A cloudburst, accompanied by a rainbow arching out from the headland into the sea, cleared the beach, scattering the holiday people and cutting dead the run on ice cream at the Kandy Shack. Finishing a run-off-her-feet shift, Layla locked up the shop and headed home, wending her way uphill. The winding lane took her past the pastel-painted jumble of higgledy-piggledy houses with their colourful window boxes and pots crammed with summer flowers. At her side Ophelia trotted obediently.
When she reached the bridge over the brook that ran down through the village into the sea she stopped. A small padlock dangled from a curlicue of ironwork on one of the rusty railings. The sight of it made her sad and disappointed, totally humiliated. It was a horrible feeling. She glued her eyes to the padlock. She and Joe had been wearing school uniforms when they’d put it there and thrown away the key. The memory had been eating away at her all afternoon. He’d bought the padlock in the village general store and she’d painted the heart on it in red nail polish. She remembered the name of the colour on the bottle wistfully.
Forever Yours! So much for that.
A year ago, on the anniversary of the day they’d put their lovelock on the bridge she and Joe had stopped there and he’d given her a gummy sweet ring and a promise that when he got the money together he’d buy her a real one. She’d eaten the ring. That was probably a bad omen. At any rate, everyone considered them to be practically engaged, and she’d been dreaming of him giving her an engagement ring in Paris. Her hope had been to put a lovelock on the Pont des Beaux Arts to mark their commitment to a shared future.
Joe hadn’t shared her vision. And now she was stuck. She wanted to get rid of the padlock so badly, the sight of it made her physically sick. It conjured up the image of Joe down on one knee in the most romantic city in the world. Utterly, irritatingly wrong. She couldn’t bear to see it dangling from the bridge a single day more.
She pulled a hairgrip out of her unruly mop. Unpicking locks with a hairpin struck her as something she’d seen at a village vintage cinema night. It was the kind of thing which only ever really worked in films, but it had to be worth a go. With a theatrically furtive glance left and right to check that nobody was watching, she crouched down, took the padlock between her fingers, inserted the wire hairgrip, and twisted. Nothing happened. She straightened the wire, and tried again.
Ophelia sat looking on dolefully. ‘It’s got to go, O!’
In that precise moment Nick came walking round the corner. He was in such unbelievably great shape that trotting up the steep hill from the harbour didn’t appear to fizz on him. A big smile broke out across his face when he heard her chatting to the dog.
‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join?’
‘Are you making fun of me Nick?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘For your information Ophelia’s a very intuitive dog. She understands me.’
The dog gave a well-timed yelp of agreement and Nick laughed. ‘I can tell.’
‘You’ve been in the village barely a day and somehow you’ve developed the uncanny knack of being exactly where I don’t need you, exactly when I don’t want you.’
‘Harsh! I didn’t hear any complaints when I helped you move the heavy boxes.’ He studied her with a puzzled look. ‘In fact, you said you were glad I was there.’
‘To be fair, you are a useful pair of hands.’
His lips twisted into that much-too-sexy smile.
Sheepish, she positioned herself in front of the lovelock. ‘How was your walk? Porthkara beach is amazing, don’t you think?’ She gave an impatient wave of her fingers. ‘Don’t let me keep you. Why don’t you jog on? Find a bit more of Cornwall to explore?’
‘What’s up?’ He crossed his arms over his broad chest and fixed his eyes on her. An unnerving combination of darkness and honey in his eyes, he waited, getting under her skin. When she didn’t reply he stooped to greet Ophelia, ruffling her soggy fur. ‘Hey, how’re you doing?’ The dog jumped up and placed two paws on his thigh leaving wet prints on his leg.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to butt out. Instead she held the less-than-useless piece of wire out to him on the flat of her palm and cringed. ‘I’m just standing here in the rain making a complete fool of myself. If I tell you why you’ll probably think I’m the village idiot.’
‘That’s a thing?’ The downpour that had cleared the beach had turned into gentle, steadily falling rain. Sheltered beneath the branches of the trees that spread out over the bridge like a big natural umbrella Nick didn’t budge. ‘I’m no Sherlock Holmes but something tells me you’re not waiting for the rain to stop.’
She managed a weak smile. ‘I’m picking a lock.’ She met his eyes. ‘Only breaking and entering isn’t my field of expertise, so I’m not having much luck.’
His gorgeous masculine features melted her like ice cream and at the same time she felt ridiculous and conspicuous and as weirdly hilarious as a Punch and Judy show. The Nick effect spiralled through her. She struggled to get a hold of herself, to stamp out the badly-timed attraction.
‘I’m not an alien. Contrary to appearances I wasn’t beamed in from a celebrity-holding planet in outer space. If there’s something I can help with, please just tell me.’
She stepped aside and pointed. ‘I have to find a way to remove this padlock. It’s outstayed its welcome. Any suggestions?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t see it’s much of a problem where it is.’
‘That isn’t helping.’ The padlock encapsulated things she couldn’t define – emotions, memories, elapsed time. Things she couldn’t begin to explain. Not wanting to appear unreasonable she attempted an explanation all the same. ‘Joe and I put it here, a long time ago, so you see its presence is no longer required. I don’t want to have to see it every day.’ She peered over the side of the bridge. A long way below in the gully the clear water flowed over moss covered stones. ‘The key might still be in there, hidden.’
‘Unlikely. Precisely how long ago did you throw it in?’
‘About twelve years.’
Without looking down, she swung first one leg, and then the other, over the railings at the side of the bridge. Holding on tight she shimmied along until she reached a sturdy overhanging tree branch, grasped onto it and clambered onto the big rocks beyond.
‘What the hell are you doing? Stop.’ Nick’s voice crackled electrically.
‘It’s okay.’ She laughed nervously. ‘It sounds crazy but it’s worth a quick look.’
‘Crazy. You’re a lunatic.’ His words sounded like something trapped in his throat.
She scrambled carefully down the steep bank, jumped off the lowest mossy rock, landed safely and looked up at him triumphantly.
Standing at the railings he glared down into the gully, his face granite-like and ashen. ‘At the risk of sounding pessimistic,’ he shouted, ‘won’t it be all rusted up by now?’
Ignoring him, she kicked off her flip-flops and paddled into the stream. Crystal clear, cool water flowed gently over her feet. All around her raindrops made circles in the stream. In defiance of Nick, and good sense, she lifted pebbles and looked under rocks.
She picked up a slippery stone, dropped it with a splash and dug around hopefully in the empty hole it had left behind.
‘Any luck?’
‘Nope. But I’m not giving up.’
She doggedly shifted another large stone and the water beneath it clouded with disturbed silt, obscuring her bright pink toenails. Hot Day, it said on the nail polish bottle. Not counting Nick, that particular nail polish related prediction had been wrong too. The day that had begun so promisingly sunny had turned cloudy and grey and wet.
‘Face it. It’s not in there.’ Nick’s deep voice rumbled down into the gully like thunder. ‘You’re wasting your time. Twelve years is much too long, it’ll have been washed away in a storm years ago.’
She was ankle-deep in water looking for something that she wasn’t going to find. ‘That’s positive. Thanks for nothing,’ she yelled, a sour taste at the back of her throat. ‘I thought you said you wanted to help.’
A darkening sky and a deafening thunderclap got her to face the futility of what she was doing. Ophelia whined pitifully, so Nick picked her up.
‘I do. But I think it’s time to call it quits. You’re shivering like you’ve seen a ghost and there’s going to be another heavy downpour any second.’ He took hold of the padlock between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a tug. ‘We’ll think of another way to shift this thing.’
‘That thing, as you call it, is a symbol of my broken heart,’ she yelled. ‘In case it’s escaped your notice, I’m falling apart. My ex got married. And the pictures are everywhere on social media. All one hundred and fifty-three of them.’
Admitting defeat and that she now qualified for fully certified village idiot status, she began to clamber back up over the rocks, searching out footholds with her bare feet, carrying her flip-flops in her teeth, and avoiding looking down.
When she reached the top, grim-faced Nick grabbed ahold of her and clung on like a rather lovely limpet while she climbed back over the railings to safety. Since he was still steadying her with his arms even though she was out of danger, she hinted, ‘You can let go now.’
‘On one condition. Promise me you’ll not do that or anything like it again. He’s not worth breaking your neck over. Hearts heal.’
She glared at the padlock taking in how insignificant and tiny it looked, hardly noticeable to anyone but herself. ‘True.’ She met his eyes and realized he’d gone a funny colour. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m scared of heights. You have the agility of a primate and I wish I had your head for heights. Just watching you made me panic.’
‘But you’re the new Mr Hollywood-Action-Hero. You can’t be afraid of heights.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yep. So I’ll have to swear you to secrecy – either that or shoot you.’
‘Crikey! That must be awkward.’
He nodded and abruptly fired a non sequitur at her. ‘So, about these photos. Why not ignore them?’
‘I couldn’t help it. I can’t stop looking at them.’
‘Because you enjoy self-torture?’
She managed to conjure up a hint of a responsive smile, but wrapped her arms across her body miserably. ‘Because I keep looking at her and asking myself, why her and not me?’
‘Let me guess. She looks a lot like you?’
She stared at him long and hard. ‘That’s spooky.’ Had he been stalking her friends on the internet? ‘Joe’s wife …’ Saying the word out loud practically made her gag ‘… and I do look alike. How did you know?’
He held his breath and then let it all go at once in exasperation. ‘A hunch. Most of the women my father was photographed with after my parents’ split resembled my mother. I remember asking myself why he’d destroyed a family to be with women who seemed like brand new versions of the one he’d left?’
‘I suppose there was more to it than that.’
‘Right.’
Ophelia had skedaddled ahead of them and was lying down in a muddy puddle.
Layla groaned. ‘This day really isn’t getting any better. And she’s having way too much fun.’
As if on cue Ophelia rolled onto her back completely coating herself in mud. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the mischievous little dog covered from head to paws. ‘She looks like she’s been dipped in chocolate. We’re going to need a pint of dog shampoo.’
‘At least.’ Convulsed by a sudden fit of giggles the warmth of Layla’s laughter broke over him like a wave.
Oddly reluctant to tear himself away he started to walk back in the direction of the little store he’d spotted down by the harbour. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. The clouds parted and the sun warmed the cobbles in the lane. ‘I’ve never been anywhere with such whimsical weather.’
‘That’s the Porthkara microclimate for you. It’s one of those if-you-don’t-like-the-weather-wait-fifteen-minutes days.’ She gazed at him wide-eyed. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To the store. I’ve had an idea. I’m going to see if they have pliers.’
‘This very minute?’
‘Right now.’
Fran had cut him to the core. The news about Beth hadn’t gotten out there – yet – but it was in his shattered heart. He couldn’t stop himself looking back into the past without the foggiest idea what to do about it. But if pliers to cut the padlock would free Layla from the memory of a relationship gone bad, then at least he could fix that.
‘I said I’d make myself useful, didn’t I?’
‘It can wait. Honestly.’
Nick pointed at the padlock. ‘Your past stops there. Exes! Who needs them?’ He wanted her to feel better but he was at a loss when it came to a broken heart.
‘For someone who doesn’t need exes, you’ve got enough of them. Allegedly!’
Despite the obvious humour in her tone, the remark stung. It hit a nerve. He didn’t usually care about the truth. But lately the blurriness of ten years’ worth of indeterminate relationship status had swum into sharp focus. He snorted. ‘So I should know, right? You go on home. I’ll see you back there.’
Intensely wound up, he marched down the lane like he was going into battle.