But if Miranda didn’t have Paul any longer, she was going to need someone else to talk to. Why not her sister? Especially if listening to Miranda meant that Juliet could avoid spilling her own secrets for a little longer.
‘There’s not really much to tell,’ Miranda said after another sip of juice. ‘We wanted different things. He got offered a job on the mainland. He wants to take it. And he knew I wouldn’t leave the island to go with him, so he broke up with me instead.’
Juliet winced at the matter-of-fact description of the evaporation of a nineteen-year-long relationship. ‘Did you think about going with him?’
‘Not for a moment.’ Miranda’s smile was sad as she answered. ‘Oh, and I lost my job, too. Just to round out a really rubbish few days.’
‘Oh God! Miranda!’ It looked like Juliet wasn’t the only Waters sibling getting screwed by life right now.
‘It’s OK. I mean, it would have been weird, still working for Paul’s dad. And I’ve been doing a lot of VA work on the side. I can step that up, build up a real business there. Plus moving back home means no rent payments.’ Miranda shrugged. ‘Things could be worse.’
Of course she had a plan. Had Miranda ever not had a plan? But Juliet knew that the one thing you couldn’t plan for was matters of the heart.
‘Are you . . . I mean, never mind the job thing. You and Paul had been together for ever. You must be heartbroken.’
It took Miranda a few moments to answer. Then she said, ‘My friend Christabel – you met her last night, right? – she says I was only with him because he gave me an excuse to stay here.’
And wasn’t that how it had always been, Juliet mused as she slid the perfectly cooked pancake onto a plate with the others and ladled another spoon of batter into the pan. She couldn’t wait to leave, and Miranda couldn’t be dragged away from Seashell Island. No wonder they’d never been able to find any common ground; they were just too different.
Juliet remembered Christabel, dancing in the moonlight the night before. ‘Huh. She sounds like a good friend.’
‘She is.’
‘I’m glad. Everyone needs good friends.’
Although, right now, Juliet wasn’t sure who she’d count as hers. Tanya, back in London, she supposed. But here on the island, who did she have to confide in? Rory had been her closest friend since she was a child, but of course there was too much distance and history there now. And all her school friends had drifted away, lost touch, as they made their own lives on the island.
Or, in truth, she’d pulled away from them. They didn’t fit the new, exciting life she’d planned for herself in London, so she’d dropped them and left them behind.
But she did have her siblings. Miranda had talked to her, told her what was going on in her life, like she was a fellow adult for maybe the first time. Was it just because she’d come home to Seashell Island at last? Had she just never spent enough time here before to try and build this kind of grown-up relationship with her sister?
Was this summer finally her chance to try?
MESSAGES
Miranda (to Christabel): I thought you were staying well away from my brother . . . ? Also, you could have given me a heads up about Owain!
Christabel: I know, I know. But you know me and hopeless cases . . . why do you think I’ve stuck with you for so long?
Miranda: And Owain?
Christabel: He’s another hopeless case. You two are a perfect fit.
MIRANDA
Miranda woke on Friday morning to sun streaming through her open curtains, her head pounding from Juliet’s generous glasses of wine over a delicious seafood paella dinner the night before, and music still ringing in her ears from the impromptu concert they’d had afterwards. It seemed that every night was a party at the Lighthouse these days. And even the days were more exciting – there was always something delicious cooking in the kitchen, and the sound of laughter and music coming from the other rooms. The place felt alive again, in a way it hadn’t since her parents left.
She smiled.
Last night had been fun – from the band playing to Juliet cooking and the silly guessing game Suzi had insisted they all play in pairs or threes once the girls were in bed. She’d been on Owain’s team, and they’d smashed the competition. Yes, it had been lots of fun, all the way to the moment, right at the end of the night, when she’d said goodnight to Owain at his bedroom door before climbing the stairs to her own, childhood room. For a moment, he’d swayed forward towards her, and all she could hear in her head was rebound sex, rebound sex, on a loop. Then he’d smiled that slow, lazy smile of his and wished her sweet dreams, before disappearing behind his door.
It had taken a full ten minutes for Miranda’s heart rate to return to normal. And even now, remembering it made her feel warmer than the blanket and sunshine really warranted.
She should get up. She needed to get to— no. She didn’t.
Almost a whole week into her new routine and she still wasn’t used to it. Maybe because things had been so busy at the B&B, and she’d been throwing herself into developing her VA business, while also helping Leo with the girls. Every morning, her new reality still took her by surprise.
She didn’t have to go to work. She didn’t have to put on her former personal uniform of skirt, top and cardigan with trainers that she switched for heels when she got to the office. She didn’t need to follow the same morning routine she’d honed and adhered to for too many years now. She didn’t have to think about the office email inbox, or if there was milk in the fridge for Nigel’s coffee.
She could do whatever she wanted.
And so, for a moment each morning, she lay back and revelled in that fact all over again.
Then, usually, she realised she should probably get up and help Juliet with the breakfasts for the band, and see what else she was on the rota for today. It wasn’t like her days had got any less busy since she left Seashell Holiday Cottages – just more fun.
Slipping out of bed, she crossed to the window, the same way she had every morning she’d spent in this room, to take in the view of her island. From her attic room at the top of the house, she could see all the way across to the sea, sparkling in the early morning sun. Next to that, the high street, with only the roofs of the candy-coloured buildings on show, and the harbour, with the boats bobbing at high tide. Then up through the houses of the town, some holiday cottages, some for locals, all the way to Max and Dafydd’s farm next door, right to the gardens of the Lighthouse, with their seat swing, rose beds and—
Miranda squinted, even though she already had her glasses on.
Llama?
There definitely hadn’t been a llama in the garden when she’d gone to bed. She hadn’t had that much wine.
Washing and dressing hurriedly in jeans and a T-shirt, she made her way downstairs to find Juliet stirring her delicious breakfast muffin mix in the kitchen.
‘Did you look out the window yet this morning?’
Juliet looked up from her bowl, wooden spoon still in hand. ‘No. Why?’
Miranda pointed to the nearest window. Juliet put down the bowl and crossed to it, dripping muffin batter from her spoon the whole way.
‘Oh! Is that an alpaca?’ Juliet beamed. ‘He’s gorgeous!’
‘She,’ Miranda corrected. ‘If I’m right, that is Lucy the Llama from Max and Dafydd’s farm. She has form on the escaping thing.’
‘Lucy! That’s a lovely name.’ Juliet smiled soppily at the creature through the glass.
Lucy stared back, impassively.
‘It’s short for Lucifer,’ Miranda told her, but Juliet didn’t seem to care.
‘We should take her some food! Do you think llamas like muffins?’
‘We should take her back to the farm,’ Miranda said, firmly. Unfortunately, her firmness was undermined by Abby and Mia running in, still in the
ir pyjamas, and squealing.
‘Oh my gosh, is that a llama!’ Mia, for the first time since her arrival, seemed truly excited. Joyous, even. Miranda had been sure that Mia was taking her mother’s remarriage badly, given her recent moods, but apparently a llama was a universal cure-all. Even Juliet seemed to have forgotten whatever it was that had driven her to the island – although Miranda hadn’t forgotten that her sister had distracted her from that question once already with the knowledge of her own current issues.
‘How lovely!’ Miranda turned at her brother’s overly jolly tone. Surely Leo wasn’t enamoured with stinky half-camels too? ‘Why don’t the two of you go outside with your aunts and meet Lucy?’
Over their heads, he held up his mobile and pointed towards the office, miming taking some calls and then typing.
Of course. He was going to work and leave her with his daughters, their sister and a llama to deal with. Never mind that she had work to do too. She’d realised pretty quickly that if she wasn’t going to have the income from working at Seashell Holiday Cottages any longer, she definitely needed to start hustling on the virtual assistant side of her business. Not to mention getting the Lighthouse back up to speed with Juliet, who had many grand plans for the B&B and would probably want to start all of them at once if Miranda wasn’t there to plan things sensibly with her.
She opened her mouth to object, but Leo was already gone, the girls were halfway through the door, and Lucy was just staring at them all, as if this was totally normal.
‘Right. Let’s go get this llama home, then.’
Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that – not least because Abby and Mia were desperate to keep it for ever, and Juliet wouldn’t let it go until she’d given it some blueberries. Miranda overruled her on that one, at least until Max and Dafydd could confirm what llamas ate.
‘If we take her back now, I’ll ask Max and Dafydd if we can go visit her sometime soon, OK?’ Miranda said to the girls and a disappointed Juliet. ‘We’ll take the right food and everything.’
There were a few mutinous grumblings, but the girls were eventually lured back inside by the promise of Juliet’s savoury muffins with a side of sausages. Miranda descended from the terrace and looked Lucy in the eyes.
‘OK, so here’s what’s going to happen, Lucifer. You and me are going to take a little walk back through the fields to your nice warm . . . stable? I don’t know. Your own field, anyway. And before you destroy my mum’s flowerbeds.’
‘Are you talking to the llama?’ Owain’s voice was warm and amused in the morning air.
Great. Because what this morning needed was an extra layer of embarrassment to add to the madness.
‘I’m trying to persuade her to go home,’ she explained, turning to face him.
Owain shrugged, like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do on a Friday morning, then hopped down from the terrace to join her. ‘Want some help?’
It took a lot of cajoling, but eventually between them they managed to get Lucy moving, just as Miranda finally got hold of Max on his mobile and told him what was going on.
‘Max and Dafydd – the llama’s owners – are going to walk over and meet us.’ She shoved her phone back in her pocket. ‘Let’s see how far we can get her before they find us.’
‘So, does this sort of thing happen often on Seashell Island?’ Owain asked, as they shepherded Lucy in approximately the right direction.
Miranda laughed. ‘Definitely not. Well, not until last week, when I had to help Max and Dafydd catch her on the beach when she arrived.’
‘Understandably, she seems to have taken a shine to you.’ Owain gave what Miranda could only think of as a flirtatious smile, and she couldn’t help but return it.
They walked in companionable silence through the fields and the early morning sunshine for a few minutes, before Owain said, ‘You know, I think one of the things I like most about Seashell Island is how many unexpected things have happened to me since I arrived.’
‘Honestly? I like it for the exact opposite reason,’ she admitted.
‘Nothing unusual ever happens to you?’ he asked, disbelief in his voice. ‘Not even llama-walking before breakfast?’
She laughed. ‘Fine. Nothing unusual ever happened to me until Lucy arrived on the island.’ And you.
Because since she chased that damn llama across the beach, everything about her life seemed to have changed. But it was Owain arriving with his band, making every night a party and saying rebound sex that had seemed to open a hundred new possibilities on the island for her.
They made it halfway across the field before Miranda spotted her neighbours waving madly over the low stone wall that marked the boundary between the properties. Relief seeped through Miranda’s body. She hadn’t relished the idea of trying to get Lucy all the way to the farm – even if she was enjoying Owain’s company while they did it.
‘Thanks, Miranda,’ Dafydd said, as Max slipped a harness around Lucy’s neck. ‘I don’t know how she got out. Unless she’s learned to open gates with her hooves.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ Max muttered, darkly. Harness on, he handed the reins to Dafydd, and turned to Miranda. ‘Actually, I was going to pop over to talk to you this morning anyway.’
‘Oh? What about?’ Generally, Max and Dafydd kept to themselves – when they weren’t retrieving llamas. Unless they had friends who wanted to hire a holiday cottage, or stay at the B&B, Miranda couldn’t imagine what they might want from her. And given the size of the farmhouse they lived in, and how lovingly they’d restored it, that seemed unlikely.
‘I spoke with my mate Tudor over on the mainland, this last week – you know, the one with the hog-roast stall? He said that he was sad not to have been asked over for the Lighthouse Festival this year, and it got me thinking. The festival’s still happening, right? I mean, Josie and Iestyn will be back for it? Only, if you want to have the best stalls and such there, they really should have been booked by now. Tudor’s already booked up through until Halloween, you know.’ Max looked anxious and apologetic. And suddenly, Miranda wondered how many other locals were asking the same questions.
The Lighthouse Festival was an island institution, marking the end of the summer season and the slow slide towards winter, when the locals mostly only had each other for company and entertainment. One last hurrah before the nights drew in. And one last chance for them all to make money from the extra tourists it brought in, not ready to say goodbye to summer yet.
She dreaded to think of the island’s reaction if it didn’t happen this year.
‘I’m sure Mum and Dad are on top of it,’ she lied, smiling reassuringly. She’d text them when she got home, check what plans they’d made. Surely they wouldn’t have just forgotten about it, would they?
‘So, tell me more about this Lighthouse Festival,’ Owain said, as they started back to the B&B, leaving Max and Dafydd to wrangle Lucy the rest of the way home. ‘Because it sounds like it might be another unexpected thing to add to my list. Does it feature a petting zoo? Because if so, I know just the llama. Hardly spits at all, except when you put a harness on her.’
Miranda laughed. ‘No petting zoo. At least, not so far. But then it’s been growing every year . . . well, until now.’
Owain took her arm to help her over the stile across the low stone wall. ‘Then this year it clearly needs a petting zoo.’
‘Maybe.’ If it happened at all. Time to change the subject, she decided. ‘So, how’s the album-writing going, anyway?’
Owain groaned, and launched into a long and involved monologue about artistic differences, broken strings, and whether or not every album needed a protest song that had her in giggles all the way back to the Lighthouse.
LEO
Just over a week later, Lucy the Llama had appeared in the Lighthouse garden nine times, Juliet had cooked what had to be a million
breakfast muffins and pancakes, Miranda had got a bee in her bonnet about something to do with their parents’ traditional end-of-summer festival that Leo was hoping he could ignore, and Leo had 127 emails flagged for urgent response in his inbox.
He’d been trying to make inroads into them that morning, while the girls ate yet more pancakes for breakfast and watched Miranda and Owain try to return Lucy all over again, but even those things were losing their ability to hold his daughters’ attention. Soon, they’d need entertaining again, and he was running out of ideas of how to do it.
They’d been out on bikes, again, and he’d managed to stay on this time, which was just as well as they hadn’t seen Christabel that day. Most other days, though, she seemed to find a reason to join them – or he and the girls sought her out. She’d come over for a jam session with the band one evening, regularly turned up in time for one of Juliet’s delicious dinners, and even ended up playing French cricket in the garden with them on Wednesday. They’d played board games when it rained, been for ice cream at the ice-cream parlour in town (whose Wi-Fi was not all it was advertised to be). They’d even built sandcastles and gone rock-pooling.
Not that Abby and Mia seemed to appreciate his efforts – and he knew that Tom and his clients didn’t. That nagging red spot on his email icon on his replacement phone with its 99+ reminded him every time he looked at the uncracked screen. And the girls, well, they cheated mercilessly every time he had to go take a phone call during Monopoly, and he kept coming back to find himself in jail. They’d even looked morose eating their ice cream when he’d looked in through the window from the call he was taking. And Mia had almost knocked his phone into a rock pool on the beach.
No, summer was not going exactly as he’d hoped, no matter how late he let them stay up, or how much sugar he gave them.
It didn’t help that Christabel’s words about building a relationship with the girls kept echoing around his head. It was all good in theory, but how was he supposed to do it in practice – without letting his business collapse?
Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1) Page 15
