‘Of course it is,’ she snapped, even though she didn’t fully believe it. It should be. ‘You dumped me.’
But deep down, she knew she was more angry than heartbroken, more scared at the loss of security than love. More annoyed at the fact her carefully laid plans had been disrupted.
Oh, damn it. Christabel had been right all along.
She’d wanted the wedding, the happy ever after, the certainty of forever on this island. Not Paul. And it had taken him breaking up with her for her to realise it.
He gave her a very faint smile. ‘I’m sorry, Miranda.’
She didn’t want his apologies. Not when he’d stirred up so many unwelcome thoughts in her. She felt like her chest was filled with seawater, crushing her heart and stopping her breath, drowning her from the inside out.
She needed to get away from here.
Turning on her heel, Miranda stalked out of the Crab Leg Cafe, waving off concerned but curious glances from Becca as she went. She didn’t need people right now.
She needed her island.
Outside, the fresh sea air filled her lungs, letting her breathe again. She sucked in huge gulps of it, the salt and the tang and the slight chill in the summer breeze. Then, aware that she was probably being watched by half a dozen curious locals and tourists, she started walking.
She should go back to the office, but her feet didn’t even try to take her in that direction. She’d call in sick – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a sick day, and surely Nigel would understand, in the circumstances.
Right now, she just wanted to go home. Not to the flat over the fish and chip shop she’d shared with Paul for the last four years. But to the first place that had ever really been home to her.
She took the curving path out of the main town of St Mary’s up the cliff road towards Gull Bay, and the Lighthouse.
When her parents had first moved there, the building had been abandoned, run down, and basically an eyesore. The parish council had been thrilled that someone – anyone – was willing to take it on, even arty newcomers with no credit history to speak of. But Josie and Iestyn Waters had found their forever home at last, and they’d thrown everything they had into making it perfect, from the whitewashed walls outside, to the cosy, welcoming rooms inside.
Miranda remembered those early days, when every wall needed scrubbing and painting, when there wasn’t even a cooker to start with, and sometimes there were frogs in the toilet. The building itself had once been home to the lighthouse keeper and his family, and the lighthouse tower still stood at the end of the garden. At ten, she’d been confused by this, sure that lighthouse keepers had to live a solitary, lonely existence on a rock somewhere, not stay in a large, sprawling house with their family. But that had only been her first indication that they did things differently on Seashell Island.
The lighthouse itself was always dark now except for one night a year, when her father lit it for the end-of-summer festival they threw for the whole island. As Miranda groped in her bag for her keys, one hand resting against the duck-egg-blue door of the house, the memory of the summer festivals settled her. Soon, her parents would be home again, and life would go back to normal. Even without Paul.
She was home. That was all that mattered.
Twisting the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the cool hallway welcoming her and slowing her heart. Misty appeared from nowhere, winding her scrawny body around Miranda’s ankles.
Miranda dropped her bag to the wooden floor, crouched down to pet the cat, and let herself just feel safe again for a moment.
Nothing has changed. Not really. Nothing has changed.
She might have lost Paul, but she still had the Lighthouse, and Misty, and her family. That was what really mattered, right? She still had her home, and the certainty that brought.
Immersing herself in familiarity, she picked the reservations book off the shelf by the telephone and flipped through its pages, smiling at her mum’s loopy script detailing visitors’ names, and her father’s more precise hand adding details about their visit. Then, when she reached the last six weeks, it was her own handwriting keeping track of the guests. It had been fun running the Lighthouse B&B while her parents were away, but it would be nice to hand it back to them when they returned.
She turned the next page, deciding to look forward, not back, but it was empty. So was the next.
Miranda frowned. That was unusual. Normally, the Lighthouse was booked up all summer long. She’d been so busy keeping track of all the immediate bookings, she hadn’t thought to look ahead. But now, as she paged through the summer months, she saw they were all empty.
How could the Lighthouse have no guests this summer?
‘Dad must have put them on the computer booking system,’ she muttered to herself, as she replaced the book. It would be unusual, she’d admit – her father had always preferred paper to digital, even when it came to writing the first drafts of his essays and articles.
The sharp, shrill ring of the landline echoed off the pale grey walls and, making a mental note to check the online booking system on her laptop, Miranda stretched past the ‘To The Beach’ arrow sign to answer it before the machine kicked in. After all, if the book was right, they needed all the guests they could get this summer.
‘The Lighthouse B&B.’ Her voice came out a little hoarse, but hopefully prospective guests wouldn’t notice.
‘Miranda? Is everything OK?’
Her mother’s voice flowed over her like a warm blanket, and Miranda sank down to sit on the stairs and luxuriate in the security of it. The six weeks her parents had been gone had felt like forever to Miranda. They’d all stayed in touch via messages and photos, but even that had trailed off over the last week or so as her parents enjoyed a boat trip down the Great Barrier Reef that took them out of phone reception.
‘Mum! Everything’s fine. Are you at the airport? It’s the middle of the night there! Your flight must be soon. I can’t believe you’re nearly home!’
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
‘Actually,’ Josie said, eventually, ‘that’s why I’m calling. There’s been a change of plan.’
LEO
‘Look!’ Abby, fortunately, seemed to be as unaffected by boat travel as by train travel. She bounced up and down at the ferry’s railings, one small finger jutting out towards the approaching coastline. ‘There it is! Seashell Island!’
Mia was beside her sister in a flash, apparently oblivious to the fact that they’d been able to see the island practically since they left the mainland. Most of the time, the small, shell-shaped island wasn’t so far from the coast of Wales as to be invisible, even if it did feel a whole world away. Today, the skies were clear, and the cloud or mist that sometimes obscured Seashell Island had burned off in the summer sunshine.
Leo leaned against the railing beside them, alert and ready to reach out an arm if either of them looked like slipping through the metal bars. Their tiny bodies were so slender, they could fit through anything, disappear into the water before he could stop them. He could feel his body tensing at just the thought of the risk.
Shit. Suddenly, it hit him.
He was responsible, entirely responsible for these two little lives for the whole summer. Emily wasn’t just around the corner in the house she shared with Mark if he had a problem or Abby had forgotten her favourite bear or if he had to dash into the office and cut short their weekend together. He was Dad this summer, the only parent they had for the next five weeks. It was all on him, and the realisation squeezed his heart tight.
‘There’s the Lighthouse!’ Mia yelled, and some of the pressure on his poor heart retreated.
The Lighthouse. Mum and Dad. Their flight would be landing by this time tomorrow. He wouldn’t be on his own with the girls for too much longer.
H
e wouldn’t have to do this alone.
Mia and Abby would probably have far more fun with his parents than with him, anyway. Mum and Dad wouldn’t want to follow Emily’s list of rules either – they’d never exactly been strict parents. Miranda had been the one to keep them all in line, ensuring their uniform was correct and their packed lunches were healthy. While their parents had believed entirely in free will and spontaneity, Miranda had gone very much the other way.
Maybe he should ask Miranda to watch the girls for the summer . . . except he’d like his daughters to still be speaking to him by the end of it. And he doubted Miranda had become any less bossy over the years when it came to limiting sugar and enforcing bedtimes. Emily managed to do it somehow automatically, as if bedtime was the natural conclusion to the day, and the girls went along with it happily. When he tried – and he suspected when Miranda would try – there was a lot more complaining.
As the tides crashed against the side of the small foot ferry, Leo focused on the town coming into view. With hardly any cars allowed on the island, most boats docked at the small harbour right by the town, and as the ferry powered closer, he could make out the landscape of his childhood and teenage years.
The Long Beach, where he and his sisters had eaten ice cream and built sandcastles. The caves – supposedly once used by smugglers – where he and his friends had hidden out when ditching school or drinking underage at night. And, as they docked, the Crab Leg Cafe, where he’d worked for three summers before leaving the island for good. The ice-cream parlour – the Ice House – where, at the age of fourteen, he’d taken his first girlfriend on their first date.
And yes, there on the clifftop beyond the town of St Mary’s, at the tip of one side of the island before the beginning of the long curve around the back, the Lighthouse. Where he’d argued with Miranda, hidden out with Juliet planning their escape, despaired of his parents trying to be cool in front of his friends – but also where he’d eaten homemade cakes and told his dad about his day, where he’d learned to play the guitar (badly), where he’d climbed out of his bedroom window and back in again six hours later to find a glass of water and two headache tablets waiting for him. Where he’d celebrated birthdays and milestones and laughed and sung and cried.
Where he’d lived.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to revisit the past, just for the summer. After all, for all his business successes, Leo would be the first to admit that the relationship side of his life could do with some work. And every other side of his life that wasn’t work.
Or, as Emily had put it on the anniversary of their divorce last year (which they’d celebrated with a family dinner. Which, now he thought about it, possibly wasn’t normal behaviour either), ‘Sometimes, Leo, I think you forget that other people exist at all. Or that they’re not just supporting characters in your acceptance speech for businessman of the year.’
Juliet, visiting for dinner too, had tried to defend him, citing his insistence on her always texting when she got home safe from a night out. Emily had given him a look that told him this just proved her point – because until they separated, she’d been there on those nights when he’d been woken up by his buzzing phone, having forgotten Juliet completely until the message came through. But at least the thought was there, right?
Seashell Island had formed him as a person – formed all of them, really, even if they’d all turned out wildly different. Miranda, wedded to this place so strongly that she’d never leave; Juliet, desperate to experience everything and everyone outside the island, all at once it seemed – ricocheting from job to job and relationship to fling. And him, trying to have that normal life – career, marriage, family – even if it no longer looked like other people said it was supposed to.
But as the ferry docked, Leo realised he no longer felt like that man, the one who’d been fighting his way through London life. Instead, he breathed in the ocean air and felt more like the eighteen-year-old who’d left this place fourteen years ago.
Was this where he’d imagined he’d be now? Running home to beg his parents for help because he couldn’t look after his own children? Not exactly.
‘Come on, Dad!’ Abby grabbed his free hand, while the other pulled the suitcase behind them as they ran for the exit, Mia dragging the other suitcase alongside them. ‘I want to see Grandma and Grandad!’
‘They’re not back yet,’ Mia reminded her, as they joined the queue to get off the ferry. ‘They’ll be back tomorrow. Remember?’
‘I bet they bring presents. My friend Gracie says her grandparents always bring presents when they go on holiday,’ Abby said, knowledgeably.
Leo didn’t answer that. Mum and Dad had never really been on holiday before. He hoped they knew about the expectations of their grandchildren. Mia was definitely old enough now to notice if the rock they gave them had ‘Seashell Island’ through the middle instead of ‘Brisbane Australia’.
‘Do we get a taxi up to the Lighthouse?’ Abby asked, as they dragged the cases along the stone jetty.
Leo huffed a laugh. ‘No cars, remember. We’ll have to walk.’ Normally, his parents would be waiting for them on the jetty, along with Miranda and Paul sometimes too. Between them, getting the cases up to the Lighthouse had never been a problem. But he hadn’t told Miranda which ferry he was catching in his text, and Mia didn’t look like she was relishing the thought of dragging her case all the way up the cliff path.
‘We could ride up in that!’ Mia pointed to a horse and carriage, idling outside the Ice House.
‘I think that’s just for tours of the town,’ Leo explained.
‘I reckon they might make an exception for the two prettiest girls on Seashell Island,’ a gravelly voice said from behind them.
‘Albert!’ Mia and Abby cried, spinning around to hug the old man.
Leo wrinkled his nose as Albert Tuna and the stench of his trade invaded his personal space. Emily had met him on her first trip to the island, twelve years ago, and instantly befriended the old fisherman. As they’d returned with the girls, summer after summer, the old man had watched them grow, watched over them on the beaches, and always saved the best of his catch for them. Emily called him their ‘Fishy godfather’, which sounded about right.
‘Here to welcome your grandparents home, are you?’ Albert said, and the girls nodded. ‘And I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see you. Now, why don’t we go have a word with Harriet – she’s the one with the carriage – and see about getting you three up to the Lighthouse before dinner.’
When he saw the delighted looks on his daughters’ faces as they hung off Albert Tuna’s arms while he spoke with Harriet, Leo decided he could ignore his natural distrust of wild animals long enough to get home. Harriet had only been running the horse-and-cart rides for the last couple of years, and he’d managed to avoid them so far. He supposed it had only ever been a matter of time.
Harriet flashed him a grin as they all climbed on board, Albert helping Abby up and extracting a promise that the girls would both come and visit him down by the harbour very soon. Leo sat back, eyes closed, but with one hand holding each of the girls’, just in case, and waited for the ride to be over.
But as the jolting, clopping motion of the cart started, it was impossible not to peek, to watch the landscape he knew so well passing them by. The waves buffeting against the land, the cliffs falling away to the sea as the path rose, and up ahead, the Lighthouse, in all its whitewashed glory, shining in the sunlight.
‘No charge,’ Harriet told him when he tried to pay. ‘This is my good deed for the day.’
‘Thanks.’ Leo lugged the suitcases down from the back of the cart, smiled a goodbye, and headed after his daughters, who were already at the duck-egg-blue door of their grandparents’ home.
‘They’re not back yet, remember!’ he called after them. ‘We’ll have to use my key.’
Except then the front door to
the Lighthouse opened, and there stood Miranda, her dark curls tangled up into a knot over her shoulder, and her green eyes wide. ‘Leo? What are you doing here?’
‘We thought we’d come for a visit, for the summer,’ he replied. ‘I emailed Mum last week. They’re not back yet, right?’ Something settled in the pit of his stomach, an unease that had nothing to do with the rickety cart or the swaying of the ferry before it.
A feeling that something was very wrong here.
‘No . . .’ Leaning down, she hugged Abby and Mia – both of whom had wrapped themselves around her legs the moment she appeared. ‘Do you girls want to go check your bedroom is still upstairs?’
‘Where else would it be?’ Mia asked, rolling her eyes – but she ran after her sister all the same.
‘What’s the matter?’ Leo asked, the moment they were out of earshot. ‘What’s happened?’
Miranda’s eyes were huge as she met his gaze. ‘Mum and Dad just called. Leo . . . I don’t think they’re coming back.’
JULIET
The tube ride back to her tiny flatshare was horrendous. Her stomach rolled the whole way, there were no seats – of course – and she couldn’t even wear a Baby on Board button to shame people into giving up their seat for her, because then people would know she was pregnant.
And nobody could know she was pregnant.
You need to deal with this. I can’t have anything to do with it.
With it. With her. With their baby.
She had no idea how to do that. She’d never been the responsible one, the one who took care of things. No one had ever expected her to be.
Until now.
Because having a baby . . . that was the point when you had to grow up, right? Her parents told all these stories about the wacky adventures they’d had when they were younger, but by the time Juliet came along they had settled down and grown up like everybody else. Hell, they were stalwarts of Seashell Island now, respectable and dependable.
Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1) Page 4
