Читать книгу The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance! - Jaimie Admans - Страница 12

In London, the June weather is so muggy that every breath feels like hard work and the skies are overcast and dull, but as I sit in the window seat of a refreshingly empty carriage on a train that’s trundling north, the clouds outside the window turn from grey to white and the sky brightens until it’s blue.

I went to bed early last night because I knew I couldn’t miss getting the earlier train than usual, and I left Nathan’s phone on the kitchen unit overnight because if it was any nearer then I’d never be able to resist the temptation of constantly checking to see if he’d rung. When I got up this morning, there was a missed call from his pay-as-you-go number, followed by a text message.

I tried to call but either I missed you or I bored you silly last night and now you’re avoiding me – completely understandable! xx

Another two kisses. Daphne’s waters would probably break with excitement.

I want to reply because seeing that message this morning made the butterflies start doing bungee jumps again, but I still haven’t summoned the courage to, because I’m too nervous to tell him I’m on my way to Pearlholme. He must have been joking when he said it, but how can I tell him I’ve taken him seriously without sounding deranged?

The nearest station to Pearlholme is not like any train station I’ve seen before. It looks like a quaint little bungalow, but with sliding glass double doors and a railway sign outside. The air is clear and there’s a warm breeze that makes me inhale deeply and I don’t feel like I’m going to choke on exhaust fumes.

There’s a tiny car park outside the station and a couple of bus stops on the opposite side. I remember Nathan saying he got the bus so I wander across to them, dragging my suitcase behind me. I’m staring at the timetable, running a finger down the list of place names I don’t recognise, wondering if I’m even in the right place, when I spot a man selling newspapers standing on the corner of the car park.

‘Excuse me?’ I walk over to him, thinking of Nathan’s joke about asking strangers for directions. ‘Do you know if I’m in the right place to get the bus to Pearlholme? I can’t see it listed on any of the timetables.’

He gives me a toothy grin. ‘Pearlholme’s much too small for that, love. It’s on the route but it’s an unnamed stop that’ll take you to the edge of the village. It’s the number five bus you want, and you’ll need to get off outside a pub called The Sun & Sand.’

‘Brilliant, thank you.’

‘You’ve not long missed the bus though. It went through about twenty minutes ago, and they’re only every two hours.’

‘Oh, great.’ The journey has gone well so far; something had to go wrong at some point.

‘It’s only about half an hour on foot and it’s a lovely walk.’

I glance in the direction he points, wondering how lost I could manage to get on this walk because the chances are pretty good that I’ll never be seen again. But the weather is gorgeous and I have been sat on a train for the past three hours, and the station behind me looks like you’d struggle to occupy five minutes in it, let alone an hour and forty of them.

‘You’re Pearlholme’s second tourist this week,’ the man says. ‘They must be doing something right.’

I can’t resist asking. ‘Was the other one a tall guy with dark hair?’

‘Indeed he was. If you’re looking for him, he’ll be on the beach doing up the old carousel that’s been found. From The Sun & Sand, you can either take the back road into the village or the front road along the promenade and the beachfront. You can’t miss the carousel from there.’

Wow. Nathan was right, they really do know everyone around here. ‘Thanks.’ I give him a smile because of how much he reminds me of where I grew up, where you couldn’t walk up the road without someone asking where you were going and why you were going there.

‘It’s beautiful at this time of year,’ he says. ‘Gets a bit busy once the summer holidays begin, but this time of year is ideal. You’re not staying at The Shell Hotel, are you?’

‘I managed to get a room there at the last minute,’ I say, smiling again.

The man visibly cringes and I feel my face fall. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, nothing, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be lovely.’ He gives me a smile that looks completely false.

‘That question did not have an “I’m sure it’ll be lovely” tone to it …’

He huffs and his shoulders slump. ‘The village itself is exquisite, but the hotel … not so much. I best not say more than that, love, I don’t want to put you off.’

‘All the cottage rentals were full. I thought I was lucky to get a room at the hotel.’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Lucky.’

He doesn’t sound like he means lucky. Or like he’s going to enlighten me any further.

I thank him for his time and buy a newspaper because it seems like the polite thing to do, and set off in the direction he points me in, after assuring me that it’s a straightforward road.

I feel like I’m cutting school as I drag my suitcase down the wide pavement, like when you used to go on an errand for your teacher and walk through the empty school grounds when everyone was in lessons. It always felt a little bit naughty and a little bit thrilling, and it always made you feel a little bit more grown up than everyone else.

The road gradually shifts from residential houses to a tree-lined country lane, branches heavy with white flowers hanging across the pavement, hedgerows spilling over with pink wild roses, and the odd pretty cottage dotted among them. There’s hardly any traffic, and the occasional car that does pass is pootling along so slowly that I can overtake them on foot. I’m enjoying the walk so much that I’m surprised how quickly the time has passed as the pub comes into view.

I stop and read the blue lettering on a sand-coloured board above the door. The Sun & Sand. Even the name makes it sound nice. There are tables and chairs outside, a wide green lawn, and two huge but neatly trimmed trees on either side, weighed down with not-yet-ripe green cherries. It looks like the kind of image you’d see on the front cover of a romance book about a woman who moves to a tiny village to run a pub and falls for the handsome builder who comes to mend the roof.

It would be so easy to take the front road and walk along the seafront and find the carousel and Nathan, but I decide to be sensible and head to the hotel first. It’s not even two p.m. yet. There’s plenty of time for that when I’ve had a quick wash and change after travelling all day.

There’s a woman trimming the hedge outside The Sun & Sand who calls over as I go to walk away. ‘Where are you looking for, love?’

‘The Shell Hotel?’ I say, not used to this number of people keen to help you find your way around.

She makes the same face the newspaper man made. ‘Are you an inspector come to shut them down?’

‘No, just a guest.’

‘Oh, lovely.’ She sounds just as false as the newspaper man. What is it about this hotel?

‘It’s that way.’ She points down the second road that clearly heads into the village. ‘It’s right on the other end of the village, just follow this road and go downwards when you come to the fork. You can’t miss it.’

‘Thanks.’ I set off before the idea of this hotel sends me running straight back to the train station.

‘Come back anytime,’ she calls after me. ‘We do the best chips in Pearlholme! The fish and chip shop on the seafront will tell you otherwise, but we all know which one of us is right!’

It makes me smile as I wheel my suitcase behind me, through a narrow, cobbled street that seems barely wide enough to allow even the smallest of cars. This street must be the main residential street, and its rows of brick cottages fit perfectly with the uneven cobbles of the road. Each cottage looks like it could tumble down at any moment, but they all have perfectly neat front gardens, separated from the cobbled street by a haphazard brick wall covered in trailing purple aubrietia flowers. Each one has a path of stepping stones up to their door, a neatly trimmed lawn, and borders full of flowers. Even the birdhouses on tall stands at the end of each garden are miniature replicas of cottages, and birds who are happily pecking at seed inside their tiny bird cottages fly off in groups as I walk past, my suitcase bouncing along the cobbles behind me.

There’s one house on the street that’s a bit different. This one still has a freshly mowed lawn and the scent of cut grass is strong in the air, but in the window is a ‘Post Office’ sign, and instead of flowers in borders, there’s a bright red postbox outside, a chalkboard advertising fresh milk and bread, a newspaper board with today’s local headline, which is blank, and I wonder if that’s indicative of how quiet it is around here. Zinnia would’ve told them to make up a story about someone being mauled by a starfish to sell more copies.

Even from what Nathan said on the phone the other night, I didn’t realise quite how picturesque it would be. Every house has window boxes brimming with a rainbow of flowers and trailing hanging baskets on either side of their bright-painted front doors. It’s like a picture-perfect film set, the kind of village that you see artists painting in watercolour.

At the end of the main row of houses, the road forks – the left fork curves down towards a battered-looking old barn, and the right twists up a shallow slope towards green hills and a handful of little cottages that must overlook the beach. I’d rather take that road, but the woman outside the pub did say to go downwards, didn’t she? And I’m sure there’s something written on that old barn …

As I walk towards it, only the side is facing me, peering above rusty black railings. The back garden is hidden behind overhanging trees that have overhung so far they’ve gone for a scramble through the blackberry bushes behind the building. It looks more like an overgrown graveyard than any kind of hotel, but as I cautiously walk round the front, I realise that’s exactly what it is. The Shell Hotel is in big letters across the front of the building, but the S has gone wonky and dropped down, looking like it’s hanging on by a thread.

This does not look like a hotel. It looks like somewhere you’d expect Lurch to open the door.

I suddenly understand why everyone I’ve spoken to so far has made the same face at the mere mention of this place.

* * *

The hotel is not that bad. If you like broom cupboards with no view. There only seems to be one elderly man working here, and the only other guest I’ve seen is a man I passed in the corridor with an easel under one arm, making me think I wasn’t far wrong about artists painting such a picturesque village.

And I suppose I was lucky to get a room here at such short notice, in June, in a gorgeous little seaside village, and it doesn’t matter how small my room is or how uncomfortable and stained the bed looks, because I’m here, and I’ve done something unusual for me; I’ve ‘put myself out there’ as Daphne would say, and now I’m walking up the other fork of the cobbled road, towards the cottages, and hopefully the carousel on the beach.

At the peak of the hill, I stop and take in the view. From here, to my left, are the green hills of the cliffs overlooking the beach, and they’re spotted with little cottages, all with pretty gardens stretching out behind them. In front of me is the most perfect beach I’ve ever seen. Miles of unblemished sand stretches out into the ocean. The tide is out and the waves are lapping in the distance.

To the right is the seafront, and my reason for coming here. I walk down the lower road towards what is obviously the promenade. A blue-painted iron railing springs up along the grassy edge as I head towards a row of colourful beach huts along one side of the road, opposite a wide set of steps and a long ramp leading down to the beach. Just beyond them, is the tip of a marquee tent. It must be the carousel. It’s exactly where the newspaper man described.

The road has changed from cobblestone to smooth tarmac now, which I notice because my knees are shaking as I walk, and while I could convince myself it was because of the cobbles before, now I have to admit that it’s nerves. What the hell am I doing here? Coming halfway across the country to meet a man I smiled at on a train a few times? He’s going to think I’m a nutter. Maybe I am a nutter.

If I left now, I could probably make it back to London by tonight. I could at least stay somewhere near the station and get the first train out tomorrow morning. He would never know I was here. We could meet like normal, sensible, sane people in a neutral place in London where I can hand his phone over like a normal, sensible, sane person, and not stalk him two hundred and fifty miles across the country. In six weeks’ time. When he gets back … Six weeks is a hell of a long time. And I’m here now, aren’t I? I can just drop by the carousel and hand over his phone like it’s not a big deal … Maybe I could tell him I’m visiting family in the area? That’s a reasonable excuse, right?

My legs have carried on walking without me realising, and I’m suddenly on the liveliest part of the promenade, right next to one of the sets of steps leading onto the sand, and mere metres from the marquee surrounding the carousel. He must be in there. It’s too near, this is too weird, everything about it from the train to the phone to the article … and the lovely-sounding guy who phoned me, who I talked to unreservedly the night before last, who voluntarily rang again last night and then texted when I didn’t answer, and I still haven’t responded to.

I examine the row of beach huts on the opposite side of the promenade to delay having to approach the carousel and somehow make myself sound rational while explaining that I’ve stalked him halfway across the country.

They’re all painted in bright colours, each one different from orange to purple, graduated so they form a rainbow along the street. All have signs above their doors and sandwich boards outside advertising their goods. There’s the fish and chip shop I’ve already heard about, an old-fashioned arcade, an art shop showcasing paintings by local artists, a shop selling all kinds of beach goods from dinghies, windbreakers, and inflatable whales to buckets and spades and snorkels, and there’s an ice cream parlour … Oh, now there’s an idea.

The sign outside advertises a 99 cone that still costs 99p, something that’s probably as rare in Britain nowadays as when a Freddo used to cost 10p, and I can’t remember the last time I had one. I go into the little red hut and buy two. Turning up with ice cream makes this much less weird, right?

There are four rows of wide concrete steps leading down to the beach and sandy ramps side on, so I walk down one of them, holding an ice cream in each hand.

A wooden walkway has been installed in the sand surrounding the carousel, and a temporary metal fence about six-foot high has been put up around it, stopping anyone getting any closer.

As I cross the sand towards it, I try to work out what on earth I’m going to say. Shall I knock? If I can even get in, how do you knock on a tent? Rattle the fence? Call his name?

Just as I’m thinking the best thing to do would be to run away and eat both the 99s as I go, he steps out from around the side of the tent and I freeze because it’s suddenly real. He’s actually here. I’m actually here. I actually did something so completely out of character for me, and maybe that’s not an entirely bad thing, even if it is about to go down in flames.

He’s wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of dungarees, which are covered in paint and oil stains and ripped at the knees, and he’s rubbing a manky-looking cloth over something, looking out towards the sea. He looks completely entranced by the ocean and hasn’t even glanced in my direction, and I wonder how long I could stand here admiring him if these ice creams weren’t melting.

‘Nathan?’ I finally pluck up the courage to speak and it comes out barely above a whisper. I’m sure he won’t have heard but he jumps at the sound of something other than the squawking of seagulls and swivels towards me.

‘Ness?’ He physically does a double take and squints in the sunlight.

At least he recognises me. That’s something.

‘Ness!’ he says again, his voice going high. ‘You actually came?’

Suddenly he’s moving, pushing aside one of the metal fence panels and striding towards me, his mouth turning into a grin that lights up his whole face and makes the laughter lines around his eyes crinkle up. He doesn’t look like someone who thinks I’m a deranged stalker.

What’s weird is that as soon as I see him, the moment I see that smile spread across his face and the dimples I haven’t been able to get out of my head since the first time I saw him, all of my nerves melt away.

He looks … overjoyed. No, it can’t be overjoyed. Maybe constipation? I don’t think anyone has ever looked that happy to see me before.

‘You made it sound so perfect.’ I have to wet my lips and swallow a couple of times to make my voice sound stable.

‘I can’t believe you came!’

‘And I brought ice cream.’ I hold one of the cones out towards him.

He goes to take it but his hand stops in midair and we both look at it because he’s covered in black grease. He pulls it back quickly and tries to wipe it on the cloth he was using to clean the thing he’s just shoved into the pocket of his dungarees. ‘Look at the state of me. I don’t usually get into this much of a mess.’

He plunges a hand into the dungaree pocket again and pulls out a mini packet of wet wipes, covering it in the black grime as he struggles to open it and pull one out, and I stand there with two ice creams melting in my hands, wondering when dungarees became so sexy. I’ve always thought of them as a work uniform for builders, but on Nathan, they look like something from a Calvin Klein aftershave advert. Even with the rips and stains, one rip in particular shows a delicious sliver of thigh, and …

I’ve been here for all of two minutes and I already can’t stop perving on the man. I can’t remember the last time I looked at a guy and fancied him this much, no matter how much Daphne tries to make me. Fancying men and how sexy they might or might not be hasn’t been on my priority list for a long time now, and yet I already want to slide a finger into that tear in the faded denim and … I force myself to think of something else.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Nathan’s scrubbing at his messy hands with a wet wipe, which looks about as effective as a chocolate teapot. ‘Talk about a good first impression. This is a boiling hot water, exfoliating handwash, and a scrubbing brush job, and I’m nowhere near any of them.’

He seems nervous, maybe even more nervous than I was, and it’s completely and utterly endearing.

‘Do you need a hand?’ I say, wishing I could kick myself before I’ve even finished the sentence. Who makes terrible puns like that in front of a gorgeous man they wouldn’t be opposed to impressing? What is wrong with me? I don’t know why I bother hunting for excuses not to go out with any of the men Daphne tries to set me up with. I should go and let them be instantly put off by my terrible sense of humour. She’d soon stop trying.

At least he’s polite enough to laugh and make it sound genuine, his eyes crinkling up again as he grins at me, and I find myself staring at him. His hair is so dark brown that it’s almost black and his brown eyes reflect the colour of the sand and the sun, making them look golden in certain slants of light. I always thought he was gorgeous by the washed-out light of an underground train, but in natural daylight, he’s glorious.

‘You couldn’t, er, feed it to me, could you?’

I let out an undignified snort and cover it with a nervous giggle, sounding like a pig that’s had a nappy accident, if pigs wore nappies and were perceptive enough to be aware of soiling themselves. Maybe those nerves aren’t so far away after all. ‘Well, that’s one way to break the ice.’

I try to ignore the way my stomach flips as he groans and goes to smack himself on the forehead but stops just in time to avoid a greasy handprint across his face. ‘Oh God, that wasn’t meant to sound as bad as it did. I meant in a completely non-erotic way, obviously. Just hold it in my general direction and I’ll lick it like a dog.’

‘I’d be happy to,’ I say, wishing I could think up a clever, witty response to make up for the ‘do you need a hand’ fiasco.

‘My nefarious plan for getting pretty girls to feed me ice cream is almost complete. Next step, world domination.’ He steeples grease-covered fingers in an evil overlord way, making me giggle again. ‘I’m going to stop making an idiot of myself anytime now.’ He gestures towards the gap in the metal fence. ‘Come in and sit on my wood.’

I laugh, but mainly at how fiercely red his cheeks have gone.

‘I meant my wooden decking, obviously.’ He points towards the edge of the platform in the sand surrounding the tent. ‘I told you I’m crap at talking to people.’

‘Well, I asked you if you needed a hand, so I think we’re fairly even on that front. And these are melting.’

He smiles as he sits down and I perch on the wooden pathway next to him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to hold his ice cream to my right.

He leans forward and licks it. ‘You have full permission to poke me in the nose with it if you want.’

I’m trying eat mine daintily without ending up in a Beauty and the Beast-style porridge scene and it makes me laugh so much that I nearly take my own eye out with the Flake. ‘I was just thinking about how easy it would be to do that. Are you some sort of mind reader or what?’

He laughs too. ‘I think there’s an innate part of every human being that makes that connection when there’s a pointy ice cream and a nose around.’

I give him a sideways glance, appreciating the way his tongue runs up that smooth ice cream. His chin is so close to my hand as he moves, near enough that I can almost feel the drag of his stubble, and it’s probably a really weird thing to sit here and feed ice cream to a complete stranger but it doesn’t feel as weird as it should.

‘I can’t believe you came. I didn’t think you would and I was really hoping …’ He shakes his head without finishing the sentence. ‘And I can’t believe you brought me ice cream. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but …’ His voice drops to a whisper and I naturally lean a bit nearer to hear him. ‘I’ve already had two of these today.’

I laugh like it’s a terrible secret. ‘Isn’t there an unwritten British law that says you have to have a 99 when within a five-mile radius of a beach?’

‘Oh, definitely, but I don’t think they mean to prescribe them like Paracetamol, you know, one every four hours until your liver packs in from sugar overload. I had one when I got here this morning and then I couldn’t resist running back across the road for another one after lunch. I foresee that working across the street from an ice cream parlour is going to be very bad for me.’

‘I can’t think of a nicer place to work.’ I nod towards the sea in an attempt to take my mind off his tongue and how close it is to my hand. ‘The ice creams are just a bonus.’

‘I can’t believe you came,’ he says again. ‘I was really hoping you would. I got the impression on the phone that you’d love it here, and I thought I’d probably scared you off and I’d never hear from you again, and I just …’ He swallows and leans over until his shoulder knocks gently into mine before sitting upright again. ‘I’m chuffed you’re here.’

It makes the sun warming my skin feel like it’s warming the whole of me from the inside out. He’s so … uninhibited is the word that springs to mind. Either he’s overcompensating because he thinks I’m a deranged stalker and is biding his time until he can run away, or he’s genuinely pleased to see me, and instead of trying to hide it and invent excuses like I am, he’s not afraid to say it. I’m still wondering if he’d believe that I have family in the area and I happen to be visiting them mere days after he told me where he was and I conveniently forgot to mention it the other night. ‘You made Pearlholme sound so perfect and I liked talking to you,’ I say, trying to be a bit more forthright with my answer. ‘I couldn’t resist seeing the village and the carousel.’ And the guy restoring it. Well, maybe not that forthright.

‘Did you get my text last night? I thought I’d better check to make sure I hadn’t bored you into a coma the night before.’

‘Yeah. Sorry, I’d gone to bed because I knew I’d have to get up early for the train, and I got your text this morning, but I didn’t answer because …’ Right, forthright. ‘I didn’t know how to say I was on my way here without sounding like I was stalking you.’

‘Well, I wasn’t joking when I asked you. I tried to pretend I was because it’s a bit weird to talk complete strangers into holidaying with you … I mean, not with me but in the same place I am …’ He twists one blackened finger around the other. ‘When I said I was going to stop making an idiot of myself earlier, I clearly meant now, not then. Now I’m going to stop making an idiot of myself. Just as soon as I finish the ice cream you’ve been forced to feed to me because I can’t get my hands clean.’

I giggle again, and I really am going to have to stop all this nervous giggling, I’m even annoying myself, but the thought that he actually wanted me to come … that it wasn’t a joke … It’s making me feel all fluttery and light, like in the movies when you see the heroine twirling down the street in a floaty pink dress after a wonderful romantic date with a handsome man who’s too good to be true.

I look over at Nathan again and his eyes meet mine and we both smile at the same time. Until he takes a bite out of the cornet and sends crumbs fluttering everywhere.

‘So, is “will you feed it to me” the worst chat-up line you’ve ever heard? Not that it was a chat-up line or anything – I am not interested in that kind of thing – I just meant it sounds like something a leery drunk in a pub would think was a clever chat-up line, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t know, but “hold it and I’ll lick it like a dog” is right up there.’

He laughs and groans at the same time. ‘Oh God, I hadn’t even thought of that one. See? I’m terrible at having conversations with people. I’m not even trying to chat you up and I’ve tried out the worst chat-up line you’ve ever heard in your life.’

‘Nah … A bloke outside the tube station told me he’d like to eat my ovaries once. Not quite sure what he expected the outcome to be.’

Nathan puts a non-greasy wrist to his forehead and pretends to swoon. ‘Oh, finally, your prince has been found?’

‘Exactly. Now that’s setting the bar high for bad chat-up lines.’ I laugh. ‘I always wonder how many women he tried it on and if any of them ever said, “Oh, lovely, that sounds like a jolly good way to spend an afternoon.”’

He dissolves into a fit of laughter and the fact that he’s nervous and giggly too makes me feel a bit more normal.

‘So what’s the worst chat-up line you’ve ever had then? It’s not some girl turning up on a beach and ramming an ice cream down your throat, is it?’

‘Are you kidding?’ He meets my eyes and raises both dark eyebrows. ‘This is the highlight of my day. No, my month. Although that’s a bit unfair because we’re only a week into June and I doubt anything will beat a beautiful girl feeding me a 99 this side of Christmas.’

I blush because he called me beautiful. I’ve never been called that before. Daphne is beautiful. I’m just plain and ordinary, the kind of person who would never stand out in a crowd.

He seems to realise his slip-up because he continues quickly. ‘I mean, no, I’ve never been chatted up.’

‘You’ve never been chatted up?’ I ask in disbelief. I know I don’t know him at all, but on face value, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t chat him up.

‘I think I put out a bit of a “not interested” vibe. I’m quite boring and I’m not looking for a relationship so I don’t go out and meet people. I generally just work and spend my evenings collapsed on the sofa in front of Netflix.’

He doesn’t put out a ‘not interested’ vibe to me. He seems warm, and friendly, and so approachable that I nearly broke the unwritten rule of London transport and spoke to a stranger on the tube.

‘Ditto. On all things.’ I make a point to emphasise the ‘all’ just in case he gets the mistaken impression that I am looking for a relationship because I most definitely am not. ‘And hooray for Netflix – my evenings would be empty without it.’

‘I would offer you a hooray for Netflix high five, but …’ He wiggles his greasy fingers in front of us. ‘I also fear a high five might give away how desperately uncool I am. No one high fives anymore, right?’

I grin at his self-deprecating humour. In person, he’s even funnier than he was on the phone and just as easy to talk to, but I’m more self-conscious because I can’t hide how much he’s making me laugh, and I’m all too aware of vanilla ice cream slowly dripping down my fingers because I’m not eating my own ice cream fast enough, and I can’t remember the last time a man was more interesting than an ice cream. That just doesn’t happen, right?

He uses his teeth to take the bottom of the cone out of my hand in one go, and I can tell he’s making an effort not to touch me, but this time his barely there stubble does brush against my fingers, making me shiver despite the warm sun.

Somehow, he manages to fit the whole thing in his mouth at once even though it’s so big he can barely chew it.

‘Impressive,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off him.

He laughs despite the mouthful and nearly chokes.

‘Why, thank you.’ He pretends to bow when he can finally speak again. ‘My ability to feed myself is second to none.’ He pauses for a second. ‘I say while someone else feeds me.’

It makes me giggle again. I’ve got to stop this – the giggling is getting ridiculous.

‘Did you find the place all right?’ He says while I try to furtively lick melted ice cream off my fingers after finishing my own cornet.

‘Not really, but I thought I’d have the full Pearlholme experience and ask a stranger for directions. The bloke selling newspapers outside the train station?’

‘Yep, I asked him as well.’

‘So he said. You weren’t joking when you said everyone knows everything around here, were you?’

‘Told ya.’ He winks at me. ‘Where are you staying? It’s not The Shell Hotel, is it?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Oh, come on. Why are you the third person to say that to me today?’

He looks worried. ‘I take it you are?’

‘Of course I am. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve changed the standard greeting in Pearlholme from “hello” to “you’re not staying at The Shell Hotel, are you?” in a sinister voice. Let me guess, the newspaper guy and a woman outside the pub asked you the same thing?’

‘Actually, it was the newspaper guy and an old gent who started talking to me on the bus when I went into the next town.’

‘Oh, great. It’s a real county-wide thing then? That’s comforting.’ I glance at him. ‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’

‘I don’t know. I gave it a quick peek from the corner when I was looking around the village but I didn’t want to get too close. It looked like the kind of place you might walk into and never be seen again.’

‘Thanks, that’s even more comforting.’ I know he’s only joking but I narrow my eyes when he grins again. ‘Not all of us are lucky enough to get a perfect little cottage with a landlady who makes us mac and cheese, you know.’

‘It was an amazing mac and cheese too. I’d ask her for the recipe but I doubt I’d get further than getting the cheese out of the fridge without burning the cottage down so it’s safer if I don’t.’

‘I’d say your inability to cook is endearing but I’m even worse. I doubt I could get further than a bowl of uncooked macaroni and a block of cheese. Sounds good, right?’

‘If you ever want to cook for me, that’s the cottage.’ He leans forward and reaches his arm past me so I can see where he’s pointing. I follow his grease-covered finger towards the first cottage on the cliff, the closest one to the road where I stopped on the way down here, a delightful little picture-worthy stone building with a grey slate roof, surrounded by a lot of greenery and a garden hidden behind a rhododendron hedge. Even from this distance, I can see that it’s just as perfect as I’d pictured it, although it’s difficult to concentrate with his arm so near, and the movement has sent a wave of his tropical shower gel towards me, along with the sexy scent of oil on skin and an undercurrent of sea air.

‘I mean it, you know?’ He suddenly turns serious. ‘You’re welcome to come over anytime. If your hotel is anywhere near as bad as it looks from the outside, or if you want a nice view or a bit of company or something …’

‘Thanks, Nathan.’ I cut him off because I’m surprised that he’s offered, that he genuinely seems keen to see me, and that he doesn’t think I’m a nutter for coming here. I should probably say something else but I’m a tad flustered.

He looks like he wants to say something else too, but he doesn’t. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘A couple of weeks,’ I say, deciding it’s best to keep it vague. ‘It’s kind of a working holiday. As long as I’ve got a laptop and an internet connection, I can work anywhere. My boss probably only gives me a cubicle in the office so she can check I’m not slacking off. She’s let me bring my work with me. She was really understanding about the whole phone thing. She thought I should get it back to you as quickly as possible.’

‘Nice boss.’

How can I tell him? He’s just told me he’s not interested in a relationship, and I’m definitely not, so what am I going to say? I’m here to write an article about whether you’re going to fall in love with me or not? The answer is already a resounding ‘not’, so what am I here for? To make up an article about us falling in love? Neither option makes me sound any less off my rocker.

‘Well, it’s my own fault for being so careless.’ It takes me a moment to realise he means the phone when he looks at me. ‘Or so distracted.’

I go red for no reason.

‘To be honest, I’m kind of enjoying being without it. Pearlholme is the kind of place you come to disconnect, and this little old thing …’ he pats the pocket of his dungarees ‘… is perfect for that. It can phone, it can text, it can take an awful picture, and it’s got no internet, which is a welcome break to be honest. Do you know, I actually slept soundly last night rather than tossing and turning for ages over something I’d just read on Twitter or watched on Facebook.’

‘You don’t have the apps on your phone.’

‘So you went through my apps but you didn’t go through my browsing history? You’d make a terrible investigator, do you know that?’

He’s smiling as he says it and he doesn’t seem annoyed with me. ‘I didn’t even think of that. I didn’t want to invade your privacy too much.’

‘You didn’t want to open my browser and find I was into unicorn porn or something like that?’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Is that a thing?’

He laughs. ‘I have no idea. I promise I’m not into anything weird. If you had opened my browser, you’d have found Google News and searches for how to make a Pot Noodle more interesting.’

‘Can you make a Pot Noodle more interesting?’

‘It’s really a case of with or without the sauce packet. Some bloke on YouTube tried putting it in a sandwich, which just looked … ick. And I’m always being careful not to strain something with my adventurous cooking.’

Surely it’s not normal to just sit here and smile at someone? Everything about him makes me smile. I feel comfortable sitting with him, and I’m suddenly so, so glad I came. I know it won’t lead to anything more, and I don’t want it to, but I’m just glad to have met him. He feels like someone special.

I shake myself. I have to stop it. I’m here to further my career, nothing more. ‘So, are you okay? You said on the phone that you felt better than you had for months. Had you been feeling bad?’

He gives me a sideways glance and his dark eyes turn soft. ‘I can’t believe you heard that. Or cared.’ He looks out at the sea again. ‘Yeah, I hate London. My last job was restoring an Edwardian organ in the basement of a London museum. I felt like I hadn’t seen daylight in months. I couldn’t have asked for a better job at a better time than this.’

I glance at the giant tent behind me. There’s not much of the carousel to see. He hasn’t opened the tent from this side, so all that’s on show is the greyish white canvas of the marquee covering and enough space for Nathan to work around it. ‘Do you get many jobs like this?’

‘It’s been a while since I was sent anywhere quite as perfect as this, but yeah, I go out to fix things in situ if I can. Our workshop is on the outskirts of London, so we get stuff brought in there or shipped to us, or we go out to jobs like this one. There’s six of us there and we all have different specialities. My boss is one of the leading antique restorers in the country, so people go to him with whatever they need doing and he decides which of us is best suited to the job. I’m lucky that I mainly fix big old things because I’m more likely to get to go out to jobs. I’m probably sixty per cent away and forty per cent in the workshop. The guys who fix up furniture and small easily moveable things are almost always in the workshop.’

Which explains his absence on the train for weeks at a time. It’s easy to tell how much he likes being outside. It’s something I’d never really thought about until I wandered through Pearlholme, but I don’t get much fresh air either. I’d always thought I got enough on the walk from my flat to the tube station every day and the lunchtime walks to the nearest sandwich shop, but there’s a difference between London fresh air and real fresh air.

I can’t help looking at his hands again as he leans down to draw mindless patterns in the sand at his feet. ‘Do you know they’ve invented these really clever hand coverings for people who do messy jobs … called gloves?’

Instead of being offended like I feared he might, he laughs, a warm sound that shakes the wood we’re sitting on. ‘I need to be able to feel what I’m doing. See this?’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small metal thing he was rubbing earlier. ‘They’re the bearings that allow the carousel to turn, and because it’s so old, they’ve got gunk all around them where it isn’t supposed to be. I’ve got to be able to feel if they’re damaged – if there are any chips or splits it’ll affect the movement – and the best tool I’ve got for clearing these little ridges out is my thumbnail.’

He rubs the metal thing with his thumb and then runs his nail along one of the grooves in it, a tiny noodle of grease appearing in its wake.

He wipes it on the cloth. ‘We’ve got fantastic gloves that are like a second skin, but nowt’s as good as actually feeling something this old with your fingers. I think you can almost feel the years that have passed.’ He rubs the bearing with the cloth and then shoves it quickly back into his pocket, suddenly seeming embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I’m sure you’re not even vaguely interested in my metal bits.’

‘No, I am, it’s fascinating. I love carousels but I’ve never thought about how they work, and I’ve definitely never met anyone who does something so interesting before.’

‘Ah, me and the word “interesting” don’t belong in a sentence together. You just don’t know me well enough yet.’

There’s that ‘yet’ again. The butterflies that haven’t left my stomach since the train the other morning take off in another storm of fluttering.

‘And I am sorry about the mess.’ He holds his hands out in front of him and wiggles his fingers again. ‘Modern grease tends to come off with wet wipes. The old stuff that’s in this is like tar – they don’t make it like this anymore.’

I look behind us at the tent. ‘How old is it then?’

‘Oh, I wish I knew.’ His face lights up, making laughter lines crinkle around his eyes again. ‘Usually they’re emblazoned with the name of the maker and the date, but this one isn’t. I can vaguely date it because the horses are solid wood, anything from the 1930s or Forties would’ve been aluminium, and it changed to fibreglass in the Fifties, but only pre-1930 would’ve been made solely of wood, so it’s definitely at least that old, but from the style, the trappings and just the way it’s carved … I’d say it’s older than that, the late 1800s to the turn of the century. It matches what you would’ve seen at that time, but it’s nothing like a commercial carousel, and it’s definitely never had commercial use— Sorry, I’m rambling. Simple answer: late Victorian era.’

‘Oh, please, ramble away, it’s fascinating.’

‘You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that, but fascinating is code for, “When will the boring bastard shut up? Oh God, is he still going? Kill me now”, usually accompanied by the distorted facial expressions of trying to hide a yawn.’

It makes me laugh even though it probably shouldn’t. He gives me a smile when I meet his eyes, but I get the feeling that it covers something deeper. ‘I used to love going on these when I was little. There was one on the seafront where we went every summer and I always went on the same horse. Mum used to call it “my” horse.’

‘Me too. My nan and granddad used to take my brother and me for days out by the seaside when I was young and the carousel was the only thing my nan was brave enough to go on. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to fixing them … but seriously, everyone in my life knows better than to ask me questions about work because I get overexcited talking about it.’

I tuck a leg under my thigh and turn towards him, trying to figure out why anyone would want him to shut up. ‘Do you know the film Carousel?’

‘The old Rodgers and Hammerstein musical from before The Sound of Music? The one that “You’ll Never Walk Alone” comes from and no one knows that?’

I’m smiling again as I nod. ‘It’s one of my favourite films.’

He screws his face up. ‘It’s about a dead guy who hits his wife and then gets a chance to go back to earth and make amends so he hits his daughter instead.’

‘It’s about a man who died before he could bring himself to tell his wife that he loved her because he thought she deserved better than him, when all she really wanted was for him to realise that he was good enough and always had been.’

He hums the chorus of ‘If I Loved You’. ‘I’ve got about six copies on DVD. When you work on carousels, it’s a go-to present every Christmas and birthday regardless of the fact someone “goes to” it every year. It’s not exactly my favourite film but it has a certain charm.’

‘My best friend thinks I’m nuts for loving it.’

‘I like it because films were magical back then. Every movie meant something; they weren’t the action-packed blockbusters that are just like every other one of the hundred action-packed blockbusters that come out each week. They were a real experience to go and see. I love watching old films because they’re such a snapshot of times gone by.’

I grin at him again and wave towards the giant structure behind me. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw all those photos of wooden horses on your phone. I mean, what are the chances?’

When he smiles this time, I can see the tension drain from his shoulders. ‘Do you want to have a look? It’s mostly in pieces and a total mess, but if you wanted …’

‘I’d love to,’ I say, loving the way the lip he was biting as he asked spreads instantly into a wide smile.

He jumps to his feet and holds a hand out to pull me up and I’m just about to slip mine into it when I look up and realise what I’m doing. ‘Better not, thanks.’

He groans and rips his hand away, swiftly hiding them both behind his back. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me today. I keep wanting to explain that I’m not usually this much of an idiot, but I’ve needed to say it about ten times so far and every time just proves the point.’

‘You’re great,’ I say and then blush furiously. There’s forthright and there’s forthright. ‘I mean, this whole place is great, the beach, the carousel, the ice cream. I’m glad I came.’ I pretend to focus on getting to my feet and pulling the legs of my capri trousers down where they’ve ridden up my thick calves so I don’t have to look at his gorgeous face.

My sandals tap on the wooden walkway as I follow him around the side of the tent and through a gap where the material is pulled aside.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he says, and I smile at the way he drops the ‘h’. I love a Yorkshire accent.

‘Wow.’ I can’t help the intake of breath as I look around, even though it’s no more than the skeleton of a carousel at the moment. There’s a tall, thick pole in the centre, supported by diagonal posts, with rods extending out from the top of it like the arms of an umbrella. A rusty-looking engine is next to it, and an old pipe organ, but all the horses are stacked on the floor, and there are metal bars lying all over the place, and various piles of metal bits like the one Nathan showed me. ‘You did all this by yourself?’

‘What, took it apart?’ He continues when I nod. ‘That’s my job. I mean, the owner got the platform built and the tent’s been up for protection since he bought it, but my job is to strip carousels, fix them, and rebuild them. You can get them apart in half a day if you know what you’re doing.’

‘Where did it come from?’

‘That’s the most interesting part. No one knows. The guy who owns the fish and chip shop on the promenade is some millionaire fish and chip mogul. He won it in a blind auction and got planning permission to install it on the beach. Apparently he’s going to do free rides for everyone who buys food there or something.’

‘A millionaire fish and chip shop mogul … It’s not Ian Beale, is it?’

‘An EastEnders fan,’ he says with a laugh.

‘Not really, but my mum insists on telling me every plot point in minute detail. The more I protest, the more I hear about it.’ I’m sure he didn’t want to know that. ‘Can you find out anything else about it?’

‘When I collected the fence keys from the chip shop, the girl serving said it was found in an abandoned house or something. I’m hoping that stripping it down will give me more clues about its origin.’

‘What do you think?’ I ask because I get the impression he wants to say more.

His face lights up again. ‘It’s definitely not been outside because it doesn’t have the wear, so an abandoned house would make sense. Must’ve been a massive house though – can you imagine getting something this big into one of our crappy one-bedroom flats?’

I shake my head, looking up at the spire on top. It really is humungous.

‘There’s a dent in the top and damage to the rounding boards, and the top bars are bent, so that suggests something fell on it. From the scratches and debris, I’d guess a roof or ceiling came down on it, but at the same time, I’d guess that whatever it was also gave it some kind of protection. This is in incredible condition for the age of it, it must’ve been well cared for back in the day, and although it’s obviously been let go since then, it doesn’t have anywhere near the damage you’d expect.’

The tent smells of aged wood and the grease that Nathan’s hands are covered in, and I wander around the circular area, stepping over the metal posts that he’s carefully laid out. I run my fingers down one of the support poles suspended from the bars above, carved into a twist and covered in tarnished gold paint, which comes off in flakes when I touch it. ‘Did you say that this was all carved by one person?’

‘I reckon so, yeah. I think this was a personal project, something never intended for public use. It doesn’t have the glitz of a fairground ride, but it has a personal touch in every bit of carving. There are the same quirks in every part. I can’t see how it could’ve been the work of a workshop where you’ve got different carvers working on each bit. It doesn’t feel like that.’

‘It must’ve taken forever.’ I look around in awe as I crouch down and run my fingers over what I assume is one of the rounding boards he mentioned, a lavishly carved but battered frame surrounding cracked mirror glass, one of many stacked against each other on the floor. They look like they belong on a castle wall with an evil queen peering in and asking who’s the fairest of them all. The intricacy of one simple panel is incredible, and it’s unimaginable that one person could’ve done all of this by hand, but Nathan really seems to know what he’s talking about.

‘This is such a massive find. Original steam-powered gallopers from that era are so rare. There are only about seventy in the world and this isn’t one that’s registered. It’s also the most complete one I’ve ever come across and in as near to original condition as possible. It’s incredible. Look at this.’ His long legs step over a tangle of metal poles as he walks towards one of the wooden horses lined up at the edge of the tent. ‘These have only ever been painted once. That’s unheard of for something of this age. Usually when I go to restore carousel animals, the biggest job is stripping back layers and layers of paint where someone’s thought they were preserving it by slapping on another coat every few years. This is the original lead-based enamel that’s been out of existence for decades now … Why are you smiling?’

I blush and try to rearrange my face because I hadn’t realised I was. It doesn’t work. I can’t stop myself smiling at his enthusiasm. ‘Because you know so much.’