Читать книгу My Summer of Magic Moments: Uplifting and romantic - the perfect, feel good holiday read! - Caroline Roberts, Caroline Roberts - Страница 12

Fish and chips with lashings of salt and vinegar, a 99 Flake ice cream, and a harbour view

Her days settled into their own rhythm: waking, walking, reading. It was wonderful not having a schedule, or deadlines, or anyone else to please. If she wanted to lie in, she could, though that didn’t seem to happen – she was still waking up very early. If she wanted to go back to bed with her book in the afternoon, she could. If she wanted to bathe at three a.m., she could – in fact she did just that one night. She could walk, run, sing, dance along to her iPod, bake, wander around naked (she didn’t actually feel like doing that, but she could). She could do nothing, do anything – within reason; no car and little money was a bit of a hold-back. There was a golden beach, an expanse of sky, and a bucketload of time. It was totally up to her.

The first week of her holiday passed by. She’d walked back to the village again on the Wednesday, chatting to Lynda in the deli, buying some wholemeal flour for her next baking adventure, and some gorgeous local cheese and pâté. She’d also picked up some ‘Bamburgh Bangers’ from the butchers and made herself an epic sandwich with her own fresh bread, sausages and fried onions – the taste was amazing!

Her favourite spot of an evening was out on the grassy patch of her garden, where she watched the last of the beachgoers drift home, the sea birds pottering about the shoreline until it was time to roost, the changing light, a melting of peach and gold turning the sky into soft, watercolour shades after the bold acrylic colours of the day as she sat on a deckchair with her book and a glass of Pinot Grigio, a cardie slung around her shoulders as dusk crept in. It didn’t get really dark till half past ten.

It had been a good first week: and she was certainly enjoying her time out, and she was beginning to relax for the first time in ages. Being on her own was working out well.

Her sister’s car rolled into the gravel driveway at ten o’clock sharp on Saturday morning. Claire had felt a touch of trepidation the night before; they got on well enough, but she knew Sally would take control of the weekend – it was just her way. There had also been a midweek phone call. ‘You’ve got a spare room there, haven’t you?’ And the Saturday day visit had become a nightover, and in fact a weekend break. She hadn’t dared admit to Sally what state the cottage was in. She desperately hoped it would stay sunny and they’d be able to spend most of the time outdoors. Her sister was bringing her car, so having transport would be a bonus, anyhow.

‘Hi, Claire.’

Sally eased out of her BMW saloon with a broad smile, bearing a bunch of sunny peach and yellow carnations. Her sister was taller than her, her hair a richer shade of brunette than Claire’s which fell in a groomed sweep to her shoulders. At thirty-three, she was three years older than Claire. She was wearing her trademark beige chinos with a pink stripy blouse. She was definitely of the ‘Yummy Mummy’ brigade, and Claire always felt slightly scruffy and uncoordinated beside her. She gave Claire a big hug, took her overnight case out of the boot, and strode towards the cottage door, as always moving swiftly and with confidence.

‘You’re looking good, sis,’ she said authoritatively.

‘Ah, you’re just saying that.’

‘No, course not. It’s the hair.’

‘What, you mean I’ve got some now?’

‘Well, yes. That short crop, though. Suits you. I think I said last time it has a kind of an Audrey Hepburn look about it. Anne Hathaway, even.’

‘Thanks.’ Claire’s voice was timid. It had been a long time since she’d felt anywhere near to looking good. She remembered it well, that gutting feeling seven months ago when her hair began to fall out. Oh yes, having your hair coming out in clumps, you realize how pointless it’s been worrying for all those years since your teens about whether it’s too curly, too mousy or too dark.

‘Right, well what’s the plan of action?’

Claire hadn’t really got her head past making them some coffee and possibly taking a stroll on the beach. ‘Coffee?’ She smiled. ‘We can sit out in the garden facing the sea.’ She needed to get her sister out of the house quickly before she could make too close an inspection of the accommodation. ‘It’s just instant, I’m afraid.’ She knew Sally would rather have freshly ground coffee in a cafetière, which actually would have been rather nice, but with the last-minute travel arrangements, there was only so much she could pack, and she hadn’t thought to buy some in the village.

As they sat overlooking the beach, watching the distant rolling waves – the tide out this morning – they began to reminisce.

‘Hey, do you remember being here with Gran and Mum in the school summer holidays?’ Sal started.

‘Yeah. I think it was those holidays that inspired me to come and stay over this way.’

‘Crammed into that little caravan. That twin bedroom we had was tiny. We were nearly face to face as we slept.’

‘Yeah, and when you snored it was literally in my face.’

‘I never snored.’

Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘And then Dad used to come up at the weekends,’ she continued.

‘Yeah. Dad.’ They both went quiet, thinking of him, memories slamming into both their minds. That tall, solid man, whose hair had turned from a rich dark brown to white over the years, who’d watched all their netball matches, taken them swimming, played rounders on the beach, given them ice creams, new shoes, wedding dresses, love and support.

Claire felt that familiar knot in her throat. ‘Bless him.’ They both sighed.

When he’d died, Claire was about to take her journalism finals after going back to college as a mature student. He’d never got to see her graduation. That was five years ago now. She still missed him so much. His big Dad bear hugs and down-to-earth advice. But sometimes, even now, when times got tough, she’d hear his voice in her head: ‘Come on, Claire, you can do it – show them what you’re made of, love.’

In a way she was glad that he hadn’t had to see her go through all the cancer stuff. But his hugs would have helped her through it all.

‘Yes,’ Claire resumed. ‘And he used to turn up after work at that caravan on a Friday, still in his jacket and tie, laden with sweets. Mum used to go mad, saying they’d ruin our teeth. Then he’d take us all out to that little harbour place for fish and chips.’

‘Oh, and those fish and chips,’ Sal took up. ‘They were the best ever. Fresh from the newspaper, sitting down on the harbour wall. The seagulls used to go crazy for the scraps.’

‘And remember that one that pooped on Mum’s head!’ Claire grinned. It had ruined her mum’s hairdo, and she’d been livid at the time.

They laughed, sharing memories of a happy childhood.

‘That was Seahouses, wasn’t it? That’s just down the road,’ Claire added.

‘We could go there for some lunch,’ Sal suggested. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘Now that sounds like a good idea.’ Hot crispy batter, flaky white fish, vinegar, salt, crispy chips. Mmmm.

Sally took a sip of coffee, ‘Yep, it’s a plan. My treat.’

The two sisters sat on the stone harbour wall, each with a plastic carton resting on their knees. The nostalgic days of wrapping the fish and chips in recycled newspaper were no more. Still, the smell was delicious, and the taste was damn good. They’d put plenty of salt and vinegar on. How come fish-shop salt and vinegar always tasted better than that at home? They dived in with their little wooden forks, breaking off bits of crispy batter and chunks of juicy cod. It was one of the best meals Claire had had in ages.

‘So, how are you doing really, sis? Enjoying the break?’

‘Yeah, it’s been a nice week. And I’m okay,’ Claire replied, chip poised in mid-air.

‘Good to hear it. It’s been a pretty tough time for you.’

‘Suppose so.’ Claire was swinging her legs against the harbour wall like she used to as a kid.

‘Listen to you, making light of it. You’ve been amazing, you know. Dealing with everything you’ve had to. Getting through that shitty cancer. All the treatment.’

‘Well I didn’t have a lot of choice in it all, did I? But I’m feeling much better than I have in ages. Getting back to fitness too.’

‘Good for you … Look, Claire, I’m not very good at this stuff, and I never said it at the time, but I really wanted to say … I’m proud of you.’

Sal never came out with soppy stuff like this. She was a ‘pull your socks up and get on with it’ kind of girl. Claire found herself getting all emotional. The next chip got jammed in her throat. She gulped. Sniffed. Looked up at the skyline, then across at the boats bobbing in the harbour.

‘Wonder if there are any dishy fishermen around?’ Sal broke the tension.

‘Hmm, a nice lifeboat man might do. All hunky and heroic,’ Claire rejoined.

‘Yeah, and he wouldn’t stink of fish all day. Good thinking.’

They laughed, tucking back into the last of their chips, Claire scraping up all the crispy fragments at the bottom.

‘Thanks,’ said Claire. For the fish and chips. For being a great sister. For everything.

‘You are so welcome. Come on, let’s head back. We’ll stop off for a bottle or two of wine to take back on the way.’

They were about to turn right to cross into the cottage’s driveway from the main road when a black 4x4 made the turn in front of them from the left. Claire recognized the sandy-blond hair of her neighbour. Her stomach gave a weird flutter.

They had to drive past his vehicle to get to their parking bay outside Farne View. He got out of the car at the same time as them. He still wasn’t smiling. He was dressed in dark jeans and a blue checked shirt, open at the neck. Claire had forgotten just how tall and broad-shouldered he was. She looked across to say a brief ‘Hello’, just as Sally was giving her an intrigued raised-eyebrow, mouthing, ‘Who is that?’

‘Neighbour,’ Claire mouthed back. Her sister wouldn’t be so excited had she actually spoken to him.

Mr Grumpy did actually manage a ‘Hello’ and a curt nod back, but Claire caught that hint of annoyance lingering across his brow. It felt very much like they were invading his space.

As soon as they got through the door, Sal blurted out, ‘Who the hell is that hunk next door? You didn’t mention any dishy neighbours on the phone. No wonder you were hesitant about me coming down. Wanted to keep him all to yourself, hey? No need for any lifeboat men now.’ She winked exaggeratedly. ‘Of course, being a married woman and all that, I’d stand back graciously. He’d be all yours.’

‘Hah, he’s a right misery, to be honest. Met him last weekend. Looks can be deceiving, I tell you. I had to get some help with changing a gas bottle – you’d have thought I’d asked him to lick the toilets out.’

Sal had a weird look on her face. ‘Hmm, I’m just picturing him licking …’

‘Enough! Stop it, you crazy woman.’ Even with No. 8 The Cocktail Zone on her list, the reality of sex seemed so far out of Claire’s world right now, she felt uncomfortable just thinking about it. She might as well declare her body a sex-free zone and be done with it. It would be one less thing to worry about.

Sally ventured up to the spare room to drop her case, which she’d left in the hall earlier. Claire waited nervously, then heard the squeal. Her sister shouted down the staircase.

‘Have you seen that bed … and the mattress? What the hell kind of place is this? Ugh! I wouldn’t be surprised if it has bed bugs or lice or something. Thank God I had the sense to bring my own mattress protector and fresh linen –’ She appeared at the kitchen door. ‘How the hell do you sleep here at night, Clairebo? It’s pretty run-down, isn’t it? Not what I was expecting at all.’

‘It’s a bit basic, yeah.’

‘Basic? That’s complimentary. It’s a bloody shack. I daren’t tell Mum – she’d be here in a shot, turfing you out and booking you into the nearest four-star hotel.’

‘Don’t you mention a thing.’ Claire shot her sister a sharp look. ‘I like it here. It’s quirky.’

‘Hah, you can say that again.’

‘Well, while it’s dry, let’s get out and stretch our legs,’ Claire soothed. ‘The beach here is amazing.’ A walk would de-stress Sally, hopefully, and get them both out of the cottage for a while. And later, with all the food and wine she’d kindly bought, and wouldn’t take a penny for, at the Co-op back in Seahouses, her sister would be nice and snoozy by the time bedtime arrived and would have forgotten the stains on the mattress. She could hope for a miracle.

As they passed next door’s garden, Claire was sure she could hear what sounded like a large dog barking from the house. Hmm, she hadn’t heard or seen a dog there last weekend. She put the thought to the back of her mind as she and her sister strolled along the shoreline, soon taking off their shoes and paddling in the shallows. Claire couldn’t resist a splashing session – taking the two of them right back to the days of sibling fun-fighting. Both ended up laughing and rather damp from the waist down. No matter – the sun was warm and they’d dry in no time.

‘It’s nice to see you smiling again.’ Sally touched her arm.

‘Nice to be smiling again. See, told you – I’m fine. And even if the house is a bit ramshackle, it seems to be doing me some good.’

‘Maybe it is,’ Sal had to concede.

At the end of the day, supper eaten and cleared away, they sat out on the balcony taking in the evening sun with the last of the red wine. Claire had produced a supper of local cheese and her third attempt at homemade bread – a white bloomer with a rosemary and sea-salt crust, cold meats, juicy tomatoes, olives (a bit of an Italian theme going on), with a bottle of Chianti. Now the pair of them sat chatting easily. Claire’s concerns about her sister’s intrusion on her hideaway time had eased. It was actually really nice. They were beginning to rediscover that close sisterly bond they’d had as teenagers, which had somehow slipped into the middle distance when husbands and children and other diversions were around. She’d forgotten quite how well they did get on when it was just the two of them.

Halfway down the second bottle of red now, Sal having had the bulk of it, they were sat out on the balcony wrapped in duvets they’d brought out from their bedrooms. ‘I know it’s hurt like hell, Clairebo, but I think that prick of a husband of yours leaving isn’t such a bad thing. Not in the long run.’

Well that was pretty blunt. Claire stared at her. Sal had never warmed to her husband Paul from the start (correction: ex-husband, as of eight weeks) – there had always been a frostiness between them. Not that they’d ever had an argument, or that anything in particular had happened; it was just that they were almost too polite when they had to meet – there was a coolness that hadn’t changed over time.

‘You are better off without him, you know,’ she continued.

It was still a little raw, even though Claire knew that it was probably the truth. ‘The less said about him the better,’ she muttered. How did you just forget six years of marriage? All those good times as well as the bad. She went quiet for a while.

‘You’re probably right,’ she conceded after a pause.

She remembered how it had happened. She’d been given the good news from the oncologist after a follow-up scan, that there was no further evidence of cancer, and was so relieved. It was the week afterwards, that was all, when she was back at home looking forward to the future, their future. He’d just come out with it. Told her that he’d been seeing someone else, that it had started before her diagnosis. He couldn’t have left her like that. So all the while, all through the op, the chemo, the radiotherapy, the first months of recovery, they’d been living a lie. His staunch, loving support had been merely duty, a cover for his guilt. She’d found the energy, from sheer rage probably, to throw a suitcase at him and told him to get out. He had, swiftly, with a couple of overnight bags and his ticket to a new life and new lover.

Claire stayed quiet.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, Claire … but I just want you to be happy. You can be happy again.’

‘I know. I’m not rushing into anything, though. I mean man-wise. I wouldn’t say no to a bit of happiness.’ Claire laughed, a little too loudly. ‘It’s okay, Sal. It’s probably best out in the open. And thanks for coming up, sis. It’s nice that you’re here.’

‘Hey, no worries. It’s great to see you, and in fact it’s been lovely just to have a night away from the madhouse of my family. A bit of head space, you know. I love ’em to bits, don’t get me wrong, but every now and then you just need a bit of time out from the demands of “Mummy, I need a poo, Mummy, I’m hungry, Mummy, I’m thirsty, Mummy, where’s my football kit?”’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘And the best? “Sal, if you’re tired, can I at least have a hand job?”’ The red wine was obviously loosening her reserve.

Claire laughed. ‘I wonder how he’s coping?’

‘What, Mark? He’ll be fine. He’s got hands of his own, you know.’ Sally giggled.

‘I mean with the boys.’

‘Ah, he’ll be okay. He’s pretty good with them, and it’ll do him good to spend some more time with them. And he’ll appreciate me even more when I come back, hopefully. They were heading off to the cinema this evening, latest Disney movie and a pizza supper. I’ll give them a call in the morning. It’s a bit late now.’

‘You’ll be lucky to get any signal anyhow.’

‘Ah, I see.’

Claire had never had that – a family of her own. Even with all the stresses of family life, Sally was happy – her children were her everything. You could see it written all over her face. Paul had never wanted children. That had seemed okay at first, when she was young and idolized him – they were fine as a couple. He had his engineering business, his busy life, the foreign holidays together; children would just get in the way. But she’d always wondered in a little hide-and-seek corner of her thoughts whether he might change his mind one day. A part of her had hoped he would.

‘Hey, do you realize it’s nearly midnight, Bo? Time for bed, methinks. Oh Jeez, have I really got to get into that fleapit now?’

‘It’s either that or a lumpy sofa.’

‘Christ, the things I do for you, sis. If I’m itching in the morning, you’re in for it, I can tell you.’ She half grinned, half shrugged, resigned to her fate. ‘If I ever need a getaway break, I won’t be coming here, that’s for sure. It’s going to be five stars in the Maldives.’

‘Great. If you need some company …’ Claire grinned.

‘Come on, then, let’s do this thing.’ Sal stood up.

The pair of them waddled in from the balcony in their duvets, looking an odd sight. They brushed their teeth, sharing the little floorboard-creaking bathroom. Then Sal headed off to her room. ‘Here goes.’

‘Night, Sal. Thanks again for coming.’

‘My pleasure, hun.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Except for the grotty bed.’

Claire heard a creaking as her sister ventured in. Heard the click of the light switch, the blink into darkness. She lay down in her own bed, settling onto her pillow with a sigh and a warm feeling of love for her sibling. Then, unable to resist pulling out an old saying of their gran’s, she perched up on one elbow and shouted across the landing, ‘Night, night, sleep tight. Hope the bed bugs don’t bite.’

‘Bitch,’ was launched back. But she knew Sal was grinning too.

It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages. Claire squinted her eyes to try and gauge the time. Gone ten o’clock! She could hear someone shuffling about downstairs, the sound of a kettle bubbling to a boil. Ah, a cup of tea, that would be good. She tried to sit up and felt like she’d been hammered all over during the night. Hammered was certainly something to do with it, she winced, trying to pull a leg out of bed. Oh, good God, she hadn’t had a hangover in years. Through all the cancer treatment she’d steered clear of alcohol, thinking her body had enough to deal with. Obviously her tolerance levels had plummeted – she hadn’t had much more than two glasses. Okay, so maybe they were large glasses. Now she realized she’d probably been a bit stupid, but she’d been enjoying herself, had lost track.

She summoned the energy to creep downstairs, to find Sal in the kitchen popping teabags into mugs.

‘Hey, you – I was going to bring one up to you.’ Her sister looked amazingly bright-eyed and breezy.

Claire slumped onto a kitchen chair, leant her arms on the table and placed her head in her hands.

‘Paracetamol, hun?’

‘Yes please.’

‘No worries, always keep some in my handbag.’

Thank God her sister was so organized. ‘Ta.’ She raised her head a little, trying to avoid any sudden movements as things seemed to be slamming around in her brain.

Sally passed her a large glass of water and placed two painkillers in her palm. Her tongue seemed to seize up as she popped them in and tried to swallow, her throat constricting around them. She gulped down a couple of glugs of water to shift them. Now she remembered why she didn’t normally drink much.

‘Been up long?’ she rallied, trying to make conversation. She didn’t want to waste the limited time she had with her sister.

‘Since about three a.m., itching.’

‘Nooo!’

‘Just kidding, Clairebo! Had you there, though. No, I’ve only been up about half an hour myself. Been sitting looking at the view. Not a bad spot you’ve got here. I can just picture it all done up, a nice white-and-blue beach theme going on. All distressed furniture and shabby chic instead of just shabby.’ Sal passed her a steaming mug of tea.

‘Hmm.’ Yes, she could picture that too, like something out of Homes & Gardens, all beachside chic. Her sister had always had an eye for design – her own house was gorgeously furnished and decorated.

Claire then wondered what, or more precisely who her sister had been watching out on the beach. It would hopefully have been too late for Grumpy-Gorgeous’s early-morning swim. That was a little gem she liked to think she could keep to herself.

‘That guy next door was out jogging with his dog.’

Was she some kind of mind-reader?

‘Oh, right.’ She tried to sound cool. ‘What kind of dog has he got?’

‘Labrador. Black one.’ Pause. ‘He’s quite dishy, isn’t he?’

‘What, the dog?’

‘Hah, very funny. Your neighbour.’

‘Hmm, not bad. I told you he’s a right grumpy thing, though.’

‘He certainly is. I had to nip and get something from the car as he was coming back in. He wasn’t very chatty, I must say. He’s called Ed, apparently. That’s about all I found out. The dog’s cute, though. She was far more friendly.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a dog myself one day.’ Claire was glad to move the conversation on.

‘Me too – a spaniel or something. Though our house is mad enough at the best of times. Can’t quite imagine a dog in the mix at the moment. Maybe when the boys are older, then they could help walk it.’

Claire sipped her tea, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon, but it was kind of soothing letting her sister chatter on. She just nodded now and then, with an occasional ‘Ah-huh’, until finally her head began to clear, though it was still fragile. ‘Think I might head up for a shower.’

She felt somewhat revived by the splashing of warm water and zingy blast of shower gel.

Half an hour later they were strolling down the beach, heading towards Bamburgh, where they spent a very pleasant hour in the courtyard garden of the Copper Kettle tearooms with a pot of Earl Grey and some very scrummy slices of lemon drizzle cake.

‘So what are your plans for the rest of your break?’

‘Well, not too much, to be honest. It’s been so nice just to have time on my side, a book to hand and a gorgeous sea view.’

‘Hmn, that does sound rather lovely. But isn’t it a bit too quiet? A bit lonely?’

‘Not really. That was the whole idea behind coming away – to have some space, some time out for a bit. I’ll manage, I’m sure. My own company’s not that bad. Anyway, I’ll have to start thinking about the next feature for my column soon, so that’ll keep me busy. Em’s filling in for me for two weeks, but I need to send something in to the newspaper for the next week. I can’t be out of the loop too long, especially now I’m finding my feet again back at the Herald after all that time off sick. I’m just waiting for inspiration to strike.’

‘I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Claire. Your blogs were brilliant all through the cancer stuff. Really honest and inspiring. You didn’t get voted the North-East Columnist of the Year for nothing.’

‘No, I suppose not … Thanks. I was doing it more for me, though, to be honest. It just happened to be popular.’

‘Well, you’re very talented. And at least something good came out of it all. I’m sure you helped a lot of other people going through something similar, and their families too.’

‘Yeah, writing it down definitely helped. Verbal therapy, I think.’

‘You see. A true journalist at heart.’

Later that afternoon, Sal was popping her overnight case into the boot of her car. They’d spent the day chatting, taking a long leisurely walk on the beach, and had a picnic lunch of bread, cheese and fruit in the garden.

‘Right, I suppose I’d better be setting off,’ she announced cheerily. ‘Back to reality and all that.’

Reality? Normality? Claire didn’t know what that was any more. Her life had taken so many unexpected turns of late. She waved her sister off, watched the rear of her car swing out onto the main road, and felt her heart sink a little. As she turned back in through the door of the cottage, she recognized a niggling feeling of loneliness creeping over her. Her sister was right. Her cottage escape, her haven – okay, more hovel than haven – suddenly seemed a little too quiet and remote. Perhaps it was just that they’d had such a lovely time reconnecting over the last two days.

She’d thought she didn’t need anyone. She was wrong.