Page 8 of One Cornish Summer With You
Ruan was clearly amused, which was good of him after the reception he’d received from Davey. Tammy wasn’t sure anything Ruan might have said would have been to the fearsome Davey’s liking anyway. He was like a large shaggyguard dog who’d die before letting anyone near his owners. Or in his case, Tammy.
She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or touched by her landlord’s concern for her. She might have understood if she’d been seventeen and creeping home drunk with some guy from the local bar. However, now she was in her thirties, it was harder to take being under Davey’s scrutiny.
Using her bum, she shoved open a door with peeling blue paint and a crack across its porthole-style window. ‘The apartments are through here. Mine’s on the top floor.’
Tammy let Ruan climb the narrow stairs ahead of her. The building had once been a sea captain’s house but now housed the gallery, Davey’s studio, and his own flat, all on the ground floor. Her own one-bed apartment occupied part of the first floor with storage space in the attics.
On the small landing, she squeezed past Ruan. ‘I need to unlock it.’
‘Doesn’t everyone leave their doors unlocked in a small town?’
Tammy wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. ‘Maybe sixty years ago. Not now. People have been known to wander up here thinking it’s their holiday let, so I play it safe.’
‘I don’t blame you.’
‘In here,’ she said, letting him go ahead and leaving the door wide open, knowing Davey was within screaming distance should she need him. She also had a spare rake out on the balcony.
Ruan went ahead of her and stopped, his jaw dropping at the sight that met him.
Tammy winced inwardly at the unwashed laundry piled in a heap on the sofa along with the wrappings from last night’s fish and chips and the lingering tang of vinegar. She’d been out late scoping a remote cove on the Lizard as a possible location for a sand design.
‘Sorry. Wasn’t expecting visitors.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Ruan said, turning to her with a smile.
She agreed with him. Since when had she cared what anyone thought of her living arrangements? She must stop apologising for being herself.
Anyway, her laundry arrangements hardly mattered because Ruan was gawping at the French doors. ‘That’s one hell of a view.’
‘Yeah. It’s not bad,’ she said, amused and quietly proud that he was impressed. While her flat wasn’t large, she liked to think it had one of the best outlooks in Porthmellow. She was lucky that Davey rented it to her at such a reasonable price and hadn’t decided to turn it into a holiday let. He could have made so much more money that way. Davey letting her have the place had come at a time when she thought luck had not only passed her by, but had stuck up two fingers as it sailed past.
Ruan had crossed to the French doors. ‘From here, it looks as if you could step straight into the harbour.’
‘Only if you’ve spent too long in the Smuggler’s. Wait here a mo while I find the shirt.’
The truth was she didn’t have to ‘find’ it. She knew exactly where it had been for five years. It was hangingon the far end of the rail away from her scant collection of dresses and jeans. It was plain white and only an M&S job, not the high-end stuff she was sure Ruan normally wore.
She slipped it off the hanger, and couldn’t resist holding it close to her face, even though she knew there would be no trace of her dad left. It was the only shirt she’d kept – his Sunday best.
She slipped it back on the hanger.Don’t think,she told herself.Donotthink. Just do. It’s no use to you, and he’d have wanted it to go to a good home, wanted it to be useful.He’d hated waste and besides, he and Tammy hadn’t had the luxury of wasting stuff.
As she left her bedroom, a wave of worry washed over her. What if Ruan had just accepted the shirt to be polite? Had she forced him into an embarrassing situation where he couldn’t say no? He might rather turn up to his meeting with ice-cream stains and be thinking of how he could wriggle out of accepting it.
It scared her how much she wanted him to want to be there. She hadn’t felt like this about a man for as long as she could remember and yet she didn’t even know how old he was.
Maybe a little older than her? He had a few greying threads in his dark hair but he was younger than forty. It was hard to judge in the suit which added such gravity to his appearance.
When she returned, he’d moved closer to the window and was peering out over the harbour with its fishing boatsand yachts, paddleboarders and tombstoning teenagers, drinkers and shoppers, and squawking seagulls having a field day.
‘Here you go,’ she said.
He turned away from the view to her.
Tammy held out the shirt. ‘It should fit. I mean, I’m guessing at the size of course. Not that I’ve been sizing you up inthatsense.’ She paused, aware she’d been gabbling and made it obvious shehadbeen sizing him up – literally. ‘Probably better if it’s a bit too big than too small. And don’t feel you have to wear it. Shit. This is awkward, isn’t it?’ She laughed nervously.
His smile was kind. ‘It’ll be fine, I’m sure,’ he said warmly. ‘Better than turning up with ice cream plastered down my chest or in a Hawaiian shirt.’
‘Yeah. I’ll, er, go in the kitchen while you try it on.’
