Eleanor Glasson's usually cheerful disposition had almost entirely evaporated by the time the taxi turned into the narrow lane leading to Portwenn. The cabby had slowed to a snail's pace as rain pelted the car with a ferocity that made it sound like hail.
"You alright love?" He had to raise his voice above the din.
She pulled a face. "Bloody hell. I'd forgotten how miserable Cornwall can be at this time of year."
The cabby glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. "Forecast has it clearing up overnight, so it's not all bad. We might even get good weather over Christmas." He made it sound like that was the ultimate prize in the Cornwall advent calendar.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. She wasn't convinced. She knew what Cornwall weather was like. The winters were harsh and predictably cold, wet and miserable. And as for summer! Summer only rolled in when it felt like it and brought with it the now-you-see-me-now-you-don't sunshine that still carried a hint of coolness with it when the sun began to set. You never got those balmy, intoxicating Spanish evenings where your mood shifted effortlessly into party mode and your energy just seemed to have no end.
She pursed her lips in resignation as she stared out at the sodden hedgerows. The clouds hung low and dark and looked as sour as her mood felt. She hadn't had a cigarette in an hour, she was gasping for a drink and her stomach was growling from hunger. Her flight into Newquay had been through bad weather most of the way and she wasn't a great one for flying to start with. The only things on offer to eat on the plane had been miniscule packets of salted peanuts or chili pretzels which, together with the tiniest glass of red wine she'd ever been offered on an airplane, had passed for lunch. And then to top this fantastic travel experience, on landing at Newquay airport, the icy air had made her eyes water and had bitten at her face as if to acutely remind her of the reason she had left the UK in the first place. Well one of them at least. She'd all but forgotten the bone chilling cold that English winters could bring and she wondered how long she would last before she had to flee again.
"Here to see family, are you?"
"Amongst other things, yeah. Got a lovely grandson I haven't seen in a while."
The taxi made slow progress along the narrow lane. Apart from poor visibility, the hedgerows were just inches from the sides of the car and, with the wind buffeting wildly, the cabby had his hands full trying to avoid getting his car scratched. They passed a sign, only just visible through the streams of water running down the windows of the taxi. "Welcome to Portwenn".
Eleanor snorted. "Some bloody welcome!"
A few moments later the taxi turned into Fore Street and Eleanor craned her neck to look at the houses as they slowly passed by. She noticed quite a few changes. Probably second home owners doing places up as holiday lets. She wondered why on earth anyone would want to spend a holiday in Portwenn when they could be in a place like Spain or the south of France.
The cabby pulled up as close to the entrance to the Crab & Lobster as he could and jumped out to help her under cover of an enormous umbrella.
"You go on in and I'll bring yer bags."
The sound of animated chatter greeted Eleanor as she pushed the door open, followed by a rush of warmth and the aroma of delicious food which made her mouth water. She couldn't wait to check in then come down to the bar to have some fun and a bite to eat. Hopefully there would be some familiar faces to have a laugh with.
She rang the bell on the counter and while she waited, settled the fare with the cabby but when he'd left no-one had yet come to assist her. She frowned. Admittedly the noise from the bar was quite loud. She rang again, a little more emphatically and a young man hurried into the hallway.
"Evenin'. How can I help?"
Eleanor squinted at him for a moment. He looked familiar but she hadn't been in the village for quite a while and was struggling to place him.
"Yeah I booked a room - name's Eleanor Glasson."
The young man's eyes widened. "Oh yes. Mrs Glasson. Welcome." He ducked behind the counter and brought out a key attached to a massive, wooden block on which the room number had been carved. "I'll show you the way and take yer bags up."
Eleanor's eyes twinkled. He was pleasant looking and she'd always loved the company of young men. "And you are?"
"Al Large. Proprietor." He grinned at her.
Eleanor remembered him now. He'd lost some of his hair already, and at such a young age too, and it was already a little grey in places but at least he'd kept himself trim, unlike his father.
"Bert's son are you?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"He here this evening?"
Al nodded. "Behind the bar." He stooped to pick up her bags. "Come on. I'll show you up to your room."
Eleanor followed Al up the stairs. His firm bottom, just inches in front of her, was rather a pleasant sight, she thought. Not many virile young men left in the village last time she'd been here.
Al opened the door and preceded her into the room and Eleanor smiled, running her eyes appreciatively over him from head to toe as he placed the bags at the foot of the bed. Her appraisal hadn't gone unnoticed she thought with amusement as he gave a quick, self-conscious nod and hurriedly left. Chuckling to herself, she closed the door slowly behind him. Well well, well. Bert's son had turned into a bit of alright!
She looked around the room. They'd done it up nicely since the last time she'd stayed at the Crab. Gone were the drab 1970s fittings and the much lighter, modern decor was rather pleasing. The large bedroom mirror caught her eye and she went to stand in front of it, critically assessing whether she needed to change before going down for supper. Her outfit still looked fresh enough, she thought and looking at the bags at the end of her bed, the thought of unpacking before having a drink and a fag was just too much. No, a quick touch up of makeup and a brush through her hair was all that was needed.
She burrowed in her makeup bag for her lipstick, then went to the bathroom where the light was better. The little mirror above the basin reflected her tanned face and she stared for a moment. The bright light revealed more wrinkles than she wanted to see. Many, many days spent on the beaches of Spain had not been kind to her skin but, to hell with it, she thought, she'd enjoyed every second of it: sun, sea, copious amounts of alcohol and surrounded by an endless parade of gorgeous young men - she'd had fun by the bucket load. That's what made life worth living. Freedom and fun. She'd felt free for the first time in her life when she'd gone to Spain for the first time. Coming back to Cornwall had been like coming back to a miserable, wet and depressing cloud of gloom. Rather like today in fact.
God knows, with Terry always up to his tricks and her having to look after Louisa who, for her age, had been no fun at all, had driven her half daft. Louisa had always taken life so seriously and her disapproval of her mother's relaxed attitude to life, even as a child had been galling. As soon as Terry had put in an appearance after one of his long absences, she'd taken the gap and legged it back to Spain. And she'd never looked back. Especially after meeting Javier. A momentary sadness dulled the usual twinkle in her eyes. She still missed him, but as they say: "C'est la vie". And life, like the proverbial show, must always go on.
She'd had the occasional twinge of guilt about leaving Portwenn, not that she ever let anything get her down for long. Mostly it had to do with Louisa, but to be fair, the girl had refused to come over to Spain when she'd been invited. Eleanor had even thought about going back to Portwenn at one point but then sanity prevailed. Cornwall had been her undoing. Or maybe it was just Portwenn. It had felt like being trapped. The boredom, the predictability, the lack of spontaneity, the lack of Fun, and the people - judgemental and stifling were words that came to mind. Everyone always knew what everyone else was up to. Not that it was any different in the Spanish village in which she now lived, but the difference was that they didn't give a rat's arse what you got up to. The more scandalous, the better the entertainment. You weren't ostracised for it. People were human. They made mistakes, got up to all sorts of things and there might be a few comments, but life just went on.
Eleanor finished in the bathroom and went to the bedroom window to draw the curtains, pausing for a moment to look out over the harbour. Her eyes were inexorably drawn to the far side but her view was obscured by curtains of rain swirling in the bright lights from the Platt. She knew the quaint little surgery would be there, perched on Roscarrock Hill and no doubt Louisa would be at home with her miserable, grumpy husband and, hopefully, a less miserable and grumpy son.
From time to time Louisa had sent her photographs of the boy via WhatsApp and she'd been dismayed to note strong similarities between James and his father. The same frown and intense glare were unmistakable. Eleanor wondered how much fun the boy was allowed to have with such an uptight father and a mother who never was much fun herself as a child. James had probably never been to a theme park in his life or ridden a roller coaster or had an ice cream fight. Eleanor chuckled out loud. She still enjoyed skylarking like that and she was in her sixties! She recalled having ice cubes pushed down the front of her sarong only weeks earlier by a gorgeous, dark-haired Chilean lad, holidaying in her neck of the woods. Cheeky thing. They'd had such a great time.
With a last look in the mirror, Eleanor left her room and went down to the bar. It was packed and loud, just as she liked it. The smell of beer and fish and chips assailed her nostrils and she smiled - it was a familiar blend of aromas so unique to English pubs. She stood for a moment searching for a vacant chair at a table or even at the bar, but it was full to the rafters.
"Well well...if it isn't Eleanor Glasson!"
Eleanor swung round to see Bert peering at her from behind the bar. He'd grown even more rotund than she remembered.
"Hallo Bert. Surprised you did I?"
"And then some...what brings you to this part of the world? Last time you were here, you were after a crab quota."
Eleanor didn't even blink at the insinuation. Bert wasn't exactly squeaky clean when it came to under the table wheeling and dealing, but this time she wasn't prepared to let on what her plans were. Bert was a gossip and, as she recalled, not incapable of trying to muscle in on things. She'd already set up a meet and greet with a man who ran lobster boats out of Padstow. All going well she would be able to get a steady supply for her little marisquerÃa. Duty free of course.
"Not this time Bert. I've come to see my grandson - it being Christmas."
Bert gave her a sceptical look which she chose to ignore and instead, ordered a glass of red wine. While she waited, she looked around to see if there were any familiar faces. Eddie Rix, moon-faced now, sat with his mousy wife Gloria, who still looked as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. At least, from what she'd heard, they had fun in their own unique way. She noticed Chippy Miller, greyer and bigger than she remembered. She'd grown used to Spanish men generally being trimmer than English men. Diet definitely played a role but, if she had to guess, it was the copious amount of beer that English men preferred over wine that was to blame. Cream teas didn't help either.
Bert slid her wine glass across the bar counter then slowly wiped it down.
"So I suppose Louisa expectin' and all, you'll want to..."
"Oh she's not expectin' me. I'll go up and surprise her in the morning."
"No I mean she's expectin'...another baby." Bert gave a conspiratorial dip of his head as if to say "yeah...you heard me" and his eyes widened in anticipation as he watched Eleanor's mouth drop open.
"What!?"
Bert nodded. "That's right. Must be...oooh...four or five months along by now."
Eleanor's face arranged itself into tight-lipped disapproval and her blue eyes flashed. It was common knowledge that she had no time for Louisa's husband and this little bit of news ignited all the resentment in her again. Pregnant! Her Lou-Lou was forty two this year. Forty two! What was he thinking? He should bloody-well know better, he being a doctor and all.
Eleanor rummaged angrily in her handbag for her cigarettes and lighter. She desperately needed to smoke but of course she'd have to sneak a puff somewhere. All these anti-smoking laws were so ridiculous and so minutely enforced in the UK. Her little bar in Spain had rules but they were more of a guideline than an enforcement. A riot would ensue if she had to impose fines for every patron that smoked within ten metres of the building. Go with the flow, was a philosophy she had taken with her from Cornwall. It was the one thing that fitted in seamlessly with the Spanish way of life.
Picking up her glass, she headed out of the bar through a side door and into the alleyway that led to the Platt. At least it was sheltered from the rain but she shivered as the icy air hit her and chilled her skin right through the quilted jacket she was wearing. She'd bought it especially for her trip to Cornwall, never really having the need for clothing like this in Spain.
She shivered and pulled the collar up under her chin. The sound of waves rushing up the slope of the beach and crashing against the wall of the fishmonger's yard echoed in the alleyway as she turned her back to the strong draught funnelling through it and quickly lit up. The euphoria of that first deep drag on her cigarette helped to calm her a bit and she lifted her glass and downed most of her wine in one gulp. Pregnant! She still couldn't believe it, still couldn't fathom the seemingly reckless, irresponsibility of this pregnancy. Her indignation started to bubble up again. Poor Lou-Lou. She was probably besides herself, poor girl. As if having to contend with one toddler at her age wasn't enough.
The tip of her cigarette glowed brightly as she took another long drag and she stared, narrow-eyed up at the surgery. She was looking forward, more than ever, to going up there in the morning.