Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1)

by Sophie Pembroke

  Until she reached the Flying Fish.

  ‘He’s not here today,’ Debbie, Rory’s assistant manager told her. ‘I can help you with your order though?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Juliet smiled weakly and handed over her shopping list.

  Debbie scanned it quickly. ‘No problems. It’ll be ready for you to pick up a little later, if that’s OK?’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Because coming back again later and still not apologising to Rory was just ideal.

  Still, as the door closed behind her and she strolled down the sunny cobbles, Juliet reasoned that she’d at least crossed something off her list. Miranda and Leo were both busy, so she couldn’t talk to them. And if Rory wasn’t there to be apologised to then apologising would have to wait. She wasn’t rostered on to do anything at the Lighthouse until dinnertime, so she might as well make the most of her day off.

  Rather than heading towards the Long Beach, where they’d been yesterday for the kite festival, or back towards Gull Bay and the Lighthouse, Juliet headed further into the town proper. It had been years since she’d explored these areas of St Mary’s, and it was as if she saw them all with fresh eyes.

  The holiday cottages, with jaunty nautical names on plaques beside their doors, looked sweet rather than corny. The primary school she’d attended looked so much smaller than she’d remembered; even the secondary school was just another set of buildings – not the prison she’d always imagined it as.

  It was, she realised, just another town. No different to any over on the mainland, really – and prettier than most. The water all around it was just water – not bars. She could leave any time she wanted.

  Except . . . she didn’t want to, for now, at least. She was having fun up at the Lighthouse, keeping things ticking over. She’d forgotten how enjoyable things like the kite festival could be. She wanted to work with Miranda to organise the Lighthouse Festival, too. Not least because she wanted to spend time with her sister.

  God, she’d never imagined she’d even think those words.

  Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones talking, that would make sense. She wasn’t herself right now – in fact, she was two people.

  And she was absolutely blaming the baby for the fact she was permanently starving. And the fact she was craving cheese on toast with plum chutney was definitely its fault.

  As she turned another corner, Juliet found herself heading back towards the town centre, along a different path to the one she’d taken out of it. This road led her past the church, she knew – the scene of countless nativity plays and carol services and egg hunts around the graveyard, something she’d only realised was deeply weird once she’d left the island for good.

  But as she approached, it became clear that there was something different going on there today. Pausing at the entrance to the churchyard, she took in the banner hung over the noticeboard.

  Farmers’ Market, today!

  Maybe they’d have plum jam. And good cheese.

  She went in.

  The stalls were arranged around the grassy area in front of the church, more usually used for wedding photos and the Christmas live nativity with actual donkeys. Juliet wondered if Lucy might stand in for a camel this year.

  She moved easily between the stalls, sampling some of the offerings, chatting with the sellers about their farms, dairies, their processes. Many of them were from Seashell Island themselves, although a few had popped over from the mainland, and most were sole traders, making their wares in their kitchens or smallholdings. For a short while, it almost felt like she was back at work again, talking with traders about their wares and how to get more people aware of them.

  ‘We’ve been talking about trying to set up some sort of collective,’ one of them told her, as she sampled chutneys. ‘But none of us really have the time or the experience to make it happen. You know, all the promotion and social-media stuff. It’s a mystery to me!’

  She understood it, Juliet thought, as she chewed. She could help them. If she stayed.

  But she wasn’t staying.

  Still, she could still help in some small ways. ‘Well, I’d definitely like to stock your preserves at the Lighthouse B&B,’ she told the stallholder. ‘And if you’ve got business cards I can take a few for anyone who wants to buy some to take home?’

  ‘That would be brilliant! Thank you.’ The stallholder handed over cards – and a jar of plum chutney, no charge.

  She turned to a cake stall next, thinking she’d stock up on some treats for afternoon tea – the band often got hungry when they were working, she’d discovered – only to blink as she recognised the woman behind the cake-laden table.

  ‘Mrs Norris?’

  The older woman looked up with a smile. ‘Yes, dear? Can I interest you in sampling a bit of cheese scone? It’s a new recipe, using— goodness me, Juliet Waters?’

  Juliet smiled. ‘Yep, it’s me. It’s lovely to see you again.’ It was funny, Juliet reflected. When she’d been a ten-year-old in Mrs Norris’s Year Six class, her teacher had seemed middle-aged already, if not older. Now, eighteen years later, she didn’t seem to have aged a single day.

  ‘You too! Gosh, I don’t know that anyone was expecting to see you back on the island, especially with your parents still away. Are you here long?’

  ‘Been here two weeks already,’ Juliet replied, totting it up in her head and amazed at the total. How had it gone so fast? Two whole weeks and, while she’d been busy the whole time, she hadn’t done anything about her biggest problem. The ticking timebomb inside her womb. ‘It’s actually a nice break from the city.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Mrs Norris gave her the kind of look that had always terrified her as a child. One of those that made it clear that she could hear all the things Juliet wasn’t saying. Sometimes, she’d been afraid her teacher could read her mind. ‘You know, Juliet, there’s never any shame in coming home. That’s what home is. A place you’re always welcome.’ She handed her a cheese scone. ‘And I, for one, am glad to see you back.’

  ‘Th-thanks, Mrs Norris,’ Juliet stammered, taking the scone.

  ‘Call me Ellie,’ her old teacher said, as she turned to serve the next customer. ‘And I hope we’ll see you here again next week.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Juliet promised, stepping away.

  By the time she’d made a full circuit of the stalls her reusable bags were fully loaded – although she was still short of some of the essentials she’d need for breakfasts that week until she’d gone back to collect her order from the Flying Fish.

  As if conjured by the thought, Juliet turned away from a cheese stall – after acquiring some pasteurised local cheese to go with her chutney – and saw Rory crossing the churchyard towards her. She saw the moment he spotted her, too – because his steps faltered, just briefly, before he squared his shoulders and kept walking.

  She didn’t want to do this here, like this, laden down with bags and with half the island’s small businesspeople – plus her ex-teacher – watching. But here was where it seemed to be happening.

  ‘Rory.’ She forced a wide smile as she stepped towards him. ‘I was hoping I’d see you today. I wanted to, well, apologise.’

  His expression remained completely bland as he replied, ‘For telling your brother you’d never come back to Seashell Island to “trawl the graveyard of terrible teenage relationships”? Or for walking away ten years ago when my father was dying and I needed you?’

  Ow. Every word hit her hard in the heart. ‘Both, I guess.’

  ‘Great.’ He gave a sharp nod. ‘Glad we cleared that up.’

  Then he walked right past her towards the chutney stall, leaving Juliet staring after him.

  MESSAGES

  Miranda (to Mum & Dad group): Hi! Everyone missed you at the kite festival yesterday. We’ve got some new guests at the Lighthouse too, which is fun. Um . . . people were asking
about the Lighthouse Festival, though. I couldn’t see anything in the files. Did you have anything arranged yet?

  Miranda (to Mum & Dad group): Guessing you’re probably out at sea, since I haven’t heard anything back yet. Juliet and I thought we’d help out and get the festival planning started at least, before you get back. Any suggestions on where to start? Or who to contact?

  Miranda (to Mum & Dad group): Assuming you’re still out of signal range, Juliet and I will just make a start, yeah? Let me know if you have any advice!

  MIRANDA

  On Monday morning, Miranda came downstairs to find Lucy the Llama staring through the kitchen window for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Ready?’ Owain asked from behind her. She jumped at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Just let me make the teas.’ As the kettle boiled, she put teabags into the travel cups they’d been using for the last few days, to make their early morning llama walks a little more bearable.

  Although, she had to admit, spending time with Owain at the start of every day was a bit of a treat, too.

  Every morning, as they walked across the fields, a reluctant but resigned Lucy trotting beside them, she and Owain talked about anything and everything – from the llama beside them—

  ‘I think she thinks this is her morning constitutional.’

  ‘I think she just hates me.’

  — to their lives, hopes, dreams and futures.

  Miranda had managed not to sob on his shoulder again, which she was counting as a victory, and she’d learned some interesting things about the members of Birchwood. Like the fact that Suzi had run away from home at fourteen and lived on the streets and taught herself to play the guitar while keeping warm in music shops. Or that Owain had a degree in medieval studies, ‘Which has proved pretty much useless in my chosen career.’ Or how Robyn and Ryan had a weird twin telepathy thing. ‘Which is actually really useful on stage, when you’re trying to keep everyone in time.’

  He’d kept her entertained with anecdotes about their tours, and updates on how the new album was going – slowly, apparently, although she’d heard Robyn mutter that it would be faster if Owain wasn’t so distracted. Miranda only allowed herself a small smile at the idea that she might be what was distracting him. After all, Robyn probably meant Lucy anyway.

  Miranda had shared plenty about herself and her family too – about growing up on the island, her worries about her siblings, and frustration with her parents.

  They’d had a pretty good brainstorming session about the Lighthouse Festival the day before, bouncing ideas off each other. Miranda planned to write up action lists for them all – although she imagined Leo would ignore his the same way he seemed to be ignoring the chore rota Juliet had stuck to the fridge.

  At least Owain seemed willing to help, with the festival as well as the llama.

  ‘You’ll definitely still be here for it?’ she asked, as they tramped across the fields again.

  Owain gave her a secret sort of smile. ‘For sure. Turns out this album is going to take some time to get right – so we’ll just have to stay on Seashell Island until it’s done.’ Then he frowned. ‘Although we do have some gigs on the mainland the week before. We’ll have to go back for them. But I promise we’ll be back well before the festival.’

  ‘Good. That’s good.’ Not least because she was already finding it hard to imagine the island without Owain on it.

  Or Lucy, come to that.

  Still, the idea of him leaving, even for a short time, weighed on her over the next few days. Because after the festival, after the album was done, of course he’d leave. It wasn’t as if they’d even reached a point where she could talk to him about staying. They were friends, she hoped, but that was all.

  If she was anybody else, she’d make plans to visit him, once he left. See if there really was something between them.

  If she was anybody else, they’d have options.

  But she was Miranda Waters, and this island was all she had.

  By Saturday, she was fed up of even thinking about it. And as she came down the stairs and saw Lucy through the kitchen window once again, a realisation hit her.

  This was her life. The only one she had. And right now it consisted of her VA work, helping Juliet with the B&B, playing with her nieces so Leo could work, organising a festival she wasn’t responsible for, and enlisting the help of a guitarist to ferry a llama across two fields. And while at least half of that wasn’t all that bad, it wasn’t exactly what she’d dreamed of as a child. And none of it, she realised suddenly, was actually for her.

  Apart from the spending time with Owain bit. That, she admitted, was a definite bonus to the llama situation. But spending time with him without an animal chaperone would be even better . . .

  Not that he’d more than hinted at wanting that, since that first mention of rebound sex that still reverberated around her body at inconvenient moments. Like whenever she looked at him. He was gorgeous, a musician, temporary . . . perfect for getting over her ex, right? And since he’d given up his mornings to act as a sheepdog to a llama, he couldn’t be completely uninterested. He’d even joined them at the kite festival, entertaining Abby and Mia by helping them fly their new kites with Leo. And he said he wanted to stay for the whole summer. Was he just being cautious, because he knew she’d just come out of a relationship? Or because Christabel had told him what a hopeless case she was?

  If she asked him out – or even just asked him to bed – might he say yes?

  But while that might be an everyday kind of request for Juliet or Christabel to make, for Miranda it felt a lot more complicated. Apart from anything else, she’d been with Paul since she was a teenager. How was she suddenly supposed to restart that romantic part of her that she locked up into one relationship at sixteen?

  Plus . . . what would people say? Miranda didn’t exactly want to be the sort of person who cared what people thought, but on an island like Seashell it was hard not to. One wrong move and she’d be hearing about it for ever. Or at least all winter long.

  She was the good girl, the girl next door – and that kind of local status was hard to come by on the island. She’d won it fair and square, used it to get voted onto the island council, to give back to the place that had become her first real home. She had a reputation here, a position. One she wanted to protect.

  And it wasn’t the sort of reputation that led to holiday flings with touring musicians.

  Owain would leave at the end of the summer. She’d have to live with what she did here for ever.

  Half the island was waiting for her to get back with Paul and stop him leaving. Hell, that half were probably hoping for a surprise wedding ceremony at the Lighthouse Festival, as if she’d have time to organise both. The other half seemed to expect her to wear widows’ weeds and mourn him until he saw sense and came home again. And still organise the festival to keep people’s spirits up.

  Miranda really didn’t want to do either of those things. But it was expected.

  But what if she just . . . did something else? Saw this as an opportunity to reset her place on the island, to become whoever she wanted to be next?

  She’d have to really, really want it, to take that kind of risk. That risk of becoming a different sort of person. But maybe the island would cut her some slack right now, because of her apparently broken heart. If she was ever going to make a change, now was the time. Even her parents weren’t here to disapprove . . . and her siblings, well. They’d never really liked – or at least understood – who she was anyway. They’d probably be thrilled.

  Mug of tea in her hands, she stared out of the window and met Lucy’s eyes.

  ‘What do you want, Lucifer?’ It seemed only right to give the llama her full name when she was asking such a personal question. ‘What would make you happy? Fulfilled?’

  And then she realised that Lucy had been
telling her exactly what she wanted, for two full weeks.

  Miranda bit her lip. Who was she now? Was she the sort of person who fulfilled the dreams of a runaway llama?

  Apparently she was.

  Pulling her phone from her pocket, she called Max, who sounded half asleep as he answered.

  ‘Lucy there again?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He sighed. ‘Right. Let me just get Dafydd up and we’ll come and get her.’

  ‘Actually . . .’ Miranda took a breath. ‘I was thinking, she clearly wants to be here at the Lighthouse. What if we just . . . let her stay?’

  Stunned silence. Then a rustle of bedsheets and the pad of footsteps on floorboards, as if Max were sneaking away from his husband to discuss this with her – which Miranda suspected was exactly what was happening.

  She heard a door close, then Max said, softly, ‘I mean, I would love that. The damn animal clearly isn’t happy here, although Dafydd won’t see it. I’ll have to work on him but . . . why don’t you hold on to Lucy while I talk to him? Then, if it works, I’ll bring over her stuff this afternoon.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. And of course, Dafydd can come visit her whenever he wants.’

  Max clicked his tongue. ‘Ah, he’ll be on to a new big idea soon enough. But yes, it’ll be nice to keep up with her. What is it you think she loves about the Lighthouse so much?’

  Miranda thought, trying to imagine what might have brought the llama to them. She loved it because it was safe, a refuge, but Lucy already had that at the farm.

  Then she heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and figured it out.

  ‘I think it’s probably all the people here. Leo’s girls adore her, Juliet’s besotted, and I even found a few of our guests serenading her the other afternoon.’

  Max laughed. ‘Yeah, that’ll do it. They’re pack animals, I suppose. Like company. Just don’t tell Dafydd, or he’ll be shipping over a whole herd of them for the farm.’