing, Flavia,' I said. ‘Don't worry, get in the van.' I poured her a cup of cocoa from the flask we'd prepared. ‘We'll find Massimow.'

She seemed reluctant to take my jacket. May winked at her. ‘Sure, Massimow would have found himself a nice warm spot by now, my love. Cats are clever creatures who don't like to suffer, don't be getting yerself a chill now.'

Flavia gave May a grateful smile, and shrugged into the jacket, new hope in her eyes. ‘Do you really think 'e is somewhere safe?' she asked.

‘I do,' I said. I thought of Pepper and Pots, who had been hiding beneath our home when we moved in, then frowned, remembering something. ‘Flavia, you didn't always live here, did you? When I was young I seem to remember a house, closer to Mum's, about ten minutes away?'

She nodded. ‘Oh yes, many years ago, we had a cute leetle cottage, covered with
rroses
... I used to walk to your mother's house from zere, it was that close.'

I nodded and gave May a look. ‘Did you have the cat when you lived there?'

‘Yes, we'd just gotten 'im... such a sweet leetle kitten, was 'is first home.'

‘Really?' I asked. ‘It's not too far away... I wonder,' I added.

Flavia looked at me, her face suddenly changing. ‘You think 'e'd go zere?' she said in surprise.

I shrugged. ‘It's possible, cats are quite territorial and there's a good chance that he sought out the last place that he felt safe...'

Fifteen minutes later when we rounded on the house and knocked on the door, an older woman with a blue rinse, plump arms, and a kind smile opened the door. ‘Flavia?' she said in surprise, then she started to laugh. ‘Ah, perhaps then that explains this,' she said, welcoming us into the warm interior, where a roaring fire was going in the cottage's open hearth, in front of which dozed a very sleepy-looking cat, who opened one eye curiously at the sound of intruders, then quite suddenly bolted straight into Flavia's arms.

‘He showed up here last week. We've asked all the neighbours but no one knew who he was... I never imagined for a second he'd be yours. I mean, what's it been...' she said in surprise, ‘ten years?'

Flavia nodded, tears in her eyes.

Robyn winked. ‘Like we said, cats are clever.'

H
aving
Genevieve to stay that week was good for other reasons, though she wasn't all that into animal rescuing. But, once she'd seen and heard all the orders coming through for Stuart, who had been called in to help relieve the chef at the pub in the neighbouring village, and was receiving orders from as far as the Latria Hotel in St Ives, she was beginning to see at last that he was doing well.

She even said, ‘You're not as full as you used to be.'

‘Are you saying I've lost weight, Mum?' asked Stuart, his brown eyes amused.

‘Must be all these vegetables... I mean, honestly, beetroot jam? Have you not heard of strawberry?' she said with a wry twist to her mouth.

I bit my lip, and tried not to laugh. Stuart looked at me, suspiciously. ‘Did you put her up to this?'

I shook my head. ‘Nope, but you can't deny, your mother has a point.'

Stuart rolled his eyes. ‘No taste, the lot of you!' he laughed, throwing on his jacket and heading out the door to see Tomas about flood-proofing his potager. It seemed the old Frenchie had a plan for preventing such occurrences.

In the afternoon, Genevieve and I went shopping. Having someone on hand who had given birth in relatively modern times was hugely helpful. I found to my surprise that she was quite practical. I had her figured for the type who would spend hundreds of pounds because the sales clerk let us know it was the best pram on the market, but instead she simply compared features with features and showed me (and yes, the sales clerk too), several models that had the exact same offerings. ‘The only advantage on this one, Ivy dear,' she said, pointing at a rather lovely red one, ‘is the commission that it would no doubt line this person's pockets with. On the other hand...' she whispered, ‘it
is
the prettiest.'

Which was when I discovered that she could also be a little bit fun. So we got it anyway.

No one was more surprised than Smudge when I phoned to tell her that me and The Terrorist were getting along. ‘You're kidding?' she said. ‘It would be like having peace in the Middle East.'

‘I'm not sure we were ever that bad... and it could happen.'

‘What, peace in the Middle East?'

‘Well, both.' I laughed.

‘How're you doing? How's the research? I meant to come see you but with the flood, things have been mad here.'

‘I know, I'm so sorry, it's so sad. I've been in Falmouth this past week, luckily it wasn't hit as badly...'

I snorted. ‘So you've been sort of in the area and you didn't come to visit your mum?'

She laughed. ‘Ah, I know! I just can't. She'll pry and ask about Mark and me, and I don't have an answer right now.'

‘Oh Smudge, you don't have to have everything figured out right away.'

‘But I do... in a way. God, I didn't want to tell you over the phone but well, I think he's having an affair. Or he's about to maybe, I don't know.'

‘What?!' I gasped in shock.

Mark wasn't my favourite person, but I never thought he'd
cheat
on Victoria.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Not really, I saw a few texts... I know I shouldn't have looked but he was being weird. There's some trainer from the gym he's mentioned a few times, she's been putting him through his paces – I mean, Mark, the gym?' She laughed but there was no humour in it. ‘The messages weren't explicit but there's something going on... flirty, you know...' she added, her voice catching. ‘I mean, what did I expect? I'm never home.'

‘That's not an excuse!'

‘Yeah, but it's reality, something I've got to face. We haven't spoken about it though, not yet.'

‘Why not?'

‘I'm just tired. God, that sounds pathetic, but it's the truth. I don't know how to explain. When I saw it, I just wasn't up for another epic fight, had to catch a flight here for work, so I just left. It seems all we do when we see each other is fight, even without bloody, pretty personal trainers involved. I mean, he's finished up in Rome now, and he wouldn't come down here, doesn't want to be “my little tag-along” as he put it the other day. He never used to be like that, I thought it was that he... you know, gets a bit funny about my work, but now, well, maybe it's because he wanted to be with her.'

I swallowed. This was bad. ‘You can't know that though...'

‘I know – I go back in a few days, will deal with it then. Though, I may just go to that gym and see Miss Thing for myself.'

‘Do
not
do that,' I warned. ‘That could be a recipe for a disaster...'

She sighed. ‘See, this is why you are my sister, if only to help me avoid prison. When is The Terrorist leaving?'

‘Tomorrow morning.'

‘Ah okay, so I'll come for dinner then, all right?'

I laughed. ‘All right – I'll help you come up with a plan of attack.'

‘Oh, on the gym bunny?' she said.

I giggled. ‘Er, no... for Mark. I'm thinking drawn and quartered...'

She snorted. ‘I like what you're thinking. See you tomorrow – oh, but Ivy, don't tell Stu till I'm there, 'kay? He'll go crazy...'

‘Please, I'm not stupid. He threatened to put Mark in hospital the last time he forgot to fetch you from the train station... can you imagine what he'd do now? On second thoughts, maybe that bastard deserves it...'

‘Maybe, but still... See you tomorrow.'

I hung up, cradling the phone to my chest. Poor Smudge. Forget Stuart, I was ready to go there and wring Mark's bloody neck myself. I knew he was a whiny arse, but I hadn't thought he was a right cheating bollocks to boot.

T
hat night
, as I entered the studio, a sound made me jump. ‘Ivy? Is that you?' came Genevieve's voice from behind.

I startled.

That strange light that always accompanied the postcard lit the studio. I looked at it in fear, then back at Genevieve, wondering if she saw it.

‘Why are you up so late?' she said. ‘Please don't tell me that you're working? I heard you walk past my room as I was sending off a report.' She gave me a pointed look that seemed to imply that if that was my plan it was a bad one.

I sighed. If I said yes, she'd lecture. I was in no mood for it. And the postcard wouldn't wait forever, either. I swallowed my impatience, and just said, ‘No, I, er... heard my mobile ringing and thought maybe I left it in the studio...'

‘Oh,' she said, turning to enter the studio, to my horror. ‘I'll help you look.'

‘No, no, that's fine. Go back to sleep, you've got a long drive tomorrow.'

‘That's okay, James is fetching me, I'll be able to get some sleep then.'

I sighed. James, her poor abused assistant, seemed to think nothing of driving five and half hours straight to come and fetch her.

I closed my eyes in annoyance as she entered the room. The light from the postcard was still shining bright. I held my breath, but she didn't mention it. Next thing, she switched on the lamp, and the light from the postcard faded completely.

‘That's better,' she said, her eyes scanning the studio. I felt a lump form in my throat, while I resisted the urge to scream. To demand that she get out. But she simply started rummaging through my things, lifting up drawings and sketches. She looked up, saw my face and faltered. ‘Don't worry, Ivy, we'll find it. I'm sure it's nothing.'

My voice shook as I asked, ‘What's nothing?'

‘The phone call. If it was serious, I'm sure they'd try Stuart too. Tell you what, let me get my phone and ring yours... then we'll hear it,' she said, then rummaged in her bathrobe, pulled out her phone, and started to ring mine.

I tried to smile. She was being kind but all I wanted to do was tell her to get the hell out.

‘It's okay, Genevieve,' I managed. ‘Let's just go to sleep.'

We heard the phone ringing from the bedroom. On the nightstand, where I left it, and Stuart's voice from the receiver, sounding tired but worried. ‘Mum? Where are you, what's wrong?'

‘Oh nothing, love, sorry,' she answered. ‘Ivy thought she heard her phone ringing in the studio, we were looking for it, must have been in the room then.'

My eye crept towards the postcard. No light shone from it now, just the cold light from the bright fluorescent lamp.

‘You okay?' asked Genevieve, a worried look creasing her forehead.

I nodded, fixing a smile in place with what felt like screws. But I wasn't okay. Mum had come every night since that first night, but how long would it last? All I wanted to do was wait. Wait to see if she'd come back, but Genevieve led me slowly and carefully out.

‘I'll make us some chamomile, shall I? It always helps me sleep,' she said. Her offer of a cup of tea to help me fall back asleep right then seemed more insult than comfort. I tried with every step that she led me down the stairs to stop thinking like that, to stop wishing she'd just get out of my house. Stuart's living, interfering mother, who right then was preventing me from spending the precious, magical time that my own had somehow managed to find for us. I was grateful in the dark kitchen that she couldn't see the tears that had begun to form and burn their way down my throat.

I
n the morning
, I awoke feeling better than I had the night before, but grateful nonetheless that Genevieve would be leaving that day. I knew that last night all she had been trying to do, really, was help. She'd been kind, even. But it was the first time her presence had truly stung, though for once through no fault of her own.

Later, Genevieve and I took the rest of the things we'd bought and put them in the cupboard in the nursery. Now without the company of ghosts I could value the time she'd spent with us. Just having her here to help us get started on the baby's room had helped.

When I rolled out the cans of paint I'd ordered though, I saw her frown.

Of course she had ideas about the colours we should paint it. Seeing the tins of black paint I'd bought, however, it looked as if she might faint. ‘Don't worry, this is just the base coat,' I said.

‘O-kay.'

I waited. Counted to one, two, three – impressive. Then: ‘Base for what exactly? I mean... I'm sorry but you're a children's book illustrator, why on earth would you want to paint your child's room black?' she finally exploded.

I stifled a laugh. ‘Ah you know, just to be a bit different... I'm sort of tired of how light and fluffy my day job is... I mean, this will be soothing afterwards, I think. I mean, it is me who will have to be here most of the time so it should reflect what I like, right? I mean, it's just so old-fashioned to have the nursery be more about the baby than the mother, don't you think?'

Her mouth opened and closed in shock.