'I did it, Amias!' Marcus tumbled off the board and splashed his way to the shore, dragging the windsurfer behind him. 'I stayed upright. At least, for a minute or two. Oh. Where're Nan and Granddad?' He glanced around, the triumphant smile fading and a look of dejection taking its place.
'They had to go.' Amias took Marcus by the shoulders. 'But they said to say they thought you did brilliantly. They were so pleased, in fact, they wanted you to stay and build on your success. So come on, kid. Back on this board and let's see what you've really got in here.' He gently poked a finger at Marcus' chest and turned him back towards the water.
'I'm not a kid, Amias.' Marcus twisted his head to look at Amias, and threw him a smile. 'I'll be eighteen next week. I'm a man. And I've been having sex for the last two years. Ever since I hit the legal age. Mustn't break the law. Granddad would kill me.' He gave a nervous little laugh.
'Don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up, Marcus. Adulthood isn't all it's cracked up to be. And if you're having sex, I assume you're taking precautions. Believe me, the last thing you want or need at your age is to get some girl pregnant. It'll change your entire future. It might even be the death of you.'
'Hey, man. What's that supposed to mean? Don't get all serious. I get enough of that from Granddad. And yes. I'm taking precautions. I'm not an idiot. Despite what Granddad thinks.' He hung his head and kicked at a loose chipping of concrete with his brand-new surf shoes.
Amias ruffled the blond waves that dripped on the shoulders of the equally new wetsuit, which made Marcus look like a stick of liquorice.
'Come on then, young man. Show me what you've got. And I'll make you a deal. Stay upright for five minutes this afternoon, and tomorrow I'll let you have a go on the Spitfire simulator for free.'
Marcus' blue eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. 'Are you serious?'
Amias stood beside Marcus and nudged his arm. 'Deadly. So go and do your stuff.'
If anything could spur Marcus on, it was the promise of half an hour at the controls of the Spitfire simulator in the Merriment Bay World War II Museum. Two of his passions rolled into one: computers and vintage planes. It cost thirty pounds a time for the privilege but that was a small price to pay to see even the tiniest hint of pride in their grandson on George and Sybil Lester's faces – if Marcus could learn to windsurf.
Besides, Amias didn't need to pay. Not only had he helped out at the museum for most of his life, he was now one of the owners which meant he could basically do anything he wanted as far as the museum went. But he would pay because it was the right thing to do. All profits from the simulator went to the RAF Benevolent Fund. He never had and never would, take advantage of his position. Unlike George Lester.
And he liked Marcus. Even if the kid did tell lies. Whoppers, in fact. If Marcus Lester was having sex – or ever had – Amias would eat his wetsuit. Now Marcus' cousin Lucas, on the other hand was definitely having sex. He was just a few months older than Marcus and they had the same shoulder-length blond wavy hair and the same passion for planes. They were both good kids too. But the similarities ended there. Marcus was clumsy, loose limbed and all pale skin and bone. Lucas was agile, tight-muscled, broad shouldered and the colour of builder's tea. Girls didn't notice Marcus; they spotted Lucas the second he walked on to the sand or rode like some Greek God across the waves on his kiteboard. And they fell at his feet like adoring slaves.
The same way Kyle had fallen at Cat Devon's feet, from the very first day he had met her.
Chapter Three
'Have you got everything?' Cat bundled suitcases and bags into the boot and glanced towards Kyra.
'Everything but the kitchen sink. Give me a sec and I'll go back and grab it.' Kyra laughed and when she shook her head, the gold locket Cat had given her for her birthday, bounced around her swan-like neck. 'Anyone would think we're moving to Merriment Bay, not just going for a visit.'
She was wearing the floaty, white cotton dress with purple flowers dotted over it; another of the presents Cat had given her. She looked remarkably grown up, as if she had blossomed overnight from a bud into a flower, and yet she retained a youthful innocence as though she wasn't quite ready to be a woman.
'But we don't know how long we'll be staying, do we, sweetheart? It's better to take everything we may need, rather than wish later that we'd brought it.'
'I think we may need a bigger car, Mum.'
Kyra had two holdalls slung across her body and was dragging two suitcases down the path from their cottage to the gravel area amongst the trees. It was just large enough to fit two cars, but that was more than adequate. Bonniemount Cottage, Cat and Kyra's home for the last eighteen years, rarely had many visitors.
It was hidden in a copse on the outskirts of Bonniemount, a tiny hamlet a few miles from Berwick-upon-Tweed and within earshot of the flowing waters of the River Tweed, and Cat still thanked her lucky stars for Isla Presley, the elderly woman who had owned it.
Eighteen years ago, on the very spot, Isla Presley had tapped on the window of Cat's car which had groaned to a halt, having run out of petrol.
'Are you lost, dear? Oh my Lord, you're crying.' Without another word, she had yanked open the car door and flung her arms around Cat's shoulders, dropping her torch on the grass in the process. This was long before the grass was replaced with gravel. 'What's the matter, child? Are you ill? Are you – Oh my Lord. Is that your baby? You don't look old enough.'
'I'm seventeen,' Cat said, unable to think of anything else. She swiped at her cheek with the tear-soaked sleeve of her jumper and turned to check on Kyra, who was sound asleep in her white, wicker bassinet, strapped safely on the rear seat. 'I took a wrong turn in the dark and now I've run out of petrol. And yes. This is Kyra. She's almost three months old.'
'Three months! Oh my Lord. Come inside and have a cup of tea. I'll call Alastair. He'll have you sorted out in a jiffy and you can be on your way. Where are you off to? Visiting relatives? I can tell by your accent you're not from around these parts. I'd know a Northumberland accent anywhere and you don't have one. A southerner, I'd say.'
Cat nodded. 'The south-east coast. Um. Who's Alastair?'
'He owns Bonniemount Farm, but he's always got a can of petrol handy. And what he doesn't know about cars isn't worth knowing. Where did you say you were going?'
'Scotland.'
'Scotland's a big place, dear. Whereabouts?'
Cat shrugged. 'Edinburgh. If you'll give me Alastair's number, I can call him from my mobile.'
'No need for that. Come inside and get warm. It's chilly out here. We may be having an Indian Summer but late October nights come with a chill no matter what the weather. And rightly so. It's been far too warm for the time of year.'
Cat hesitated, glancing again at Kyra. She was tired and cold and could murder a cup of tea but this woman was a total stranger and they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
Isla Presley laughed. It was a warm and cheerful sound. 'I won't bite, dear. I promise. I'm Mrs Presley. No relation, and no, Elvis doesn't live here.' She chuckled at a joke Cat didn't really understand. 'But you can call me Isla. Of course you're wary. And rightly so. You never know these days, do you? I'm not sure what I can say to make you feel at ease. But I give you my word that you and Kyra will be perfectly safe with me. Much safer than you might be sitting all alone out here in the dark in this car. Oh, not that there's anyone around here to be afraid of. Quite the contrary. We're all a friendly bunch in Bonniemount. But one or two lorries come this way by mistake, just as you did, and when one of those juggernauts tears by, you certainly know about it.'
Cat decided to trust Isla Presley and it was one of the best decisions she had ever made. When it transpired that Cat's car hadn't just run out of petrol but the engine had died due to lack of oil, Isla had been Cat's saviour.
In the warmth and comfort of Bonniemount Cottage, Cat had told Isla the truth: that Kyra was just ten weeks old. She'd also told the truth about her unsightly scars. The tr
uth about Kyle. Even the truth about how she, her mum and her gran had had the row to end all rows, and that she'd run away from home, as she and Kyle had planned, and was determined not to return to Merriment Bay.
From that day, Isla had been a surrogate mum and grandmother until the day she had died two years ago. Even after she died, in fact, because she left Bonniemount Cottage to Cat in her will, and a few thousand pounds to Kyra. And although, from time to time over the years, Isla had suggested that perhaps Cat might consider getting back in touch with the family she had left behind, when Cat refused, Isla dropped the subject.
Cat and Kyra managed to fit everything in the car and by 8.00 a.m. the morning after Kyra's eighteenth birthday and the arrival of the letter from Merriment Bay, they turned on to the A1 and followed the signs to 'The South'.
Cat had often wondered over the last eighteen years, when – not if – she would make this journey. Despite telling Isla she didn't want to get back in touch with her mum and her gran, Cat had always been certain she would, one day. Although she had no idea why. Or when. Merriment Bay held too many memories. Some good. Some bad. Some horrendous. But the moment she read the letter out loud to Kyra, she knew it was a journey she had to take as soon as possible. And Kyra agreed. Yet they both did so reluctantly.
With the help of Isla Presley, her warm welcome, her comfort and support, not to mention her love and generosity, Cat had been able to make a good life for herself and Kyra. And as crazy as it seemed, some instinct told her that if she went back to Merriment Bay, she wouldn't return to Bonniemount.
She'd had some money of her own when she had left Merriment Bay on that warm, late October day, and her intention had been to go to Edinburgh. She would find a place to live; she had enough for several months' rent; then she'd find a job and child care. Once that was sorted, she'd apply to study art, hopefully part-time, at the Edinburgh College of Art, which was now under the umbrella of the University of Edinburgh where her own daughter would be going in September. But as Cat neared the border and darkness crept over the horizon, her petrol gauge flashed and the engine sputtered. Instead of continuing ahead, she had turned off the A1 and remained on the English side of the border. Her car broke down just a few minutes later and when she told Isla Presley the full story, Isla was convinced it was Fate.
'How long will the journey take?' Kyra asked. They had hardly said a word since leaving the cottage half an hour or so earlier.
Cat smiled and tried to sound more cheerful than she felt. 'Is this the grown-up version of “Are we there yet?” sweetheart, because if it is, I'm sorry to say there's an awfully long way to go. We'll be lucky if we arrive before nightfall.'
'We'll stop a few times on the way though, won't we? My bladder can't last for more than a few hours, let alone yours.' Kyra threw her a cheeky grin.
'I told you to pee before we left,' Cat joked.
Kyra rolled her eyes. 'I'm eighteen, Mum, not eight. I peed. Rather a lot, as it happens.'
'Too much information.'
'You're lucky that's all I did. What with cake and champers for breakfast yesterday, a fry-up for lunch together with more champers, thanks to getting the confirmation email and then my fab results, followed by several glasses of Prosecco with my mates, and finally a Vindaloo, I thought my head would be down the loo for most of today. Even though, after we read the letter, I was being careful and not drinking as much as originally intended.'
'I'm exceedingly grateful for your restraint. You were certainly home earlier than I'd expected. I didn't even hear you come in.'
'I did poke my head around your door just before midnight but you were snoring like an old tug boat and thrashing about.' Kyra gave a loud demonstration, pulling faces and wildly waving her arms around. 'Like that.'
Cat laughed. 'Thanks. I didn't think I'd sleep a wink and yet by ten, I was nodding off on the sofa so I went to bed.'
'Old age, Mum. It comes to us all.'
'It won't come to you if I have much more of your cheek, young lady. Oh God. I didn't mean that. I shouldn't have said it.'
'Hey. Calm down.' Kyra placed a comforting hand on Cat's arm. 'I know you were joking. This month is always bad for you but it's worse this year, isn't it? Is it because I'm the same age as my dad was when he died? The letter's made it worse, hasn't it?'
Cat nodded. 'It definitely feels different this year. I don't know why. Perhaps it's because of the age. I don't honestly know. And yes. The letter's made it worse.' Cat forced a grin. 'And by the way, thirty-five is not old. Even if it feels it sometimes.'
Kyra grinned back but a moment later she let out a melancholy sigh. 'I'm not sure what I expected, but I think I expected more than it said: “Catherine, Your grandmother has had a fall and is in a coma in Eastbourne District General Hospital. You may or may not wish to see her but this might possibly be your last chance. You can stay here, if you do decide to come. Your room is as it was when you ran away eighteen years ago. Mum.” I mean, it's not exactly love you, miss you, please come home because we're longing to see you, is it?'
Cat blinked at her. 'You remembered it word for word?'
Kyra shrugged. 'I can do that. You know I can.'
That was true. Kyra had what was called an eidetic memory, or photographic memory, or maybe just a damn good memory, because Kyra had only heard the contents when Cat had read the letter out over cake and champagne at breakfast yesterday, whereas Cat read it several times over and still couldn't remember what it said. Just what it didn't say.
It hadn't mentioned Kyra. It hadn't even acknowledged her existence. That had angered Cat far more than the lack of warmth or feeling.
'I can't even remember my own mobile phone number. You don't know how glad I am that you take after your dad in so many more ways than you take after me. All you've got from me are your stubbornness, bossiness, and love of art.'
'That's not all. I've got your optimism. Your generous nature. Your gorgeous green eyes.' She fluttered her long lashes. 'Your smile. Everyone loves your smile and mine too. Your strength and determination. But what you've also given me is my freedom. Freedom to choose my own path, no matter what. And the knowledge that you'll love me whatever I do and whether you agree with it or not. Basically, you've given me the things that are truly important. Things you never got from your mum, or from Granny Viola. I still can't believe that letter. I don't know how your mum stays alive because she clearly doesn't have a heart. I'm not really sure I want to meet her. Can't we stay somewhere else?'
'Don't get upset, sweetheart. We've got this. You and me together can deal with anything. Remember? After we agreed we'd go, I did try everywhere I could think of. Merriment Bay is small and it's still only got a couple of B&Bs according to those hotel booking sites, but I did try farther afield. The problem is, it's August. There wasn't one room available anywhere, at least for the next two weeks. We'll probably be coming home by then. But if we're not, or if it's really too bad, I promise you we'll find something. The one good thing about my mum though, is she's so wrapped up in herself that she'll leave us to ourselves most of the time. I dated your father for months before she even noticed I wasn't in the house most evenings.'
'But once she did realise, she made your life hell. Both your lives.'
'It wasn't so bad. It was only when we discovered I was three months pregnant with you that things really went downhill.' Cat smiled and reached out and gave Kyra's hand a quick squeeze. 'And you were worth every second of it. Your dad thought so too. The odd thing is, despite everything that happened, and as painful as it's going to be to be back in my room again with all those memories, it would feel really strange to be in Merriment Bay or anywhere close by, and not stay in that house. It's still my home in many ways. And I think it always will be.'
'Was it really just because Dad came from the wrong side of the river that they didn't like him? Just because he was from a poor family? It's so Victorian. And so wrong.'
'I think there was a lot more to it all than just
that, sweetheart, as I've always said. But yes, the fact that his family was poor was a big part of it. His father was unemployed with no prospect of finding work because he had no skills and he drank like a fish. He was hardly ever sober enough to get up in the mornings. His mother wasn't much better, sadly. It's a miracle your dad turned out the way he did. And where his intelligence came from will always remain a mystery. Although it was probably from his granddad. Your dad left school at sixteen and got a job just to help support the family but he should've gone to uni. Perhaps, if he hadn't met me, he would have. When I met him, he had such grand plans. The main one was to save some money so that he could go back to college and study to become an architect. But of course, that didn't happen.'
'You can't blame yourself for that, Mum. Or for his death. Which I know you sometimes do even though you always say you don't.'
'I know. But ... well, we never know what life has in store for us and perhaps that's just as well. We might all do things so differently if we did.'
'What would you have done differently if you'd known how things would turn out?'
Cat darted a look at Kyra. There was only one thing she would have done differently. But if she'd done that, she wouldn't have had Kyra. And Kyra was the one thing in her life that she was really glad she had.
'Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all. Look. There's a service station ahead. I'm hungry. Are you? Shall we stop for breakfast? I know you said you couldn't face food earlier but maybe a coffee and a slice of toast?' She raised her eyebrows and grinned.
'I could do with a pee. And yeah. Coffee and toast sound good. Or maybe I could stomach a Full English now. But Mum?'
'Yes, sweetheart.' Cat indicated to exit left – and held her breath.
A Reunion Page 2
