A Cornish Gift: Previously published as an eBook collection, now in print for the first time with exclusive Christmas bonus material from Fern

‘That barrel ain’t got my name on it yet, Ambrose, but come Christmas morning it’ll be me supping that lovely golden liquid.’

Piran picked up their pints. ‘Thanks, Don – here, have something for yourself …’ He placed another one-pound note on the counter. ‘Reckon you’ll need it to buy your own pints on Christmas Day.’

Don gave him a two-fingered salute but pocketed the pound all the same.

They took their seats and Simon began filling him in on all the local news, but Piran was impatient to hear what Simon himself had been up to.

‘Well, actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well …’ Simon played nervously with a beer mat.

‘Come on, man, spit it out!’

‘Remember I told you that I was going to stay on at Oxford and do a Masters?’

‘In Theology? Yes, why? Have you changed your mind?’

‘Yes. No. Well, not exactly …’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ spluttered Piran, infuriated. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I finish it for you. You’ve decided to do your Masters and after that you’re going to become a priest.’

Simon gawped at his friend in astonishment. ‘How did you know?’

Piran laughed and put his arm around Simon’s shoulder. ‘I’ve always known, mate. Even if you didn’t. All those drunken late-night chats about the nature of God and the universe? Most men our age would’ve been thinking about nookie, but not you.’

Simon’s face betrayed uncertainty. ‘Do you think I’m making the right decision? You don’t mind?’

‘Mind!’ Piran gave Simon a giant bearhug. ‘I can’t think of a better man for the job. You’ll make a great vicar! And if I ever find the right girl, I want you to marry us – you can also christen any unlucky offspring I might have. And when the music’s over, I want you to turn out the lights and give me the last rites. Mind? I’m relying on you!’

As if on cue, the door to the pub opened and in walked Jenna. She didn’t see the two men immediately and made straight for the bar. Piran watched her nervously and rubbed his hands on his 501s.

‘Go on – say hello,’ Simon urged.

Jenna was even lovelier than he remembered. She removed her red beret, purple velvet jacket and crocheted bag, then hung them all on a hook behind the bar. Her hair was the colour of wet sand and it took a moment before her clear blue eyes spotted him. When they did, she clapped her hands and a smile lit up her face.

‘Piran!’ She ran out from behind the bar and rushed over to their table. He stood and she threw her arms around him warmly. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Piran Ambrose!’

Jenna barely worked her shift that night, much to her grumbling brother’s annoyance. When Simon headed home a few pints later, Piran and Jenna were still ensconced at the bar, heads close together; talking and laughing and in no hurry to go home themselves.

*

Piran and Simon jumped up and down and rubbed their bare arms to try to keep themselves warm. It was Christmas morning and it seemed the whole of Trevay and Pendruggan had come along to the Christmas Day swim on Shellsand Bay, though the hardy souls who were willing to brace the Atlantic waters were vastly outnumbered by spectators. The ban on wetsuits had separated the wheat from the chaff; although the distance between the shore and the buoy wasn’t far, the water was only a few degrees above freezing at this time of year and it could be gruelling.

Throngs of people lined the shore, a barbecue had been set up and someone was serving bacon sandwiches while flasks of firewater were passed round; the mood was jovial and good-humoured; a gang of teenagers wore Santa hats and were singing a raucous rendition of ‘Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer’, but in their version it was another part of Rudolf’s anatomy that was going down in history. Conditions were good; despite the cold, it was a clear morning with just a hint of the morning mist in the air.

Don, already stripped down to his Speedos, came over and slapped them both on the back.

‘It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here!’ He laughed. ‘Ready for a good pasting, boys?’

Unlike Simon, who was waiting until the last minute to strip off, Piran was primed for action, his goggles sitting on his head in readiness.

‘Don’t be writing cheques your butt can’t cash, boy.’ He poked Don’s stomach good-naturedly.

Jenna joined them and put an arm around each of their shoulders as they towered over her petite and slender frame.

‘Ah, my two favourite Pendruggan boys!’

‘Who are you putting your money on, Jenna?’ Simon asked through chattering teeth.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she replied enigmatically, refusing to be drawn, but she eyed Piran’s tanned and taut six-pack admiringly. Simon saw a look pass between them and decided that things had definitely moved on since their night in The Dolphin.

At that moment, the sound of a loud bell rang out across the water. The adjudicator was the landlord of the pub, Peter. He was holding a large church bell, the same one he used to call time, and was exhorting the gathered participants to take their places.

The men and women who were taking part lined up and, when Peter fired the starting pistol, they all plunged into the sea. The coldness of the water took Piran’s breath away. The last time he’d swum in the sea it had been in the warm waters of a crystal-clear Greek lagoon, but this was something else entirely. He forced himself to focus on keeping his limbs moving and progressed quickly through the water. He sensed that Don was a little way behind him – they were both strong swimmers but Piran’s active summer seemed to be giving him the edge today and his pace quickened as the adrenalin coursed through his body, energising his muscles. He approached the buoy and risked a glance around. To his surprise and elation he was well out in front. Don seemed to have dropped back.

Having reached the buoy, Piran turned over in the water and kicked off for the return leg. He passed other swimmers on the way, all intent on reaching the buoy, but Don wasn’t among them. Slightly ahead, between him and the shoreline, he could see a figure in the water. His immediate instinct was to adjust his course in order to avoid a head-on collision, but then he realised that the person in the water was Don. How had he managed to get this far ahead? Stung into action, Piran picked up speed in the hope of overtaking him. But as he passed, some sixth sense made him slow and turn his head. It was then he realised that Don was in trouble, desperately treading water, his face ashen.

Within moments, Piran was by Don’s side. ‘What’s wrong, buddy?’

It was all Don could do to gasp out two words: ‘Can’t breathe.’

Piran looked towards the beach, trying to make out the lifeguard, but it was difficult to see from this distance. It was going to be down to him to get Don back to shore – and fast.

‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do,’ he commanded. ‘Put your arms around my neck from the back and I’ll swim us to shore, like they do in the movies.’

Too weak to argue, Don gripped Piran as best he could and they progressed slowly through the water, Don’s rasping and ragged breath sounding in Piran’s ear. Piran was beginning to tire when Simon came alongside to help. Before long they were nearing the shore, where the lifeguard paddled out in his canoe to meet them.

*

Don puffed hard on his inhaler. He was sitting on a camping chair, wrapped in towels and blankets, flanked by Jenna, Simon and Piran. The colour was back in his cheeks and his asthma attack was now well under control.

‘Felt a bit wheezy this morning, but didn’t wanna miss it.’

‘You dafty. You could have drowned out there,’ Jenna chided, but she was too relieved that her brother was going to be OK to be angry with him.

‘Just glad I brought this with me. Don’t have much call for it these days. Thought I’d grown out of the old asthma.’ He took another puff. ‘But it’s thanks to Blackbeard here that it weren’t worse. Good of you to help out, mate.’ He looked gratefully towards Piran, as did Jenna, whose eyes shone with admiration and gratitude.

‘Anyone would’ve done the same,’ he replied, scoffing at the suggestion his actions had been in any way heroic.

‘Not sure they would have if they was in the lead and looking forward to that Christmas Ale.’

‘Who won in the end?’

‘Not sure … come on, let’s get down to The Dolphin and find out – we can’t have them drinking all that ale without us now, can we?’

With that, the four friends headed off to the pub, singing ‘Rudolph the Red-Knobbed Reindeer’ …