Page 22 of Wishes & Waves at the Cornish Bakery
‘That’s enough, thanks.’
Nodding, Isaac picked up a mug and gave it to Tilly.
‘Sit down, sit down. Stop making the place look untidy.’ Mo chuckled as it pointed his fork towards two chairs.
‘Thank you.’ Tilly slipped onto a chair and took a sip of tea, wincing at how strong it was. It tasted as though it had been brewing all morning.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Here you go, you two.’ Liz placed two plates in front of them, each holding a doorstep of a bacon sandwich, before she poured herself a tea and sat at the head of the table opposite her husband. ‘You eat that up. I’ve already had mine.’
‘This looks great, I’ve not had a proper bacon sandwich in forever.’ Picking up the sandwich, she sank her teeth into it. It had been a good choice.
‘If you’re ever in need of one, Liz makes the best.’ Mo nodded towards his wife, his face full of pride.
‘Give over, Mo. Anyone can make a bacon sarnie. Even you if you put your mind to it.’ Liz laughed. “Although he’s right, you’re welcome anytime. I do seem to have the frying pan going from first light until lunchtime.’
‘Well, this really is the best. Tilly’s right.’ Isaac grinned as he bit into his sandwich.
‘What can we do for you then?’ Liz took a sip of her tea.
‘Looking for someone, she is.’ Mo nodded towards Tilly, his mouth full of breakfast.
‘Oh, is that right? Who are you looking for?’ Liz glanced out of the window towards the farmyard. ‘We’ve hired a few farmhands this year to help with the harvest and the like, and most of them pop in at some point to be fed and watered.’
‘She can keep up with them more than I can. I eat and go out to the fields, Liz here might recognise them.’ Mo swallowed. ‘Her, or my son. Like I said, he and his wife do the hiring. Butyou said it was from some time ago, right? Thirty-five years, she said.’
‘Thirty-five years?’ Liz lowered her mug to the table. ‘Now then, I’m not sure even I can remember the names of the people who worked for us thirty-five years ago.’
‘The young lady has a photo.’ Mo stabbed his fork towards her.
‘A photo?’ Liz rubbed her hands together. ‘Now that might just jog my memory. I can’t make any promises, mind. My memory isn’t what it used to be, I’m afraid.’
‘I’d be grateful for any information. However small you might think it is.’ Tilly wiped her hands on the leg of her jeans before pulling her handbag onto her lap and taking out the wallet of photographs.
‘He or she isn’t wanted for murder or anything, are they? Wouldn’t want our farm to become a crime scene or anything.’ Mo frowned.
‘Don’t be daft, Mo. If she were the police, she’d have shown her ID.’ Liz rolled her eyes at him as she wiped her hands on her apron and held her hand out towards Tilly. ‘Let’s see them, lovely.’
Holding the photo by the corner, Tilly drew it from the small stack and held it out towards Liz. She could hardly breathe, her stomach was churning, and she wasn’t sure whether she’d be able to keep the sandwich down; she was that nervous. ‘Here.’
Taking the photograph, Liz held it gently by the edge, holding it up to her face. ‘They look like a lovely young couple, don’t they now?’
Tilly nodded. ‘They’re my parents. My dad passed away shortly after this photograph was taken.’
Liz took a sharp intake of breath and glanced over at her husband. ‘It’s that young boy. I know the one, the youngfarmhand who passed away in a car crash the day after the harvest celebrations. You know who I mean, don’t you, Mo?’
‘You remember him? He worked here? What was his name? My aunt never told me, she always said she couldn’t remember, although I’m not sure that was true.’ The words tumbled from her mouth. Tilly had never been this close to knowing who her dad had been. Her aunt, although she’d adored talking of Penworth Bay, had never told her any details about her dad. From what Tilly had pieced together, her mum had spent the entire pregnancy broken-hearted after her dad had passed. It had been a whirlwind holiday romance, cut short too soon.
‘It was...’ Liz tapped her chin before looking at Tilly, her expression softening. ‘I can’t remember, lovely. I’m so sorry. I remember him, though. He worked hard that summer. One of the hardest workers of the season. He was always polite, too. Polite to a fault. He’d had a good upbringing, I reckon.’
Looking down at her plate and the remaining half of her sandwich, Tilly bit her lip. She would not cry. Not here and not over the sandwich Liz had kindly made for her. She couldn’t. ‘Thank you.’
‘Aye, all is not lost. Pass this across to Mo. He might remember more.’ She gave Tilly back the photo and nodded towards her husband. ‘You worked out in the fields, you might remember his name.’
‘Thanks.’ Taking the photo, Tilly passed it across to Isaac, who then handed it to Mo.
Laying the photo on the tabletop, Mo patted the top of his head. ‘Now, where did I leave those damn reading glasses? Can’t see a damn thing close up without them.’
