Page 119 of A Secret Cornish Wish
‘Home,’ Ana says. ‘I was just showing Daisy-Rose to a prospective client.’
Daisy-Rose is the name of Ana’s VW camper van. Ana runs a very successful business renting Daisy-Rose out for weddings, graduations and the like.
‘Any luck?’
‘Of course. Once they see her in all her glory they can’t resist.’ She winks. ‘Oops,’ she says, looking in her rear-view mirror. ‘Looks like I’m the one causing the traffic jam now. I’d better go. See you soon!’
I wave as she drives off, and then I continue to stand to the side of the narrow road while three more vehicles pass me. Then I carry on my way.
My studio and shop is not that far from Morvoren Cove, along a fairly busy thoroughfare in St Felix. It wasn’t in among all the hustle and bustle of Harbour Street like the flower shop and the bakery. But it had enough passing footfall to make it visible to the many tourists and holidaymakers who came to St Felix wanting to buy a souvenir of their trip – and luckily for me that was often a painting or a print of their holiday destination.
As I unlock the door to my studio, I marvel, as I often do, at how I’m this lucky.
I’ve never regretted for a moment moving back to St Felix and, even though the last ten years feel like they’ve flashed by in a few moments most days, it’s been quite the eventful decade, and not just for myself and Rosie.
After a few minutes of pottering about, I settle myself down into my seat in front of my easel at the back of the shop and I begin to paint. Painting still soothes me, as it always has. The rhythmical process of placing a brush in paint and applying it to a canvas calms me in a way nothing else does, and it allows me time to process my thoughts.
I’ll always be disturbed by someone coming into the shop to browse and, if I’m lucky, to buy one of my paintings. But I don’t mind at all. I’m still so grateful that I’m able to make a living this way. I’ve continued living with Claire; it’s only the two of us in the house now and we split all the bills between us. When Claire’s mother sadly passed away, Claire inherited what was left of her parents’ estate, and that included a mortgage-free house. So now all our children have moved to pastures new, our monthly bills are incredibly reasonable for two people living in such a large house in St Felix. Claire and I have been friends for nearly forty years now, and we’re still more than happy to be in each other’s company.
I spend the next couple of hours happily painting. Currently, I’m working on a private commission – a painting of Morvoren Cove. The customer was very specific in what they wanted and, as always, I was happy to oblige.
One of the most interesting things about the commission is what I learnt while discussing it over the phone with Muriel, the lovely old lady who asked me to create an artwork that summed up her lifelong love of both St Felix and in particular of Morvoren Cove.
How I never knew this before, I really couldn’t understand once Muriel told me – but apparently the word ‘morvoren’ is Cornish for mermaid.
‘Did you know that?’ I asked Claire when I came back from the studio that evening.
‘Of course!’ Claire said, smiling. ‘ “Mor” is the Cornish word for sea, and “moren” for maiden. And there’s the mermaid myth that goes with that particular cove. I told you about it when we were at school. Do you remember?’
‘Of course I remember,’ I replied.I’ve never been allowed to forget it over the years.
‘That seems like a long time ago now, doesn’t it?’ Claire said wistfully. ‘I wonder how many of those wishes we made ever came true?’
Luckily for me, an Amazon courier knocked on Claire’s door at that moment, so I didn’t have to answer any more questions on the subject. The less said about those wishes, the better in my opinion, especially in light of recent events.
But as I lock up the studio that night, I pause at my desk and stare at the items displayed on the windowsill. They’re nothing unusual, especially not for a windowsill in a Cornish seaside town. But the ornate shells that I have on my windowsill are special, to me anyway. Because they’re the same shells that have been collected at very special moments over four decades of my life.
Thirty-Three
‘What are you up to today?’ I ask Claire as we sit down for breakfast on Saturday morning.
‘I’ve got a meeting about the school reunion,’ Claire says, sipping on her cup of tea.
‘Oh, right,’ I reply, trying not to sound too dismissive. Claire already knew what I thought about the reunion she was organising for the ‘Class of 1990.’
‘It’s happening, Frankie, whether you like it or not. I know a lot of people are looking forward to it, even if you aren’t.’
Claire originally tried to organise a reunion for the thirtieth anniversary of us leaving school in the summer of 2020. But unfortunately for Claire, this momentous anniversary also coincided with another momentous event – one that spread a little further around the world than our ex-classmates – a global pandemic on a scale no one had ever witnessed before.
The reunion had to be postponed when a second wave of Covid-19 broke out, and then again when the school decided to have some renovation work done over the course of one summer. So here we are now in 2024, and finally Claire has decided to try one last time to reorganise the event – the occasion, 2024 is the year the majority of the class will be celebrating their fiftieth birthdays.
‘Claire, you know that’s not fair. I said I’d come, didn’t I? And that I’d help you out on the night with everything. Forgive me if I’m not super excited to see a load of people I haven’t spoken to in over thirty years.’
‘You have spoken to them. What about the other mermaids – they are all coming.’
‘Four of us already live here! One never left,’ I say, winking at Claire. ‘And the other three have gradually made their way back over the years.’
Claire, Eddie and I are not the only ones of our original group who have found their way back to St Felix. Rob now lives here as well.
