‘Don’t want this landmark experience to be marred,’ he responded, carrying her back up to dry sand, away from water.
‘No, indeed. … erm,’ she chuckled. ‘You can put me down now. I’m no featherweight.’
Trelawney lowered her toes to the sand. He checked his watch. ‘Ok, to drop you back now?’
‘Of course.’
Seated on the warm bonnet of a newly parked car, Tempest was regarding the sand and water with rampant disapproval. He glanced at Amanda and Trelawney, making their leisurely progress up the beach.
Humans were quite fascinating in their way, he thought. Watching their thought process was like observing the progress of the ice age.
It was all so blatantly obvious. They were clearly beginning to experience that thing their species was always human-a-wauling about, in what they fondly regarded as ‘songs’. His human was better than most, and her pet male did seem to be blessed with a little grey cell or two. Still ... if that was the best of the bunch.
Tempest knew he was being fair. He wasn’t the only one that regarded humans as intellectually challenged. He’d had a chat with the gorillas in their kingdom at London Zoo. They held the opinion that humans could be quite loveable, but they were such hard work. The only way to communicate was through sign-language, as they’d forgotten how to speak Primate and still hadn’t got the hang of telepathy.
Amanda and Trelawney had almost reached Tempest’s dais, when the inspector’s phone signalled an incoming text.
Sunday lunch. Bring Amanda.
About to put his grandfather off with an excuse, he saw the text was from his Gran Flossie. He gave an exasperated sigh.
‘Trouble?’ Amanda asked solicitously.
‘My father must have told my grandparents you’re here.’
‘Or just bush telegraph,’ she suggested.
‘No, this is a small town, not a village.’ He sighed. ‘I am summoned to Sunday lunch and asked to bring you. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way out of this for you.’
‘Is it usually a big family do?’
‘Yes, my great-uncles and great-aunts, uncles and aunts and cousins and their children.’
Amanda was already looking uncomfortable.
‘Don’t worry,’ Thomas repeated reassuringly. ‘However,’ he added with a suggestion of gritted teeth, ‘I think I do need to have a word with my father.’
He dropped Amanda off, being relatively quiet but still friendly.
Thomas kept a lid on his seething irritation, sent a text to locate his errant parent, and drove to the holiday cottage, where Kyt was overseeing the installation of a new fridge.
‘Morning, son, what’s up?’ Kyt said, waving off the delivery van with a word of thanks.
‘Good morning, father.’
Oh dear, thought Kyt. ‘Father.’ What have I done?
Thomas had decided that he must give his parent the chance to either absolve or explain himself.
‘May I ask, whether you informed Granddad and Gran that I was here with Miss Cadabra?’
His father chuckled.
‘Not guilty, m’lud.’ Thomas visibly relaxed ‘This one’s on you, I’m afraid, Thomas. You were “down in the sand” with Amanda —’
‘I was not down in the sa—’
‘And mistimed it. You were spotted.’
‘Oh no,’ replied Thomas in hollow tones.
‘Oh yes. If you will go about cavorting with attractive young ladies on the beach —’
‘I was not cavorting,’ Thomas stated with some heat. He explained about the wave.
‘Fair enough. But I’m sure you can imagine how it might have looked. Anyway, I got this.’ Kyt passed over his phone. Thomas’s brow creased.
‘This text is in Cornish,’ he objected.
‘Good chance for you to practice,’ his father replied, amiably.
‘I haven’t really got time,’ came the testy response.
‘Yes, you have. Come on.’
‘My a welas agan Tom war’n treth namnygen. I have ... just seen your —’
‘Our.’
‘Our Tom on the ... beach.’
‘Good,’ encouraged Kyt.
‘Gans mowes teg yn diwvregh dhodho. With a girl .... pretty in ...’
‘His arms.’
‘Piw yw hi? Ah, who is she?’ Thomas scrolled down. ‘OK, thanks, Dad, for making it clear she is a colleague. Pyth yw hy hanow? That must be “What is her name?” And thank you for just saying “Amanda”. Oh, Gran pursued it, I see.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Pyth yw hy hanow teylu? What is her surname? Oh no. You had to say Cadabra. Ha, the last nail in the coffin. I see. Sorry, Dad for thinking it was you who’d told them. What’s this? Ty a yll dos ynwedh?’
‘Saying that I can come too. Only if you decide to go with Amanda and want me along for moral support,’ Kyt added mischievously, peeling the clear protective plastic off the front of the fridge door.
‘This isn’t funny, father.’
‘Oh yes, it is.’
‘I don’t see how a situation stacked sky-high with the potential for embarrassment can be —’
‘Now, now, son, I think you underestimate your grandparents’ capacity for tact.’ Kyt gathered up the packaging from the new appliance.
‘Perhaps, but what about the rest of the Mongol hoard? I have to find a way to say no. It’ll be far too many people all at once for Miss Cadabra. She’s not at her best in crowds.’
‘Well, I’m ahead of you there, son. I called Mamm just before her phone lost its signal. The greats and the uncles, aunts and cousins are mostly busy with in-laws and DIY, and your cousin Gawen is just dropping off the children, while they go out to an especially luxurious romantic lunch, as compensation for his forgetting his wife’s birthday!’
‘Oops,’ remarked Thomas.
‘Oops, indeed. Mamm gave him a voucher for Victoria’s Secret, which should help. Anyway, Thomas, so it’d be just your grandparents, the little ‘uns — Polly and Wella — and you and Amanda. If you’re willing and able.’ Kyt thrust the plastic and cardboard into a bin bag.
‘Ah. Well. In that case ...,’ responded Thomas, somewhat reassured. ‘I’ll put it to Miss Cadabra. May I see what she says before I
