21. Possible Solutions

21

Possible Solutions

‘Over there, someplace,’ Nat said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the gravel pile in the corner of his driveway. ‘Didn’t need it all, did they? Feel free to scoop up a few buckets. Just heave ’em in. Nothing a bit of gravel won’t fix. Shove a bit of soil over top and you’re back in business.’

‘It could be more serious than that,’ Hilda said. ‘If it really is part of a mine shaft, it’ll need a bit more than a few buckets of gravel.’

Nat just grinned. ‘Take the whole pile if you’s need.’

Hilda looked at Josie and sighed, then looked back at Nat. ‘Are you messing with me, Nathaniel?’ she said in a stern, schoolteacher’s voice which made Josie a little envious. ‘You know this is serious, don’t you?’

Nat grinned. ‘Do I look like I’m joshing with you’s, maid?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nat planted one hand on his scrawny hip and lifted the other like he might ask for a drink. ‘Hil, you know I’d never mess with you’s. Look, if it does fall through—I mean, the site, not you’s, maid—’ Nat broke into a few seconds of spontaneous laughter so infectious that even Josie cracked a smile. ‘—then it’s no great loss, is it? Just cut the grass back a bit. Had a crack, didn’t work out. All good.’

Josie had a sudden outburst of anger. ‘We’ve put weeks of work into that campsite,’ she said.

‘Maid, sometimes you’s have to walk away. I remember exactly when I knew me days as a cult leader was up. Just woke up one morning, and things felt a bit iffy. Had to go for a walk, and never went back.’

Before Josie could answer, Hilda said, ‘Not everyone feels as “free” as you, Nat.’

‘Ah, more’s the pity,’ Nat said. ‘Be way less bees getting in bonnets if ’twas true. Look, just have a go with the gravel. If you don’t have enough, or he keeps pouring down, have another think.’

Nat returned to the sculpture he was halfway through carving, a quite exquisite waterboard of mermaids rising out of a stormy sea. Humming to himself, he began to chip away at the driftwood with a chisel as though they had already gone.

Josie and Hilda looked at the pile of gravel, then dismissed it with a wordless shrug. They climbed into the truck and headed back to the campsite, neither with much to say.

After Hilda dropped her off at the campsite entrance, Josie walked down the lane, finding Lindsay, Geoffrey and Barney hard at work planting Hilda’s flowers, following colour layouts they had all got together to plan a couple of days ago. The radio Nat had given to Josie sat on the grass between them, playing a summery tune. As Josie reached them, the three together lifted their heads and bellowed out the chorus:

‘With you, my dear, hand in hand, walking together ‘cross the summery sand—’

‘That’s nice,’ Josie said. ‘I don’t know that song.’

‘It’s a local station,’ Barney said. ‘Tiffany told us not to play the main ones. Something about a licencing thing on commercial properties.’

‘Is that so?’ Josie said.

‘Do you think Lindsay should go with a traditional white or a spring pale pink?’ Geoffrey said, looking up, his hands and knees covered in sodden mud. ‘We can’t decide.’

‘Um, I don’t … whatever you think will look best,’ Josie said.

‘I don’t think it matters,’ Lindsay said. ‘We have the perfect place, the perfect date. Jeans and a t-shirt would do.’

‘You’ve got to wear a dress,’ Geoffrey said. ‘What about bright red? Something that’ll crash the ships out in the Channel.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

Geoffrey grinned. ‘What about we celebrate how we met and you wear a grass skirt?’

‘We were only dressing like that because we were off the grid,’ Lindsay said.

‘What about something cotton? That’s a plant? Call it a compromise.’

‘Gets my vote,’ Barney said. ‘You know, as best man and everything.’

‘You’re the best man?’ Josie asked.

Lindsay smiled. Josie stared at her a moment, still unable to come to terms with the change. Lindsay was shedding years on a daily basis. She was talking regularly to her family via video call and had introduced them to Geoffrey and Barney. Even Josie and Tiffany had said a quick hello.

‘We’d like you to be a bridesmaid,’ Lindsay said.

Josie nearly choked. ‘What?’

‘At our wedding. We’d like you, Tiffany and Hilda to all be bridesmaids.’

Josie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is that an acceptable average age for bridesmaids?’

‘It’s is now. Tiffany said she can’t wait to start shopping for matching dresses, although she was a little disappointed when I said she couldn’t wear a hat. Maybe a tiara or something. I think you’d all look lovely with them.’

Josie grimaced. ‘Right. Well, I need to go and have a word with her. Thanks for doing the flowers.’

She found Tiffany in the reception cabin, hunched over the computer.

‘What’s this about commercial radio use?’ Josie said.

Tiffany looked up and grinned. ‘Oh, that. I had a look online, and picked the only station that doesn’t have Dad’s song on its A-playlist. I thought you’d appreciate it.’

‘Ha, thanks. You shouldn’t lie to the staff, though.’

‘Radio South Coast Cornwall has the best music anyway. A mixture of dodgy eighties hits and sea shanties.’

‘Sounds wonderful. And what about going dress shopping?’

‘Lindsay’s going a little crazy over this wedding thing. I thought it would be great if we had matching dresses. Perhaps we can even make them ourselves?’

‘We have less than a month.’

‘Yeah, not so likely.’ Tiffany’s smile dropped. ‘So … do you want the bad news?’

‘It’s about the hole, isn’t it?’

‘Uh huh.’ Tiffany sighed. ‘I’ve gone through the historical records, and can’t find anything about a mine on this site, but that just means an actual working mine. There were speculatory shafts and tunnels dug all over the place, looking for ore seams, many of which aren’t registered anywhere. What it does mean is that we’ll need a land survey done, to make sure. Otherwise, if we open the campsite and there’s an accident, we’ll be in big trouble. At the very least we’ll get shut down.’

‘And let me guess … it’s expensive?’

Tiffany whistled through her teeth and rubbed her fingers together. ‘Did you know, Dad’s song is now number one in France. Perhaps we could ask him for a loan?’

‘I’d rather sell my underwear.’

Tiffany gave her a sour look. ‘I doubt that’ll pay for a survey, Mum.’

‘So, what do we do?’

‘Why don’t we ask Robinson? Isn’t he a geologist? He might be able to help.’

Josie grimaced. ‘I’d rather not involve him. Anyway, he’s up in London.’

‘But he comes down every few days to check on Nat.’ She picked up a newly installed dial phone. ‘I can call Nat now, find out when he’s back—’

‘No!’

‘Mum?’

Josie lowered the hands she had lifted as though vainly trying to ward off an approaching lorry. ‘Look … I’ll talk to Hilda about it. She’ll know what to do.’

‘She’ll probably tell you to ask Robinson.’

Josie scowled. ‘Haven’t you got some web-designing to do?’

Feeling restless and unable to concentrate on any tasks needing to be done, Josie walked up to the main road, then back towards Porth Melynos, planning to drop in on Hilda. Her friend’s large house, sitting right at the top of the hill, had a spectacular view over the village and the harbour. Josie hadn’t called ahead, thinking she would surprise Hilda, and picked up a couple of scones in a little bakery along the way, just to ease the shock. Hilda would likely be out in her greenhouses, tending to her multitude of plants, some of which existed nowhere else in the world.

Hilda always had time for her, and even though Josie didn’t like to admit it, she always treasured Hilda’s advice. She had so much more world experience. She would know what to do, about the campsite, about the hole, even about Robinson.

Just act like a river and go with the flow, my wonder. Don’t fret it all so much.

Like a calming summer breeze, Hilda’s voice was already playing in Josie’s mind as she came around the last corner. It was what Josie needed; it would make everything better—

She dropped the bag of scones and let out a horrified shriek.

Outside Hilda’s front door, where her gardening van and her motorbike were usually parked, stood a waiting ambulance.