from a bet on the Grand National last year. No wonder Mum and Trev were keen for me to impress our new customer.
Closing the fridge door, I turned back to Mr Gardner and smiled. ‘You’re all stocked for the week, Mr Gardner.’
‘Tim, please. Mr Gardner makes me sound like my father and he’s been dead over twenty years. Look, I don’t suppose you have time for a cuppa? I’ve not long boiled the kettle and it’d be lovely to share it with someone.’
I thought about the stopwatch on my mobile monitoring the precious Sunnyside seconds being wasted in the name of good manners. Sod it. Mum and Trev weren’t to know whether I was delayed by illegal conversations or backed-up traffic caused by a farm tractor.
‘That sounds wonderful.’
He appeared both genuinely shocked and delighted at once. ‘Great. That’s great!’
We sat on stools at the wide kitchen island and I thanked him as he passed me tea in an Emma Bridgewater mug. ‘How long have you been in St Merryn?’ I asked.
‘Four months. My son brokered the deal for me while I was still in California selling my house and wrapping up the business. I sold it for a song,’ he grinned and I found myself grinning back.
My mobile phone began to ring and I glanced at the screen: Trevor Mitchell calling.
Honestly, the nerve of the man! Barely six months with my mum and suddenly he was muscling in on her business. Well, until the odious busybody was paying my wages, he could stick his opinions right up his…
‘So what made you decide to return?’ I asked Tim, even more determined now to smash boring Trev’s seven-point-five minute target.
‘Nostalgia, I suppose. I’m a Cornishman: it was inevitable Kernow would call me back eventually. And I wanted to be close to Ethan, my son. I’ve always loved St Merryn and thanks to the success of my business sale I can finally afford to live here.’
My phone buzzed angrily: New message from Trevor Mitchell.
I ignored it. ‘Well, you have a lovely home.’ Remembering my job, I added, ‘Let me know if there are any changes you’d like to make for next week’s menu. Here’s my number.’
He accepted my business card. ‘Thank you. Hey, I don’t suppose you know anywhere that does old-time ballroom dancing around here, do you? Call it nostalgia but I was remembering my misspent youth today and suddenly had a hankering for a dance. I know The Rialto Ballroom in Truro closed years ago.’
I stared at him, amused. ‘It’s funny you should mention that. One of my other clients showed me a photo of The Rialto this morning.’
‘Well I never. Do you know when it was taken?’
I thought back to my conversation with Mrs C. ‘1951. July, I think.’
His smile vanished. ‘Really? How –strange…’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Look, I don’t know if this breaks any confidentiality rules but is there any way your customer would lend it to me? Just to have a look?’
I hesitated. ‘I’m not really sure…’ It was Mrs C’s personal memory she had shared with me and I didn’t think I could promise something that wasn’t mine to offer.
‘I’d be really interested to see it again. The time it was taken –Well, it’s uncanny. There’s a reason I loved that place: a very good reason…’
He looked so sad all of a sudden that I felt I had to say something as I rose to leave. ‘Look, I can’t promise anything. But I’ll ask.’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you!’
I thought about the odd coincidence all the way back to Sunnyside HQ. My job has always surprised me but this was something new. Mr Gardner had appeared so startled when I mentioned the date of the photo and that made me wonder if perhaps he had been there at the same time as Mrs C. Would he have seen her there? Or been one of the many young men she had enjoyed dancing with before Canada called her away?
Boring Trev and Mum were waiting with uniform disgust for me as I walked back into the unit. It irked me that Trev was even here, but more that Mum allowed his interference.
‘Mum, Trevor, how lovely to see you!’ I chirped, enjoying the flush of fury this invoked in my not-so-welcoming committee.
‘Cut the attitude,’ Trev snapped, making even Mum stare at him in surprise. ‘You had your orders for the new client and you deliberately disobeyed them.’
‘Excuse me?’ Even for Mum’s horrible boyfriend, this was a step too far. Angrily, I whipped the now crumpled sheet of paper out from my back pocket and brandished it. ‘You mean this? I think you’ll find, Trevor, that this is a suggestion, not an order. It’s a suggestion because you don’t actually work here or employ me, therefore I’m not obliged to obey it whatsoever.’ I turned to Mum. ‘And I would have hoped, Mum, that you would have just a little more faith in your daughter. For your information, I was investing time in our new client in order to ensure he received the best service from Sunnyside and kept ordering from us. I happen to think that’s more important than impressing your boyfriend.’
Mum looked from me to her fuming other half and back. ‘Well, I…I think it’s good to protect our client list…but really the time on your round is quite a bit longer than the other drivers…not that I think you’re doing a bad job, obviously.’
‘Thank you.’ Ignoring the daggers of death Trev was now willing at me with his stare, I calmly handed my clipboard to Mum and walked into the staffroom to collect my things.
The more I considered Mr Gardner’s request that weekend, the more intrigued I became: so much so that by Monday morning I could bear it no longer and took a detour at the end of my round to visit Mrs C.
‘Emily! What a lovely surprise. Come in, dear.’
When we were sitting with china mugs of tea and large slices of homemade ginger cake, I broached the subject of the photograph.
‘I have a favour to ask,’ I began, studying her expression carefully. ‘Last Friday, I went to see a new client who has recently returned to the area and he mentioned The Rialto Ballroom.’
‘Really? How funny.’
‘I know. I said as much to him and then I happened to mention that I’d been shown a photo of it that morning. With hindsight, I realise I shouldn’t have said anything, but it took me by surprise and I mentioned the photograph before I thought better of it. The thing is he reacted very oddly when I told him the date the photo was taken. I think he might have been there the same time as you. And I know I probably shouldn’t ask, but I wondered if I might borrow the photo, just to show it to him?’
Mrs C observed me quietly and stirred her tea.
Instantly, I regretted asking. ‘Obviously if you say no I’ll completely understand,’ I added.
‘How old is this gentleman?’ she asked, her expression giving nothing away.
‘To be quite honest, I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell.’
‘Hmm.’ I watched the silver spoon make several more rotations. ‘The photograph is very precious to me, Emily. When I was in Canada it was the one thing that reminded me of home, of who I really was. Of the life that might be waiting…’ Her eyes were very still, focused a thousand miles away. ‘You have to understand that when I went to Canada I had to become somebody different: someone’s mother, someone’s wife. And for many years, I felt like my life wasn’t my own. Remembering who I’d been in England gave me strength enough to return years later. The photograph was a big part of that.’
Her candidness hit me like a fist to the stomach. I knew she hadn’t had an easy life in Canada but I’d never appreciated how much of herself she’d been asked to give. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Forget I did, OK?’