Although Emma’s appearances were becoming as rare as Halley’s Comet, at least Jack had migrated back into our lives.
‘Any news about Luke’s custody battle?’ he asked me, code for Are you still together?
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know if he’s coming back. I understand he’s got problems and all, but it wouldn’t hurt to text me actual sentences now and then, would it? All I get is… Oh, forget it. And you? Is there anyone on the horizon for you, Jack? We always talk about me and the kids. What about that girl?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to know.’
‘So there’s no one…?’
‘There’s only been one person ever since. But she hardly knows I exist.’
‘Well, then tell her.’
‘What? No.’
‘Tell her your feelings.’
‘I would, but I don’t think she feels the same.’
‘Then she’s an idiot, Jack. Tell her. What have you got to lose?’
‘Her friendship? Her respect?’
I shook my head. ‘If she cares for you at all, even as a friend, you will never lose her.’ Of that, I was certain. Whoever this woman was, she would give him a chance. What woman wouldn’t? Jack was everything a woman could ever want.
He sighed. ‘I wish I had your confidence.’
‘You should be more assertive, Jack. Hell, you’re a successful businessman and you can’t handle your love life?’
‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘Okay. I’ll try. Have you seen Em lately?’
34
Nine To Five
The next Monday was my first day as a Poldark tour guide. Each day I’d be carrying out a different tour with different starting points dislocated across the county. It was roughly a four-hour tour across the whole of Cornwall at the best of times, but I had no choice. I donned my stupid red cap and blue dress, courtesy of Holsworthy Poldark Tours that had done me the favour of hiring me, and drove to Charlestown where the bus driver was waiting for me to collect the fans from their hotels.
As it were, my first batch straight off the bat happened to be indeed Italian, so after our Hellos and Where are you froms and Why you speak Italian so wells, we got into the nitty-gritty. It was a young group, mainly couples who were up for a trek and dressed for the Vietnamese jungle.
Our first stop was Truro Harbour from where we went on to Falmouth, then off to Porthcurno and, getting familiar with the lingo of the trade, to the magical Minack Theatre, from which you could enjoy the best views featured in Poldark Series 1. (Or so the brochure said.)
Then we went down to Porthcurno beach featured in Poldark Series 2. The views from there were among the most iconic in Cornwall. After a quick lunch we headed on Porthgwarra, the tiny cove used in Poldark Series 1 for the pilchard boats scene, and also from where Demelza spies on Ross bathing in the sea.
Later, as I stood out on Gwennap Head waiting for them to take their selfies and making sure they weren’t going to selfie themselves off a cliff, I did some of my own dramatic gazing out into the sea, just like Demelza (minus the optimism) waiting for her beloved Ross to return, the irony of it occurred to me. Because as sure as hell, I wasn’t Demelza, and Luke, as much as he may be someone’s Ross, certainly wasn’t mine anymore. Because he wasn’t coming back.
As I stood there, I remembered Ben explaining to Luke about the daymarks, and a sense of nostalgia enveloped me. ‘And this is where Ross Poldark said he would be happy to leave California and live here with her and the kids,’ I heard myself say out loud.
‘Ross Poldark in California?’ I heard someone say, scratching their heads. ‘Wasn’t it Virginia?’
If only I hadn’t screwed up. Luke would be here, the script would be finished by now and maybe production would have even started. And Ben’s operation would be on the horizon. Boosted by the movie, I’d probably have started my next book and watched the royalties ca-chinging from the comfort of the dining room table by the window. But instead I was clad in a cheap, blue polyester dress and a red cap and still making arancini on the side to make ends meet. So much for California Dreamin’. So much for any dreamin’.
‘Ehm, Signorina?’ one of my couples addressed me.
I sighed and turned around. ‘Sì?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fan-Pold-astic,’ I chimed.
‘Signorina?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please come away from the edge, you’re scaring us.’
*
After a gruelling day scarpering over hill and dale in the cool Cornish winds, I decided to take Lottie to the mechanic’s in Truro on the way home. I had to make sure that at least she would be able to endure the commute into work and back.
I would have loved to have swung round to Emma’s while waiting for the verdict, but I was too tired and didn’t want to drag her down with my misery.
‘It’s bad,’ the mechanic warned as he wiped his hands on an old filthy cloth.
I groaned. ‘How bad?’
He shrugged and said something about the carburettor and that it was an old car and when was the last time I’d changed the oil? Apart from the last time Jack saw it? How the hell was I supposed to know? I took it to the petrol station, asked them to give it a once-over and they poured stuff into it. I didn’t get into the details as long as the engine started.
Besides, we’d got the clunker thirteen years ago before Chloe was born and even then it was a second-hand deal. And now it was either spend a whole cartload of money on it or wave it goodbye. I did a rapid calculation. With the way things were going financially, we’d have to sell the house before the end of the school
