probably right. It might have got a bit tricky if I had gone. Charm and good looks he may have in abundance, but I’m definitely taken. Tell Eddie Treverrith that.’
So it was that Gracie was sitting alone on the doorstep of their hut, happily cleaning the mud off her boots when her parents suddenly appeared before her, their homely faces beaming with delight at their own cleverness in finding her.
‘Ah, there you are,’ her father announced in his lilting Welsh tones, just as if he’d only momentarily misplaced her.‘
Gracie was appalled to see them standing there, her mother’s best Sunday shoes sinking deeper by the second into the awful mud. She got hurriedly to her feet, a fixed smile of welcome on her face as she quickly found her manners and invited them inside.
Her mother refused, absolutely, almost as if she believed it would be no cleaner inside the hut, than out. ‘We’ll wait here for you to change,’ she said, shifting her feet to a less soggy patch of ground so as to make the very opposite point.
‘Change?’ Dreading the start of a lecture, Gracie momentarily closed her eyes, gathering strength. None came, only the touch of her mother’s hand, removing a speck of mud from her cheek. From most mothers, Gracie realised, it would have been a kiss, or at least a hug.
And then her father stepped forward, proffered a whiskery kiss, and, tightening her resolve not to flinch away, Gracie put her boots back on and laced them up with fingers which suddenly felt thick and clumsy. Taking her time, she slowly rolled down her woollen socks while she worked out a strategy. On wet days, the socks were always turned up, but the weather recently had been fine and warm with today a bright sun peeping out from behind scurrying clouds.
‘We reckoned you’d have got over this daft notion of yours and come home long since,’ her father said.
As if such a thing were possible. Gracie protested vigorously. ‘It’s not a daft notion, and no, I haven’t ‘got over it’. I’m doing an important job of work and will continue to do so.’ Yet it was clear from the exasperated glance exchanged between them that they weren’t convinced. It was rare for their opinions to coincide, but where bringing their beloved daughter home to their own fireside was concerned, they were as one.
Brenda Freeman was completely nonplussed, as much by her daughter’s workmanlike appearance as by her blunt rejection of their misguided attempt at salvation. But she wasn’t about to easily accept defeat. ‘I insist that you clean yourself up and look civilised, so that we can at least take you out to tea. Is that too much to ask?’
How could she refuse when they’d come so far? For all she was far from delighted to see them, Gracie had no wish for another row. Her father settled the issue by proudly announcing that he’d managed to save up enough petrol to bring the car, which was parked waiting at the camp entrance.
‘All right, but don’t think for one minute this means I’m giving up. I’m surprised, Father, that you should think so little of me that you imagine I’d chicken out in less than a month.’
They drove into Bodmin and took high tea at the smartest hotel they could find. Brenda always liked the best, even if she couldn’t afford it. They sat in awkward silence for some time waiting to be served. But the food, when it finally came, was certainly a treat so far as Gracie was concerned and she tucked into the plaice and chips with relish, following by bread and butter pudding. What this lacked in actual butter, it more than made up for with a tang of something that had undoubtedly come from behind the bar. The pudding made her father frown with disapproval.
‘It tastes like brandy. However could they afford it?’
‘This is Cornwall, Father, with lots of coastline. You’d be amazed what gets in here that the authorities don’t know about.’
‘Is that why you came so far away? In the hope we’d
So it was that Gracie was sitting alone on the doorstep of their hut, happily cleaning the mud off her boots when her parents suddenly appeared before her, their homely faces beaming with delight at their own cleverness in finding her.
‘Ah, there you are,’ her father announced in his lilting Welsh tones, just as if he’d only momentarily misplaced her.‘
Gracie was appalled to see them standing there, her mother’s best Sunday shoes sinking deeper by the second into the awful mud. She got hurriedly to her feet, a fixed smile of welcome on her face as she quickly found her manners and invited them inside.
Her mother refused, absolutely, almost as if she believed it would be no cleaner inside the hut, than out. ‘We’ll wait here for you to change,’ she said, shifting her feet to a less soggy patch of ground so as to make the very opposite point.
‘Change?’ Dreading the start of a lecture, Gracie momentarily closed her eyes, gathering strength. None came, only the touch of her mother’s hand, removing a speck of mud from her cheek. From most mothers, Gracie realised, it would have been a kiss, or at least a hug.
And then her father stepped forward, proffered a whiskery kiss, and, tightening her resolve not to flinch away, Gracie put her boots back on and laced them up with fingers which suddenly felt thick and clumsy. Taking her time, she slowly rolled down her woollen socks while she worked out a strategy. On wet days, the socks were always turned up, but the weather recently had been fine and warm with today a bright sun peeping out from behind scurrying clouds.
‘We reckoned you’d have got over this daft notion of yours and come home long since,’ her father said.
As if such a thing were possible. Gracie protested vigorously. ‘It’s not a daft notion, and no, I haven’t ‘got over it’. I’m doing an important job of work and will continue to do so.’ Yet it was clear from the exasperated glance exchanged between them that they weren’t convinced. It was rare for their opinions to coincide, but where bringing their beloved daughter home to their own fireside was concerned, they were as one.
Brenda Freeman was completely nonplussed, as much by her daughter’s workmanlike appearance as by her blunt rejection of their misguided attempt at salvation. But she wasn’t about to easily accept defeat. ‘I insist that you clean yourself up and look civilised, so that we can at least take you out to tea. Is that too much to ask?’
How could she refuse when they’d come so far? For all she was far from delighted to see them, Gracie had no wish for another row. Her father settled the issue by proudly announcing that he’d managed to save up enough petrol to bring the car, which was parked waiting at the camp entrance.
‘All right, but don’t think for one minute this means I’m giving up. I’m surprised, Father, that you should think so little of me that you imagine I’d chicken out in less than a month.’
They drove into Bodmin and took high tea at the smartest hotel they could find. Brenda always liked the best, even if she couldn’t afford it. They sat in awkward silence for some time waiting to be served. But the food, when it finally came, was certainly a treat so far as Gracie was concerned and she tucked into the plaice and chips with relish, following by bread and butter pudding. What this lacked in actual butter, it more than made up for with a tang of something that had undoubtedly come from behind the bar. The pudding made her father frown with disapproval.
‘It tastes like brandy. However could they afford it?’
‘This is Cornwall, Father, with lots of coastline. You’d be amazed what gets in here that the authorities don’t know about.’
‘Is that why you came so far away? In the hope we’d
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