Sunrise Over Pebble Bay

by Della Galton

  ‘I try.’

  As they began the short but tricky walk across the shifting shingle, the sky began to lighten almost imperceptibly. They kitted up on the pebbles at the top of the beach. It was a steep walk down to the water’s edge and the air was full of the sound of the sea, although it was a much gentler sea than when Olivia and Ruby had walked here after her scan.

  ‘It’s not shipwreck weather today,’ Olivia said, glancing at the dark water. ‘Flat, calm, and almost no wind according to the forecasts. It’s been perfect diving weather for the last couple of days.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ Phil looked at the new fluorescent yellow fins he’d bought – it would be hard to miss them, even in the dark – and eyed the sea a little gingerly.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ she asked him. ‘We could just scrap the dive and wait for the sunrise. I’m not sure we’re going to see much of it underwater.’

  ‘I am up for it. We’re not going to be deep, are we?’

  ‘Not at all – we’ll have to swim out a bit to get ten metres depth. We’ll have an hour if we want it, even at the way you gulp air.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘There can be a strong swell though. And there’s also a risk of fishing-net entanglement.’ She tapped the holster on her calf. ‘But I’ve got my knife.’

  ‘I bought a new one too. While I was in the dive shop, I also bought a special cutting tool. Just to be safe.’

  She nodded approvingly. ‘Preparation is everything. OK, torches, check.’ They switched them on and flashed them up and down the beach. There was no one else around yet. Not even a fisherman. ‘I’ve brought an extra torch,’ Olivia said, ‘which will be fixed to our surface marker buoy. I shouldn’t think there’ll be any boats out there this early, but if there are, then they’ll be able to see there are divers below.’

  ‘Great stuff,’ he said.

  ‘OK. Computers, check; masks, check. What are you going to do with your car keys?’ she asked him.

  ‘Waterproof bumbag inside my drysuit. Full bottle, check. New fins, check! So, what’s the plan? I’m letting you lead this one.’

  ‘That sounds sensible.’ She flashed him a look as she adjusted her computer, hoping he was as confident as he sounded. She’d been a little surprised he’d wanted to come. Most people would have been put off for life after the scare he’d had last time. Phil was definitely not a quitter. ‘We won’t go far and we won’t go deep. I was thinking max depth ten metres, we’ll fin parallel to the shore back towards Weymouth and if we get separated, we come straight up. Think of this as a getting-back-on-the-horse dive. Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready as I ever will be.’

  They arrived at the water’s edge, carrying their fins, which they would put on at the last minute. Shore dives were harder work because you had to lug the heavy kit further, but you also had time to adjust to the water temperature. It wasn’t such a shock as jumping straight in from a boat.

  They clipped on their fins and then walked backwards through the lacy white frill of the tide and then on and over the fairly sharp drop-off, and into the cool embrace of the sea.

  The sea at night was an eye-opener. Olivia had only ever done one night dive and she’d been amazed at how much there was to see. Chesil Cove was even better. It was a haven for marine life and today the visibility was amazing – the underwater world around them lighting up in the beams of their torches as they adjusted their buoyancy and began to fin through the water. Almost immediately, they saw fish flitting around across the clumps of dark red waving seaweed. Olivia’s torch lit up the electric blue markings of a cuckoo wrasse and a crab scuttled away from them, its stalk eyes waving.

  Twenty minutes into the dive, they came across a pair of squid undulating through the water with their strange fringed tentacles and round flat eyes. Olivia tapped Phil’s arm and for a moment they followed them. The squid weren’t at all fazed, they were clearly used to divers and they continued on their hunt for breakfast without hurry.

  There was something almost miraculous about being underwater, Olivia thought. Such a strange and alien world, filled with the phosphorescent glow of cuttlefish, far from the traffic and hustle bustle of above, with only the sounds of their amplified breathing to accompany them and the trails of bubbles from their regulators, heading back to the world of air.

  It was extraordinarily peaceful. Drift diving, she had thought, when she had first gone diving with Tom, was probably the closest you could get to flying. Drifting through the water, neutrally buoyant on the tide, gliding above a landscape of rocks, pebbles, weeds and tiny fish. There wasn’t much current in these waters, but it was enough to make finning almost effortless.

  The sea felt warmer today, even than it had a few weeks ago when they’d last been in it. She was probably imagining that. Her temperature gauge didn’t show any difference. She was just so pleased they’d come and especially that Phil had been up for it. They had talked about their last disastrous dive quite a bit since the event. It had bonded them deeply. They had learned things about each other that took most couples a great deal longer. They had learned that when it really mattered, they could rely on each other utterly. They could work through problems – even when the situation was life-threatening. They had learned that they had each other’s backs. That they could function as a unit.

  She guessed that a near-death experience like they’d had would always be bonding, but, in a weird kind of way, much of the strong connection they now felt had come afterwards. It had come from talking. They had learned that it was OK to rescue each other. It was OK to feel strong emotions and to share them and it wasn’t weak to apologise. They now knew that if they talked to each other, and were honest, they could probably get through anything that life threw at them.

  Phil was finning alongside her and, as if by some telepathy, they looked at each other at exactly the same moment. He pointed at his computer and then gestured up and she realised that they’d had their planned dive time. It was time to return to the land of air.

  Going up to the surface, the ascent towards the light had always put Olivia in mind of a kind of rebirth. That feeling was even stronger today because it had been dark when they’d gone in and when they surfaced, as planned, forty-five minutes later, on the nail, the sky had turned to a soft grey.

  Then Phil took his regulator out of his mouth to speak.

  ‘Oh wow,’ he said as they floated in the calm sea. ‘Just, wow. I think I’m hooked on night dives. That was fantastic.’

  Olivia nodded enthusiastically. She loved the awe on his face. It was how she felt too. The sheer, elemental wonder of being alive, feeling as if every atom of your body was tingling. It almost, but not quite, beat making love.

  ‘It was stunning,’ Phil said and then got a mouthful of water as a sneaky wave went over his head.

  He emerged coughing and spluttering a few seconds later.

  Olivia glanced quickly around to make sure she didn’t suffer the same fate and then whipped out her regulator to speak.

  ‘Let’s get you back to shore before you drown,’ she admonished and saw his eyes dance with amusement.

  There was definitely something to be said for bossing your loved ones about when they were in no position to retaliate.

  They weren’t very far from the beach, although they’d drifted quite some way from where they’d gone in and were now closer to Weymouth than Portland. They finned back into shore, which even with barely any swell was harder than it looked.

  A few minutes later, they were back on solid ground once more. Well, semi solid, because the shingle on Chesil Beach was eternally mobile, reshaping with every footstep and every tide. Pebble Beach was a very apt name for it, Olivia thought happily.

  Temporarily abandoning the heavy bottles and their fins at the bottom of the shingle bank, they climbed up to the top and then, breathless from the exertion and weak-kneed from the dive, they sank down side by side and looked towards the dawn.

&nb
sp; Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Above their heads, the darkness still lingered in purple swathes, but out on the horizon, in the direction of Portland Harbour, they could see the orange fire glow of the sunrise.

  On one side of the sky, a huge moon the colour of custard still swung amongst the stars. But here, at the top of the shingle bank as they stared out to sea, they watched the sky slowly lighten from midnight blue, through smudgy grey, to softest lilac, while in the east, the horizon grew brighter – a montage of stunning pink and grey – and then, as the sun slid up over the edge of the world, a glorious flaming gold.

  “Sunrise Over Pebble Bay”. Olivia thought of Ruby’s painting. And here she was experiencing it, first hand. Right now. Wow! Olivia wished she had her phone and could capture it for Ruby, but there was a part of her that knew it was impossible to capture the sunrise on film. It was better to just be in it, sitting in its glow, holding the hand of someone you love. She leant against Phil’s shoulder, feeling the strength in him and the breath of a salt breeze against her face. It was so peaceful sitting in the sunrise with the soundtrack of the endless sea on shingle and the mewling gulls and the more distant muted sounds of a slowly waking town.

  Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. It was enough that they were there – together, side by side, watching a bright and beautiful dawn unfolding and lighting up a glorious, brand new day.

  Epilogue

  In October, Ruby had a little boy and called him Simon in memory of her and Olivia’s much loved Uncle Simon. Simon junior’s father showed no interest in being part of his child’s upbringing but was made to pay Ruby a hefty one-off fee that Ruby has put in trust for their son’s future.

  Fortunately, as every female in the family agrees, Simon has a plethora of male role models, including his grandad James, his uncle Phil and Mike Turner.

  James and Marie Lambert are proving to be doting grandparents. Their first gift to their grandson was a dinosaur onesie. Marie is much more hands-on, and has thrown herself into being the best granny ever. But even James can be tempted away from the past and into the present for quite long periods these days, while he gets to know his first grandson.

  He has been heard to say that Simon has the hands of an archaeologist, and the sharp eyes of a historian, although how either of these things can be deduced when a child hasn’t yet reached his first birthday no one knows. Not to be deterred Grandpa James has already bought young Simon his first toy trowel!

  Dawn and Mike announced that time’s too precious to waste and now live together on a Dorset smallholding a pebble’s throw from Weymouth. They are working on creating a secret garden in one part of the grounds. They have much in common. Not least the fact that they’re both pretty dotty about animals. It turned out that Mike had something of a menagerie of his own, including two cats – Sherlock and Watson – and an alpaca called Mrs Hudson. He also has six hens that Dawn is helping him name after famous women. So far, they have Madonna the Second, Twiggy and Cher. There is also a cockerel called Boris. They are never short of eggs.

  Lydia Brooks and her daughter bought Aunt Dawn’s shop, Vintage Views, and are very happy in their new family business.

  Hannah has moved back to Dorset and doesn’t live far from Weymouth quay. The first of her YA books came out to great reviews and not bad sales for a debut novelist. She was over the moon and is now working on book two.

  Tom decided to go back to Spain after a holiday property company in Madrid he’d invested heavily in, turned out to be a scam. He is still trying to track down the perpetrators. When Hannah had bumped into him in Weymouth, just before he left, she said that his hair had gone quite white (and it definitely didn’t suit him), which must have been the shock of losing so much money.

  The new series of Nightingales was a smash hit and Olivia has just been signed up for another season. She now makes Amazing Cakes for a few handpicked clients, with Aunt Dawn’s help.

  Phil signed with the new agency and within a few months he finally got his big break as a heart-throb villain on a BBC drama. He is still maître d’ at The Bluebell Cliff Hotel, but he can now pick and choose his shifts.

  Phil and Olivia are planning their wedding at The Bluebell Cliff hotel. Ruby is going to be chief bridesmaid and there’s a rumour that Phil is going to ask Mr B to be his best man. On condition that the eccentric chef promises there will be no funny business.

  Mr B was so overwhelmed to be asked that he swore a solemn oath there and then that he would never play another trick on Phil for as long as they both lived.

  No one, least of all Phil, was at all convinced by this. But as they all agree, a temporary truce is better than a broken promise.

  Phil and Olivia are still trying for a baby. They have also begun the process of going along the adoption route. They both feel very strongly that the most important thing when it comes to babies is not how a life comes into being, or indeed who brought it into the world, the important thing is what happens afterwards. And the most important thing of all is, and always will be, love.

  Acknowledgments

  It’s impossible to write a book by yourself. There is such a big team behind you and every single one of them helps to make it the best it can be. Team Boldwood – you are amazing. As always, my special thanks go to Caroline Ridding, Judith Murdoch and Jade Craddock.

  My huge thanks go to Tony Millward for his expert local knowledge of Weymouth and Portland and also for helping me out when I ‘forgot’ that the sun rises in the east! Thanks to Adam Millward for his London knowledge.

  Thanks to Molly Carney, Angie Parkhurst and Sarah Doyle for their cake making expertise, and to Sarah for her expert knowledge of the business. Thank you so much to Shaun Scott for his insider knowledge of the acting business. Thank you to Jennifer McCormick for her knowledge and expertise of the art world. Thank you to Gordon Rawsthorne for his enduring support. He endures a lot!

  Thank you to the huge support of my readers – without whom it would be pretty pointless writing novels. I love reading your emails, tweets and Facebook comments. Please keep them coming.

  More from Della Galton

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  Sunshine Over Bluebell Cliff, another glorious escapist read from Della Galton, is available to order now by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…

  Chapter One

  Clara King was driving through the Isle of Purbeck on a gorgeous June morning on her way to work when her phone on the passenger seat beside her beeped with a message. The bluetooth in her car didn’t allow texts through when she was driving and so she didn’t take much notice.

  Ahead of her, the ruins of Corfe Castle, perched high on one of the surrounding hills, had just come suddenly into view, rising up above the little town of Corfe that nestled below it.

  Even though Clara passed it every single morning, it was a sight that never failed to take her breath away. Today, the jutting pillars of grey Purbeck stone were silhouetted starkly against the clear blue summer sky. The eleventh-century castle, built by William The Conqueror, was impressive, even in ruins. It was a huge tourist attraction, now owned by the National Trust, and its more intrepid visitors climbed up the gravel path to the summit to wander around and imagine old ghosts inside its ancient walls.

  Clara had once taken a more unorthodox route to the top, straight up one of the castle’s almost vertical grassy sides. It had been dark and she’d been wearing three-inch heels, having just spent the evening at the pub with a group of catering-college friends. She couldn’t remember which of them had suggested a night-time visit to the castle, but it had seemed l
ike a good idea after several glasses of wine. She was amazed she hadn’t broken her neck, or at least a heel. But that was the kind of mad thing you did when you were young and trying to prove to your new ‘into anything’ boyfriend that you were up for an adventure.

  She was thirty-four now and newly single – although not from him, no, that particular relationship had fizzled out faster than a summer firework over the sea – and much more responsible. She had just landed her dream job as Manager of the Bluebell Cliff, a fabulous hotel, perched on Dorset’s stunning coastline, which was where she was heading right now.

  Ten minutes later, she drew up in its gravel car park, turned off the ignition and picked up her phone.

  The message was from her boss, Kate Rawlinson. It said:

  * * *

  Morning C, I need to talk to you urgently. Come straight into my office when you arrive.

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  Kate was the most laid-back of bosses. What on earth had she done to warrant being summoned? Suddenly all of the sunshine flew from the day and Clara’s palms felt sweaty as she clicked the remote control to lock up her poppy-red Mini Cooper.

  As she reached the low wall that separated the parking from the lawns that enclosed three sides of the hotel, she gulped in a lungful of fresh sea air mixed with the scent of roses and lavender that grew in the hotel gardens. Above her head, a lone seagull soared on the breeze.