Kate was relishing the novelty of living on the coast, bringing new adventures every day. The sun warmed her through the window as she dawdled in the post office, browsing the jars of homemade preserves. She wondered if it would be undiplomatic to ask who made them, so that she could go direct to the source and save a few bob. As far as possible, she wanted organic, homemade produce for every meal. It was all part of establishing Prospect House as completely distinct from her residents’ previous lives, in which Kate could almost guarantee that most of the food they ate came fast or shrink-wrapped. She had hated the plastic trays on which the prison food was served. An indentation for stew and another for custard meant that one slip and the courses would slop and merge together like the contents of a toddler’s pelican bib; it was disgusting.
‘You just bought the big house on the top.’
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer, but instead stared at the young man who stood to her right, clutching his pot noodle and a packet of chocolate bourbons. She estimated him to be about thirty, with the high tan and weathered face of someone who had grown up and worked his whole life in the outdoors.
‘We’re not ’appy about your plans.’
This also did not merit a response, causing him to redden slightly under her silent scrutiny, but not enough to deter him from repeating his phrase.
‘I said we’re—’
‘Yes, yes, I heard you the first time. I am just trying to figure out two things before I answer you. Firstly, who is the “we” in question, and secondly, what do you or anyone else know about my plans?’
He shifted his weight onto his other foot. Kate noticed one of his legs was considerably shorter than the other, the deficit made up by an unwieldy built-up boot.
‘We is the whole village, all of Penmarin really.’
Her eyes widened. She placed her hand on the cameo brooch at her neck, feigning shock.
‘Is that right? The whole village? Goodness, I don’t think I have spoken to more than four people since I arrived and yet the whole village is unhappy with me? That’s quite an achievement.’
‘It’s not you personally; it’s what you are going to do up there, bringing all sorts of undesirables into this little place. Most of us have lived here our whole lives and there are kids and old people to think about…’
‘Where is it exactly that I am communally discussed?’
‘You what?’
Kate shifted her shopping basket on her arm and repeated her enquiry.
‘Where is it that everybody talks about me and my degenerate plans to corrupt your children, destroy your community and life as you know it?’
His nervous stutter told her all that she needed to know.
‘In… In the pub mainly…’ He looked at his feet. Had he divulged a secret?
‘Great! Well, you can tell the great “we” that I will be in the pub tonight at seven thirty, to discuss my plans and I’ll be happy to answer any questions that anyone might have. I’m Kate by the way.’
She held out her hand. He took it and smiled.
‘Tom, Tom Heath.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Tom. I’m sure I will see you later.’
With that she swept past him and the counter where the postmistress was listening and watching, mouth agape. Kate’s appetite for preserves had suddenly abated.
She marched the two miles home; the winding lane with its steep incline was no challenge for her determined stride, she was a woman on a mission. Despite her strong resolve, hot tears pricked her eyes. Why did everything have to be a bloody battle? The warm, salt-tinged breeze irritated rather than soothed. Kate cared little for the sprouting cow parsley and red campion as she kicked at the hedgerows, sending the heads scattering onto the scorched tarmac. Slamming the kitchen door behind her, she plonked her basket in the middle of the kitchen table and gave a guttural yell.
‘UUUrrgghhh!’
‘Why don’t you just swear? It is so much more satisfying,’ said the voice from the breakfast bar.
Kate laughed, but chose not to take up the suggestion.
‘I didn’t know you were back. How was Truro?’
‘Good, thanks, but stop changing the subject. It’s true you know, Kate, a good swear can be most therapeutic. Do you know that in all the years I’ve known you, I have never, ever heard you properly swear apart from the odd “bloody” and a couple of “shits”, which frankly don’t really count, and I