A Cornish Gift: Previously published as an eBook collection, now in print for the first time with exclusive Christmas bonus material from Fern. Fern Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ tripped over one of the fishing rods that was leaning up against the wall. Falling forward, he banged his head painfully on the coat stand.

      ‘Bollocks!’

      As he untangled himself, someone banged on the front door again.

      ‘All right, keep your bleddy ’air on, will you!’ he muttered, fumbling with the lock and wrenching the door open.

      Only to find that there was absolutely no one there.

      What the hell was going on? No lights or power and now a phantom at the doorway? Piran wasn’t sure where he had got the word phantom from but he suddenly felt unsettled. There were no such things as ghosts, so someone must have been knocking at his door – but where were they now?

      He took a step out onto the path and peered into the gloom. He could see no one, and when he looked up the road towards the village he realised that was in darkness too. His position on the edge of Pendruggan meant that he could usually see the distant lights of shops and houses – but tonight there was nothing. It gave the night an eerie feel. Almost as if the village had vanished and he was the only one left …

      ‘Things look different in the dark, don’t they?’

      ‘Argh!’ Piran nearly jumped out of his skin when the voice came out of the pitch-black.

      Then the voice again, and light from a torch illuminating a familiar face. ‘It’s only me.’

      ‘Bleddy hell, Simon! Where the ’ell ’ave you come from?’

      ‘Sorry, Piran. You’re not normally so jumpy.’ Piran wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it was a relief to see Simon’s cheery face. ‘I was knocking for ages. I knew you must be in because I could hear Jack scrabbling at the door, so I nipped round to see if the back door was open. But it wasn’t.’

      Piran rubbed his hands across his eyes as if to rub away the last vestiges of sleep that still seemed to linger.

      ‘What the hell is going on?’

      ‘Power cut. The whole village is out.’

      ‘Shit!’

      ‘Indeed. Are you planning on inviting me in? It’s freezing out here.’

      Piran grunted his assent and the two of them, using Simon’s torch as a guide, led the way inside.

      ‘Gimme that torch and wait here.’ Simon did as he was told and Piran headed off to the pantry. After much rummaging and rustling, he reappeared, carrying a handful of fat candles. Handing the torch back to Simon, Piran proceeded to stick them into candle holders. Before long, the room was lit by gentle candlelight.

      ‘Save your batteries,’ he said.

      Simon switched off his torch and sat down. Piran checked the clock; almost eleven. He’d been asleep for hours.

      ‘What are you doing abroad?’ he asked.

      ‘Well, I’m worried that some of the villagers won’t be able to get to Midnight Mass because they don’t all have cars and the roads are too dark. I’ve got my car and I’m going to have a recce and see if anyone needs a lift.’

      ‘So what brings you here?’

      ‘Ah, well …’ Simon blinked back at him, abashed. ‘I was wondering if you’re all right?’

      ‘Why wouldn’t I be all right?’ Piran demanded.

      Simon hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘Piran, I know that you hate talking about … well, things … emotions and the like. All the same, we have known each other for a long time and I can tell when something is up.’

      Piran turned away, avoiding Simon’s eyes. ‘There’s nothing up.’

      Undaunted, Simon continued: ‘The last few weeks, you’ve been really … pent up, and it’s obvious there’s more to it than the usual trademark Mr Mean persona that you like to hide behind. I can see right through you, Piran. Is this something to do with Jenna?’

      At the mention of her name, Piran leapt to his feet and rounded on Simon. ‘Why don’t you just mind your own business? Maybe the rest of Pendruggan like to spill their guts out in the confessional, but I can do without your cod philosophy, Vicar.’

      Though his words stung, Simon persisted: ‘Firstly, for the record, I’m a Church of England vicar not a Catholic priest, and we don’t have a confession box in Pendruggan. Secondly, and more importantly, I’m your friend and I can tell you’re bottling something up.’

      Piran glared at Simon for a moment. Then he sighed and sat down.

      ‘I don’t know what it is. I can’t seem to shake it off. Feel like I’m fed up with everything. Christmas only seems to have made it worse.’

      ‘A problem shared?’

      ‘I dunno, Simon. Don’t feel I want to share right now. Perhaps this is the way that I’m destined to be from now on.’

      ‘Rubbish! You weren’t always like this.’

      ‘Wasn’t I?’

      ‘Certainly not! You used to be quite carefree when you were younger. Remember that year when we did the Pendruggan Christmas swim?’

      ‘We’ve done it more than once.’

      ‘Yes, but no other year was like this one …’

       4

      1984

       P iran’s face broke into a smile as he saw Simon walking down the sloping slip road that lead towards Pendruggan’s harbour. He’d been sitting, waiting, huddled up in his parka in the wintery sunshine, having called Simon last night to let him know that he was back in Pendruggan.

       After a warm embrace and the customary ruffling of each other’s hair, Simon stood back and took a good look at his friend. Piran’s skin was the colour of golden caramel, his black curls were thicker and more unruly than he remembered and his piercing blue eyes were glimmering roguishly. A long summer spent island-hopping in Greece had served only to accentuate Piran’s piratical appearance and the acquisition of a small hooped gold earring finished off the look perfectly. If Simon hadn’t already known that Piran didn’t give a toss about his looks, he might have suspected he’d done it on purpose, but there wasn’t a vain bone in Piran’s body.

       ‘Where did the earring come from?’

       Piran grinned sheepishly. ‘Can’t quite remember. A few too many ouzos one night in Mykonos. More trouble to take it out, I reckon.’

       ‘How was Greece? Feels like you’ve been away for ever.’

       ‘Only five months. But Greece in winter loses a bit of its shine. The tourists all bugger СКАЧАТЬ