The Little B & B at Cove End

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘Oh my God,’ Cara said. ‘I need to sort my diction. I meant p-a-w-n, not p-o-r-n.’ Trust Rosie to get the wrong end of the stick. Cara knew that Rosie would often say something ridiculous just to make Cara laugh, lift her spirits, but she wasn’t laughing now because the thought of both sex and Bollinger weren’t thrilling her as once they had. Would she ever get back to them?

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ Rosie said. ‘But you do know pawn shops are a bit Victorian, don’t you? You know, the downtrodden wife with six kids and a husband who spent his wages in the pub before coming on home on payday, so she had to take her wedding present linen down the pawn shop, yet again, so she could put a bowl of broth on the table for her family.’

  ‘Thanks for the history lesson,’ Cara laughed, and glad of it. ‘Haven’t you got a client to see to soon?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Rosie said. ‘But I want to help …’

  ‘Well, you can. If you know about pawn shops. I know my engagement ring is missing, but I also know I put it in the back of my knicker drawer long before Mark left so he wouldn’t take it to sell, so I don’t know if he found it and put it in hock or something, or if the Hines took it or what. I thought with you running a business you might know about things like pawn shops.’

  Rosie sighed heavily on the other end of the line.

  ‘Sorry, I’m rabbiting and you’ve probably got things to prepare. Sorry …’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Rosie interrupted, her voice kind. ‘But I could kill Mark for what he’s put you through. Sorry, I didn’t mean kill as in snuff the light out of him … oh God, I’m digging myself in deeper again, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cara laughed. ‘But don’t worry. We all do it. Yesterday I said to Mae, “Your dad would have died rather than have guests in the house.” Since the Hine fiasco, I’ve wised up a bit, but I’m sailing by the seat of my pants because the hygiene people haven’t been yet. I’ll ring them when I’ve finished speaking to you. Mark would turn in his grave if he knew….Oh no, I’ve said it now!’

  Rosie laughed nervously. ‘I know, it’s not funny, but death is a bit like meeting the vicar and then finding yourself swearing and blaspheming when you don’t do either normally – you just can’t help yourself, can you? Anyway, I’m rabbiting now and I really will have to go in about fifteen – seconds, that is. Yellow Pages or the internet should tell you all you need to know about where to find pawn shops. Torquay used to have one. Probably still has. I could get Ellie to do my clients on Thursday if you like and we could go on a pawn trail. That’s p a w n, not p o r n. Okay?’

  Cara laughed, the laugh making her cough. When she recovered, she said, ‘I’m so glad you’re my friend, Rosie.’

  ‘Phew! Thought you’d snuffed it then. Oh, whoops … there I go again. See you Thursday, ten o’ clock? Can you get the bus into Torquay and I’ll drive over from Cockington and meet you there? It’ll save me coming all the way over to fetch you. I’ll drive you back.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. No problem. Looking forward to it,’ Cara said, even though the thought that she might find her engagement ring in a pawn shop was making her feel sick.

  She flicked through the local telephone directory and found the number she needed and dialled. Cara had to sit through a few minutes of canned music and ‘your call is important to us’ but she found she wasn’t nearly as irritated by this as she usually was. It was a little lull in the mad activity that had been her day already.

  ‘Health and Hygiene, how can I help?’ someone said.

  Cara explained why she was calling, gave all the details asked of her, and was told to hold the line for a few moments.

  But the person on the other end was soon back to her.

  ‘This could be your lucky day,’ the woman at the other end said. ‘We’ve just had a cancellation. One of our officers will be in your area on Thursday and can fit you in.’

  Lucky day? Cara was tempted to ask the woman to define lucky because it had hardly come in spades so far … ‘Fortunate’ might have been a better word. And she’d just said she’d see Rosie on Thursday.

  ‘Er, what sort of time?’

  She knew she could re-schedule with Rosie although she’d prefer not to have to.

  ‘Say, nine o’ clock?’

  ‘Great,’ Cara said.

  Perhaps luck was on her side after all?

  After school – and what a shock that had been coming home to a house that smelled like a hotel or something, a bit bleachy and polishy, with echoes of fresh paint, like her mum had gone mad with the cleaning products – Mae sat on her bed, leaning against the wall, her knees bent. She knew every single thing in her room had been washed and dried with scented sachets, but still she felt as though there were fingers creeping over her, touching where they shouldn’t. Her mum must have used a whole bottle of Cif cleaning every surface and had even shampooed the carpet – it wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried to make things right.

  She took her mobile from the pocket of her jeans and scrolled down to Josh’s number.

  ‘Hello, beautiful,’ Josh said before she’d even spoken.

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Mae said, attempting a joke, even though she didn’t feel in the least like joking.

  ‘Nope. What’s up?’

  ‘What do you mean – what’s up?’

  ‘I can tell by your voice that something is.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a nice thing to say,’ Mae said. ‘Like you care.’ And in that moment it felt like there was some sort of invisible cashmere blanket wrapping her up safely, keeping her snug. She was glad now she was giving Josh a second chance after the wine incident down in the cove.

  ‘Well, I do care. I was a total tit yesterday and want to make amends. So give. What’s up?’

  ‘Mum’s got three guests booked in. She says she’s putting the whole Hine incident behind her. How do I know it won’t happen again?’

  ‘Well, my guess is your mum won’t leave the guests alone in the house. I’d also chance my arm and say she’ll probably check on names and addresses before she lets them over the doorstep. And deposits for their stay and stuff like that. And you could ask for a lock and key for your room so you can lock it when you go out.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘I’m full of them,’ Josh laughed. ‘Oops, sorry.’

  ‘For what?’ Mae said.

  ‘Not you,’ Josh said, his voice suddenly much quieter than it had been. ‘I’m trimming hedges for old Bert Godfrey and it seems I’ve just snipped off the best of his roses while I was doing it.’

  ‘You’re working?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it’s way past working time.’

  ‘Not for self-employed gardeners, it isn’t. Not at this time of year when everything grows like crazy. Look, Mae, I’d better go. Bert Godfrey’s standing at his back door watching me now.’

  ‘Okay. And, Josh …?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thanks for the chat. And caring.’

  ‘No probs. Try not to worry, Mae. Your mum’s only trying to make a better life for you, more financially secure you know, since your dad, you know, messed up and didn’t. Anyway, got to go.’ Josh made kissy noises down the phone. ‘Bye.’

  Didn’t? Messed up? What did Josh mean by that? Did he know more than she did? What hadn’t her mum told her?

  ‘Bye,’ Mae said, comforted in one way by the chat with Josh and yet discomfited by what it was he hadn’t said. He had a job that brought in a bit of cash if not a lot. Mae knew Josh’s dad gave him money as well. Mae knew her mum’s balance in her bank account was going down and down because she’d taken a sneak look at the latest bank statement on the kitchen table when her mum had turned her back for a second. Less than three hundred pounds at the last sneak look. Not having money of her own made Mae reliant on Josh when they went anywhere, beholden to him, which was a vicar-ish sort of word to use, but appropriate with Josh’s dad being a vicar; like she was a charity case or
something. Well, she could change that, couldn’t she? She could get a job. She’d ask Meg Smythson in the corner shop if she needed any help in the evenings or for a few hours on Sunday morning or something. Or there was the ice-cream kiosk down by the harbour that was opening up more and more now the weather was turning warmer and more summery. She could try the information office, too, to see if they knew of anyone needing help. And then a well of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She could do all that on the internet if her dad hadn’t taken the computer and if it hadn’t been wrecked beyond repair in the accident and if her phone was so ancient she couldn’t access the internet on it. And if her stupid mother hadn’t left the stupid Hines people alone so they’d had the opportunity to take her laptop. Mae grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes to stop stupid, stupid tears from falling. Crying wasn’t going to help, was it? And life existed before computers and laptops and mobile phones.

  And then there was her frock that had got ripped when she’d struggled to get away from Josh. It had always been her favourite, that frock, though it was getting a bit tight for her now. When her dad had bought it for her, it had been a bit big and he’d said, ‘You’ll grow into it, honeybun.’ But her dad hadn’t lived long enough to see her grow into it and now she was growing out of it, especially the bust bit seeing as her boobs were now two sizes larger than they’d been back then. ‘Hand-reared,’ Josh had joked when she’d mentioned it. She loved Josh fondling her boobs, kissing them, nibbling them, sucking on them – it made her feel more grown up and it made her body want to go the whole way but she was holding out for the moment – just! Her mum would probably go ape if she knew. That thought made the corners of Mae’s mouth turn up, almost involuntarily, into the beginnings of a smile and it felt good. Not because she had a secret from her mum, but that she did have a life still, even if her dad wasn’t in it. He’d have probably killed Josh for touching her boobs. Mae reached for her now sad-looking frock and held it to her for a second. Then she leapt off the bed and decided to start putting her getting-a-job idea into reality.

  Her mum was sitting on the bottom stair, her mobile clamped to her ear, as Mae ran down the stairs.

  ‘Hang on,’ her mum said to whoever it was she was talking to. She leapt up off the stair and reached out an arm to Mae. ‘Is something the matter, Mae …?’

  ‘Just going for a walk for a bit,’ Mae said. ‘It’s like asphyxiating me up there, all the cleaning products.’ She did a mock-faint to show her mum it was a joke really. ‘Who’re you talking to anyway?’

  ‘Rosie. Just checking a few details about something.’

  ‘Right.’ Mae didn’t think there was any point in asking what and her mum would probably fob her off with something anyway, like she was a kid in primary school.

  Mae glanced at the hall clock, a huge thing that looked as though it should have been on a railway station platform or something. Twenty- five to four. She’d have to get a shift on.

  ‘I’ll let you get back to Rosie,’ Mae said. Sometimes she was jealous of Rosie and how close she and her mum were, like they were sisters or something. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Supper in an hour, Mae.’

  ‘Okay,’ Mae said again but without the hint of question in the word this time. Then she was out the door and running down the hill.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Meg Smythson said when Mae burst through the door just before the shop was about to shut up for a couple of hours so Meg Smythson could eat her tea and watch Corrie before opening again for the evening trade for those people who forgot milk on their online Tesco shop or whatever. ‘Without the boyfriend tonight, Mae?’

  ‘Am I?’ Mae said, looking behind her theatrically. ‘Oh yeah, seems so.’

  ‘Come for some more bacon and eggs, have you? Saw the B&B sign up. New venture there, is it?’

  ‘No to the first question, yes to the second,’ Mae said, struggling to retain the good manners her mum would want her to have when speaking to an elder … another vicar-ish word that, elder.

  ‘The police were up at your place last night, so I heard.’

  ‘You heard right,’ Mae said.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yep,’ Mae said. ‘Just a social visit. The lady copper is a cousin of Josh’s, just thought she’d stop by.’ Mae knew she’d failed miserably to keep sarcasm out of her voice. That was the trouble with small village living – people knew all your business within minutes of it happening, and sometimes even before it. ‘That was a lie, obviously, about the social visit. The WPC is Josh Maynard’s cousin. A couple of old people took advantage of being alone in our house while Mum was here buying bacon and eggs from you. Helped themselves to stuff and scarpered. That’s the official version, Mrs Smythson. Ignore anything anyone else tells you.’

  ‘Really? Good grief. In Larracombe? Nothing much ever happens here. Did they take much?’

  ‘Enough.’ And that, Mae decided, was more than Meg Smythson needed to know. And then she bit the bullet. ‘Could you give me a few hours in the shop? I’m old enough to work and I’m honest. You wouldn’t have to worry about me helping myself to money from the till or anything. I could get references. My mum’s friend, Rosie, runs a business of her own and I expect the Reverend Maynard would speak for me as well. I know you close for a couple of hours in the early evening and I was wondering if I could step in so you still get the trade. I could come every weekday, and maybe on Sunday mornings. Five pounds an hour seems reasonable.’

  Phew! Mae hadn’t realised how asking for a job could make her so nervous. She’d rabbited on there a bit and it had made her blush, she knew it had – the sides of her neck had gone all hot.

  ‘Well, I like your cheek, Mae Howard – five pounds an hour seems reasonable! But there’s a little problem. You’re not eighteen yet and around that time of day the biggest sales are beer and wine and you wouldn’t be able to serve those, being underage, now would you? Or drink it. If you get my meaning.’ Meg Smythson tapped one side of her nose and Mae wanted to laugh because she thought people only did that in old black and white films but she managed not to.

  ‘I get your meaning, Mrs Smythson,’ Mae said. ‘And just for the record my mum lets me have a drink with lunch on Sundays sometimes. And the law says she can do that so … actually, I don’t know that I want to work here now anyway. Thank you for your time,’ Mae finished, remembering her manners.

  She didn’t want to work for such a sanctimonious old cow anyway, Mae decided, as she rushed out of the shop twice as fast as she’d rushed in.

  Hmm, maybe finding a part-time job was going to be harder than she’d thought.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Well, Mrs Howard, everything seems fine to me.’

  Thursday morning, and after a very busy few days touching up yet more paintwork, moving furniture around, washing the bedroom curtains, weeding and mowing the back lawn, trimming shrubs, and all the other things she thought it would necessary to get right for paying guests, Cara exhaled audibly as the man from the hygiene department at the council delivered his verdict. She was glad now that she’d insisted on a new kitchen with granite worktops when Mark received a back-dated pay rise, although the row with him at the time about the expense of it all had been hurtful and damaging. If she hadn’t stood firm, it would have all been gambled away and she’d have been left now without the opportunity to earn money through a B&B.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cara said, glad now that she’d worked her fingers to the bone getting Cove End as pristine as she possibly could. She’d still been at it past midnight, giving the banister rail a quick coat of paint in the hope it would be dry by the morning. It had been. She and Mae had a habit of running their hands along it every time they went up and down, and a rather grubby and worn banister rail would not do for guests – first impressions count, she knew that. And she also knew she should have done it before, but grief, guilt and worry had made her tired 24/7. Mark’s pension money had gone on paying back massive debts, and the little the bank
had let her have before paying those debts was fast running out. She’d been holding her breath that Mae wouldn’t ask if the paintings had been valued yet and when they would be coming back. Rosie had said that teenagers don’t really notice their surroundings unless it’s the pile of junk in their bedrooms, the exact position of it hotwired in their brains. Cara had laughed at the time, and she hoped now that Rosie was right and that Mae believed her story about them being taken away for valuation.

  ‘You’re VAT-registered, of course,’ the man from the council said – a statement rather than a question.

  ‘VAT,’ Cara said, thinking fast. ‘Of course.’ This was the first time those three very important letters had entered her mind. But VAT was something Rosie would know all about so she’d ask her to explain. ‘I’m getting it all sorted.’

  ‘Good, good.’ The council inspector closed his files and put them back in his briefcase, although he made no attempt to leave. ‘Lovely place you have here. Great views.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Cara replied, glancing out towards the sea just as a small dinghy edged its way around the harbour wall. Should she have been firmer about Mae going sailing with Josh at the weekend? Ought she have insisted that Mae get a proficiency certificate or two under her belt? And how experienced with boats was Josh really? Although Mae had been sailing with Mark quite a lot when she was younger, it didn’t make her an experienced sailor, did it? Cara felt her heart rate go up a beat or two per second at the thought something bad might happen to Mae. Gosh but there were just so many things to be thinking about at the moment – so many compartments in her brain with so many different issues in them. She took a deep breath and held it there before letting it out again.

  ‘Mrs Howard? Are you okay? Only you went a bit pale there.’

  ‘I’m fine. Fine,’ Cara said, pulling herself together mentally. ‘I’m a little anxious about the B&B business, to be honest. Cooking for my family was one thing, but for people who may have higher expectations, higher standards …’