The Drowning by Valerie Mendes Page A

all summer – and I’ve got a very guilty conscience.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” Jenna said. “I’d have asked you both in for a drink, but as you can see we’re—”
    “Having an autumn spring-clean?” Mrs Carlyon said.
    Jenna laughed. “That’s right. We open again on Monday.”
    “Good.” Meryn smiled back. Jenna saw relief wash over his face, knew he could see she was dealing with the pain. “Now the season’s ended, my stint as a full-time lifeguard has finished for the year. Perhaps I could take you up on your offer next week?”
    “I’d like that.” Then she added,“Coffee’s on the house.”
    “Oh, well.” Meryn’s dark eyes danced with laughter. “In that case, how could I possibly refuse?”
    The Cockleshell rapidly began to show the results of their hard work.
    “This,” Dad said as they put the final touches to it on Sunday evening, “was one of the best ideas you’ve ever had. So glad you talked me into it.”
    Without their chintzy curtains, the windows stood clean and shining. The wooden tables gleamed beside the newly painted walls. The floor shone from its sanding and polishing. The room looked larger, brighter, infinitely more inviting.
    Jenna gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Back-breaking but worth it . . . Nobody can call us shabby now.” She glanced at Dad. “Have you told Mum what we’ve been up to?”
    “Not yet.” He straightened a new abstract painting on the wall. Rectangles of gold and orange nestled against a powerful sapphire blue. “This’ll bring the sunshine in on a rainy winter’s day. Bought it from Charlie’s shop on the harbour. Cost me a small fortune but I thought, Hey, I’m going to look at it every day for the rest of my life, so I may as well like it!”
    Jenna persevered. “So when are you going to tell Mum about all this?”
    Dad clasped his hands together. “Why don’t we keep it a secret from her? A kind of welcome home when she decides she’s ready. I’d hate to hurry the healing process and Tamsyn tells me she’s doing really well.”
    Jenna sighed. “If you like.” She switched on the lamps at each table. The tea room glowed. “There! From grotty to glam in seven days. Reckon we can beat the other cafés in St Ives hands down.”
    Dad grinned across at her. “I thought of something else we could do.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Give the place a new name. We should call it Pascoe and Daughter. How does that grab you?”
    Jenna’s stomach heaved. I suppose you’d planned to call it Pascoe and Son. “Mum might not approve. I think we should leave it as the Cockleshell.”
    The refurbishments paid off immediately. The week that followed proved busier than ever, as all their regulars popped in to admire the new decor and stayed to gossip over endless toasted sandwiches and cups of tea.
    Each day Jenna was aware of waiting for Meryn Carlyon to come through the door. Every time she disappeared into the kitchen with an order, she hoped to hear his voice on her return. Disappointed at the end of every day, she flicked the sign to CLOSED.
    Expect he’s forgotten all about me . . . Maybe he’ll come tomorrow . . .
    When she went to bed, thinking about him, she replayed the details of that fatal afternoon. She remembered the relentless sun; the exquisite turquoise of the sea and sky, mocking her darkening anguish; the sharp pain of her grazed heel; her burning shoulders; the terrible mounting grip of panic that seemed to freeze her tongue to the roof of her mouth; the blankness of people’s faces, their shaking heads, as she’d asked the same question, each time more frantically, up and down the beach.
    “My little brother’s gone missing . . . Have you seen him by any chance? He’s got fair hair and glasses and he’s only eleven years old.”
    Alarmed by her terror, people swiftly checked that their own children were safe and sound, hugged them with relief. How jealous she’d felt of them.
    She recalled the fear in the eyes of