Breakfast Under A Cornish Sun: The perfect romantic comedy for summer. Samantha Tonge

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      I stood up to pace around and, for a moment, I forgot I was at work, with Izzy just a metre away. All I could picture was the other girls’ superior faces as I sat down during the slow dance at the school prom, whilst they were all whisked to their feet by boys. ‘I don’t post about him on Facebook … he doesn’t approve of social media.’

      To my surprise, Saffron replied, ‘very sensible. A particular friend of mine always posts whilst drunk and another picked up a stalker. I’m very careful with my privacy settings. Facebook must be essential for you though, in terms of networking with bands.’

      ‘Yes, it is,’ I said flatly and thought how clever she’d become over the years at hiding her real feelings. I mean, why the sudden turnaround? Why treat me like an equal when all she’d ever done at high school was put me down?

      ‘What does your boyfriend do?’ she said.

      ‘He … he …’ He’s Ross Poldark, I wished I could say. There would be no way she could beat that.

      My mind tripped back, again, to that famous grass-cutting scene from the show, in Saffron’s Facebook banner. ‘He’s a gardener. Self-employed. A landscape designer,’ I said, warming to my theme. ‘He’s called Ross.’

      ‘Really? How wonderful. People always need work doing in their gardens. He must be terribly fit to cope.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ I said, knots in my stomach unfurling. ‘In fact, he looks just like Poldark—dark curly hair, tanned from his job and gorgeous eyes. There is nothing quite like a six-pack that’s acquired from good honest work and not some gym where everyone is obsessing over their body fat ratio or biceps size, wouldn’t you agree?’

      ‘The only six-pack Miles knows contains packets of cheese and onion crisps! Well, good for you,’ she said.

      Oh. Disappointing. She’d managed to hide every trace of envy in that voice.

      ‘In fact, that’s great because the reason I’m ringing is … I’d like to invite you to my wedding next month,’ she blurted out. ‘Could you give me your address? I can’t wait to meet Ross, your plus-one.’

      What? I closed my eyes. Fair dos, universe, this is a swift punishment for my lie. Perhaps she’d guessed I wasn’t telling the truth. I mean, why else would she want me there?

      ‘That’s … very kind of you,’ I said, ‘but … Saffron … I’m really busy during the coming months and … I’m sure there are closer friends you’d like to invite instead of me.’

      Didn’t the non-confrontational British just love an understatement?

      Silence. Awkward. I awaited the shallow, meaningless retort.

      ‘It would mean a lot to me. Really. And several friends from school are going to be there,’ she said with a super-soft tone.

      I squirmed. Then it truly would be the wedding from hell. But once again, curiosity piqued me and, despite some deep-set feelings of inadequacy that occasionally made a reappearance, for the most I wasn’t that insecure teenager any more. Plus, I was trying to build myself as a singer, and weddings were the best opportunity to subtly leave out business cards.

      ‘You’d be doing me a favour, Katie. I couldn’t invite everyone I wanted but two family members have just dropped out, due to illness. That’s why my invite is quite late notice. Please. Do consider it.’

      Maybe things hadn’t changed so much after all—I clearly wasn’t her first choice of guest.

      ‘OK,’ I found myself saying. ‘Ross and I would love to attend. I’ll message you my address. Right. I’d better go—customers await.’

      I pressed ‘end call’, put my mobile on the table and sank into my chair. How I would have preferred to say ‘Yes, I have a boyfriend called Johnny.’ My fingers flexed as if wanting to message him on Facebook, even though, deep down, I knew it was fruitless trying to exchange words with someone who was … dead. My eyes tingled and I gave myself a shake. I wasn’t one of life’s wallowers. Ever lost my job? I’d be the first in the queue at the employment office. Argue with a sibling or Mum? It was usually me to phone first and smooth things over. But losing someone isn’t the same, is it? Deep-felt feelings can’t be shaken away like salt out of a salt cellar. And messaging him was still possible, you see, because after … the accident, his family memorialised his Facebook profile. That meant friends could still visit his page to flick through photo albums. It meant, in my darkest hours, I could pretend that he was alive but simply ignoring my heartfelt words.

      I gave a sigh and gradually my mind cleared of images of Johnny and uncomfortable school memories, until before me I saw … Ah. Izzy, mouth open, with one eyebrow disappearing into her hairline, clearly having heard me talk of a supposed new boyfriend called Ross …

CHAPTER 2

      With a sigh, I opened the lounge window, before collapsing onto my squat plum-coloured sofa. Well, the throw was plum. It hid threadbare blue cushions. I loved my flat, even though the kitchen was tiny and my clothes hung on a rail in this living room, due to the bedroom being so small that it could only house a bed or a wardrobe, not both. After years of sharing my personal space with siblings, however cramped, life here felt luxurious. I blinked rapidly and still couldn’t believe my landlord’s announcement, last week, that he wanted me out in two months. He’d decided to refurbish and sell because he needed the money to move back to Australia. Apparently ten years of grey English winters had taken their toll.

      I bit the inside of my cheeks. No point moping but I’d miss old Mrs Bird from next door. She’d call on me whenever she needed a light bulb changing, as these days she was wobbly on her feet. Often I’d stay for a cup of tea and a biscuit and she’d play her old vinyl records, her favourites by Doris Day.

      I inhaled and breathed out slowly. I’d already started searching the rental ads in the local paper. Little point worrying over things that couldn’t be changed, as Johnny always used to say.

      I gazed up at the ceiling, in the corner of the lounge, at the shiny, red, heart-shaped wind spinner he had given me soon after we met. With every turn, the angled metal gave the impression that it pulsated. I hadn’t dared hang it in the garden, in case the damp weather turned it rusty and brown.

      ‘Whenever you look at it, remember,’ he’d said, ‘it pulsates with my love. I love you Kate Golightly and this is a constant reminder to follow your heart.’

      ‘Oh, Johnny,’ I murmured and flinched at that vice-like feeling across my chest. I sniffed, picked up my mobile and clicked on the Facebook icon. Very quickly, I found his profile and messaged: Johnny … How are you? I’m missing you still, every time the wind spinner catches my eye. Oh what I’d give just to hear one more of your laughs—just to kiss those lips that had a hotline to my heart. I swallowed, the typed words for a moment looking blurry. What should I do? Soon I’ll be homeless. Mum has relocated to Scotland with her new job. Shall I follow her there?

      I know. Pathetic, wasn’t it—the irrational part of me still wanting a response? But I’d never been able to talk to anyone like I could to him, apart from Guvnah. As for moving to Scotland, my instincts already knew the answer. I’d been brought up by a woman determined not to sponge off relatives or claim benefits. Mum had held down three jobs СКАЧАТЬ