Читать книгу The Secret To Happiness - Jessica Redland - Страница 6

Danniella crept down the stairs of Sunny Dayz Guest House, eyes fixed on the front door, ready to sprint back upstairs if necessary. Pulling her loose dark cardigan across her slender frame, she peeked around the corner into the spacious dining room. Seated in the bay window were the elderly couple from Liverpool who stunk the place out with their daily kippers. At the other end, a woman in her mid-twenties tucked into a bowl of cereal while a toddler mashed banana into a highchair food tray.

Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Danniella tucked her dark brown bobbed hair behind her ears and tiptoed across the room towards her favourite table by the fire exit.

The proprietor, Lorraine, burst through the door from the kitchen, holding a cafetière. A curvaceous woman in her mid-fifties, she beamed at Danniella as she poured the coffee. ‘Have you seen that gorgeous sunshine, my dear? I was beginning to think the rain was never going to stop. I was just saying to my Nigel last night that we might have to start building an ark.’ She giggled at her own joke.

Danniella smiled politely. ‘Can I have some wholemeal toast, please?’

‘There’s nothing on you, my dear. Are you sure I can’t tempt you with something more substantial? A poached egg, perhaps? Some beans?’

‘Just the toast, thanks.’

‘As you wish.’

Danniella pulled her cardigan across her chest again and closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lip. Poor Lorraine. Every morning she tried her best to open up a conversation only to be cut off. Danniella hated being aloof towards such an affable woman, but she had to maintain that distance. If she didn’t, there’d be questions and she couldn’t go there. Not yet. Possibly never.

Opening her eyes again, she spied a copy of Bay News abandoned on the next table and flicked to the properties section.

Lorraine re-appeared and placed a rack over-loaded with triangles of thick toast on the table. ‘Enjoy your breakfast, my dear.’

‘Thank you.’ If Danniella managed to get half a slice down her throat, she’d be doing well. She pushed the paper aside, selected a triangle, then froze, heart thumping, at the creak of the front door opening. Straining to listen, she could make out heavy footsteps in the lobby.

‘Delivery for Lorraine Thorpe,’ called a woman’s voice, and Danniella breathed again. Every morning. Every single morning. She couldn’t go on like this.

After buttering the toast, Danniella took a bite, but it felt like gravel scraping down her throat. She managed about two-thirds before giving up and picking up the paper again.

The woman with the toddler left, followed soon after by the kipper couple.

‘The property section, eh?’ Lorraine asked as she cleared the vacated tables. ‘Buying, renting or browsing?’

‘Renting, hopefully.’ Sod it. She could talk about flat-hunting and, if that led to questions about the past, she’d simply make an excuse to leave. ‘It’s not going very well. Apparently, I’m being too fussy.’

‘Who says?’

‘Estate agents.’

Lorraine stopped stacking pots. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Only three things and one of those is negotiable.’ Danniella counted her needs off on her fingers. ‘One- or two-bed flat. Not ground floor. Ideally with a sea view. One of the agents actually laughed at me. Turns out it’s more lucrative to rent to tourists for part of the year than a longer-term let. Who knew?’

‘How long a lease are you wanting?’

Until my past catches up with me. Danniella’s insides twisted. ‘Three months initially. Hopefully longer.’

Lorraine picked up the pots. ‘I’ve got an idea. Give me five minutes.’

Sipping on her coffee, Danniella leaned back and gazed round the empty dining room. Lorraine seemed to have taken the cringe-worthy seventies-throwback name ‘Sunny Dayz’ as licence to go crazy with the colour yellow. White and yellow gingham cloths adorned the tables, the crockery was bright yellow, and the walls were pale lemon. Danniella’s tastes were neutral and minimalist, but there was something about the explosion of colour in Sunny Dayz that lifted her dark mood each morning and gave her the much-needed strength to face the day. After eight months of running, she felt so lost, so lonely, so weary. There was also something about Whitsborough Bay that felt safe and she really hoped this was the place where she could start afresh. But she’d experienced that before, in other towns, and had ended up moving on.

Lorraine bustled back into the dining room. ‘Are you free at eleven?’

‘I can be.’

‘My son, Aidan, has a top-floor flat to rent on Sea View Drive, overlooking North Bay. I think you’ll love it.’

A couple of hours later, Danniella squinted up at the row of pastel-coloured Victorian five-storey terraced properties on Sea View Drive, then turned to look down the cliff gardens and at the North Sea beyond. Aidan’s flat was in the blue building: Cobalt House.

‘Danniella?’ A tall dark-haired man, probably in his late-twenties, appeared in the doorway at the top of a flight of stone steps.

‘Yes. Aidan?’

‘That’s me. Come on up.’

He shook Danniella’s hand as she reached the top, held the door open for her, then indicated that she should follow him up the stairs. ‘The flat’s empty. A friend was renting it but he’s relocated to New York with work, as you do. It happened so fast that I haven’t had time to look for a new tenant. If you like the place, your timing’s impeccable.’

‘Are all the flats rented?’ Danniella asked.

‘It’s a mix but I know all the neighbours and can give you the full lowdown later if you want.’

‘Yes, please, if you don’t mind.’

‘So, what do you do?’ Aidan asked. ‘Mum said it’s something to do with writing.’

‘I’m a proofreader and copy editor. Mainly crime or thrillers but I work with some romance writers too.’

‘That’s a bit of a contrast.’

‘True, but when the body count gets a bit high, it’s good to have some light relief.’

He unlocked number six and they stepped into a light hallway with stairs ahead of them. She widened her eyes, not expecting a duplex.

‘There’s a video intercom system there.’ Aidan pointed to the technology by the door. ‘The lounge is to the right and the kitchen’s to the left.’

Danniella walked towards the huge bay window in the lounge, taking in the sweeping views from the Sea Rescue Sanctuary in the north round to the castle in the south. ‘It’s stunning.’

‘It’s not too shabby, is it?’ Aidan said, the pride in his voice obvious. ‘Kitchen?’

She reluctantly tore her gaze away from the window and crossed the landing to the kitchen.

‘It was re-fitted in February,’ he said.

The high gloss cream units, cranberry-coloured range cooker, and real wood worktops and flooring were unexpected in an old property. It was exactly to her taste, not that she’d have cared if it had been decked out in seventies’ Formica; the security arrangements had met the fourth requirement that she hadn’t mentioned to Lorraine. It was safe.

They ascended the stairs. ‘There’s a bathroom through there and a separate shower room. Two of the bedrooms are the same size so it depends on whether you want a sea or park view.’ He pointed to another door. ‘Third bedroom. Smaller, but still a good size.’

Danniella ran her hands through her hair and shook her head. Damn! And it had been going so well. ‘Sorry, but I think three bedrooms will take me over my budget.’

Aidan smiled. ‘You might be surprised.’

Wrinkling her nose, she told him what she’d hoped to pay. ‘There’s some leeway, but not much.’

‘Then we’re good,’ he said. ‘Steve paid £20 a month more than your ideal. If you can match that, it’s yours.’

‘I can, but are you sure?’

‘Mum’s a good judge of character and she rates you. No pets, non-smoker, tidy, pays on time. You sound like a dream tenant, so you’d be doing me a favour. Bedrooms?’

Stepping into the master bedroom, Danniella turned on the spot, taking in the stylish cream shabby-chic bed, wardrobe, drawers and dressing table. ‘I love it. You’ve got good taste, Aidan.’

He smiled. ‘I can’t take credit for it. The flat and furniture belonged to my wife.’

‘Belonged?’

‘She died in a car crash three years ago.’

Car accident? Danniella felt the ground shift beneath her and the blood rush from her head. She grabbed hold of the door to steady herself. Don’t faint. Don’t be sick. Please. A few deep gulps of air helped slow her racing heart.

Aidan had stepped out onto the balcony and, thankfully, didn’t appear to have noticed her reaction. ‘There’s a table and a couple of chairs out here,’ he called. ‘Perfect for morning coffee.’

By the time he stepped back into the bedroom, she’d managed to compose herself. ‘I’m sorry about your wife. That must have been tough.’

‘Thank you. It was but Elizabeth was terminally ill so we were expecting it. The accident made it a little sooner, but only by a couple of weeks, if that.’

Imagine knowing your spouse was going to die and preparing for that, only for them to be killed ahead of their time? One of those scenarios was bad enough, but how could someone even begin to recover from both?

Looking at the bed in the second bedroom, it struck her that nobody would ever sleep in it. No family. No friends. Nobody. This was it. This was her life from now on. Sadness enveloping her, she followed Aidan out and closed the door.

‘I didn’t ask you what you do,’ she said.

‘Similar field to you. I’m a travel writer. No dead bodies, though, unless you count the occasional unwanted cockroach.’

She probably wouldn’t see much of Aidan once she’d settled in but, if she did, at least she could steer conversations towards work; anything to avoid talking about the past. Or death.

‘Why don’t I leave you to look round on your own?’ Aidan said. ‘I’ve got some calls to make so I’ll meet you outside.’

He disappeared down the stairs and Danniella headed for the small balcony off the first bedroom. Leaning against the metal railings, she closed her eyes and gulped in the salty air. Gulls squawked overhead, the occasional engine revved, and she could just make out the gentle lapping of the waves.

She opened her eyes again, looked towards the sea twinkling in the unexpected sunshine and, for the first time in eight months, she relaxed. Properly relaxed. This was it. This was the place.

At last.