LATE JUNE
Lucy
Lucy lugged her case up the steps of 23 The Strand. It hadn’t said in the brochure that there was no transport along the promenade to the chalets, although she’d seen a service vehicle slowly making its way back to the main road. She’d had to park her car in a car park a good fifteen minutes’ walk away although there had been a designated parking space to go with the chalet, thank goodness. Had she brought too much for a fortnight here? Or not enough? There was a laundrette three hundred yards away in Seaway Road, or so the woman in the information office had told her when she’d picked up the key, but Lucy rather hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. She planned to sit and read in the sunshine, eat out on the deck, swim whenever the fancy took her and the weather permitted. This was England, after all, and while she might be on what was loosely termed the English Riviera, it wasn’t exactly Cannes or Nice with wall-to-wall sunshine that could be more or less guaranteed, so she wasn’t expecting it.
‘Oh!’ Lucy said as she stepped onto the deck. What a surprise. Flowers. In a pretty vase, looking so very sweet and fresh. And there was a note.
Not from Ben, she decided before she’d even picked it up. Rats who pull out of weddings just weeks before the ceremony didn’t send flowers, did they? And if they did they would be a huge bunch of guilt flowers from Sarah Raven, or M&S, or even Waitrose. Ben had sent plenty of those in the three years they’d been together and she ought to have read between the lines instead of going over-the-top in her praise of them, and how wonderful it was he’d sent her flowers. And besides, she hadn’t told him – or anyone else for that matter – exactly where she was. The last thing she’d needed was anyone feeling sorry for her, insisting they come along and share the accommodation, or visit at the very least.
She read the note. Crikey, but this Arthur – whoever he was – sounded like a throwback to the 1930s or something. Old school. But there was warmth in his words and it had a strange effect on her… as though someone had just wrapped a cashmere throw around her shoulders and given her a hug.
‘Thanks, Arthur,’ she said, surprising herself at how thick her throat was with emotion. Lucy had shed copious tears in the first days following Ben’s betrayal, but always alone – in the bathroom if she was in her parents’ house; on a path through the woods, well away from any doggy-walking route – but she’d given herself a stern talking-to and told herself the tears had to stop. Ben simply wasn’t worth all that emotion that left her with sore eyes, a headache and a pain under her ribcage. But she felt like crying now. It seemed such a final step, coming here, and she hoped it would turn out to be a wise decision. ‘First I’ll unpack and then I’ll come and sit with your flowers and have a cup of tea, admire the view.’ A smile crept onto Lucy’s face and it felt good. She hadn’t smiled for weeks now. What with the cancelling of the church and the reception venue, and taking her details off the honeymoon destination, and returning all the wedding presents, and the cheques from those who’d not sent presents in advance, but money, there hadn’t been a single second when she’d felt she should be smiling.
The chalet was bigger than she’d expected. Quite US Eastern Seaboard in style. The custard-yellow walls gave the whole place a warmth, one Lucy knew she still needed, however much she told herself she was fine, she was sorting this, everything was going to be okay and for the best in the long run.
But the chalet was light years away from the penthouse suite she and Ben had booked for their honeymoon. In Bali. Well, Ben and Mel – the woman Ben had decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with instead of Lucy – could get lost in that penthouse suite as far as Lucy was concerned. Ben and Mel weren’t married yet but by the end of this fortnight they would be… on a beach with many of the people who’d said they’d be at Lucy and Ben’s wedding looking on and enjoying the sunshine and wedding breakfast. Funny how you find out who your friends aren’t in a situation like this.
Lucy had brought a few provisions with her – some butter, some decent coffee and a cafétière for one to make it in, a baguette, honey and teabags. These would see her through until she ventured along the seafront and up to the town. There was a tourist map on the worktop and another brochure of places of interest in the area.
Lucy made tea and stirred a teaspoonful of honey into it. She wrapped her hands around it, not so much for warmth because it was a very warm day, but for comfort. She stepped out onto the deck.
‘Thrift. Sorrel. Hottentot fig. Daisies. Something blue I don’t know the name of. Thank you, Arthur.’ She read the note again. And indeed, it was a pretty vase. Perhaps she’d visit the shop Arthur had suggested would be worth her while. ‘And, seeing as this vase probably isn’t on the inventory, I shall keep it once the flowers have faded.’
And you really must stop talking to yourself – it’s what old people do, probably what someone this Arthur’s age does. It was you who decided to holiday alone for a fortnight, and you’ll just have to get on with it.
Sitting down, Lucy placed her tea on the table and picked up the little vase of wild flowers, holding it to her nose. Not a lot of scent, but goodness, how exquisite they were. She swapped the vase of flowers for the tea, and propped her legs up on the spare chair, looking out to sea. A small ferry of some sort was making its way across the bay, passengers leaning over the rail, taking in the view. There was hardly a ripple on the water and the ferry looked, to Lucy, as though it were gliding. Only the throb of the engine told her it wasn’t. And a little gaggle of kayakers close to the shore. Youngsters with, at a guess, a tutor alongside them. Lucy could just make out voices from where she sat. Between her and the water’s edge there were a few groups of people – a mum with two toddlers was helping them dig a pit in the sand, a middle-aged couple stood with their arms around one another looking out to sea, and two young girls in micro-bikinis were running down to the sea, hands linked, leaping over the pebbles, squealing delightedly.
Lucy waited for sorrow to engulf her. Everyone had someone, and she didn’t. Or self-pity. Sadness at her loss. Or anger even that when she’d been younger she’d often turned down proposals while she forged her career as a graphic designer, giving up all thoughts of motherhood in her pursuit of that. And then, having, at almost forty years old, accepted Ben’s proposal, only to be let down so humiliatingly, here she was, on her own again. Well, it had been humiliating then, but was it now? And sorrow didn’t even come close – all she felt at that moment was a sort of flatness, like Coca Cola left in a glass overnight. She’d put up a shell around herself, hadn’t she? What might it take for the shell to crack? What would happen if, and when, it did?
‘But what are you going to do, Luce?’ her best friend, Alison, had asked, with heavy emphasis on the ‘do’. Only Alison was ever allowed to called Lucy, Luce. Lucy and Alison had been friends since primary school and trying to stop Alison calling her Luce now would have been like trying to stop a runaway horse by asking it, politely, to slow down. Ben had called her Luce once – just the once – but she’d asked him not to. He’d just shrugged and said that that was okay as long she never called him Benny!
‘Hello! Luce to planet Earth. I asked you a question.’ Alison sounded mock-indignant at being ignored. ‘I repeat – What… are… you… going… to… do?’
Lucy had been tempted to say she was going to learn to lap dance, or take a course in Finnish or some other hideously difficult language. Go bungee-jumping perhaps. She’d had to stifle down a giggle at the thought because Alison was treading so carefully around her, as though she’d had a particularly close and sad bereavement. But in a way she knew Alison was right – she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit in a chair and feel sorry for herself, could she?
‘I’ll think of something.’ Lucy had shrugged. She knew she needed to get away from the city for a couple of weeks at least.
‘I know. We’ll see if there’s a late cancellation somewhere. Ibiza. I can take two weeks off, easy peasy. And if the boss doesn’t like it then I’ll find another salon to work in – always work for hairdressers! So, Luce, Ibiza, how about it? We went there once years ago, didn’t we? We—’
‘No.’ Lucy had stopped her. Yes, she remembered going to Ibiza with Alison years ago. They’d done nothing but sunbathe and drink, then drink and sunbathe some more, and then have lots of sex with lads they’d just met. They hadn’t even bothered to hire a car and explore the area. Lucy was so over that sort of thing although Alison, bless her, wasn’t. Between then and now Alison had had two weddings and two divorces, and was up for a third if Lucy was reading between the lines correctly. ‘I need to get through this my way, by myself if necessary.’
‘Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Promise me you won’t turn into a bag lady, or Miss Haversham or something.’
‘Neither of those,’ Lucy had laughed. ‘I promise.’
Alison had given her a brief hug and was gone, not at all put out about having her suggestion rebuffed.
And then the company Lucy worked for gave the shock news that they were in dire straights financially and were going to have to let staff go. Lucy had been one of them and her redundancy package decent enough that she wouldn’t be desperate for work for a little while.
And here she was. A quick trawl of the internet had found her 23 The Strand. It was better than she’d thought it would be from the not-very-good photographs on the website. And she had a plan.
Alison hadn’t gone much on the plan when she’d told her about it.
‘Shirley Valentine? You’re going to do a Shirley Valentine? Have a fling with someone you’ve only just met? In Devon? I wish you’d tell me where exactly ‘cos I’d come and rescue you from yourself! Are you mad? And to think you turned down Ibiza! You do realise doing a Shirley Valentine is very old hat these days, don’t you? And you’re not running away from a husband you’re going to go back to because…’
‘Thanks for your diplomacy, not!’ Lucy had laughed. ‘And I have absolutely no intention of having a fling with anyone.’
Lucy knew it wasn’t meeting someone that would make her feel good about herself again. It was more about opening up her mind to new experiences, wasn’t it? She’d think about looking for a job and finding somewhere new to live, seeing as Ben had bought her out of her share in the house they’d bought together, but not until after her holiday. Oh, and taking all her stuff out of her parents’ garage where she’d put it in cold storage – she’d have to get round to that. She had fourteen days booked here and the potential for fourteen new experiences. There were lots of things a person could do on their own – things for which a partner, of whatever sort, wasn’t required – and Lucy was going to find them.
‘Hi. I’m Ross.’
‘Lucy.’
They shook hands.
‘Right, Lucy. Okay. You’ve never kayaked before?’
The instructor – a very muscled bloke around her own age, tanned, with his curly hair tied back in a ponytail with what looked to Lucy like a bootlace – looked at her doubtfully.
‘No. But I’m a good swimmer.’
She and Ben had planned to go snorkelling off Bali on their honeymoon. Well, she had. ‘Snorkelling?’ he’d said when Lucy had suggested it. ‘On honeymoon? Aren’t there better things to be doing?’ Lucy had countered that he could sit on the beach and wait for her to come back and then they could get on with ‘better’ things. Well, not now they couldn’t – her and Ben, that is.
‘Great, but not going for a swim is the objective,’ Ross laughed. ‘I’ll do my best to keep you in the kayak but I think you’ll be more comfortable in a wetsuit than just that bathing costume you’re wearing. It can be colder out on the water than it is standing here.’
Lucy was wearing a kingfisher-blue, crossover bathing costume with high-cut legs she’d bought to take on honeymoon. She looked good in it. She knew she did, and especially since she’d lost a bit of weight in readiness for her wedding day, and the oyster-satin sheath dress she now wasn’t going to wear.
‘You’re the boss,’ Lucy said. ‘Lead me to the wetsuit.’
There was a little cabin at the back of the beach, kayaks of various sizes and colours laid out in front of it, and a rail with wetsuits hanging up, some of them still dripping where the previous students had hung them. Lucy hoped she wouldn’t have to get into one of those but, if she did, then so be it.
‘Hey, you’re really good for a total beginner,’ Ross said once Lucy was duly suited and in the water. ‘Great balance.’
He was paddling along beside her and, while Lucy realised he was slowing his pace to hers, it still felt as though she was racing along at an exhilarating speed.
‘Thanks.’
‘Do you feel up to going a bit further?’
‘Further than what?’ Lucy asked, surprised she was a little out of breath.
‘Well, normally I take first-timers to the headland and back, but I think you could cope with going on to the next cove. Tide’s high so we’ll be clear of any rocks. Up for it?’
‘Definitely,’ Lucy said. ‘Oh, look. That’s where I’m staying’ She took one hand off the paddle to point at 23 The Strand and the kayak wobbled horribly. She saw the water rising up towards her as she began to tip sideways. Lucy breathed in sharply as her heart rate began to increase alarmingly.
‘Whoa!’ Ross said, reaching out to grab the back of Lucy’s kayak.
Lucy felt herself being jerked to a more balanced position.
‘Phew. Thanks,’ she said. ‘I got a bit overexcited there. Sorry.’
‘No worries. So, I take it you’re stopping on The Strand?’
Ross smiled at her showing beautifully even white teeth. The smile made the skin crinkle beside his eyes. Lucy took in how tanned he was, and wondered if he was careful to use sunscreen. Such a strange thing to be thinking about someone she’d only just met and who she wasn’t likely to see again unless she took another kayak trip.
‘I am, yes. Two weeks.’
‘Number?’
‘Ah ha,’ Lucy said, ‘that would be telling!’
She paddled on, pulling ahead of Ross a little. She wasn’t going to fall for that one! But he soon caught her up.
‘It might be best to let me lead,’ he said. No dazzling smile this time. ‘Although the tide is high, there are a few rocks we need to skirt around. And I only asked about the number because I’ve got a friend who rents out one of those chalets. Investment sort of thing. Number 18.’
That’s me told then, Lucy thought. But what she said was: ‘Nope, not Number 18.’
‘Right. Got that,’ Ross said, and Lucy couldn’t be sure he wasn’t thinking he’d just had the brush-off. ‘And now I’d like you to follow me. As close as you can without hitting me. Follow my pace, and try to paddle in the same rhythm as I am. There’s a channel we need to go over so as to avoid any rocks. If we’re lucky we could see seals.’
‘Okay,’ Lucy said, feeling less sure of her abilities now. She had a feeling a seal would be pretty big close up. Big enough to rock her kayak?
‘Shout if you’re worried,’ Ross said, as though he’d just read her mind.
‘Okay. Will do.’
‘But I’ll keep looking back to check on you.’
‘Okay,’ Lucy said again.
Gosh, but the cliffs and the beach looked stunning from the sea – the beauty of it was quite taking her breath away and robbing her of saying much beyond ‘okay’ it seemed. A totally different aspect to it all, a different feel completely to how it looked walking or driving through it. The houses had red roofs and just for a moment Lucy thought she’d had a time-shift experience and been whisked back to a holiday she and Ben – damn him for encroaching on her thoughts here – had been on to Italy. She could see traffic high up on the main road going past but she couldn’t hear it. A cormorant stood still and sentinel on a piece of rock jutting out at the base of a cliff.
‘Oh!’ Lucy said as they arrived at the cove. The beach went far back, a perfect crescent of sand with not a soul on it. ‘I didn’t know this was here.’
‘The area’s best-kept secret,’ Ross said, beckoning for Lucy to come alongside him. ‘Worth the journey?’
‘More than,’ Lucy said.
‘It’s only accessible by abseiling down the cliff, and that’s not recommended any more because the cliff’s crumbling a bit. Or by sea. As now.’
Bright-pink Hottentot fig tumbled down over the cliff and Lucy wondered for a moment if this was where Arthur had picked the ones he’d left for her, although she doubted it. He sounded a positive sort of man but not the sort to go abseiling down cliffs. She imagined him in a collar and tie, even at the seaside somehow.
‘Two o’clock,’ Ross said, pointing in the direction he wanted Lucy to look.
Lucy could see the top of a large, rounded, glistening head. And then the head popped out of the water further and two large round eyes and a whiskery nose came into view.
A seal. Lucy had just seen her first, close-up seal, although she’d seen them at a Waterworld somewhere or other – she’d forgotten where. How free this one looked by comparison. How big! Its head was bigger than a big man’s would be.
Lucy couldn’t think of a thing to say. It was quite awesome being this close. Seeing a seal hadn’t been on her list of things to do, so it was a bonus.
‘Seals to order,’ Ross laughed.
The seal came right up to their kayaks. It put out a paw – or whatever it was seals used to swim with, Lucy didn’t know – and touched the front of Ross’s kayak.
‘This one knows me,’ Ross said. ‘We call her Doris. Don’t ask me why. I can tell her apart from others by the scar over her left eye. Got in a bit of a scrap, didn’t you, old girl?’ Ross leaned over and patted Doris on the head.
A bit like me, Lucy thought. Not a physical scar from her break with Ben, but an emotional one. However hard she was telling herself she was going to be okay, that she was fine, she still got a pang of some sort of loss now and then. It was such an old-fashioned thing to happen, wasn’t it – being jilted at the altar almost. And then the job. She sighed.
‘You okay with this?’ Ross asked. ‘You’ve gone a bit quiet. Doris won’t threaten you at all, will you, old thing?’ He scratched the top of Doris’s head and she seemed to luxuriate in his touch, like a cat, before swimming off.
‘I’m fine. A bit in awe at being so close to Doris. I sort of needed that in my life right now. Thanks. You know, for the experience.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Ross said. And then he started to paddle again. ‘Come on. Lots to see yet before your two hours are up.’
‘So, Lucy…’ Ross said, once they were back on the beach. There’d been a rudimentary shower beside the rack of wetsuits and Lucy had been glad of it before changing back into her jeans and T-shirt. ‘I’m going to give you ten out of ten for today’s lesson.’
‘I did my best,’ Lucy said, roughly towelling her hair dry, then running her fingers through it in a vague attempt at tidiness. ‘It was great actually. Thanks.’
‘Up for another trip? Another day that is. We could go out towards Berry Head and back. A bit more challenging perhaps, but I’m sure you’d cope.’
‘I don’t know,’ Lucy said. ‘I don’t think so. Today was great, but…’
‘But how about a drink and we’ll talk about it? I finish up here about six. Say half an hour to grab a quick shower. I can be at the Buccaneer over there about seven.’ He pointed to a large hotel with a terrace outside set up with tables and umbrellas and strings of fairy lights.
‘How do you know I’m not with someone?’
‘A hunch. You get to read moods in my job. Couple of things you said out there on the water. That and the ringless finger!’ Ross said, smiling broadly at her. ‘Thought it was worth a punt.’
Before today Lucy might have taken offence at being ‘a punt’, but all she did was laugh.
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ she said.
‘Okay. But if you change your mind I’ll be at the Buccaneer anyway, and if you fancy another kayak trip, you know where to find me.’
Ross was looking at her and his conker-coloured eyes seemed to be holding so much feeling in them that Lucy wondered what might have happened in his life to date. Lucy, not one for hunches, or she might have read Ben a bit better, got the feeling now that Ross wasn’t a regular flirt. And that perhaps he’d had to make an effort to ask her out for a drink. And now she’d spurned him. And it hurt.
‘I do,’ Lucy said. ‘Again, thanks for the trip. I’ll see you around.’
She had a lot of things to get through and the last thing she needed was a distraction, albeit a very handsome one.
‘I hope so,’ she heard Ross say as she walked away.
On Sunday morning, at ten o’clock, Lucy went out for breakfast. She’d slept like a baby after her kayak experience, with dreams of seals and flowers and sun glittering on water like diamonds. It was almost nine o’clock before she surfaced.
‘I can’t quite believe I’ve never done this before,’ she said out loud to Arthur’s pretty vase of flowers – she was definitely going to count that as a gift and keep it, take it home – before skipping down the steps. Just about everyone she knew went out for breakfast sometimes – even her pensioner parents – but Lucy never had.
She ate a Full English sitting outside on the terrace of The Boathouse. Every scrap. And two mugs of strong black coffee. She wondered if she would ever be able to get up off the wooden bench seat, but it felt good. Ben had been heavily into health and fitness and a Full English was something that would never have been on his agenda. She spent the rest of the day taking short walks from her chalet before coming back to sit and read, have a cup of coffee. Doze in the sunshine. A gaggle of kayakers went past, all wetsuited and paddling furiously – more experienced than Lucy had been at a guess. She didn’t think the person leading them was Ross but they were a lot further out than she’d been the day before so she couldn’t really tell. She wondered if he’d met up with anyone at the Buccaneer or if he’d had to drink alone before going home to wherever it was he lived. It wouldn’t have hurt to meet up with him, would it? Ah well, not a lot she could do about that now.
On Monday morning, Lucy decided – on a whim – to paint Arthur’s vase of flowers before all the petals dropped and the leaves curled. Watercolour. Lucy hadn’t painted since leaving school. Drawing had always been her thing and these days everything she did was on a computer. She found the local map left for tenants of 23 The Strand and navigated her way into town and an art shop. She bought a tin of watercolours, some pencils, three sable brushes and a pad of cartridge paper. Then she hurried back to her chalet, more keen to start painting than she could ever have imagined she’d be. Had she been in Bali, would she be painting now? She didn’t think so. Ben would more than likely have huffed and puffed that she wasn’t giving him her full attention if she had dared to put pencil and paint to paper. He would be saying something like ‘If you want a painting, buy one. I’ll pay’. To Ben everything could be bought. Well, some things couldn’t and the joy of creating a piece of art – whatever skill level a person was at – was one of them. She set to work. The painting would be a memory.
‘Not bad for a first attempt after all these years,’ she said out loud. ‘No, scratch that. It’s very good.’ What was it with the British that they never praised themselves? Bragging. That’s what Ben would have called it if she’d told him she’d painted something and made a good fist of it.
Tuesday was the day Lucy decided to buy a pair of walking boots, and some thick socks, and walk the coastal path.
‘You might like to put a couple of plasters on your heels. Waterproof ones, because they’re shiny and the socks will slip over them easily. Stops you getting blisters that does. Just a tip. Born out of experience. Ignore at your leisure,’ the rather elderly man who had served her said.
‘Really?’ Lucy said. ‘Thanks for the tip. I’ll do that.’
She hadn’t thought about blisters but perhaps she ought to have done because this stretch of the coastal path was seven miles. She wouldn’t walk back, of course, but there was a regular bus service, even an open-top one that went every twenty minutes, traffic permitting presumably. Lucy had never been on an open-top bus before. But first the walk.
The first bit, from her chalet towards the harbour, was flat enough. Lucy passed families and couples sitting or lying on the sand. Kids kicked balls about and a teenage lad was trying to get a kite to fly, running like mad, his arm held out stiffly overhead before jettisoning it skywards.
Ah, at last. He’d done it.
And then, there was Ross, walking down to the water’s edge, a kayak held high over his head.
‘Hi!’ he said, swinging the kayak down onto the sand. ‘Going far?’
‘Brixham. Along the coastal path. There was a map in the chalet.’
‘Hope your leg muscles are strong! It gets pretty steep in places.’
‘I’ll find out if they’re not,’ Lucy said. ‘But I’ve got good boots and the man who sold them to me gave me the plasters-on-the-heels, so you don’t get blisters, tip, so I should be okay.’
‘I’ll let you get on then,’ Ross said.
Lucy got the feeling he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.
‘I could meet you for a drink later,’ Lucy said. ‘Let you know how I get on.’
‘Not tonight,’ Ross said. ‘Things to do.’ He bent down and began fiddling with the spray deck on the kayak, as though he couldn’t quite meet Lucy’s eye. He looked up at her then. ‘Sorry.’
Touché! And that’s given me my comeuppance for rejecting his offer of a drink.
‘Okay,’ Lucy said. ‘Enjoy your day.’
‘You too,’ Ross said. ‘Ah, there’s my first client now.’
And off he went to greet his client and Lucy continued on her way, puzzled at the short exchange between them – sort of hot, cold, hot, cold again. But Ross intrigued her, and if she’d had more time here she would more than likely have tried to get to know him better. She felt he had a good soul, an honest soul. But what would be the point when she was moving on once her two weeks were up? And if she did have a fling, wouldn’t it just be on the rebound?
Lucy walked on around the headland and, when she looked back, she couldn’t see the beach or Ross’s kayak school any more. She skittered down over a zigzagging path between beds full of flowers – agapanthus and cannas, daisies of some sort, hardy geraniums. The sand was a different colour here – more blond than red. Softer too. Not as grainy as the beach in front of her chalet. But she was soon away from the holidaying crowds and on a narrow path that hugged the coast. She wasn’t even out of breath – yet!
She stepped into the longer grass to let a woman with a rather chubby golden Labrador go past.
‘Beautiful day,’ the woman said. ‘Going far?’
‘Over there,’ Lucy said pointing. ‘Berry Head.’
‘Been before?’
‘No,’ Lucy told her. ‘First time.’
‘It goes up and down a bit from here on. Mostly up! Good luck! Enjoy.’
‘I will, thanks. You too. Enjoy your day.’
Lucy stopped and passed the time of day with at least half a dozen other walkers, glad of the break if she were honest because the walk was a lot harder than she’d thought it would be from the flat line on the rather rudimentary map she’d found in the chalet. She was consulting the map and the information sheet now.
Elberry Cove. Often used for water skiing. Guillemots sometimes nest close by. Stony beach with little sand. No facilities. At dawn and dusk deer can be spotted in the wood nearby.
Well, it wasn’t dawn or dusk so Lucy wasn’t going to see deer, was she? What she did see, though, was a skein of kayakers being led along close to the shore. She thought about waiting until they got nearer in case the leader was Ross, but decided against it. She didn’t think he would have time to kayak this far, but then what did she know about how far and fast a skilled kayaker could travel? But she waved anyway, just in case it was Ross, before walking off. No one waved back. No matter.
By the time she arrived at Berry Head there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. Her face was hot and glowing from the exertion and she knew she’d caught the sun on her cheeks as well. Thank goodness, then, for a café serving ice-cold lager. It went down well, sitting outside shaded by a sun umbrella, and it barely touched the sides of her throat as it went.
Time for the bus which was another twenty minutes’ walk away.
‘Tarraway Road, please,’ Lucy said to the driver. She knew that was where her car was parked and it was only a fifteen-minute walk or so to her chalet from there. ‘Will you tell me when I’m there?’
‘I sure will,’ the driver said.
Lucy found a seat at the back and sat down. She was finding it hard to keep her eyes open after the exertion of her walk, together with the stuffy atmosphere on the bus, and the steady rhythm of it as it crawled along in fairly heavy traffic.
‘Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty.’
Lucy came to with a start. An elderly man was jiggling her arm.
‘Oh!’
‘Tarraway Road!’ the driver shouted.
‘Coming,’ Lucy said, gathering up her bag and jacket, which she’d taken off because it was warm on the bus.
And then she was out on the pavement. She suddenly felt disorientated. Which direction did she have to go in? How far was her chalet from here? What time was it? Lucy took her smartphone from her pocket and checked the time. Just after seven o’clock. She’d missed lunch – well, apart from a sandwich she’d taken with her – and now she was running late for supper. She saw a train chugging over a bridge and knew the sea was on the other side of that. She walked in the direction of the bridge. But she must have veered too far south because the road she came down opened out onto the road that ran parallel to the sea, right beside the Buccaneer, which she knew was a good ten minutes’ walk from her chalet.
The Buccaneer. Would Ross be in there tonight? And if he was, was he there with someone? Was that why he’d said ‘Not tonight. Things to do’ earlier?
Well, Lucy wasn’t going to spy. While she found Ross undeniably attractive, she knew nothing about his private circumstances. And then there was the on-the-rebound syndrome she was keen to avoid – too many mistakes could be made going down that route.
She knew the way back to her chalet from here and hurried on.
Lucy was glad she’d brought her car because it meant she could travel further afield. The lanes leading to Berry Pomeroy Castle were narrow, with flowers and grass spilling out onto the roadway. She had to stop and reverse into gateways a couple of times, and found another beautiful view to look at for her pains. The brochure she had said there was ghostly activity in and around the castle but she couldn’t detect anything that sent a shiver up her spine – only peace.
She explored Scadson Wood, which was on the other side of the road from the promenade and a world away from seaside life. Lucy heard a ‘peep-peep’ noise, quite loud and overhead. She looked up to see a buzzard looking down at her. How big they were, how beautifully feathered.
Her little tourist map showed a pond in the middle of a park so she walked there, picking up sandwiches from a deli en route. She fed the crusts to the swans, even though she remembered reading somewhere that bread wasn’t good for wildfowl. Were swans wildfowl? Too late now because the swans had eaten every scrap and one of them had rewarded her with a Swan Lake-style back-arching of its wings.
From time to time Lucy felt a pang that she wasn’t sharing the views, the scents and the experiences with someone. But not Ben. He would have hated it all. All far too parochial was what he would have said. No brand-name goods anywhere, no designer beers.
She thought about asking Ross if he had a day off and, if he did, if he’d like to join her on a trip somewhere – Dartmouth was said to be more than worth a visit, and then there was a train to Exeter with glorious sea and river views that Lucy thought she might go on. But then she changed her mind about seeking him out and asking him – she had to get to know who she was now in her changed status before she could begin to think about being with someone new, didn’t she?
And then she went mackerel fishing.
‘I cannot believe I’m doing this,’ Lucy said to no one in particular although there were seven fellow anglers and two crew on the Sparkle. But no one commented so she assumed her words had been yanked away with the wind, much as her hair was being yanked this way and that, across her face, high in the air. But how very exhilarating, especially when she caught two mackerel on her one line. What to do with them now?
‘They’re lovely soused in vinegar,’ a woman sitting – her back to the sea – knitting, said. ‘My Bill will have that lot filleted and ready to be done in no time.’
Lucy liked the way the woman said ‘my Bill’ as though she knew exactly where he was on the boat without having to look. She thought about asking why the woman was knitting in a fishing boat that was rocking like crazy but decided not to. Whatever it was she was knitting looked like it would fit King Kong. Navy blue. Mostly plain but with bands of fancy pattern on the shoulders. The woman seemed to be knitting down the sleeve, rather than up, which Lucy remembered was how her grandmother had made jumpers.
‘Do you think,’ Lucy asked, ‘your Bill would fillet my two for me?’
‘Or dusted with flour and pan-fried in a thumb-sized nub of butter,’ the woman went on as though Lucy hadn’t spoken. Lucy thought she much preferred the butter option to the vinegar.
‘Dusted with flour and pan-fried it will be then,’ Lucy said. ‘What are you knitting?’
‘Sorry, love?’ the woman said. ‘Can’t hear you very well. What with the wind and the boat’s motor and my cloth ears. Did you say something?’
‘What… are… you… knitting?’ Lucy yelled into the wind.
‘A gansey. Like the Guernsey jumper everyone’s heard about but peculiar to this area. Not that my Bill’s a proper fisherman now he’s retired but he likes to look the part and keep his hand in.’ She gestured towards a very large man who was reeling in a line with at least six hooks that had bagged six mackerel.
‘Do… you… think… your… Bill… would… fillet… my… mackerel… for… me?’
‘Try and stop him!’ the woman laughed. ‘Can’t resist a damsel in distress, can my Bill!’
A damsel in distress? Is that how others were seeing her? She didn’t feel like one. With each passing day and each different activity, Lucy was feeling liberated.
In the end, Bill filleted two of his own mackerel to go with Lucy’s two. She left the harbour with her head buzzing with the ways Bill’s wife – Lucy never did get around to asking her name – had told her she could enjoy the fish.
‘Now that’s a smell I can’t resist.’
Ross. Sitting on her deck as the sun sank slowly behind her, and just about to eat her supper, Lucy knew who it was without having to look.
‘Hi,’ she said, turning towards him. She couldn’t stop a smile of pure pleasure flooding through her.
She’d bought a jar of cornichons and two tomatoes and the wherewithal for a quick veggie pickle on the way back to 23 The Strand, and now here she was about to tuck into to her pan-fried mackerel on the deck. And Ross seemed to have pitched up. Did she want his company? Did she?
And then she noticed a skein of kayakers going across the bay in front of her.
‘Shouldn’t you be out there?’ she asked.
‘Nope. Got to cut my boy’s apron strings and let him take a bit of responsibility.’ Ross took one step up the flight of wooden stairs – a little nearer Lucy. She didn’t feel threatened in any way but still wasn’t sure she wanted him there.
‘Your boy?’ Lucy asked. It seemed rude not to, especially as Ross’s forehead was furrowed with little worry lines.
‘Toby. Eighteen. Should be going to uni but he’s bailed out before he even got there. Says he can’t imagine being cooped up in some academic building learning stuff when he can be earning a wage and getting fresh air and exercise out there.’
Ross waved an arm towards the kayakers.
So, Ross had a son. And presumably a wife. And yet he’d invited Lucy – very cheekily – for a drink the first time they’d met.
‘How does your wife feel about that?’ Lucy asked.
‘If she were here – which she’s not, because she bailed out ten years ago when she fell in love with someone else and has had scant contact since – I’d say it was Toby’s decision, not hers. New Zealand isn’t conducive to weekend access, but that was her choice. I didn’t put any pressure on Toby to choose between us but in the end his mum didn’t want him cramping her style, as it were. Sorry, I’m sounding very ‘violins time’, aren’t I?’ Ross gave her a broad grin she was sure he didn’t feel.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Lucy said. She knew she’d come across a bit snippy with that question, letting him know she didn’t go much on married men who invited other women for a drink. There were lots of questions she wanted to ask, like how Toby had been with all that, but now wasn’t the time. ‘Really sorry. I… I can put another mackerel in the pan if you fancy one? And I can do another bowl of instant pickles. If you’d like to join me?’
‘I knew my nose was right to lead me here!’ Ross laughed, and bounded up the steps.
‘You can tell me if you want or you can tell me to mind my own. Why you’re here, on your own, I mean. It’s kind of niggling at me the way you said you needed the experience of seeing a seal in your life right now. Sorry. Shut up, Ross. Been too long on my own.’
Lucy put a hand over her mouth. To tell him or not? She felt like laughing at his funny way of saying things and yet she felt like crying too, that he’d been concerned for her.
‘When I’ve cooked your mackerel and sorted the pickle. I’ll get another glass.’
Ross was leaning back in his chair, his head turned to the evening sun, eyes closed. He looked vulnerable to Lucy and she had a sudden urge to protect him although she had him down as a coper.
‘Here you go,’ Lucy said. She placed the mackerel and pickle in front of him. She’d also cut a chunk of foccacia and spread it liberally with butter. ‘I’m no Nigella Lawson though.’
‘Fine by me,’ Ross said. ‘She doesn’t float my boat, as it were.’
Ross ate hungrily, raising his glass in between mouthfuls towards Lucy.
‘Happy hols, whatever,’ he said, as he finished the last mouthful and placed his knife and fork neatly together on the plate. ‘Shall I wash up?’
‘No. It’s fine. I’ll do it later. But thanks.’
‘So…’ Ross spread his arms wide – inviting Lucy into them, or her confidence, she wasn’t sure which. She wouldn’t have minded the former but settled for the latter.
‘So…’ Lucy began. ‘Single. No children. Pushing forty. Should have been married by now and holidaying in Bali but my fiancé bailed out. He’s there, and married to someone else now.’
‘Bali’s not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Ross said quietly. ‘Give me this bay and the river just ten miles away to kayak on in the winter when it’s too rough out at sea any time. But it must hurt.’
‘Not as much as I thought it would now I’ve been here a while. Oh, and I was made redundant soon afterwards. I’m using this fortnight to sort out what I want to do with the rest of my life. And I’ve surprised myself – I quite like my own company and I’ve enjoyed sightseeing and also just sitting doing nothing. I’m managing.’
‘Same here,’ Ross said. ‘Managing. Do you miss the guy?’
Now that question Lucy hadn’t been expecting. Did she? If she were honest she would have to say ‘Not really’. She was plagued by a deeply uncomfortable thought that she had said ‘yes’ to his offer of marriage because time was running out for her to have children, and Ben had asked her to marry him and said having a family was definitely on his agenda. Just not with her, presumably.
‘Miss Ben?’ she said.
‘If that’s what he’s called, yes.’
‘I thought I did. I was humiliated in the beginning. I felt like some sort of Victorian spinster who’d been put back on the shelf. People pretended they hadn’t seen me when I was walking towards them and they’d cross the road or nip into a shop rather than have to think of something to say to me.’
‘That sucks,’ Ross said. ‘Now this will make you laugh. My Gran actually said I’d been cuckolded. Cuckolded! I had to look it up in the dictionary. Another Victorian expression or somesuch for a husband whose wife has done the dirty on him.’
‘Oh, Ross,’ Lucy said. She didn’t feel in the least like laughing.
‘So, here we are,’ Ross said.
‘Did you never want to find someone else?’
‘Not in the beginning, no. Toby was only little and I had to give him every ounce of my time and love. I did date – quite a few times actually – but it was more for comfort than anything else. If you get my drift?’
‘I do.’
A much younger man – Guy – with whom Lucy had worked had invited her for a drink after she’d broken down at work and told everyone what Ben had done. The drink had moved on to supper and then back to Guy’s where he’d put on a DVD of Elvis Presley ballads, and it was the combination of the food and the alcohol and Elvis’s distinctive and beautiful voice, and the romantic words, and another man desiring her that had led to sex – satisfying but merely comfort sex, and both Lucy and Guy had known it.
There was no need to tell Ross that though. Not now. Not yet.
‘We all go there!’ Ross grinned, as though he knew exactly what it was she had done without her having to tell him, and that he wasn’t judging her. ‘There were one or two I thought I might have been able to get serious about but they both commented – after a silly squabble about something that didn’t really matter in the scheme of things – that I only wanted them as a substitute mother for Toby. And I began to have misgivings about my motives for dating anyone. Plus, I set myself a rule that I didn’t want Toby to see a succession of women in my kitchen for breakfast, having spent the night in my room. I didn’t want him to get to know someone, perhaps like her very much, only for her to disappear again. So I haven’t. Dated. For ages.’
Lucy wondered why it was that Ross was being so very open with her, seeing as this was only the third time they’d met and spoken, but she was flattered he was. It had to mean he trusted her to keep his confidence, didn’t it?
‘But then you asked me out after my kayak lesson and I said no.’
‘And then you asked me, and I said no, and I was just a bit petty about that.’
‘I did think it had a bit of touché about it,’ Lucy laughed. ‘No hard feelings. I was raw, you were wary. Stuff happens.’
‘Yeah. So, I came over this way tonight to say sorry about that. I’ve been wondering if you’ve been avoiding me, ’cos I haven’t seen you about.’
‘Not consciously avoiding you, no,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ve got my car with me so I’ve been going further afield.’
Lucy gave him a brief resume of where she’d been and what she’d seen.
‘And you’re not lonely doing it all on your own?’ Ross asked.
‘I’ve been on my own, yes, but I’m not lonely. Not at the moment, but as times goes on I might be. I’ve set myself the task of doing things on this holiday that don’t require another person to do them with. We can’t always have someone do the things we want to do, so sometimes we have to do those things on our own.’
‘Hmm,’ Ross said. ‘I’ve never thought of it like that. I just assumed any woman I went out with would love watersports as much as I do and that they’d understand I’m not into getting totally rat-arsed at live music events, even though they might love to get the gladrags on and party the night away.’
Again, Lucy wondered why he was being so open with her.
‘I’m with you on the latter,’ Lucy laughed. ‘And the other day my kayak trip was my first experience of watersports, apart from swimming and a bit of scuba diving, but I did really enjoy it.’
‘Got any plans for tomorrow?’ Ross asked.
‘I have. I’ve got a ticket for the round robin steam train, boat trip, bus tour. Ten o’clock start. It takes most of the day.’
‘Ah,’ Ross said. ‘I’ve only got the morning free. Or I might have asked if I could join you. I’ve lived here all my life but I’ve never done that trip, can you believe?’
‘Really?’ Lucy said.
‘Not even with Toby when he was little. But if I suggested it now he’d probably think I’d turned into an OAP overnight! And talking of Toby, I’d better go. He’s a good lad but sometimes he gets carried away and forgets to lock up properly. I’ll have to check. Better go. Thanks for letting me gatecrash your supper.’
‘It’s been lovely,’ Lucy said.
‘Night then, Luce,’ Ross said. He stood up, towering over her.
And she found she didn’t mind Ross calling her Luce one little bit. Well, there was a surprise.
So, here she was, alone again. The very delightful steam-train journey along the coast had taken about an hour and Lucy had taken copious photographs of the glorious views. And now she was on a riverboat chugging its way up the River Dart. Although she wouldn’t have said no to Ross’s company had he been free to join her. Lucy was on the top deck, surrounded by people she didn’t know and who she would probably never, ever see again, and yet she felt part of something… the holiday mood perhaps. It felt good.
Lucy took a small sketch pad from her bag, and a pencil. She began to draw. The boat was going so slowly she was able to sketch quite big stretches of the bank and the hills of Dartmoor in the distance before the view changed.
And Ross. Almost as if by magic – some other hand – she drew his likeness. The way his hair was slipping back over his head giving him a high forehead, and his rather Roman nose. Large brown eyes with very long eyelashes many a woman would kill for. And two-day stubble. What would that feel like against her face if he kissed her? Did she want him to? Was a holiday fling what she needed at this moment? Would Ross want just a fling if she were to give him encouragement? Lucy had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t. He’d been there, done that, as he’d told her. But over supper last night he’d been putting out little hints he was ready to move on, ready to get serious about someone again, and Lucy got the distinct impression he meant with her, although he hadn’t said so in as many words.
Skinny-dipping at midnight. Another thing on her list. Could she do it? Lucy had seen people skinny-dipping in films and documentaries and had always wondered what it would feel like. It would be another new experience, wouldn’t it? Wrapped in a bath sheet, Lucy hid the key to 23 The Strand under the bottom step and walked across the promenade, down over the sea wall and out towards the sea. No one around. The tide quite a way out and still receding. The moon was casting a beam of light towards her and she knew wherever she went she would still be caught in it. What if someone had night-sight binoculars? Lucy giggled at the thought. She dropped her towel, felt a slight breeze ripple over her shoulders and feather her thighs. Now that was a surprise – how warm the water was as she stepped into it. But it had been a hot day, plenty of time and sunshine to warm it up. Lucy walked on, lowered her shoulders under the water and began to swim a lazy breaststroke. She rolled over onto her back and began a back crawl – slow but measured, her arms breaking the water with barely a splash. How good it felt looking up at the moon and the stars.
‘Venus,’ Lucy said as she spotted the planet. She turned over and powered a front crawl towards the town where the lights outside hotels and bars were still shining brightly. She caught the faint sounds of music playing somewhere. How heightened her senses were. How wonderful she felt. Ben would never have agreed to go skinny-dipping, would he? She bet Ross would though. She’d ask him tomorrow.
Lucy had never painted en plein air. Another first. She was sitting on the harbour wall, legs dangling over the edge, her pad of paper in her hand and the little tin of now vastly reducing watercolours by her side. The tide was in and all the boats moored in the harbour were afloat now. She’d been working on the mackerel-fishing pleasure boat she’d been out on. It would be another memory for her.
‘Hey! You’re good!’
Ross. Lucy knew it was without having to look up.
‘Thanks.’
Ross sat down beside her on the sea wall as she’d guessed he would. Close. She could smell whatever shower gel he’d used and the faint tang of sea on him. She turned to look at him, and saw his hair was slightly damp. How very comfortable she felt in his company now she’d got to know him a little better.
‘How was the Round Robin?’ Ross asked.
‘Good. Great even. Lovely atmosphere.’ The sketch Lucy had done of Ross shot to the forefront of her mind and she blushed.
Ross saw that blush and raised an eyebrow.
‘Meet anyone interesting?’
‘Not to talk to, no,’ Lucy said. She felt the blush deepen. Should she show him the sketch she’d done of him? Or not? She decided not.
‘That’s my boat over there,’ Ross said. ‘The clinker-built one with the single mast. Its deck covered with a navy tarp. Could you paint that into your picture? I’ll buy it off you if…’
‘Consider it yours,’ Lucy said. ‘For your company the other night. And maybe a sail in your boat because sailing in something so small is something else I’ve never done before.’
She told Ross how she had another couple of ‘firsts’ she wanted to tick off before her time was up at 23 The Strand. And how she’d been skinny-dipping the night before.
‘It’s the only way!’ Ross laughed. ‘Now, here’s a proposition for you. A sail in my boat, camping in a secluded cove. Skinny-dipping.’
‘I’ve already ticked off skinny-dipping!’ Lucy laughed.
‘Ah, but you haven’t sailed to a secluded cove and camped before, have you?’
‘No,’ Lucy said. But she knew she would.
Lucy arrived at the harbour to find Ross already waiting for her, even though she was half an hour early.
‘Phew!’ Ross said, grinning at her. ‘You’ve turned up.’
‘Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?’
Ross shrugged. He’d been let down before, hadn’t he? And it still stung. Well, she knew all about being let down.
‘Not in my heart of hearts, no,’ Ross said. ‘Here, I’ve got a Helly Hansen for you, some boots, and a life jacket. It can get a bit splashy out there going round Berry Head. Do you get seasick?’
‘I never have up until now but I’ve not been in anything as small as your boat before, or around Berry Head.’
‘Two more “firsts” for your list then, Luce,’ Ross said. He picked up all the sailing gear. ‘Come on. We need to catch the tide.’
There it was again – Luce. A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through her as Lucy hurried along beside him, easily matching her pace to his.
‘Gosh, this is rather beautiful,’ Lucy said when they were onboard. The deck was wooden, as neat and polished as a parquet floor. Narrow seats, just as neat and polished as the deck, ran down the other side. Lots of brass fittings that shone like gold. The sail, not pulled up yet, was the colour of Cabernet Sauvignon. Looking up, Lucy was surprised to see how tall the mast was.
‘Do you know your “port” from your “starboard”? Ross asked, beginning to pull out ropes ready to hoist the sail.
‘Port is left, right?’
‘No, just left,’ Ross laughed. ‘Sorry, terrible joke.’
‘A groaner,’ Lucy laughed.
This was a date of sorts that she was on with Ross, but how much easier than a traditional date, when she might have spent hours and hours agonising over what to wear and how to do her hair; a date where they might now be sitting opposite one another in a noisy, crowded bar, making small talk rather stiffly.
‘So, sit to starboard and when I shout “Duck!”, duck under the boom. This is this bit here,’ Ross explained, tapping a large, horizontal, wooden pole.
Lucy sat.
Ross pulled in the anchor, raised the sail a little, just enough to catch a breeze and get them out of the harbour mouth, before raising it further. And then they were zipping along.
‘Gosh, this is so much faster than I imagined it would be,’ Lucy said.
‘In a good way?’ Ross said.
‘Oh, yes. Is there anything I can be doing? I feel like a spare part just sitting here.’
‘Not this time out,’ Ross said.
Just four little words but they told Lucy he’d like there to be other times when she joined him in his boat. It was a good feeling.
‘Right, here we go. Berry Head,’ Ross shouted because the wind had got up a bit and the sound of it in the sail, and the splash of waves against the hull, was noisy now. ‘You’ll need to sit tight. It can get a bit choppy with the currents and a bit wobbly with the crosswinds until we’ve rounded the headland. Get ready to duck, fast, when I say so.’
Lucy nodded. It was exhilarating. Thrilling even. She was so glad Ross had asked her.
‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Ross said once they’d rounded the headland, and were in calmer waters.
‘It was fantastic. Thank you. Although I don’t know what the heck I must look like.’
Lucy had been a bit slow putting up the hood of her jacket, her hair being blown every which way, and her face had taken a shower or two as waves hit the hull. She drew an arm across her face, brushing water from her eyes.
‘You look fine to me,’ Ross said. ‘No, scratch that. You look more than fine. You look lovely.’
‘Must be in the eye of the beholder then?’ Lucy laughed.
‘It is.’ Ross began to lower the sail and steered the boat to starboard a few degrees. ‘There’s a deepish channel here we can go down. Can you help pull the sail down?’
‘I’ll give it a go,’ Lucy said, leaning forward to catch a piece of cloth in her hands. ‘Should I stand up?’ She wasn’t sure she could do that safely at the moment because the boat was rocking a bit now with the change of direction.
‘Not unless you want to. You’ll be fine from there. Right. Pull.’
Lucy pulled, and then the bow nudged the pebbled beach and the boat jolted, and Lucy had to grab the side to stop herself from falling out.
‘Sorry. Not a very elegant landing, but at least I didn’t tip you out.’
‘I’m fine,’ Lucy said.
‘Okay. So, I’ll jump in and pull the boat up the beach a bit and then I’ll tell you when it’s okay to get out without taking a bath as you do it. You’re great crew, by the way.’
‘I do my best,’ Lucy said. She tried to imagine Ben risking taking a boat round Berry Head, with the life of someone he’d only just met in the equation, and couldn’t. While part of her was cross she’d allowed Ben to come into her thoughts at this moment, she was also flooded with relief she wasn’t with him any more – she’d never have had that thrilling experience of a first sail if she had been, would she?
Ross took a funny tin-can contraption he called a Trangia, and a bottle of meths, from something he told Lucy was a dry-bag. He’d put Lucy’s spare clothes in there as well before they’d set off and she’d been glad of that because now she had dry jeggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt on. As the sun went down Ross cooked sausages, wrapping them in the softest, most delicious Italian bread Lucy had ever tasted.
‘Olive-oil bread. Made it myself,’ Ross said. ‘Not that I’m bragging or anything.’
He gave Lucy a mock-humble look.
‘You didn’t? Make the bread, I mean.’
‘Did. Hot weather is perfect for getting bread to rise and as this has an olive-oil base it means it lasts. I’ve had to be both father and mother to Toby and I figured bread-making was in the remit. It’ll be fine, pan-fried, for breakfast. I have marmalade also!’ He delved into the dry-bag and retrieved a small pot of marmalade, holding it aloft like a prize.
‘You’ve thought of everything!’ Lucy laughed.
‘I hope so.’ Ross smiled back at her. And then his face went serious. ‘This might come as a bit of a shock to you but this will be the first time I’ve ever left Toby in the house on his own all night. I hope it’s still standing when I get back!’ he said, brightening.
All night! Alone with Ross all night.
‘I’m sure it will be.’
‘I’ve been more Mother Hen than, well, a mother hen,’ Ross said.
‘You’ve had to be,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ve got friends who are single mums and they find it hard enough so I can’t imagine how it’s been for you.’
‘Rewarding in the long run. I think you’d like him,’ Ross said. ‘And he, you. I’ve told him where I am tonight.’
‘And?’
‘He raised a quizzical eyebrow, gave me an arm thump, and just grinned.’
‘So he doesn’t disapprove?’
‘Seems not.’
‘Good,’ Lucy said.
She watched Ross spoon coffee granules into two mugs, then open a packet of biscuits and arrange four on a flat pebble, using it like a plate. It was the simplest of gestures but it made her feel cherished, that he’d bothered to make the biscuits look special for her. He was a good father. He was fast becoming a good friend. He was a good man. Lucy had a feeling he would be a good and considerate lover too. But could they have a future?
The water in a second tin can came to the boil and Ross made the coffee.
‘So, what’s left to tick off, Luce?’
‘Just a couple of things I have to do by myself. Diving into very deep water. I’ve only ever dived into a swimming pool, but I’ve been doing a bit of research on the area and I see it’s safe to dive off Elberry cliffs.’
‘It is. I could come with you if you want. Be in the water waiting in case it’s a bit scary and…’
‘No. Thanks. I need to do this by myself.’ Lucy patted Ross on the arm in what she hoped was an ‘I’m not dismissing you’ sort of gesture. It was the first time she’d touched him. It made her fingers tingle. ‘And getting my hair coloured. I rather fancy something really funky. Pillar-box red maybe, or blue.’
‘Ah, can’t help with that one,’ Ross laughed. He ran his ponytail through a hand. ‘Not been to a barber in years, me. I just chop an inch or two off the end if it gets a bit straggly. So, skinny-dipping while we’ve still got light? I’ll go in first and keep my eyes closed until you’re in and under the water if that makes you more comfortable. And reverse the procedure afterwards.’
‘No need,’ Lucy said. Her heart gave a little lurch, and then she acted on her instincts. She’d be an idiot not to have Ross in her life now she’d met him. She reached for him and held his head between her hands and kissed him, very lightly, on the lips.
‘Ah, now that’s something a body can’t do on its own – kissing,’ he laughed. ‘Only too happy to be of service.’ And then he kissed her back. Only nowhere near as lightly, and Lucy returned like for like.
Lucy was still flooded with endorphins from her lovemaking with Ross when she arrived at Elberry the next afternoon. Ross had driven her back to 23 The Strand the next morning, after their night spent under the stars, but he hadn’t come in. He had clients arriving at eleven.
‘What time will you be at Elberry?’ Ross had asked. ‘Have you checked the tide-table?’
‘Yes to the second question, and about three o’clock. I’ll drive over.’
‘Double good,’ Ross said. ‘Okay if I pop round later to see how you got on?’
‘That would be lovely,’ Lucy had said.
And then Ross had held her head between his hands and kissed her very tenderly and gently on the lips.
‘Gotta go. Alas and alack,’ he said, before rushing off.
And now here Lucy was. But not alone. Three young lads and two teenaged girls were wriggling themselves into wetsuits. Lucy already had hers – borrowed from Ross – on, having walked from where she’d parked the car in a road full of bungalows, through a small wooded area, ready-dressed. Her car keys were firmly zipped on the inside of her wetsuit.
But now the nerves were kicking in. Lucy stepped nervously from one foot to the other. It wasn’t far to the edge, but her feet seemed to be frozen to the spot.
‘You gonna jump?’ one of the girls said.
‘That’s my plan,’ Lucy told her.
‘Have you done it before?’ the same girl asked.
‘Never.’
‘Yeah, right,’ the girl said. She turned, giggling, to her companions, as though she couldn’t quite believe someone who was probably the same age as her mother was going to jump.
‘Definitely right,’ Lucy said.
‘Have you got someone down there waiting?’ one of the lads asked. He looked genuinely concerned and his concern was grounding for Lucy.
‘No. I did have an offer but I declined.’
‘We’ll go first,’ the lad said. ‘If you like. Then if you do a bad jump and get scared we’ll be there for support. It takes your breath away a bit.’
‘Thanks,’ Lucy said. ‘But I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve boned up on it. Jump and then make a pencil shape of my body as I near the water. Go in feet first, ankles together, hands tightly by my sides. Right?’
‘Right,’ the lad said.
He turned away from her then and began stuffing clothes and shoes into a dry-bag. Lucy presumed he was going to throw that in first and then jump, but didn’t like to ask.
‘We’ll be ready in five,’ the second girl said.
‘My cue to go then,’ Lucy said.
She walked as confidently as she could to the edge. She knew the theory. She knew the danger. She knew she couldn’t back out now with these youngsters watching her.
A quick look to take in the beauty of the bay from where she stood, and then Lucy jumped.
She held her breath and for a few seconds wondered if she would ever be able to let it out again. It was a bit like being on an aeroplane – you know it’s doing six hundred miles an hour or something, but when you look out of the window it’s as though it’s not moving at all.
Pencil. Pencil. Ankles together. Hands by my sides. Look straight ahead not down.
Lucy entered the water, felt it close over her head. A short descent, and then she bobbed up again and began to tread water. And then she heard clapping. It was coming from a rocky outcrop close to the cliff edge, but about thirty feet away from where she’d jumped.
Ross.
Lucy raised an arm out of the water and Ross waved back, then kissed the tips of his fingers and blew her a kiss before diving in.
They met somewhere in a melée of arms and legs and splashes, and kisses.
A great roar and whooping and clapping came from the top of the cliff.
‘I met them earlier,’ Lucy laughed, looking up. ‘I don’t think they thought I had the nerve to do it.’
‘Well, I never doubted you,’ Ross said. ‘We’ll need to get out of their way now because they want to jump.’
They began to swim away, front crawl, side by side, in rhythm. How good that felt.
‘Not cross I came?’ Ross said when they got back to the pebbly beach. Ross had obviously thought ahead and had a towel ready to put around Lucy’s shoulder, and a picnic box. ‘Cocoa is inside. And Hobnobs.’
‘Not cross at all,’ Lucy said. ‘I’m glad you did because I’d still be thinking I’d dreamt it if you hadn’t been. It happens so fast, doesn’t it, and yet in slow motion at the same time?’
‘Perfectly put.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘Toby dropped me off and I’m rather hoping you’ll give me a lift back.’
‘Of course.’
Lucy and Ross sat drinking cocoa and eating Hobnobs in companionable silence. That was something Lucy had noticed – they didn’t need to be talking all the time. Ben had talked all the time – usually giving Lucy a kick-by-kick replay of some football match he’d watched, or a million reasons why he didn’t want to do whatever it was Lucy had suggested they do. She couldn’t think now why she’d ever thought they could have a future together.
‘Penny for them,’ Ross said.
‘He’s not worth that,’ Lucy said.
‘The ex?’
‘Who else?’
‘Phew!’ Ross laughed. ‘Thank goodness for that. Although I do have a lot to thank him for in a way. I mean, had he not run out on you, you’d never have been here, and I wouldn’t have met you.’
‘There’s that,’ Lucy said. ‘Serendipity, my old grandma used to call it. It means finding something lovely quite by chance. And now I have. You. If you think you want me in your life for longer than a holiday romance?’
Sometimes you just have to grasp what’s in front of you even if the timing isn’t what you expected. Being in the right place at the right time was a hackneyed saying but it had never been truer for Lucy than now. This wasn’t a rebound thing for her. It was for real. And, she hoped, for ever.
‘Which brings me very neatly to my next question. Supper tonight? At mine? Meet Toby?’
‘Yes, yes and yes,’ Lucy said.
As it turned out, Lucy didn’t meet Toby that night. He texted Ross to say he was stopping the night with someone called Millie.
‘He’s chicken,’ Ross said to Lucy, after he’d texted Toby back to say thanks for letting him know. ‘First time ever he’s stopped out. What timing!’
‘I don’t think it’s unintentional,’ Lucy said. ‘My gut feeling – never having had any experience of children of my own to come to such a conclusion, of course! – is that he’s been wanting you to find someone before flying the nest, as it were.’
So it was at breakfast – that scenario Ross had been so afraid of setting up – that Lucy met Toby for the first time.
He came in, rucksack hanging from one shoulder and fresh, probably, from Millie’s shower, with his hair all damp, tendrils of curls dangling in front of his ears. Like a huge cherub, Lucy thought.
‘Hi!’ Toby said. He high-fived his dad, and offered his hand to Lucy. Then he changed his mind. ‘We’ll go all French, shall we? Double cheek kiss?’
Lucy offered her face, right cheek first, to be kissed.
‘God, but I’m starving,’ Toby said. ‘What have we got?’
‘The usual,’ Ross told him. ‘Weetabix and toast. Or toast and Weetabix.’
‘Or I could make drop scones, if you like?’ Lucy offered. ‘With honey.’
‘You’re on!’ Toby turned to his dad with a big grin and gave him a massive bear hug. ‘She’s a keeper, Dad. Don’t muck it up!’
Lucy was so excited, and surprised, at how her fortnight at 23 The Strand had panned out that she almost forgot the tradition that she was to leave something for the next guest. But she had the perfect thing – a watercolour she’d painted sitting on the deck of the view in front of her; the sea wall with a seagull pecking at a cockle, the beach with a couple strolling hand in hand, paddling in the shallows, and the evening sky turning from pink, to red, to indigo. Just time to nip into town and find a photo frame for it.
And then she moved in with Ross.
Dear new occupant,
It seems it’s something of a tradition at 23 The Strand to leave a welcome gift for the next tenant, but only if you want to – nothing is written in stone. So my gift to you is this painting of the view that lifted my spirits and fed my soul, and ultimately led me in a totally new direction to the one I thought I was moving in when I arrived here. Be brave if, like me, you need to be. Happy holiday.
Lucy x