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The biggest obstacle with my fledgling thought is that it would tie me back to here, the place I wanted to escape, although that was a long time ago. I might feel differently now that so much time has passed, but in my gut, I have doubts. It’s only been a couple of days, though.
“Your mind never shuts off, does it?”
“Pardon?” I turn to Mum, who’s smiling at me.
“I can see those cogs churning away. Like you’re planning to take on the world.”
“Who says I’m not?” I wag my eyebrows at her and drink my tea.
The internet speed is frustratingly slow. I roll my eyes for the hundredth time as I look over the local real estate opportunities. Cornwall’s property market is only going in one direction thanks to all the second-homers, and rental income for holiday properties is very profitable.
Tregethworth is no Newquay, but that’s not everyone’s idea of the best destination. I jot down a few details and take a look at some of the planning requirements on the council’s website.
“It’s a beautiful day, Zennor. Why don’t you get out rather than stay cooped up in here?”
“I’m good, Mum. Just doing some work.” I don’t look up and keep my eyes on the screen.
“Well, it’s your loss. Are you coming to bingo at the village hall tonight?”
“I think I’ll pass. But if it makes you feel any better, I might take a visit to The Waterside or The King’s Port.” I placate her with plans I can easily change.
“Well, okay. I’ll be eating out, so book a table if you want food. They get busy. Let me know if you change your mind about the bingo.”
“Bye, Mum.” I click on a holiday cottage website and search for any in the area, wanting to understand the potential money on the table. If this idea was going to fly, I had to make sure there would be a good profit margin to aim for.
I immediately recognise the first listing for Tregethworth—a stone-built cottage along the road at the far end of the beach. The image of the house takes my breath away. After all these years, it’s still a rental property—a place for families to come and visit and fall in love with Cornwall. There are wooden floors throughout, a cosy front room with an inglenook fireplace, a kitchen come dining room, three bedrooms, and a small back garden.
I don’t need any of the photos on the listing to help with the description because I’ve been in that house before.
The smallest bedroom is where I lost my virginity.
To the boy I once swore to love forever.
CHAPTER4
ZENNOR
Now
Igrab my coat, pull on my Chelsea boots and slam the door on the way out.
The beautiful spring day that Mum insisted I spend more time enjoying has turned, with no sight of the sun in the sky. Bubbling grey clouds swarm overhead, but I don’t mind. The brisk walk to the pub helps occupy my mind from anything remotely close to memories.
Memories I don’t want to face.
The pub sits on the other side of the headland and boasts spectacular views of the sea and waves as they crash into the little cove below. It was always a popular place with locals and tourists when I lived here, so I convinced myself that it was time to see if any of that had changed.
The wind picks up as I turn along the edge of the coast and head up towards the pub. There’s little warmth in the air, and once again, I’m sucked back into my time here as a child, feeling miserable and stuck in the winter months.
I pull open the wooden entrance door, and the strangely comforting smell of beer and vinegar immediately envelops me. Heading to the bar, I note the old lobster pots and nets that give the place an authentic touch. A roaring fire in a log burner provides a cosy feel. At the other end of the gleaming bar top, I see a more modern area, which must be an extension.
“I’ll have a glass of red, please. A malbec if you have one,” I order when a woman approaches.
“Large?” the lady behind the bar asks.
“Please.”
Hubbub and the noise of a busy restaurant drift towards me, and I snag a menu from the holder at the bar.
