LITMIR.BIZ

       Prologue

      Cornwall, September

       H ow is it possible to miss this place before I’ve left?

      Layla Rivers pushed open the door to the fish and chip shop, a one-time fisherman’s cottage, quaint, bygone and painted pastel blue, in the pretty harbour of Porthkara. Behind her, a collection of boats bobbed at anchor, fenders tied to their hulls. The pier reached out into the calm glassy sea and the lighthouse stretched up to the sky, a vigilant seagull perched on top keeping a lookout for stray chips dropped by butterfingers. A bell jingled as she stepped inside to the welcome of a familiar face behind the counter.

      ‘Hey, Layla. All set for your trip?’

      ‘Yep, I’m good to go. I’ll miss Porthkara.’

      ‘Six months will fly by. You’ll have a wonderful time, you lucky thing. What can I get you?’

      ‘A portion of chips please.’

      ‘Coming up.’ Rosie, an old school friend, beamed and tipped a batch of freshly chipped potatoes into the sizzling fryer. A blast of familiar cooking smells filled the small shop as she took a kitchen cloth and emerged from behind the wall of brightly-lit glass and stainless steel to wipe the steamed-up window. ‘Joe not with you?’

      Layla tensed. Rosie was married to the man of her dreams, a gorgeous rugged trawler-man. They had two children already. And hopes for a third.

      ‘We had planned to watch the sun go down together. A perfect beginning to our trip around the world.’

      Her friend frowned. ‘So where is he?’

      ‘He cried off with excuses about sinking a pint of real ale with the lads.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s at the pub.’

      While she waited for the chips to cook she walked over to the window and gazed out across the harbour to the lighthouse and, close by it, the centuries-old seafarers’ chapel built in a hollow at the base of a cliff. ‘You have a great view of Saint Elisabeth’s.’

      ‘That’s one of the best things about working here. It’s the perfect vantage point for wedding watchers.’

      Layla laughed. ‘There’s been a spate this summer.’

      ‘I get to see it all. The dresses, the guests, the glitches!’

      ‘Glitches?’

      ‘Nothing too serious. You heard about the usher who tripped over a bollard on the pier and fell into the sea?’

      ‘Yep.’ Layla giggled. ‘Poor guy! I gather somebody saved the day and found him a change of clothes.’

      ‘Someone also videoed the shenanigans. It went viral. The chip shop was in the background.’

      ‘Free publicity.’

      Returning to her post Rosie checked the fryer and wiped the counter with her cloth. ‘A couple of weeks back, there was the cutest pageboy. His mum got him an ice cream and a flipping seagull only went and dive-bombed him! He spilt ice cream all down his little outfit. She brought him in to mop up the mess and I got all the goss. The bride was pregnant! Nobody was supposed to know, but everybody did. And the bride’s parents were getting a divorce right after the wedding. It was the elephant in the room.’

      ‘Crikey.’

      ‘No one was allowed to mention it because the bride was so touchy. Heaven knows why, pregnancy hormones maybe.’

      ‘Or she was afraid talking about it might spoil the day?’

      Rosie pulled an awkward face like she was sorry she’d brought it up. ‘You know what that feels like, right?’

      ‘I guess.’

      ‘How long have you and Joe been together?’

      ‘Twelve years.’

      ‘So when will it be your turn to walk down the aisle? When you get back from your travels? Or will we be hearing that you’ve rocked a romantic wedding for two somewhere fabulous, like Bali or Barbados?’

      Layla bristled. The conversation had taken a very unwelcome turn.

      ‘Nothing’s been discussed. We’ve not made plans or anything.’

      The door jingled and a couple more customers barged in loudly, cutting the interrogation dead, to Layla’s relief. Weddings weren’t Joe’s favorite subject. He liked things the way they were. By the time the newcomers had made up their minds on what to have and Rosie had taken their orders, Layla’s chips were ready. She shoveled out a generous portion, balanced a teeny pot of ketchup on top, and neatly wrapped them in paper. Layla paid quickly and escaped without further questioning.

      ‘Have fun,’ Rosie shouted over the jingle of the doorbell. ‘Post loads of photos on your timeline, I want to know everything.’

      Outside, in the long shadow of the lighthouse, Layla paused for a few seconds to take it all in; the general store, the church, the chippy. The police station had been moved and the old building sold. The new owner had transformed it into an Italian-style ice cream parlour with a cheerful striped awning. Other old buildings had been repurposed too, housing a small gallery showcasing local artists, a gift shop, and a place selling an array of vintage, with a ship in a bottle, an antiquated teapot and a starburst clock in the window. On the end of the terraced row a former cottage with a ‘sold’ sign outside was reported to be opening soon, reinvented as an old-fashioned sweet shop doing homemade Cornish fudge in every flavour imaginable from traditional to chocolate orange, marshmallow and banoffee. Rumours abounded about a secret recipe and a luxury specialty fudge made with locally-sourced clotted cream and laced with ‘ye olde smugglers’ rum’. She’d have to wait until spring to try some.

      Having well and truly memorized Porthkara harbour, Layla headed to the beach. At the top of the stone steps she kicked off her flip-flops and inhaled the salty air. She loved everything about the Cornish fishing village she’d grown up in, especially its own brand of ozone. She stared out to sea watching the gentle even breakers roll in, feeling the wind on her face, the sand powder-soft beneath the soles of her feet. Overhead the gulls soared, glided and swooped. A blazing circle of red, the sun cast a beautiful light all around and turned the white clouds pink.

      For a second Layla’s heart wobbled and she wondered why she’d agreed to go travelling with Joe. She loved him here at home; but could she rely on him when it was just the two of them on the other side of the world?

      Warmth seeped into her hands. She sat down, unwrapped the hot, golden chips and waited for them to cool enough to eat. Cross-legged she balanced her food in her lap and opened the ketchup, trying not to get sand on her fingers and replaying the conversation from the chippy in her head.

      She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of sea air in an effort to shake off her apprehension. She’d spent all afternoon finalizing her packing, obsessively putting things in her rucksack, taking them out again, and then putting them back in. Mentally she went through her checklist, knowing she’d double

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