Page 16 of Summer at Harbour View House
‘There!’
A light came on in the shark’s tank, illuminating a pitiful, pickled face. Both women screamed. Jago cackled and turned the phone around.
‘Perfect. Got ‘e proper job. Tourists love it.’
Natasha glared at the old farmer, but Hannah tittered as she took back her phone. ‘Oh, this is so being my new profile picture,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I tag you?’
Natasha just shrugged. ‘Sure.’
Hannah tilted the phone. Jago had clearly taken this shot before. The shark was in the centre, lit up like a yellow-green nightmare, with two women looking petrified beside it. Hannah, typically, had come off best, like a model for a Disney Channel teen horror. Natasha had one eye half closed, a hand lifting up so that it looked like she was poking her nose with a finger.
‘I’ll get so many likes on this,’ Hannah said.
‘I need another drink,’ Natasha answered.
Jago, cackling to himself, led them back to the house, where he topped up their drinks, then excused himself to go to the bathroom. Hannah, still giggling to herself, broke out into a fit of hiccups as they sat down at a dinner table Demelza had laid.
‘I hope he didn’t scare you,’ she said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded. ‘He’s obsessed with that shark.’
‘King James,’ Hannah said with a hiccup, then covered her mouth and giggled.
‘Right,’ Demelza said. ‘Who’s hungry?’
She went back into the kitchen, returning with a huge pie dish to go with several plates of vegetables already laid out. As she set it down, Natasha stared.
Fish heads poked out of the pie crust, their blind eyes staring at her, full of condemnation.
‘Stargazy pie,’ Demelza said with a proud smile. ‘A Cornish specialty.’
Jago returned and sat down, rubbing his hands together. He topped up their drinks again, then grinned.
‘Looks great, love,’ he said to Demelza.
‘Shall I serve?’
‘Get on.’
Demelza cut large portions out of the pie and loaded it onto plates. Natasha stared in horror at the fish head poking out of her piece.
‘Cornish pilchards,’ Demelza said. ‘It originally comes from Mowsel, along the coast a little ways.’
‘Mowsel?’ Hannah said, opening her phone and scrolling through a map application. ‘I can’t see it?’
‘It’s spelled a little differently,’ Demelza said.
‘Mowsel,’ Jago said, cackling to himself as he opened a can of Doom Bar ale and poured it into a pint glass.
‘There it is, Demelza said, leaning over Hannah’s shoulder and pointing.
‘Mousehole?’
‘Mowsel,’ Jago said, grinning.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Demelza said. ‘It’s part of the charm.’
‘Lad Bawcock braved a vicious storm, brought back fish to feed whole village,’ Jago said. ‘This here pie is a celebration.’
‘The legend of Tom Bawcock,’ Demelza said. ‘He was a man from Mowsel in the 16thCentury. According to the legend, he went out in his fishing boat in a terrible storm, and brought back enough fish to feed the whole village. They celebrated by making a pie with seven different kinds of fish, leaving the heads sticking out to prove they were in there. They have a festival for him on December 23rdevery year. If you get a chance, you should go. They light up the whole harbour. It looks wonderful.’
