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The sight of the Jamaica Inn in the distance was a welcome relief. They were nearly safe, just a few more obstacles to overcome. ‘How’s grandma doing?’
‘Sleeping like a baby.’
She offered him a weak smile. ‘I’d be sleeping, too, if I was tucked up in your arms. Lucky Grandma.’ He met her gaze and a look passed between them, loaded with intensity. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so cold. ‘I’m sorry I reacted badly about your dad – it was judgemental of me. It’s hardly your fault he’s in prison.’
‘You don’t need to apologise. You didn’t react any differently to anyone else when they find out.’
‘But I used it as an excuse to justify backing off, and that was unfair of me.’ She waited until his eyes met hers. ‘Is it the reason why you and Chris don’t get on?’
He nodded. ‘Chris is very protective of our mother. He hates what my dad has done to her.’
‘It can’t have been easy on you or your sister either.’
‘It’s not, but he’s still my dad. Whatever he’s done, I love him. I don’t approve of his behaviour, but I can’t cut him out of my life completely. Chris doesn’t understand that.’
But Beth did – she felt the same way about her own father. ‘Family, huh?’
‘Family.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, we’d better get a move on.’
Having climbed over the final ditch, they reached the road and Beth could see a flurry of activity outside the inn. Her mother was hovering by the doorway, looking concerned, no doubt awaiting the safe arrival of Grandma Doris.
A taxi was parked on the forecourt and a white-haired man was unloading a bag from the boot. His hair was wavy and unkempt, a match for his bushy beard. He looked like a slightly dishevelled Father Christmas.
‘I wonder who that is?’ Beth said, straining to see. ‘We’re not expecting anyone else.’ She turned back to Matt, who’d stopped dead in the road. ‘Do you know that man?’
‘I do,’ he said, looking ashen. ‘It’s my dad.’
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday, 8thJune
It probably wasn’t the best idea for Connie to be having her hair done in the middle of a storm. Sleeting rain pelted against the salon windows, making the glass rattle as the wind howled outside, and every time the door opened, the customers were subjected to a blast of cold wet air. So much for it being the height of summer – Cornwall was bleaker than a Dickens novel when the weather wasn’t good.
Connie shivered as another gust circled her ankles. She glanced outside the window, watching the holidaymakers battling against the wind, as they headed in search of respite, their rain-sodden macs stuck to their bare legs. That was the thing about British families on holiday – if it was summer, then they wore shorts, no matter the weather.
Although Connie figured there was a decent chance her blow-dry wouldn’t last the journey back to the hotel, she didn’t regret her trip. In truth, she’d needed the escape – things had become a little intense of late.
She’d left her mother in the capable hands of Alex – or so she hoped. He wasn’t the most reliable of minders, but he’d been on surprisingly good behaviour all day, something that was out of character and probably highly suspicious, but she was desperate, so she was willing to quell her maternal scepticism and pray for the best.
In true Alex style, her son had started drinking the moment they’d arrived at the hotel yesterday, and she’d resigned herself to managing his behaviour, apologising for his drunken misdemeanours and ignoring his feeble attempts to hide his weed addiction. Instead, he’d retired to bed early last night and emerged this morning in a sheepish mood – hangover-free – and hadn’t downed his usual three pints with lunch. This was suspicious enough, but when he’d offered to look after his grandma this afternoon, so Connie could get her hair done, she’d nearly fainted from shock. Who was this imposter purporting to be her son? Still, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and had escaped before Alex could change his mind.
Whatever had instigated her son’s improved behaviour, at least it was one fewer member of the Lawrence family causing an upset or scandal. And, rather humiliatingly, she was forced to include herself in that group. After all, she’d propositioned the best man last night. It wasn’t her finest moment – the memory made her squirm, and she noticed her already red cheeks deepening further in the stark salon mirror.
There seemed to be a fine line between a woman’s behaviour being seen as ‘empowering and liberating’ as opposed to ‘inappropriate and embarrassing’. Sadly, her ill-advised flirtations had been firmly rooted in the second category. Why was it that a man could date a woman several decades younger and be viewed as a ‘lucky old goat’, while a woman seducing a younger man was seen as ‘slightly desperate’?
Either way, it wasn’t like she particularly wanted a fling with a younger man – she just didn’t want to be judged because of it. But kissing Matt Hardy hadn’t been down to logic, passion or the desire to assert her right as a middle-aged woman to re-engage in a meaningful sex life, it had happened because she’d been drunk. And that was never a good enough reason for being the centre of gossip – at any age.
The stylist held up a hand mirror and showed Connie the back of her hairdo. It looked good, although how long it would last remained to be seen.
Connie collected her things and headed for the front desk to settle up.
Maybe she should feel guilty for needing a break from her family, but there was only so much drama she could take, and discovering that her mother had gone missing on Bodmin Moor this morning had left her nerves in tatters.
Connie tried to be a good daughter, she really did. She bit her tongue, she solved problems, she kept her mother safe and she’d managed to keep her in her own home. But it didn’t stop the cycle of emotions from repeating. The resentment, the annoyance, the loss of patience, concluding with overwhelming guilt and the promise to do better next time. Except next time was never any different.
Paying for her blow-dry, she accepted the receptionist’s offer of help in putting on her coat. She was going to need it in this weather.
Pulling up the hood, she scanned the street outside, hoping for a break in the weather. Her plan to shop and explore Launceston had been abandoned, but she wasn’t quite ready to return to the wedding preparations at the hotel.
