He got in the car beside Mum and directed her to the alleyway. It was a tight squeeze to get the car slotted in the space and Mum’s always been rubbish at parking. She made one attempt. Two attempts.
‘It’s OK,’ Mike said gently. ‘How about swinging the steering wheel round, backing in – no, no, the other way!’
‘Oh God, I’m hopeless!’ said Mum.
‘No, you’re not. It’s blooming difficult parking here. It takes ages to get used to it. Do you want another go – or would you like me to back it in?’
‘You do it, please!’
Mike had the car properly parked in a matter of moments. He didn’t crow though, he just shrugged and smiled when Mum thanked him. We got the two cases out of the boot, and Mike insisted on carrying them for us. I carried his paints and his art folder and his folding easel, feeling very important. I hoped people would look at me and think I was the real artist.
‘OK, here we are, Primrose Terrace. Which guest house do you fancy?’
We gazed up and down the street. They were tall narrow Victorian houses painted in pretty pastels, pale yellow, pink, peach and white.
‘Which do you think, Beauty?’ said Mum. ‘What about the one that’s painted primrose yellow to match the name of the terrace?’
‘That’s quite a good choice,’ said Mike. ‘But maybe . . . ?’
‘There’s the pink one,’ said Mum.
‘Not pink,’ I said, and Mike nodded in agreement.
‘OK, OK, the peach one. That’s got lovely roses in the garden,’ said Mum.
‘Mmm. Maybe,’ said Mike. He was looking towards the white house at the end. I laid his art stuff down carefully and ran to have a proper look at it. It had a shiny green door and green willow-leaf curtains and there were white flowers painted on a sign above the door. I read the name – and came flying back to Mum and Mike.
‘We have to stay in the white one at the end. It’s called Lily Cottage!’
‘Excellent choice,’ said Mike. ‘Let’s see if they’ve got any vacancies.’
We walked up to Lily Cottage. I rang the bell. We waited. I rang again. Nothing happened.
‘They’re obviously not in,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe we’d better go next door after all.’
‘Or maybe I can let you in?’ said Mike, producing a key. He put it in the lock and opened the door with a flourish.
‘It’s your house!’ said Mum, laughing.
‘It’s how I earn my living,’ said Mike, grinning. ‘I’ve got a double bedroom free with an en suite bathroom and a sea view. It’s my best room and very cheap. Come and take a peek. I hope you like it.’
It was a lovely old-fashioned room with a patchwork quilt on the bed, a rocking chair in the corner, two comfy armchairs with flowery cushions, a scarlet Chinese storage chest – and Mike’s bright paintings all round the white-washed walls.
‘We’ll definitely take it!’ said Mum.
‘Make yourself at home,’ said Mike. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on. I’m sure you’d like a cup of tea.’
‘I wish this was our home,’ I said to Mum, when he’d gone downstairs.
‘Oh Beauty!’ Mum sighed and opened her handbag, taking out her mobile. ‘I think we’d better phone home.’
‘What? We’re not going back, are we?’
‘No, no. But it’s only fair to let your dad know where we are. You’re his daughter. I can’t just whisk you away and not let him keep in contact.’
‘Not yet though, Mum. We’re on holiday.’
‘Well, I think we should just reassure him that you’re all right.’
Mum switched on her phone. It immediately started beeping and beeping with many messages. Mum held it at arm’s length, as if she thought it might explode. She pressed the first text message, the second, the third, so quickly that I couldn’t read them. She listened to the first recorded message. She kept the phone pressed to her ear but I could still hear a few words. They were mostly rude swear words.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe we’ll wait until tomorrow,’ and she switched the phone off again.
Fifteen
I woke up to see the sun streaming through a chink in the curtains. It was going to be another lovely sunny day in Rabbit Cove! I lay quietly beside Mum, fingering the stitching on the patchwork quilt, looking at each seaside picture in turn. Then I heard a loud mewing right outside the window. I jumped up and pulled back the curtains. Two seagulls were balancing boldly on the window ledge, tapping their beaks on the glass in a jaunty fashion.
‘Shoo!’ I said, tapping back at them.
They flew off and I wondered what it would be like to soar effortlessly up into the sky. I spread my arms and whirled round and round the bed.
‘Whatever are you doing?’ Mum mumbled.
‘Just having a little fly,’ I said.
‘You are such a funny kid,’ said Mum, sitting up and stretching. ‘Are you happy, babes?’
‘Ever so ever so ever so. I simply love it here. Can we go on the beach again and have another picnic?’
‘Of course we can.’
‘And do you think Mike was serious about letting me do oil painting?’
‘I think so.’
‘He’s so nice, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he’s a sweetheart. I’m sure he’s not charging us the full rate for the room – but I’m not going to argue!’ said Mum. She sniffed. ‘Can you smell bacon? Mmm!’
We had a quick bath and then went downstairs to the breakfast room. There were two sets of couples wearing jeans and big woolly socks over their boots, obviously all set to walk along the coast path, and a family with a little boy and a toddler.
Mike rushed in and out of the room in a big navy striped apron, bringing veggie sausage breakfasts for one walking couple, bacon and egg and black pudding for the other, baked beans on toast and boiled eggs with soldiers for the family. Mum just wanted a bacon sandwich but I had a big plate of everything – and it was delicious. Mike was too busy to chat much, though he found the walkers a special map and he gave the two little boys some tiny cars to race up and down their arms and round and round their plates.
When the walkers and the family had all finished Mike came and sat down at our table and had a cup of tea with us. It made us feel special.
‘What are you two ladies planning for today?’ he said.
‘The beach!’ I said.
‘Well, I’ve got to clean all the bedrooms and do a spot of shopping this morning,’ said Mike. ‘But this afternoon I’ll be down on my usual patch with my paints, and you’re very welcome to come and do a bit of daubing too, Beauty.’
Mum and I had another lovely lazy morning at Rabbit Cove and a picnic on the beach. The family with the two little boys were on the beach too. I built a real sandcastle down on the damp sand near the sea and they came and ‘helped’ me, finding shells and seaweed to decorate it and pouring water from their buckets to make a moat.
Then Mike arrived and he had a small canvas specially for me! He’d even brought me a piece of board to mix my colours on and two different brushes, one fat, one thin.
‘OK, what are you going to paint?’ said Mike. ‘A seascape?’
‘I think I’d like to do a portrait, a made-up one. Is that all right?’ I asked.
‘Of course it is, funny girl! You can paint whatever you want.’
So I sketched out a big figure that nearly filled the whole canvas. I squeezed dabs of blue and black and brown and red and white paint on my palette and got started. It was such fun sploshing on the thick paint. It stayed obediently where I put it; it didn’t slop all over the place like watercolour. If I made a mistake I could just wipe it off or decide to paint over it later.
I painted a man with shiny brown hair and lovely blue eyes. I gave him blue jeans and I fiddled around with the smaller brush, trying to give him a plaid shirt. It was tricky work, but not a lot of it showed because the man was holding a big white rabbit in his arms. It was hard making her look like a
rabbit rather than a huge blob of marshmallow, but Mike showed me how to make a pale grey and do little dabbing strokes of the brush to look like fur. I mixed up a perfect pink for the rabbit’s little nose, and I gave my man matching rosy cheeks.
‘That’s fantastic, Beauty,’ said Mike. He hesitated. ‘So . . . is that your dad?’
‘No!’ I said. ‘It’s Sam and his rabbit Lily. They’re on the television. It’s a little kids’ programme. I’m a big baby.’ I hung my head.
‘Beauty, you’re looking at a man who used to watch a little kids’ programme called The Magic Roundabout every single day. In fact I have a daughter called Florence named after one of the roundabout characters. Luckily she hasn’t got a funny face and very big feet like the Florence puppet.’
‘I didn’t see any girl at Lily Cottage,’ I said shyly.
‘Oh no no, she’s grown up now and lives in London, near her mum,’ said Mike.
‘Oh,’ I said, nodding.
‘We split up several years ago. My wife hated it here.’
‘How could you possibly hate Rabbit Cove?’ I said, astonished.
I started doing the sky behind Sam, realizing that it might have made sense to fill it in first.
‘Oh, Jenny likes city life, bright lights, lots going on, lots of shops. She found it incredibly boring when I took early retirement and we moved down here. I think she probably found me quite boring too,’ said Mike.
‘You’re not a bit boring,’ I said.
Mike laughed at me. ‘You’re an incredibly polite girl, Beauty. You’ve obviously been impeccably brought up by your mum and dad. So . . .’ He hesitated again. ‘Where is Dad?’
‘Back at home,’ I said. I hesitated too. ‘I think maybe he and Mum have split up too. Just the day before yesterday, on my birthday, actually.’
‘Oh dear! So where are you going to go after your holiday here?’
I didn’t say anything, painting green grass under Sam’s feet. It went a bit blobby and lumpy, but I pretended the biggest lumps were lettuces for Lily.
‘I was prying again,’ said Mike. ‘I’m sorry, take no notice. I’m so nosy.’ He tapped himself on his big cherry nose, telling himself off. I giggled, because he left a big smear of sand-yellow paint on the tip.
‘I think maybe you should wipe your nose, it’s all painty now. Here, shall I do it?’ I said, brushing at him. ‘I’m not really sure where we’re going to go next.’
‘But Mum knows?’
‘Nope. We did go to Auntie Avril but she couldn’t have us for more than one night.’
‘I see. Well, what would you like to do, Beauty?’
I hung my head.
‘Do you want to go back to Dad?’ Mike asked gently.
‘No! He tries to be a kind dad and he spends heaps of money on me but he gets so scary sometimes. He gets mad at Mum and me and he broke all the cookies and he let my birthday rabbit out of its hutch and it died,’ I said, all in a rush.
I suddenly couldn’t see my canvas any more because my eyes were blurry with tears.
‘Oh, Beauty, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Mike, dabbing at my eyes with the much-used paint cloth.
I’d thought Mum was asleep down on the beach but she came dashing over the sand towards us.
‘What have you said to upset her?’ she demanded of Mike.
‘It wasn’t Mike’s fault, Mum, honest,’ I snivelled. ‘I just thought about my rabbit.’
‘Oh. Yes. Poor darling,’ said Mum, giving me a big hug.
‘It was my fault,’ said Mike. ‘I was asking stuff about her dad. I’m sorry, it was unforgivable of me. I was worried because Beauty let it slip that you haven’t got anywhere to go.’
‘We’ll be absolutely fine,’ said Mum. ‘And you needn’t worry about us not paying for our room and breakfast, I’ve got more than enough.’
‘Oh Dilly, stop it. You know that’s not what I’m worrying about.’
‘You don’t have to worry at all,’ said Mum. ‘Come on, Beauty, I think we’ll go for a walk.’
‘But, Mum, I haven’t finished my Sam and Lily painting,’ I said.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m getting a bit sick of stupid Sam and his Lily,’ said Mum. ‘Come on. Now.’
I glanced despairingly at Mike.
‘Better do what your mum says,’ he said.
So I miserably followed Mum along the seafront and up a little winding chalk path to the clifftop. I walked behind her, glaring at her back. She walked faster and faster, swinging her arms, her fists clenched. I lagged behind, out of breath.
‘Keep up, Beauty,’ Mum hissed.
‘I don’t want to,’ I said, and I suddenly sat down.
‘Oh come on, don’t be a silly baby,’ said Mum.
‘Stop bossing me about! Why are you being so horrid all of a sudden? You were so rude to Mike and he was just trying to be kind.’
‘He made you cry. I’m not having that.’
‘You know why I was crying – it was because of my rabbit.’
‘Beauty, you spent five minutes maximum with that blessed rabbit,’ said Mum, squatting down beside me.
‘I still loved it – and it was so terrible seeing it without its poor little head,’ I said, my voice going shaky again. ‘I’ll never forgive Dad for that, never never never.’
‘Your dad didn’t mean that to happen. I know he undid the hutch but I’m sure he just meant Birthday to escape. You mustn’t blame him.’
‘Why are you sticking up for Dad? Yet you were being mean to Mike who’s ever so nice. And being mean to me too.’
‘I’m not being mean. Don’t be so childish.’
‘I’m a child, how else am I supposed to act? And you are being horribly mean. Why are you being so nasty, even saying Sam and Lily are stupid.’
‘Well they are. And you’re stupid being so obsessed with them. You’re a big baby,’ said Mum.
‘I am not,’ I said, and I shoved her, hard.
She was still squatting and so she lost her balance. She fell backwards, legs in the air.
‘Don’t you dare hit me!’ she said. ‘Do that again and I’ll hit you right back.’
‘I didn’t hit you, I just shoved. This is a hit,’ I said, and I punched her shoulder.
It was only a token punch, a feeble little tap, but Mum smacked me hard on my leg. I stared at her, shocked. She’d never ever smacked me before.
Mum seemed stunned too. Her face suddenly crumpled and she burst into tears.
‘I don’t know why you’re crying. I’m the one who should be crying – that really hurt,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mum sobbed, her head in her hands.
She cried and cried. I edged closer and then put my arm round her. She cried even harder, clinging to me.
‘Oh, Beauty, I’m so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘How could I have slapped you like that? You’re right, I was being horribly mean. It’s just I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do for the best. I was awake half the night worrying about it. I think I’ve gone crazy, running away with you like this. I haven’t got an idea in my head what we’re going to do. I couldn’t stand Mike looking at me like that, acting so kind and concerned, when he must think I’m the worst mother in the world.’
‘He doesn’t think that at all. He likes you. Don’t you like him?’
‘Of course I do. I feel dead embarrassed that I was so snotty to him. I think we’d better be on our way tomorrow.’
‘Oh no, Mum. I love it here.’
‘I know, darling, but we can’t stay here for ever.’
‘Why can’t we?’
‘This is just our little holiday, you know that. We’ve got to make proper plans. I’ve been trying so hard, but my head just goes whirling round and round. I’ve got so used to your dad telling me what to do I can’t seem to think for myself any more.’
‘So I’ll think for you. We’ll stay here in Rabbit Cove and you’ll get a job, right, and we’ll find our own little
place—’
‘Oh, Beauty, we couldn’t even afford a blooming beach hut.’
‘Well then, I’ll build us a blooming sandcastle and we’ll live in that, happily ever after,’ I said.
Mum burst out laughing and hugged me tight. ‘Oh, thank God I’ve got you, babe. We’ll be fine, you and me, just so long as we stick together. I’m sorry I was so crabby.’
‘Are you going to say sorry to Mike too?’
‘Oh, lordy. Yes, I suppose so. He has been sweet to us – and it was lovely him showing you how to paint.’
‘I’m quite good at it, aren’t I! We don’t really have to go tomorrow, do we? I so want to paint some more.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Mum.
When we walked back arm in arm we saw Mike still perched on the wall, painting away.
‘I don’t think we’d better disturb him just now,’ said Mum.
‘Oh, Mum, stop being such a coward! Let’s get it over with,’ I said.
I practically had to pull her over to Mike. Her cheeks went very red as we got nearer. He didn’t look up, even when we were standing right next to him. He carried on dabbing paint on his canvas in determined fashion.
Mum pulled an agonized face at me. I gave her a nudge. She swallowed hard.
‘Mike, I’m very sorry for being so rude and off-hand with you,’ she said in a tiny voice.
Mike paused, paintbrush in mid-air. He looked up at last.
‘I don’t blame you. I was asking Beauty all sorts of silly questions which were none of my business,’ he said stiffly.
‘Not at all,’ said Mum.
Mike nodded awkwardly. Mum made little shuffling movements, about to stride off again. I couldn’t bear leaving it like that.
‘So to make friends properly we’d like to ask you out to supper tonight,’ I said.
Mum and Mike stared at me, looking equally astonished.
‘Where?’ Mum mouthed at me.
We’d discovered that Peggy’s Parlour closed on the dot of six last night so we’d bought cod and chips from the fish shop and eaten them on the beach.
‘That’s very sweet of you, but I was actually planning a meal in tonight, with friends,’ said Mike.
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