Читать книгу It Takes Two - Amber Aitken - Страница 5

Coral was spread out flat on her bed, knees up, making a pointy P-shape, when her mother knocked on her bedroom door. She had had a bath and was in her pyjamas watching a romantic comedy she’d already seen over twenty times. There were hearts on her duvet, hearts on her curtains…even small pink heart-shaped fairy lights draped all across her headboard. Just like her bedroom, Coral’s life had a theme: she was totally in love with love. It really made her world turn.

Coral’s mum came in, smiling that dreamy sort of smile mothers sometimes have when you’re not in trouble or being ordered to do something. She sat down on the bed, when suddenly there was a loud yelp. The duvet came alive, rising up and wriggling in the air. Coral’s mum shrieked and leaped just as high. A black blotch of a nose emerged from beneath the duvet, followed by a white shaggy face and dark brown eyes floating in pools the colour of dark chocolate. There were two small flaps of caramel ears and another patch across the belly, but the rest of the dog’s body was white – or it was supposed to be. This, though, depended on a number of things: whether he’d been taking flying jumps at muddy puddles, rolling in washed-up seaweed, or tumbling through burrs. He was a dog with many active pursuits. This was how Coral usually explained it to her mum, who never seemed particularly impressed.

“You nearly crushed Romeo,” Coral grumbled.

“Coral – I have told you before. Romeo is not to sleep on your bed.” Coral’s mum looked serious. She pointed to the dog basket, positioned neatly below a large poster of two swans with their long necks curved into a heart shape, and stared sternly at the Jack Russell.

Romeo knew which bed was his. The patchwork dog’s eyes dipped pitifully and glanced pleadingly from the pointed finger to the stern face.

“Romeo. NOW!” Coral’s mum ordered.

Quickly the dog scampered off the bed and bounced like a ball into his basket. He rested his chin on one paw, tucked the other over his head and pretended to go to sleep, although he was really thinking doggy thoughts.

Coral frowned and blew noisily at the red-brown curl which had fallen across her eyes. She much preferred Romeo snuggled up against her.

“I have something for you,” her mum revealed as she pushed a small brown envelope across the bed.

Coral wiggled upright and reached for the offering. Her name looped in curly writing across the front. Pressing the envelope gently, she could feel something hard and long. Carefully, she opened it.

Inside was a key and a note from her Great-Aunt Coral – after whom she’d been named.

Dear girl,

Weren’t we the special pair – one of us a namesake and the other a great-aunt! Here is the key to Coral Hut. I thought it only right that my beach hut and all its treasures should go to you. I’ve enjoyed watching you grow; you’ve got a good head for romance. We shared more than you know.

I trust that you will look after and cherish Coral Hut, just as I have done all these years. It has been my very favourite place in the world. Make it yours.

Sincerely yours,

Great-Aunt Coral

Coral Hut, No. 5 the Promenade, Sunday Harbour

Coral reread the note. The words ‘beach hut’ fizzled in her memory. Now that she thought about it, she remembered her mother once mentioning that her Great-Aunt Coral owned a beach hut down at the harbour. The key was long and black and cold in Coral’s hand. She looked to her mother for confirmation.

“Coral Hut is all yours,” she nodded, smiling.

Coral thought about the colourful wooden beach huts lined up on the harbour like crabs with their long skinny legs pushed deep into the sand. She could find her way there with her eyes shut. Down to Café Cod. Through the cobbled alleys and behind the wooden-clad houses painted white and pale blue. Past Blades restaurant and the fragrant fish market stalls nestled in between the small upturned fishing boats, sheets of torn nets and piles of old lobster pots. Beyond the south quay, along the beach past the old jetty – yes, there stood Sunday Harbour’s own row of beach huts. Coral could almost smell the salt air already. She tried to imagine number five in the row.

“For me?” she finally wondered out loud.

“That’s right.”

“When can I see it?”

Her mum shrugged. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“Morning?”

“It’s your summer holiday – you can go any time you like.”

Her mum had a point. There was no school for weeks. Coral had her friends. And her very own beach hut!

“I must phone Nicks,” she squealed. She also needed to remember to breathe.

Her mum laughed. “Fine, but make it quick. It’s getting late.”

Like she was going to sleep anyway. But Coral’s mum wouldn’t want to hear that.

“Oh, yes, quick, quick,” she agreed as she scrambled out of bed and dashed into the hallway. She headed for the unpainted straight-back chair pushed up close to the wall and settled on to its hard tapestry cushion. It was not a comfortable arrangement, but her father liked it just so.

Just above her a wall-mounted phone shared space with a gold and dark wood hanging frame. But the frame didn’t hold a photograph or a pretty mounted picture. Instead, typed in simple black bold, were the words: PHONECALLS COST. KEEP IT CHEAP & CHEERFUL. Her father was a watcher of bills. He was an accountant; he couldn’t help himself. But at that moment Coral had far more important things to think about.

Reaching for the cordless handset, she punched in Nicks’s number while staring up at the ceiling. She could dial her best friend’s number without looking. It was a little game she played with herself (it was probably an only-child thing). Nicks answered on the eighth ring.

“Hello?”

“What took you so long!” Coral cried out passionately. Her news – stuck inside her for so long – had practically knotted up her intestines.

“Oh, hi, Coral,” replied Nicks evenly. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

Of course she was. But Coral was too excited to think sensibly. Her thoughts were a high-speed blur. She tried to snatch the words zooming around her head and place them into sentences, but it would have taken too long. So she simply caught them and threw them out, one by one.

“I have. Well. Actually. My Great-Aunt Coral. She gave me. Or left me. A beach hut. It’s mine!”

The phone was silent for a few moments.

“What beach hut?”

Coral was fizzing with excitement and had expected Nicks’s reaction to be just as delirious. Dumped back down to earth, she tried again.

“My great-aunt owned a beach hut,” she explained, slowing her pace. “It was her favourite place until she became very old. And now it’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“Seems so.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. It’s even called Coral Hut!”

Coral was suddenly very grateful that her parents hadn’t named her after Hildegard, her great-aunt on her mum’s side. Actually she was grateful for more than one reason.

“Wow, that is brilliant!” Nicks cried out gleefully.

“I know! And we can go and see it tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? Double brilliant.” That was Nicks excited. She just wasn’t the squealing type. “So what does it look like?”

“Uh, I don’t really know.”

“I bet it’s ace!”

Coral closed her eyes and built a beach hut in her mind. It was cute and colourful and very girly and all their friends would think they were amazing for having it. She was so busy imagining it she forgot all about Nicks…until her father threw his deep voice like a bowling ball down the hallway. “Say good night, Coral!”

That knocked her out of her daydream.

“See you tomorrow morning very early, Nicks,” Coral whispered. “Good night.”

She didn’t know about a good night, but it would certainly be a long one. She climbed back into bed and snuggled up to the warm hairy bundle beside her. Life was good. Even Romeo’s doggy breath didn’t seem quite so bad.