Funny how things turn out. I only went in to buy a sofa.
Penhaligonās was one of those old-fashioned family-run department stores ā the type that once upon a time every town had but which were now disappearing (and with good reason, to be honest; most of the stock looked like it had been procured in the 1950s and came at such an exorbitant price you were forced to step outside and double-check you hadnāt inadvertently wandered into Harrods by mistake). But Penhaligonās had persisted, remaining open through world wars, recessions, and the rise of internet shopping. The zombie apocalypse could hit Cornwall (I know, I know, would anyone even notice?) and Penhaligonās would still be there, clinging stubbornly to its prime spot on Fore Street, serving the needs of both locals and the undead brain-hungry horde (or āholidaymakersā, as they were otherwise known).
I wouldnāt normally have bothered with Penhaligonās, but weād been at our new house for four days now and Daisy and I were sick of sitting on my mumās old garden chairs ā they were literally a pain in the backside ā so as I was passing I ventured inside.
It hadnāt changed much since the last time Iād been there. It had barely changed since the first time Iād been there forty years ago. But I was pleasantly surprised to see that someone had given the furniture department a bit of a makeover and there were a few lounge suites that looked like theyād actually been designed sometime after the fall of the Berlin Wall (as opposed to before the building of it).
I sank gratefully into a big, squashy sofa, stroking the fabric appreciatively and reaching for the price tag. The figures made me suck in my breath in mild horror (along with an unfortunate fly who was just passing), but the words āNext day delivery!ā had an immediate soothing effect.
I stood up to get a better look at it and jumped as a voice boomed across the shop floor at me.
āOh my God, Nosey Parker! Is that really you?ā
I turned round, already knowing who it was. Tony Penhaligon, great-grandson of the original Mr Penhaligon, old classmate and sometime boyfriend (we went out for two weeks in 1994, held hands a bit, kissed but didnāt ā ewww ā use tongues), stood in front of me, a big smile on his face. Like his familyās shop, he also hadnāt changed all that much over the last forty years and every time I looked at him I could still see a hint of the annoying little boy with the runny nose who had sat next to me on my first day in Mrs Hobsonās primary class. But he had a good heart and it was nice to see a friendly face.
I did a double-take as I took him in properly. Hang on a minute; he actually had changed. The last time Iād seen him, on one of my trips back to see my mum, heād been sporting a dad bod, a paunch brought on by too many pasties and pints. But that was gone and he was looking rather trim. Also gone was the unflattering store uniform of white polo shirt and black chinos, replaced by a sharp, well-tailored, and expensive-looking suit. A little voice in the back of my mind went, Iād blooming well let him use tongues now, before I shut it up with a contemptuous internal glare.
āItās been a while, Tone. I havenāt seen you sinceāā
āNew Yearās Eve, three years ago.ā
I laughed. āYouāve got a good memory.ā
āLast time anything exciting happened here. Did you stick to your resolution?ā
āThat was the first Christmas after I broke up with Richard,ā I said. āI think I probably made a lot of drunken resolutions that year.ā
Tony grinned. āYeah, there were one or two. Tell me youāve stuck to the main one though? āAvoid idiot menā?ā
āOh, that one I live my life by these days. What was yours?ā
He shook his head. āI never announce my resolutions. That way nobody knows whether I followed it up or not.ā
āAnd did you?ā
āNope. But it doesnāt matter now anyway. So whatāre you doing here? Visiting your mum? I heard sheād been ill.ā
āBuying a sofa,ā I said.
āYou do know we donāt deliver to London,ā he said.
āThatās just as well because I donāt live there anymore.ā
He looked surprised. āSince when? Are you back, then?ā
āYeah.ā
I could see that he was dying to ask me more but the thought of pushing it too far and losing out on his commission was too much for him. Plus, he knew that if I was sticking around heād get it out of me eventually.
āSo what do you think of the sofa?ā
I sat back down. āHonestly? It feels like my backside has died and gone to heaven where itās being caressed by the wings of an angel.ā
He laughed loudly. āDo you want a job in our marketing department? I always said you should be a poet, not a copper.ā
āIām not either anymore,ā I said, fishing in my bag and handing him one of my new business cards.
āāBanquets and Bakesā,ā he read. āWhatās this?ā
āMy new business,ā I said. āIāve just started upāā
āWait, are you a chef now? Do you do weddings?ā Tony looked at me hopefully.
āWeddings, christenings, bar mitzvahs, you name it. If people want to eat there, I can cater for it.ā I hoped I could anyway; I hadnāt actually had any clients yet, but in theoryā¦
āThis is brilliant!ā cried Tony. āItās ā¦ whatās that word? Serentipidy?ā I thought about correcting his pronunciation but decided against it; it would only make both of us feel bad. And anyway, he was waving across the shop floor to a woman who was stalking proprietorially around a display of crystal glass vases. āCheryl! Come over here! Iāve found a caterer!ā
He held out my business card as Cheryl approached. She read it, then looked me up and down, clearly not overly impressed with what she saw. Which was fair enough as I had really only popped out to get some teabags in between coats of paint and was looking more like the Michelin Man than a Michelin chef.
āWeāre getting married,ā said Tony proudly, and I could understand why. Although the expression currently occupying Cherylās face was reminiscent of a bulldog sucking a lemon, she was (probably, in the right light) quite attractive, and she had to be ten years younger than him, even if she did dress a bit like Dynasty-era Joan Collins. I couldnāt remember the last time Iād seen shoulder pads that size outside of the Super Bowl. It also explained the dapper suit that Tony was currently sporting, as well as his newly svelte figure.
āCongratulations,ā I said. He deserved happiness. Tonyās first wife had left him for her driving instructor, the betrayal made all the worse by the fact that Tony had paid for the lessons and she hadnāt had the decency to leave him until sheād passed her test (after three attempts), done a motorway safety course and a defensive driving course, and was halfway through getting her HGV licence. The driving instructor hadnāt lasted long and, according to my mum, who knew her mum, she now drove tankers up and down the country with just her dog ā a Pomeranian called Germaine ā for company.
I hoped he was going to ask me to do their catering ā I needed the money ā but at the same time I wasnāt sure I wanted to risk cocking up his nuptials. Oh, well, I would just plan everything really, really carefully.
āOur caterer let us down and the weddingās next weekend,ā he said.
Next weekend? Holyā
āI was just saying to Jodieā ā he turned to his fiancĆ©e, indicating me with a wave of his hand āāI was just saying, itās serentipidyāā
āSerendipity,ā she corrected, smiling at him condescendingly. Hmm. āSo ā Jodie, was it? ā what are your credentials? How many weddings have you done? Weāve got a very upmarket venue ā Parkview Manor Hotel, do you know it? ā and lots of guests coming from all over the country.ā
I opened my mouth to confess that I hadnāt actually done any weddings but if they were this close to their wedding day, good luck finding someone else as willing (or as desperate for the money) as me. But Tony beat me to it.
āHer credentials are, sheās an old friend and ex-copper, and you donāt get better references than that,ā he said. Cheryl pursed her lips but didnāt argue, aware that if she didnāt want to end up feeding her upmarket guests pasty and chips in the very downmarket Kings Arms in Market Square, she didnāt have much choice. I smiled.
āIāll do it for whatever the last caterer was going to do it for, if you throw in the sofa.ā
So that was how I found myself, six days later, standing outside the imposing entrance to Parkview Manor Hotel. It was early evening, the day before The Wedding of the Centuryā¢; many of the guests were staying overnight and Tony had (against Cherylās wishes, I thought) invited me to join their welcome drinks. I tugged down my dress; Iād put weight on since leaving the force, and even more since doing my catering course, and my going-out clothes, which I didnāt get the chance to wear much, were all starting to get a little snug. My shoes were already pinching my toes. They were hardly Jimmy Choos but they were the only ones in my wardrobe that werenāt made by Nike or Dr Martens. I comforted myself with the thought that Iād be in the kitchen tomorrow and back in my eminently more sensible jeans and trainers, took a deep breath, and entered.
The hotel foyer was very plush and wouldnāt have looked out of place in London, rather than in the Cornish countryside. Marble covered every conceivable surface and I got the feeling that if I stood there gawping for too long Iād get marble-ised as well. There were lush, exotic ferns and birds-of-paradise dotted all over the place, and the plant-killer in me (I have brown thumbs) immediately suspected they were plastic. I surreptitiously stroked a leaf as I passed (thereby condemning the poor unsuspecting fern to an early grave); they were real and all very well cared for.
I vaguely recognised the woman behind the reception desk. Although I hadnāt lived in Penstowan for almost twenty years, Iād grown up and gone to school here, and seventy-five per cent of the inhabitants were either old classmates, siblings of classmates, or parents of them. She smiled and inclined her head slightly towards the sign that said, āPenhaligon and Laity Wedding Partyā, with a photo of the happy couple and an arrow pointing towards a function room. It was forebodingly quiet, with very little in the way of music or chatter floating into the foyer.
Inside the function room, there were a few guests standing at the bar chatting, with Tony holding court. He was clearly very excited about his upcoming big day, chattering away with a boyish enthusiasm that was quite endearing. It was still fairly early so presumably this wasnāt it; Cheryl had said they had guests coming from all over the country so maybe they just hadnāt arrived yet.
āNosey!ā called Tony. Now that was less endearing. I really needed to have a word with him about using my childhood nickname. I plastered on a smile and tottered over, grimacing at the blister that was already threatening a little toe.
But I never reached Tony and his chums because everyoneās attention was suddenly drawn to ...
