Читать книгу Coming Home to Wishington Bay - Maxine Morrey - Страница 12

Waking up at 5 a.m. was proving to be a hard habit to break, even though I had no Tube to catch or specific place to be. That didn’t mean I didn’t have things to do though so, as inviting as this bed was, its downy softness cradling me in comfort, I forced myself not to linger. Kicking back the covers, I pushed myself up, slipped my feet into some hotel slippers I’d snaffled out from a five-star place in Hong Kong in a moment of reckless abandon and headed to the shower.

I’d been here nearly a week now and had already had two lectures from my brother and Carrie about how important breakfast was. Pointing out that I knew this thanks to half of my meetings taking place over breakfast due to differing time zones got me nothing but two exasperated looks and an explanation more suited to a 5-year-old that they were referring to the actual meal. I’d tried to laugh it off but I couldn’t shake the niggle that my automatic reaction when someone mentioned breakfast was to equate it with work and meetings rather than actual food, and that perhaps that wasn’t such a good thing.

However, I was making an effort, even if I knew it was unlikely I’d be able to keep it up once I went home. Two eggs were now floating leisurely in their silicone pods in a pan of water, slowly poaching as I prepared the toast and pulled the tub of guacamole I’d made the night before from the fridge. As the eggs began to look ready, I grabbed the toast from the toaster, spread both pieces with some of the guacamole and then plopped one perfectly poached egg on each slice.

For once I didn’t look at my phone whilst I ate – something else I’d got a telling-off from my big brother for a couple of days back when I’d dropped into the restaurant for lunch. After a few delicious mouthfuls, he’d appeared at the table and whisked my plate away!

‘What the …?’

‘That wasn’t carefully and lovingly cooked so that you could then barely taste it because you’re too busy looking at your phone, checking on work that you’re supposed to have left behind!’

‘I have left it behind!’ I said, making a swipe for my plate as Carrie approached the table, taking my plate from Ned and placing it back in front of me.

‘Thank you!’ I said.

‘Don’t look too smug,’ Carrie warned, pulling out a chair and lowering herself onto it. ‘I happen to agree with him. I just don’t like seeing good food go to waste. And you need to eat.’

I rolled my eyes as I took another mouthful. ‘Traitor.’

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Ned’s right. You’re supposed to have left all this behind. That was the whole point of you coming down here. To take a break. Reading about the markets, and checking emails, statistics and God knows whatever else it is that you do isn’t taking a break.’

‘Of course it is! I’m not in the office. I’m not answering emails.’

‘But you’re constantly logging in to see if there are any there to answer.’

I let out a sigh. ‘I think “constantly” is a bit strong.’

‘Fine. Regularly.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Even though I really, really wanted to.

‘Give me your phone,’ Ned said, suddenly.

‘What? No!’ I snatched it up and clutched it to me like I was protecting a small child.

The two sets of raised eyebrows I received in reaction confirmed my inkling that that probably wasn’t the healthiest of reactions.

‘I mean … I need my phone. I use it … for all sorts of things. I’m researching ideas for the house, and estate agents and stuff.’

They exchanged a look. ‘Fair enough. And actually I wouldn’t want you to be without a phone over there anyway, just in case.’

‘I’m not about to be uncontactable with the baby on the way either, so whatever you’re thinking isn’t going to work.’

‘Yes it is,’ Ned said with a tone of such self-assurance that I feared he might actually be right. ‘I’ll swap you. I just upgraded mine and the old one is just sitting here. It’s still a nice phone, but it’s not full of all your financial crap and email and messaging apps.’

‘That crap happens to be my job!’

‘Which you’re not supposed to be doing right now!’ His voice was low but his tone was steady and determined. It was a tone I recognised. It was the same one he’d used when he’d told my dad he was going to catering college, something that my father had never agreed with. Although at least he’d shown a flicker of interest in Ned’s choice, even if it was to disagree. All he’d ever said about me was that ‘Holly’s a bright girl. She’ll do well.’ And I had. Although that was no thanks to my father. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps if he hadn’t just turned in on himself after Mum died, had realised that Ned and I were lost too and that we still needed him, I might not have disappeared into my books and schoolwork quite so much.

The older and lonelier I got, especially once Ned went away to college, the more determined I was to do the very best I could. It was an escape plan. And it had worked. I’d got into Cambridge, graduated top of my class with a First and immediately been head-hunted by one of London’s most prestigious investment firms. They’d wanted me and that had been rather a novel feeling after so many years of feeling like my father barely noticed me. I didn’t hate him. But I’d been angry for a long time. He’d been ill. Destroyed by grief – but he’d never even tried to get help. It was as though Ned and I barely existed. If it hadn’t been for Gigi and Grandpa, I honestly don’t know what would have happened to us.

Ned had managed things better than I had. He hadn’t let the fear of not feeling like you were enough affect him. He’d believed in himself and he’d found Carrie and built a beautifully warm and welcoming life with her. A life full of laughter, and colour and fun, as well as hard work. I tried not to think too much about the contrast in our lives. I certainly had the hard work bit down but the rest …

‘So, what do you say?’

‘You want me to swap phones with you?’

‘Well, you take my old one, and this one goes in a locked drawer in our house.’

‘What if someone needs me? They wouldn’t have the number!’

Ned swung a glance at Carrie then back to me. ‘That’s rather the point.’

‘But …’

‘Who’s going to need you?’ Ned asked and I flinched. Automatically his hand went out and caught my wrist. ‘That came out wrong.’

I laughed it off. At least I tried to but I don’t think I convinced any of us. But acknowledging that was something else entirely.

‘Why don’t you try it?’ Carrie asked, taking my hand. ‘Let’s say for two weeks to start with?’

‘Two weeks?’ I squeaked. ‘Am I allowed to look at anything?’

‘Nope. You can get a paper in the village if you’re that bothered about general news but no Financial Times!’

I gripped my phone a little tighter and felt my heart hammering. Was that normal? Should I really be having this bad a reaction to someone just asking me not to check my work? But what if there was a crisis? What if Gerald really needed my advice on something? What if one of my biggest clients suddenly—

‘Holly? Holly!’

The glass was cool against my damp palm as my thoughts stopped swimming, along with the room.

‘Take a sip.’ My brother’s concerned face came into focus. ‘I think this would be a good idea. Just for a couple of weeks. Give your mind and body a chance to relax a bit.’ There was nothing but caring in his tone now. Care and worry. With his first baby on the way, I felt terrible that I was adding to his plate. If trying what they asked would alleviate some of those worries, then it was the least I could do. It was only two weeks after all.

‘OK.’ I slid the phone across the table. ‘Two weeks.’

The look of relief on both of their faces told me I’d done the right thing, however many knots my stomach had tied itself into.

‘But I definitely need pudding now. I’ve had a terrible shock.’

Ned rolled his eyes but I saw some of the strain there had lessened. ‘There’s some sticky toffee kicking about in the kitchen. That do?’

‘Perfect.’

* * *

Hooking the wicker basket over my forearm, I pulled the door closed behind me and began walking up the lane that led from the house. The sun was beginning to burn through the early morning mist. I knew some of the shops were yet to open but Carrie had told me about a cute little café that I should try. As I was in need of supplies – and had gained some extra time this morning since I hadn’t looked at email, financial news or social media – I thought I’d take a stroll into town and try it out. I’d even brought a book with me. To be honest, that might have been pushing the whole relaxing thing as I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read something that wasn’t a financial report but seeing the worry on Ned and Carrie’s faces had spurred me into trying a little harder, for their sakes. After all, it was only for the summer.

As the lane flattened out, I looked around, taking in the beautiful houses that butted up against the main bulk of the village. Many of these were of the same era as Gigi’s with large gardens, all beautifully landscaped and cared for, some in formal linear beds full of box hedges, and sculpted topiaries and another – perhaps my favourite – a complete riot of colour with flowers and leaves, none of which I knew the names of, rammed into bustling cottage garden borders, clashing wildly and yet harmonising at the same time.

I stopped as the scent of roses wafted headily across my path. Turning, I saw the source. A huge, tumbling and climbing rose bush scrambling across a large archway, its soft white blooms emanating clouds of perfume to anyone who passed. Impulsively I took one flower gently in my hand, inhaled, and smiled to myself at the thought I’d be able to tell my brother that I’d literally stopped to smell the roses.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

I jumped. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean …’

An older, very elegant lady in a large, wide-brimmed straw hat strolled towards me across the garden, waving my protestations away, a broad smile on her face.

‘You must be Betty’s granddaughter.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

I nodded.

‘I thought so. She always loved that rose too. Never failed to stop and give it a sniff when it was in bloom.’

I felt a little shift inside of me as I thought of my beloved grandmother and the fact that I’d just unknowingly repeated an action she must have done hundreds of times, looking at the size of the rose bush.

‘I’m Eleanor,’ the woman said, holding out her hand.

‘Holly. It’s nice to meet you. You have a very beautiful garden.’

‘Thank you. We like it.’

‘It must be a lot of work.’

‘I suppose it depends how much you enjoy gardening. There’s often a lot to do, that’s true, but if you love something, it feels less like work, don’t you find?’

‘Yes … I suppose so.’ I enjoyed what I did but there was no doubt in my mind that it most definitely felt like work.

‘Do you garden, Holly?’

‘Me? Oh no. I sort of deadheaded a few of Gigi’s flowers the other day but to be honest I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.’

‘We all learn by doing. Bertie and I had no idea what we were doing when we bought this place. It was all just lawn and that was about as much as we could cope with.’

‘But now you have all this,’ I said, my eyes roaming over the riotous colours surrounding the gleaming white of the freshly painted house.

‘We do. But there’s been a lot of trial and error. Gigi’s garden is lovely. She wasn’t especially into faffing like I am, so I helped her choose some nice low-maintenance plants. You shouldn’t have too much to do, but I’m always here if you ever want to ask anything. Bertie will laugh and tell you not to wake the dragon.’ She had a fabulous laugh that made you want to join her. ‘I’m not quite sure if I should be offended by the mention of the word dragon when he says that but when you’ve been married as long as we have …’ She flapped her hand and laughed again.

‘That’s really kind of you to offer, thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll probably just tidy it a little bit. Gabe has been good enough to keep an eye on it I think – it’s not as overgrown as I thought it might be so that’s one less thing to worry about before getting the estate agents round.’

‘Gabe was a godsend for Betty. I think she enjoyed having him there to fuss over.’

‘I think you’re right.’

‘But estate agents? Does that mean you’re not staying?’

‘Unfortunately not. I live in London.’

‘It’s a perfect weekend retreat,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye.

I smiled, seeing immediately how well my grandmother and Eleanor would have got on, imagining them chatting as we were now, as Gigi took her almost daily stroll into town.

‘It would be. I mean, it is. It’s just … I work a lot.’

Eleanor tilted her head a little. ‘Too much, from what I hear.’

‘Gigi always says that … I mean said that.’ I swallowed hard at my inadvertent tense error.

Eleanor reached over the low wall and patted my hand. ‘It’s not just Betty who told me that about you. We go to Ned and Carrie’s restaurant all the time.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘But it’s nice to see you taking some time here anyway.’

‘Yes. I’m actually on sabbatical from my job for a few months, so this seemed the perfect place to spend it.’

‘Well, maybe we’ll grow on you.’ She squeezed my hand, smiling.

‘Oh, I already know I love it here. I just have to be practical. Unfortunately.’

‘Practical can be a little over-rated.’ There was that glint again.

I shook my head, laughing. ‘You’re as bad as my grandmother was.’

‘That’s probably why we were such good friends.’

I smiled. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh, my dear.’ She cupped my face for a moment with one hand, both linked in our grief of missing someone who had meant such a lot to each of us.

‘Off to explore the village then?’ A man’s voice drifted out before a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman appeared from behind one of the large borders. ‘I hope my Eleanor hasn’t been interrogating you about your garden.’ His wife rolled her eyes but the love of decades showed on both their faces.

‘Bertie. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Holly, and you.’

‘This is Betty’s granddaughter.’

‘I thought it might be. You have your grandmother’s eyes.’

‘Doesn’t she?’ Eleanor said, turning to him. It wasn’t the first time I’d been told this. Personally, I’d never seen it. I mean they’d been the same colour but Gigi’s had always been full of laughter and mischief. Mine, not so much.

‘Stocking up the larder?’ he asked, indicating the basket.

‘Yes. It’s ages since I had a good nose around the village so I thought I’d take advantage.’

‘Capital idea.’

I smiled at the slightly dated language, which seemed absolutely correct coming from this upright gent, with his military bearing and hair as white as his house.

‘Well, it was lovely to meet you both.’

‘And you, Holly. And don’t forget, we’re always around. If you need anything, just pop up.’

‘Thank you. I will.’

We said our goodbyes and I headed on up the lane and into the village, pondering over the encounter. I’d been in my flat in London for over seven years and I could count on one hand the number of words I’d exchanged with any of my neighbours. I’d never even been inclined to. I, and they, were always in such a rush. Nobody had time to talk. But here in Wishington Bay, things were different. Very different. And worryingly, I rather liked it.

Having found the café Carrie had insisted I try, I ordered a croissant and a decaf coffee. I’d begun to wonder if the symptoms I’d been getting, the shortness of breath, the tingling, panicky feeling as the room spun around me, might be something to do with the copious amounts of caffeine I funnelled into my system day after day. Perhaps it was trying to tell me something. Probably the same thing my doctor would have told me had I been truthful on my last company check-up about the amount of caffeine I drank and the amount of exercise I did – or rather didn’t do. But still. I was trying now. I’d walked into the village and I was on decaf. Baby steps.

The croissant was the softest, butteriest one I had had outside a bistro in France and I decided it was probably a good thing I wasn’t staying because having discovered this fact could be very bad for my waistline. The book remained in my basket but I occupied myself with watching the village awaken outside the window – shutters going up, awnings being wound down, ready to protect from the strengthening sun, and signs and tables being put out on to the pavements. There was bustle but unlike the chaotic type I was used to in London, this was gentle and almost calming. It was comforting.

Leaving the café, I headed further into the village, peering in the windows of the shops, stopping in one that sold locally produced goods, including some of the cutest children’s wear I’d ever seen. Three baby outfits in my basket later and I was back on my way, passing The Lighthouse. I was glad to see the pub still thriving, having seen so many around the country fall into debt and close. A board advertised teas and coffees, as well as some delicious-sounding specials, and of course the inevitable sports matches. From what Ned had told me, they’d cleverly screened off one area for this activity so that it managed to maintain its country pub atmosphere while still doing what it needed to help bring in the custom. Holidaymakers especially didn’t like to miss a big game so although the owners had been somewhat hesitant initially to make this change, they’d done it well and reaped the benefits.

‘Morning!’ A man smiled and nodded as he watered the window boxes that lined all the sills of the pub on this side.

‘Morning.’

‘Going to be another beautiful day,’ he said, his Barbadian accent melodic while his smile, wide and bright, brought out my own.

‘It certainly looks that way.’

‘I’m never wrong on these things!’ He laughed and I couldn’t help but join him.

‘The window boxes look amazing.’

‘Well, thank you! They’re rather my pride and joy. We’ve won the village Best in Bloom award a few times over the years and I like to think I’ve helped a little in that.’

I ran my eyes over the pub again, taking in the flowers bursting and spilling out of the boxes, their red and white contrasting with the pale blue of their containers.

‘I’m very sure you did, if this display is anything to go by.’

‘That’s most kind of you. Thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘Are you on holiday here or just visiting us for the day?’

‘Actually I’m staying for a little while. In Betty Gardner’s house. I’m her granddaughter.’

‘Oh well then, welcome, welcome! There’s a drink here waiting for you whenever you’re ready. Betty was a wonderful woman.’

‘She was. And thank you.’

‘Anytime. It’s nice to know there’s someone breathing life into that place again. Gabe’s done what he can from the outside, of course, but a house needs love from the inside too. Kind of like people.’

‘You’re quite the philosopher.’ I smiled.

He did the boomy laugh again, making me smile more. ‘My wife says the same thing. Usually before she gives me another chore to get on with.’

‘Perhaps she thinks it’s best to keep you busy?’

‘Have you been talking to her?’ He grinned.

‘No, but maybe I will when I come for that drink.’

‘Excellent! Excellent! Then we’ll look forward to seeing you …’

‘Holly.’

‘Holly. I’m Edward. My wife is Philomena, and we shall very much look forward to seeing you at The Lighthouse.’

I shook the hand he offered, smiling as he laid his other on top and then waved as I left.

Making my way through the small streets, I stopped at the butcher’s, bakery and greengrocer’s, filling my basket with fresh, fragrant produce and not a hint of a plastic bag in sight.

‘Mind those sausages,’ the butcher had cautioned once he realised I lived next door to Gabe – or more specifically Bryan. ‘He’s a fiend for sausages, that one. Certainly lives up to his breed name!’ I thanked him, assuring him that I would keep them somewhere the little dog wouldn’t be able to snaffle them before heading back out into the street and nipping through one of the tiny alleys that led through to the beachfront side of the village.

It was this side that Ned’s restaurant sat but I knew he’d be busy getting ready for lunchtime now and Carrie was at the surgery today so I walked down onto the beach, pulled my sandals off, hooked the straps over my fingers and pointed myself towards home.