the bright leaflets secured to his table by a pebble, it was alive and vibrant. He slid out one of the leaflets and read it, then took a look at the menu. The price for breakfast here was close to the new price at the Anchor, more than three times what his mum used to charge summer tourists. He twisted in his seat to conduct a mental headcount only to see Rob heading back, the faint downward cast to his lips a reminder of the shift in his expression before he’d changed the subject from his father.
“Listen,” he said, the moment Rob sat down. “You can talk about your dad if you want.” Lord knows he’d bent Rob’s ear enough about his parents. “Families are…” How to end that sentence?
“Impossible?” Rob suggested, that downward cast starting to lift. “Maddening? A complete pain in my arse?”
“Well I wouldn’t go that far, but…” And this was the hard part. “…I know that it’s different—what people see compared to what it’s like from the inside.”
Rob’s gaze held his and just like that, the noise of the crowded quayside faded, cawing seagulls and laughing children silenced, because Rob said, “Thank you.”
The moment broke, a waitress arriving with a tray. The plate she gave Rob heaved with a full English fry-up while Jude’s plate was much smaller. A child’s breakfast stared up from the white china, two fried eggs for eyes and a smile made out of bacon. “What?” Rob mock-protested when Jude raised his eyebrows. “You just acted like second breakfasts were for gluttons. Of course, some of us don’t need to watch our figures.”
“Very funny—”
Rob silenced him by stabbing a fried mushroom with his fork and holding it close to Jude’s mouth. “Goodness.” Rob spoke over Jude. “It’s so rude to speak with your mouth full.” He asked, “Whatever would your mother say?” and then winced. “Sorry,” he said quietly.
They both ate instead of speaking for a few minutes, Jude lost in thought while people around them enjoyed the sunshine and sea breeze. “We should do this,” he said, stealing another mushroom from Rob’s plate once his small portion was finished. “Serve breakfasts outside all summer, at home.”
“Why do you think the boatshed is full of tables and chairs?” Rob glanced around, perhaps counting heads and calculating profit like Jude just had. “I picked them up right after Christmas, at another auction. Even if they only get used for the busiest couple of months of the year, I figured it was worth the investment.” He gestured around him with his knife, using the same bad manners he’d accused Jude of having. “Can you see why I wanted to bring you here now?” Jude nodded, and he grinned. “Porthperrin must look as dead now as this place used to, but it doesn’t have to stay that way.” He wiped up the last of his egg yolk with a toast crust. “Look around. All it needs is a bit of vision and a business plan that goes beyond the front doors of the Anchor.” He tapped the side of his head with one finger. “I’ve got it all up here, so just ask if you’ve any questions. I’ll tell you everything I’ve got planned,” he promised, “if you’re finally ready to listen. And—” His wink was far from subtle. “—I’ll make sure to keep my answers simple.”
Jude looked around again at the bustling harbour, so many people here ready to spend their money, and for the first time, he felt real hope for their business.
15
Rob did more shopping after they finished their second breakfasts, his arms laden by the time they got back to the car park. He fumbled his keys out of his pocket. “Here. Can you open the boot?”
Jude did, and Rob played an unsuccessful game of Tetris with his boxes of eggs, local produce, and chunky bars of hand-made soap. “I know, I know,” he said. “It’s not a practical vehicle. I should sell her and buy a Transit van instead, something big and boxy. You don’t have to tell me,” he added as if he expected Jude to do exactly that.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jude promised while admiring Betsy’s gleaming chrome before leaning in to rearrange Rob’s groceries, making short work of nesting each item with its neighbour, not an inch of boot space wasted. “Try stowing supplies for eight into the galley of a yacht for a few months, then talk to me about tight fits. This, by comparison, is