19. The Need to Bury Oneself

19

The Need to Bury Oneself

‘You look hungover.’

Tiffany gave Josie a bleary-eyed smile and tucked a strand of loose hair up under a tall woollen hat that resembled a tea cosy. ‘Don’t you know, hangovers only affect people over the age of thirty. I prefer to call it “lack of the required amount of sleep”. Had I not been so dedicated to my work, I would still be hiding under the covers.’

‘Good night at the pub?’

Tiffany grinned. ‘What happens in The Horse and Buoy, stays in The Horse and Buoy. You know that, Mum. But let’s just say that when you add farmers to fishermen and sprinkle a little cider over the top, you get mayhem.’ She gave an emphatic swipe of her brow. ‘And I thought Fresher’s Week was a wild party. Ain’t no party like a Cornish fishing village party.’

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Nice hat.’

‘Cool, isn’t it? I got it in a craft shop just up the road from the pub.’

‘Don’t you have enough hats by now?’

‘There’s no such thing as too many hats.’

‘Are you sure it’s actually a hat? It’s got holes.’

‘They’re artistic.’

Josie smiled. ‘If you say so. What’s on the schedule for today?’

Tiffany’s smile dropped. ‘Oh, the drama. Someone from the council’s coming in to check the septic tank and the sewage pipes from the shower and toilet block. Got to get that form stamped, Mum.’

‘How are we paying for this?’

‘I secured us a small loan.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve used your half of the sale of our house for collateral. It’s all good.’

‘What? Aren’t I supposed to sign for something like that?’

Tiffany pulled a sheet of paper out from under a pile of other sheets of paper, a seemingly jumbled mess. She poked a finger at a box at the bottom of the scrawl of legal jargon.

‘Yep. Right here.’

‘Tiffany—’

‘It’s all good. We just need the collateral. Nat said you’re good to clear it out of the profits, Hilda’s offered to cover it if necessary, and … drum roll?’

‘Huh?’

‘Wave your hands about a bit, please.’

Josie flapped her hands in the air and made a drum sound that made her feel like a performing turkey despite the chuckle it brought from Tiffany.

‘And … from September I’ll be making the big medical bucks. I’ve applied for a residency spot at a place in Plymouth. William—Rachel’s fiancé—said he’d put in a good word.’

Josie let out a little squeal. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. So, you’re going to go back?’

‘I can’t waste five years of studying, can I? Although I might be going pro rata. Not sure I can handle the full-time hours. Plus, I’ve also got an eye on one of those international positions, you know, helping out kids in Africa, something like that.’

Josie wiped away a tear. ‘I couldn’t be prouder of you, Tiffany.’

Tiffany’s smile dropped again. ‘Do you want the bad news? Or, well, I suppose good, depending on your perspective?’

‘Slap me in the face with it.’

‘Dad’s song is at number one. Like, in the whole country.’

Josie couldn’t help but smile as she gave a disbelieving shake of her head. ‘Good for him.’

Tiffany lifted an eyebrow. ‘Him and that aristocratic troll posted a celebratory dance on TikTok.’ She pulled a phone out of her pocket. ‘Do you want to see?’

Josie put up a hand. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘It’s got two-million views already. Honestly, some people have no taste.’

‘Each to their own. Anyway, I’d better get to work. Today’s plan for little me is to make an inventory of the cabins and list of what needs to be replaced.’

‘Oh, I had a chat with Cathy in the pub. She said if you want to get a laundering service going on for the cabin linen, she’ll do you a deal, since you’re “a babe.”’ Tiffany lifted an eyebrow. ‘I assumed she meant you look good for your age, rather than that you’re an actual child.’

‘Um, that’s good I suppose.’

‘And she said she had some cousins looking for a place to camp for the summer holidays.’

Josie spread her hands. ‘The more the merrier.’

‘Did you know that Rachel delivered one of her children? Right there on the launderette floor.’

‘The things that happen in small towns, eh?’ Josie clapped her hands together. ‘Right, I’d better get back to it.’

‘Oh, and Robinson called. He asked if you needed any more wiring done.’

‘Ah, I think we’re good for now.’

‘Mum?’

‘What?’

‘He’s totally looking for excuses to come down here.’

Josie shook her head, turning away so as not to meet her daughter’s eyes. ‘He doesn’t need an excuse. His dad owns it.’

‘Come on, Mum. Just make it easy for him.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, you do. You’re just being difficult. Come on, it’s the summer! It’s the time for romance!’

‘It’s still May. That’s technically spring.’

‘Oh, Mum….’

Josie left the reception cabin before Tiffany had a chance to corner her. The air was fresh, warm even, the ground a little damp after some overnight rain.

She found Geoffrey and Lindsay together, painting the outside of the play barn, laughing gently at some in-joke to which Josie wasn’t privy. Barney was down by the treehouses, hanging a rope swing between two of the platforms of the treehouse village. For several days last week, all five of them had got together to repaint the outsides of the treehouses, the sides blue and green, the roofs in polka-dot red and orange, like a series of mushroom houses clinging to the trees. Robinson had come down to help Barney build a couple of stairways leading up, and the walkways and barriers had all been repaired.

Josie carried on down to the clearing, where she stood for a moment, looking out over the cove and the cliffs below. Tiffany, working her magic, had got the council to commit to repairing the section of the coast path below the campsite, and even to cut a series of steps leading down to the secretive cove. While it was never going to be a top swimming beach or ideal for making sandcastles, it would make a good setting for a few beach barbeques and maybe a little fishing.

She was just thinking of going down for a wander on the beach when she heard Tiffany shouting her name. She walked back up through the campsite, unable not to feel a sense of amazement at how much it had changed from an overgrown wilderness into something that actually looked habitable.

Hilda was waiting outside the reception shed. She had driven her open-backed van down and still wore wellies and a pair of gardening gloves. In the back of the van were several lines of planter boxes filled with an assortment of flowers.

‘Ah, Josie, there you are. I was clearing out one of my greenhouses and thought of you.’

‘What’s all this?’

‘These are a few of my own varieties, some that are public, others that are still in culture. I thought you could use them to border the access road. I have a friend who rents out those miniature diggers you can get for landscape gardening. We can put them right up to the main entrance. Of course, it’s your project, but I have some ideas for the colour schemes.’

Josie wiped away a tear. ‘That would be lovely.’

Hilda grinned. ‘Since some of these varieties are unique, I could get you a bit of press in the gardening magazines. Believe it or not, there are people who’d visit just to see these flowers. And of course, I can provide you with seeds to sell in the shop.’

‘That would be great. Thank you so much.’

As Josie stared at Hilda, a sudden wave of emotion flooded over her. Her vision blurred, and she found herself sobbing.

Through the strength of friends and family, new and old, things were coming together. It was really working.

Hilda was hugging her. ‘It’s just a few flowers,’ she said, almost admonishing Josie. ‘It’ll look a bit better than brambles and nettles, that’s all.’

‘Why are you being so kind to me?’

‘I’m just helping out a friend, and to be honest, I’ve got no room for all of these. I need to start clearing things out.’

Josie pulled back. ‘What do you mean? Are you planning to move or something?’

Hilda looked down, not meeting Josie’s eyes. ‘I’m getting old,’ she said. ‘It’s time to downsize, that’s all. I can’t manage it at my age.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Stop worrying about me. I’m an old workhorse.’

Josie was about to say something else, when a familiar voice hailed them. Robinson came walking down the lane, grinning as he lifted a hand to wave.

‘Not too late, am I?’

‘For what?’ Josie said, a little more sternly than she had anticipated, getting her a sharp look from Hilda for her troubles.

‘Hilda called me and said you had some stuff to unload,’ he said.

Josie looked around and saw Tiffany standing by the door to the reception cabin. When she saw Josie looking, she just shrugged.

Was this some kind of conspiracy to push them together? Suddenly she felt a little queasy.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, turning and fleeing back through the campsite to the shower block. She went into a toilet cubicle and sat down, holding her face in her hands. She couldn’t do it; she just couldn’t. Even if by some miracle Robinson did like her, the thought of getting burnt again … she just couldn’t go there. The whole country was currently dancing to a song about what a terrible wife she had been. Wouldn’t it be better to just put her head into the ground and forget about everything? Perhaps dig a hole big enough that she could fall inside, be covered over, and never be seen again? Maybe Reid would come up with a sequel to his hit song, detailing her death. At next year’s Glastonbury Festival, maybe a hundred thousand people would sing along.

She was just wondering whether she could flush herself down the toilet when she heard Barney shout her name. Josie went back outside, looking around. She caught a glimpse of movement in the trees nearby, Barney waving her over.

‘Josie, quick, come over here. I’ve found some kind of hole.’