Buried in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho Read Free Book Online Page B

he believed that women should obey their menfolk, he had always been dominated by his mother. She was the strong one, the one who put food in their mouths and clothed them after his father had died in a miningaccident. Because she told him so often, he had grown to believe that she was almost a saint.
    Jenny, too, had been brought up on discourses of her grandmother’s virtues along with constant reminders of how much she resembled her own mother and that, therefore, she had bad blood in her.
    ‘Why did you marry her, then?’ she had asked her father defiantly when she was told her mother’s history. The reply had come in the form of a stinging blow across her cheek. Her grandmother, who had been in the room, had hands like steel hawsers.
    Once Renata had gone, Jenny’s father and his mother tried to curb her natural exuberance but no punishment worked for long. Apart from the time she spent in school she mostly roamed the streets, avoiding the house whenever possible. She suspected it was a relief to both of them when she went away.
    As she strolled up the hill, moonlight shining on the cobbles, Jenny pictured her father. He was a squat but well-muscled man, handsome in a lived-in sort of way. A bit like Charles Bronson, Jenny thought, having recently seen a video of one of his films at Stella’s. It was easy to see why Angela Choake, a divorcee, had been attracted tohim. As soon as Alec’s mother had been buried she had moved into the house as her father’s wife. Jenny was still in Paris at the time. She had not returned for the funeral, neither had she grieved. She had not loved her grandmother and knew that her own existence had been a thorn in the old woman’s side.
    Jenny had tired of the sanctimonious ramblings knowing that, for a very long time, it had been her father who was the real provider. He had turned his hand to anything; fishing, mining and back to fishing until he had finally established himself as a reliable jobbing builder.
    It was not until a fortnight after her return to St Ives that Jenny learnt that her father had been seeing Angela Choake for many years, but until the demise of her grandmother they had not been out together in public. This led Jenny to understand the power the old woman had had over her son. She had alienated him against his wife and his own daughter. Angela, she thought, was all right. She could have done far worse for a stepmother. Naturally her father had legalised the relationship before allowing Angela to move into the house.
    Jenny’s return to Cornwall had not been a success. She had moved in with a friend and herhusband but, uncomfortable in the midst of their obvious happiness, she left after a month, taking work wherever she could find it and sleeping wherever there was an available bed, occupied already or not.
    Then she met Nick and life took an upward turn. That, too, had ended in disaster. She was penniless once more but too proud to let on that she was sleeping in a squat with three other homeless people whom she barely knew. Jenny did not blame anyone else for her position, nor did she blame herself. She put it down to fate. If she could just get some work things might be better. Work – or a man who was prepared to keep her, that would be even more favourable. All she required was a bit of comfort. But maybe it wasn’t too late with Nick. He had not ignored her tonight and was usually friendly if they met by chance and he had gone out of his way to ask how she was. After Rose Trevelyan had left, it was true, but perhaps that meant more than if he had done so whilst she was present. Failing Nick she would fall back on her original plan.
    Jenny had drunk all that was offered and had filled up on the food, which solved the problem of that evening’s meal. Leaving the gallery she had decided to go and see Nick, a decision shewould not have taken with less alcohol inside her.
    In the shadows of the old, cramped buildings she felt buoyant. Not one, but two