A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets

‘Greer? Is that you?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘Come on then. Time you were home. Your mother’ll be mithering me else.’

The pain in Greer’s heart seared again. The last thing she wanted to do was go home now. Why wasn’t she allowed to stay out, like her friends were?

‘I can walk up later.’

‘Get in the car now.’

Greer was far too well behaved to either make a scene or to defy her father, no matter how crestfallen she felt at having to leave. ‘OK, Dad,’ she acquiesced.

She hugged Loveday, who clung onto her dramatically. ‘Bye, Greer, and thanks for helping me get ready tonight.’

‘Night, G,’ said the boys.

‘Night, Mickey, goodnight, Jesse.’

Greer lingered momentarily and cast a meaningful glance at Jesse, but he was looking beyond her and watching her father as he walked towards his new BMW, casually pointing the automatic key fob at it. Four orange lights flickered twice as the car made a beeping sound and the locks clunked open.

‘That’s frickin’ awesome,’ declared Mickey.

‘Gonna get some on the Honda, are you, Mick?’ laughed Jesse.

Greer walked towards the car and heard more laughter from her friends, knowing that they had already closed the gap that she had occupied. She climbed into the car.

Her father started the engine, steering the car away from the harbour towards home. From the depths of the leather front seat, Greer craned her neck to wave at her friends, but they weren’t looking at her now. Loveday was walking on the sharp upturned stones of a low wall and flapping her arms to keep her balance. Jesse went to help her but, to Greer’s satisfaction, Mickey beat him to it.

As both Mickey and Loveday lost their balance and slipped off the wall, Greer couldn’t help but notice Loveday’s ample bum and bosom wobble as she clumsily tried to regain her balance. Greer looked down at her own slim thighs and taut stomach, feeling pleased with what she saw and vowing that she was never, ever going to let herself end up like poor Loveday. But as the threesome slipped out of view, Greer wondered again what it would take to capture Jesse’s undivided attention once and for all.

4 (#ua1629851-8146-5fc8-8ac7-cc02047107f9)

June 1987

‘Mickey, you want to come fishing with me tonight? Celebrate the last of the exams?’

Jesse was pulling off his school tie as he walked out of the school gates for the last time. It was a momentous day; along with many others he had finished his final O level, and the occasion was marked by the usual flour and egg fight, ended only when the deputy head raged at the rabble-rousers for covering her car in cake ingredients and escorted them off the school grounds. The long hot summer lay, full of promise, ahead of Jesse.

Mickey shook his head disappointedly. ‘I’ve got to help my dad on the boat.’

Jesse put his arm round his friend. ‘Tell you what, I’ll help you and we’ll go out later.’

‘Would you?’ Mickey said gratefully, picking bits of batter off his shirt.

‘Yeah. Donna at the Spar shop fancies me. She might sell us some tins of cider with our pasties.’

Mickey smiled gratefully at his best and oldest friend. They’d navigated school life pretty well together. Football, detentions and girls. He was still hopelessly in love with Loveday, but she never seemed to take him seriously. He’d found comfort with females who were more than willing.

And now school was over and out. He didn’t have to worry himself with further education. He had no need. He’d been offered a job as deckhand on Our Mermaid, one of the newest boats on the Behenna fleet and skippered by his dad.

Meanwhile, Jesse was being groomed to take over the fleet when his own father eventually retired. He had to start at the bottom, though, and was to be deckhand on The Lobster Pot, the flagship of the fleet, skippered by Edward Behenna himself.

As the boys loped down the hill from school towards the harbour, they heard Loveday’s voice calling to them breathlessly.

‘Boys. Wait up!’ Loveday was galloping towards them, her school skirt covered in flour and rolled up at the waistband to reveal wobbly thighs, her white shirt pulling at the buttons as her bosoms jiggled invitingly with every pace. A little way ahead of her, Greer was jogging effortlessly in her spotless school uniform.

‘Where are you two off to?’ panted Loveday.

Mickey put his arms out to catch the girl he adored. His hands caught her waist and he felt the warmth from under her breasts. She turned her smiling freckled face up to the two boys. Mickey could smell the sweetness of her breath as she asked again, ‘Where are you two going?’

‘Mickey and I have got stuff to do,’ said Jesse, staring into the middle distance with feigned nonchalance.

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘The sort of stuff that don’t need girls,’ Jesse grunted.

Loveday looked crushed. ‘Greer and me thought we could do something together with you two. You know. Celebrate the end of school.’

Greer narrowed her eyes astutely. ‘You’re going fishing, aren’t you?’

Jesse ignored her and said to Mickey over the top of both girls’ heads, ‘You bring the bait and I’ll bring the food.’

‘We can come with you,’ Loveday told him, not prepared to brook any objections. ‘Greer and I’ll be good company for you.’

Jesse shook his head. ‘No. Blokes only.’

Loveday pulled a face. ‘Blokes only? You arrogant arse.’

Mickey laughed and turned to Jesse pleadingly. ‘They can come, can’t they?’

Jesse, who was trying to wean himself off his desirous want for Loveday, thought he might be in with a chance with Donna from the Spar shop later that night. Loveday was a no-go area while Mickey still had the hots for her. But maybe it would be nice to hang out with the girls – they hadn’t all been together for a while.

Damnit, Donna could wait.

‘OK. Seven o’clock at Our Mermaid,’ he agreed reluctantly.

Loveday took Greer’s arm and pulled her away excitedly. ‘What are you going to wear?’ she asked.

‘Jeans, I think,’ said Greer.

‘Me too,’ smiled Loveday.

*

Greer left Loveday at the cobbled corner where her mum had a tiny cottage. Then she walked on past the harbour and out onto the road that led towards the better end of Trevay.

When her father had sold the two trawlers his dad had left him, and bought the small fish market on the quay, he’d quickly turned the ailing business round. He’d taken a small selection of the best of his fresh catches up the M5 and the M4 to London’s swankier restaurants and hotels, persuading the chefs that he could undercut any of their other suppliers and provide better fish. He had worked hard. As soon as the fishing boats unloaded at his market, he paid the skippers the least he could get away with and then jumped in his refrigerated van and personally drove the lobster, plaice, turbot and crab to the back door of the poshest kitchens in the United Kingdom. Gradually he could afford to pay better prices to the fishermen, and that enticed boats from around the Cornish coast to land their catches with him. As business grew he expanded the old fish market, taking up at least three times more quayside and landing space. Now he had three vans every night ploughing the motorways and bringing home the money.