A Good Catch Part 6

At last a figure was agreed on and they shook hands, each man regarding the other steadily. 'I'd have given you more,' said Bryn wryly, 'if I knew that Clovelly and Behenna were destined to be one company.'

Edward pursed his lips and thought for a moment. 'If I knew that the deal was only between you and me and that it had nothing to do with your Greer and my Jesse, I might just say yes. Jesse is his own man, Bryn. He'll do as he likes.'

'You're a good negotiator, Edward, with strong powers of persuasion. You'll sway him.'

Edward said nothing, but he saw a glint in Bryn Clovelly's eyes and it looked worryingly like victory.

'I need to know that Clovelly's has a future,' said Bryn. 'I need to know that I am pa.s.sing it onto the next generation of my bloodline. I want my grandchildren to carry on the name of Clovelly. If Greer and Jesse were to marry, that would happen. But if you can't see your way to giving your son a helping hand in the world, then there are plenty of boat owners with unmarried sons on this coast who will.'

6.

The postman, never knowingly uninterested in people's business, was enjoying his morning. It was that day in August when, around the country, exam results were dropping through letterboxes, anxious pupils waiting on the other side, braced for what news they might bring. The postman always took it upon himself to hand-deliver the envelopes in Trevay whether he was conveying good news or bad, he wanted to pa.s.s it to the addressee personally.

Today he'd witnessed four people in tears (three of them mothers) and received two hugs of joy. No one had yet offered him a brew, and he could do with one. He was driving from the small modern housing estate at the top of Trevay, down the hill towards the old town and the sea. He pulled on the plastic sun visor to s.h.i.+eld his eyes from the glare of the early morning light glinting off the water in the estuary. He turned right onto the posh road where the white stucco executive bungalows sat with their unfettered view of the river, the harbour and the open sea beyond. Each home was surrounded by a generous plot of land, either planted with palm trees, china-blue hydrangeas, large mounds of pampas gra.s.s or a selection of all three.

He stopped his van at Bryn and Elizabeth Clovelly's conspicuously expensive bungalow, unimaginatively named Brybeth. He sorted through the bundles of post. He was looking for one with Greer Clovelly's name on it. He found an electricity bill, a Cellophaned edition of Golfer's Monthly and a letter from the DVLA (all addressed to Mr B. Clovelly), a postcard from Scotland (addressed to Mrs E. Clovelly) and finally a plain envelope addressed to Miss Greer Clovelly with a Truro postmark. He got out of his van and walked with dignified purpose towards their front door.

Greer was lying in bed listening to the radio. Kim Wilde was singing 'You Keep Me Hangin' On'. As usual Greer was thinking about Jesse. She didn't hear the doorbell ring or the bustle of her mother coming from the rear kitchen to the front door. But she did hear her mother calling her name.

'Greer. The postman has a delivery for you.'

'What is it?' she called back.

'Something you've been waiting for.' Her mother was using her singsong voice.

Greer sat up quickly. 'Is it my exam results?' She didn't listen for the answer as she leapt out of bed, grabbed her Snoopy dressing gown, a cherished Christmas present from Loveday, Mickey and more especially Jesse, and dashed down the hall to the open front door.

She thanked the postman and slid her thumb under the flap of the envelope. Her hands shook a little as she took out the letter inside and unfolded it.

The look on her face told the postman all he needed to know. He hung about briefly in case there was a congratulatory cup of coffee to be offered, but when it wasn't he set off, desperate to spread the news.

Bryn stood at the kitchen table and read the letter through again. 'You pa.s.sed! Ten O levels. My G.o.d, Greer, I'm proud of you.'

'Thank you, Daddy.'

'Ten! That's ten more than you and me, eh, Elizabeth?'

'It certainly is. Oh, Greer, we are proud of you.'

'This means I can go to sixth-form college and do my art and design A level.'

Her father sat down opposite her and, pus.h.i.+ng his reading gla.s.ses onto the top of his head, adopted a patient tone. 'How about getting a good secretarial qualification? Hmm? Secretaries are always needed. Good ones, anyway. They are the oil of the engine in any business. And when you get married, you won't need to work. You'll be looked after by your husband, while you look after your home and your family. Like Mum.'

Greer looked at her father in exasperation.

'I want to be an interior designer, and a wife and mum.'

'Well, I'd like to be a professional golfer, but we all have to be realistic.'

'I am being realistic. Lots of women have jobs these days and bring up a family.'

'You're talking about those lah-di-dah city types with posh nannies and banker husbands. It's different here.'

'And who says I can't be a lah-di-dah city type?' she countered mutinously.

Her father glowered at her. Greer chewed her lip and there was a strained silence. She knew it was pointless to provoke her father, but she consoled herself with the thought that he'd have to stop treating her like a child one day.

Her mother went to the bread bin and sliced two pieces of granary bread before popping them in the toaster. She was thinking of how best to back Greer without antagonising her dinosaur, chauvinist husband.

'I think she'd make a very good interior designer, Bryn,' she said quietly. 'Look what she's done with her bedroom. And interior designers can charge the earth for their services. She has good taste, and people are prepared to pay for good taste.'

Bryn shook his head dismissively. 'A fool and his money are easily parted.'

'Mum!' Loveday was bouncing uncontrollably round the tiny stone-flagged hall of the cottage she shared with her mother. 'Mum! I got seven! And an A for maths!' She flung herself into her mother's arms and jigged them both up and down on the spot. 'Can you believe it, Mum?'

Beryl Carter managed to extricate herself from her daughter and, panting, said, 'Oh, my darlin' girl, you done so well! Your dad would be proud of you and no mistake. Seven! You'll be going to university at this rate.'

Loveday stopped jumping and pulled her mother into a giant bear hug. 'Mum, I'm not leaving you. I'm going to get a job and bring some good money into the house. I'm going to look after you properly. The way Dad would've.'

'No,' Beryl told her firmly, pulling herself out of Loveday's grip again. 'You'm not giving up your future for me. I can look after myself. You get out and see the world. You could be a doctor or ... or ... a professor or something.'

'Not with only seven O levels,' laughed Loveday. 'And what do I want to see the world for? I'm happy in Trevay with you and Greer and Jesse and Mickey.' A thought suddenly struck her. 'I'll ask if there's a job going at Jesse's dad's or Greer's dad's. I'll work as hard as they like. Harder than anyone they know.'

Jan Behenna took the envelope from the odious postman and propped it against the teapot on the kitchen table. She prayed Jesse had done well. She wanted him to be happy and fulfil his dreams, whatever they were. If that meant emigrating to Australia, so be it. She'd barely left Cornwall herself, let alone the United Kingdom. If Jesse went to Australia, Jan could apply for a pa.s.sport and fly on an aeroplane. She'd have the chance to see the Sydney Harbour Bridge. She sighed as she dreamt of Jesse's future. The one thing she didn't want for him was to be pushed into a marriage of convenience to Greer b.l.o.o.d.y Clovelly and her jumped-up family.

'Morning, Ma.' Grant came into the kitchen; he'd come home for the weekend and looked better than he had for ages. His hair was shaved close and neat and, despite being out last night drinking with his old Trevay mates, he was up bright and early this morning and looked none the worse for it. It was early days, but Jan hoped that life in the army was giving the boy the discipline he sorely needed. She fervently prayed that he'd turned a corner and was putting his old ways behind him.

Movement upstairs signalled that Jesse was awake. He and Edward had come home from a long fis.h.i.+ng trip the night before and he was only now stirring, the smell of eggs and bacon wafting up from the kitchen as good as any alarm clock.

Jesse entered, naked except for his boxers. He hadn't known Grant was due a visit home, and the sight of his brother grinning at him from the breakfast table wasn't an entirely welcome one.

'All right, Grant.'

'h.e.l.lo, little brother.' Grant ruffled Jesse's hair roughly and Jesse jerked his head away quickly.

'Get off.'

'Oo-er, someone's a bit touchy today. That Loveday Carter not let you 'ave a feel of 'er big t.i.ts yet?'

Jesse stiffened. Jan could sense the tension between them and tried to head it off at the pa.s.s.

'Grant, leave Jesse be, he doesn't need your teasing this morning. Here, Jesse.' She handed him the envelope.

Jesse could have done without Grant being there while he opened the letter. Whether the news was good or bad, his brother would find some way of goading or mocking him for it.

'Go on, son, open it,' his mother said encouragingly.

Jesse looked from her to the letter. Would any of the contents make the blindest bit of difference to his future? He doubted it. Behenna's Boats beckoned and there wasn't much in this letter could change that.

He ripped open the envelope and eyed the contents.

'Well?' Jan asked anxiously.

A grin spread across Jesse's face. Six O levels. He'd failed at geography and a couple of others, but all of the key subjects were there.

'I got six!'

'Oh, well done, son!' Jan embraced him warmly and Jesse tried not to squirm. 'Enough for college, are they?'

Grant sneered. 'College? What our Jesse a college boy, with all those other little stuck-up snivellers.'

'f.u.c.k off, Grant. Just because you were too busy getting in trouble and never got anything.'

'College is just for nancy boys too s.h.i.+t-scared to do a proper man's job.' He shovelled a mouthful of bacon and eggs into his mouth.

'Grant, stop winding Jesse up and, Jesse, mind your language at the table, please.'

'I'm going out on the boats with Dad,' Jesse announced, in a bid to put an end to both his mother and Grant's speculation.

'You don't have to decide now, Jesse,' his mother told him. 'Wait until after the summer and see how you feel then.'

'Anyway,' said Grant, talking through his mouthful of food, 'Dad's got Jesse's future all sewn up, ain't that right? You're going to be the family wh.o.r.e!' He let out a snort of laughter and continued to shovel in the last few forkfuls of his breakfast.

Jesse felt the urge to get as far and as fast away from Grant as possible. He stood and headed towards the kitchen door.

'But, Jesse, your breakfast?' his mother called after him.

'Not hungry, Mum.' Jesse leapt up the hallway stairs two at a time, still with Grant's spiteful laughter ringing in his ears.

Mickey wasn't surprised by his results. He sat up in bed as his mum brought the envelope to him with a mug of tea.

'B for technical drawing and physics, C for maths, English and history, and the rest I failed.'

His mum was thrilled, and said so. 'How many is that you got, then?'

'Five.'

'Five,' she said with relish. 'Five O levels. You'm bleddy Einstein, boy.'

The phone in the hall started to ring. Annie Chandler gave her son a last pat on the leg and went downstairs to answer it. Mickey listened, still looking at his results letter with satisfaction.

''Ello? ...'Ello, Jesse. How did you do in your ... Did you? Well done, boy ... yes, Mickey's got his ... five, yeah ... shall I put 'im on?... Just a minute.' Mickey didn't need to be called; he was already coming down the stairs two at a time and took the phone receiver from his mother.

'What you got, Jesse?'

'Six. I can't believe it!'

'You bleddy swot.'

Jesse laughed. 'You did all right, didn't you? Five!'

'Yeah.' Mickey couldn't help smiling to himself. 'Yeah. Bleddy five O levels.'

'Mum. Please,' Greer was pleading. 'I know it's kind of Dad, but I don't want to go out to dinner tonight.'

'You're not going to the Golden Hind and that's an end to it.' Her mother's voice was m.u.f.fled as she dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the understairs cupboard.

'But everyone's going and I want to be with my friends.'

'No.' Her mother unwound the cable from the back of the cleaner's handle. 'Your dad and I want to celebrate as a family.' She handed Greer the plug end. 'Put this in, would you?'

Greer did as she was told but wouldn't give up. 'Well, can we go out early? So that I can finish and get down to see everybody after we've eaten?'

But her mother had already drowned her out with the roar of the machine.

Greer went to her room seething with frustration. She'd been everything a daughter should be to her family. She was thoughtful, obedient, clever. She always looked her best and watched her figure. She never asked for anything. Well, she didn't need to; her parents gave her everything before she asked. And now, here she was, almost 17, and they wouldn't let her go out on the most important night of her life.

Loveday had phoned an hour ago and told her her results. Greer was pleased for her, but even happier that she had done better. Loveday had asked her to come down to Figgotty's a locals' beach. No holiday-maker ventured there; it had such a steep descent that no buggy or grandma would be able to get down to it or, if they did, up from it again.

'We're taking some pasties,' Loveday had told her.

'Who's we?' Greer had asked.

'About eight of us.'

'Is Jesse going?' Greer had hated herself for asking, so she added hastily, 'And Mickey?'

'Course they are. It was Jesse's idea. He told me to call you.'

'Did he?' Greer hugged herself. 'Hang on, I'll just ask Mum.' A few moments later she was back on the line, almost in tears. 'My mum won't let me. She wants me to go into Truro with her.'

'Never mind.' Loveday had suddenly felt sorry for her friend. 'Maybe you can come tonight?' she'd suggested. 'The pub's doing an "exam result special" night. There's a hog roast in the beer garden and a DJ.'