A Cottage by the Sea

by Carole Matthews

  This time when I get back to A&E, Noah is dozing. There’s hardly anyone here now and he’s lying out on his back across a row of chairs. His feet are crossed and he has the What Car? magazine open on his chest. His face is gentle, contented, in sleep and I enjoy the luxury of watching him for a moment, unobserved, acknowledging that I can never look at him without feeling a warm glow inside. Even with his rumpled hair and his rumpled clothes I could still feast my eyes on him for ever. I sigh to myself and rouse my weary limbs to go over to him.

  When I touch his arm, he jumps awake. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ Weariness overwhelms me and, without warning, I break down and cry.

  Noah is on his feet instantly. He pulls me into his arms and his embrace is warm and oh so comforting. My body shakes against his solid, unmoving mass.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ he says, soothingly. ‘It’s all right now. You did well.’

  ‘I’m just so relieved that Ella isn’t going to lose the baby,’ I sob. ‘I’ve been holding it all in, trying to be strong for her.’

  ‘It’s been a long night,’ he sympathises. ‘Is she settled now?’

  ‘Asleep already, I think.’

  ‘Then we should go home.’ Noah rubs his eyes and glances at his watch. ‘Dawn will be breaking soon.’

  ‘I wonder if anyone has missed us?’

  He looks at me ruefully. ‘I doubt it.’

  My eyelids grate over my eyeballs. They’re dry and itchy through lack of sleep. ‘I’m so tired, I could fall asleep standing up. You must be dead on your feet too.’

  ‘I had a quick doze,’ he says. ‘I’m blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere at any time. I used to think it was the sign of a peaceful mind. Sleep of the just, I called it. Now I’m not so sure.’ He tucks my arm into his and I don’t have the energy or inclination to try to move it. ‘Let’s go.’

  Outside the night is lifting already, darkness slowly giving way to the sun. It’s forecast to be a hot, sunny day again. Still arm in arm we go back to the car without speaking and when I’m safely ensconced in the passenger seat, I sink back on to the head rest.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Noah says. ‘Kick back. I’ll see us home safely.’

  ‘Not only am I tired, but I’m starving too.’ On cue my stomach rumbles out loud and I manage a weary laugh. ‘I suppose it is nearly time for breakfast.’

  The car is warm, cosy, its inside battered, worn, well loved. I can imagine that dogs have been in here. It doesn’t smell of leather and air freshener like the Bentley. Its scent is altogether more wholesome. Noah’s car smells of the land, earthy.

  He smiles at me as we swing out of the car park and, to be honest, that’s the last thing I remember.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  ‘Hey, sleepyhead.’

  Noah’s voice breaks into my dream and I force my eyes open. I stretch and look round me, trying to remember where I am.

  ‘I must have nodded off.’

  ‘There are no flies in the car any more,’ he teases.

  Oh, God, that means I’ve had my mouth wide open. Attractive. ‘Did I snore and drool?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he says pleasantly.

  Very attractive. ‘Sorry.’ I feel myself flushing.

  Noah laughs.

  I glance out of the car window. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘I couldn’t face going straight back to the cottage,’ he admits, his face serious. ‘We’re in Broad Haven.’

  ‘We are?’ That actually means very little to me as I have no idea where Broad Haven is. But it’s information that I really don’t feel the need to probe for now.

  ‘Outside a café that’s miraculously open,’ Noah adds. ‘It must have an insomniac owner. I’m about to go and see if I can get us a takeaway breakfast so that we can sit and watch the sunrise.’

  ‘You are?’

  He shrugs. ‘You must have pushed my hunter-gatherer button. If the lady’s hungry I thought I’d better provide food. Would that make you happy?’

  ‘Oh, Noah,’ I say with a tired grin, ‘that would be wonderful.’ My brain questions for the millionth time why I didn’t meet this man years ago. Years ago when I was free, single, available.

  ‘Wait there,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in five.’

  With that he jumps out of the car and sprints across the road to the café.

  It’s a big, bold place taking the prominent position right opposite the promenade. What it lacks in charm, it makes up for in convenience. The seafront at Broad Haven is possibly the tidiest place I’ve seen. It’s neat, sparse. The guest houses have white picket fencing and look as if they’ve been freshly painted in regulation cream. There’s a row of benches on the uniform paving, one of which might have our name on it. Below the railings lies the broad sweep of pale, golden sand of St Brides Bay, flanked by glorious green cliffs. I’d like to climb up there one day as the view must be spectacular. At this ridiculous hour, there’s no one else in sight. But soon the beach is sure to start filling up with windsurfers and families exploring the rock pools.

  True to his word, Noah appears five minutes later, holding two takeaway cartons and balancing two polystyrene cups on top. ‘Breakfast is served, madam.’

  ‘I thought we’d sit out on that bench,’ I say and haul my aching bones out of the passenger seat.

  ‘Excellent idea.’

  We walk a few metres along the front and when we’re settled, Noah hands me a carton. ‘Bacon and egg roll with ketchup.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  I get one of the cups of tea too. And a serviette.

  The sea air is chilly. As I came out of the house in the middle of the night just wearing a cardigan over my pyjamas, I shiver in the breeze. Noah slips off his fleece and wraps it round my shoulders. ‘Thanks.’ It smells of him. Of rugged pastimes, woods and fields. I try to inhale deeply and imprint the scent on my brain for the rest of time without him noticing.

  I tuck into my breakfast with gusto. The salty air gives it an extra tang. ‘I think this egg and bacon is the best I’ve ever tasted,’ I tell him, not caring that there’s probably grease on my chin.

  The seagulls wheel round us, hopeful of a discarded crumb or two. Not a hope. This is mine, all mine.

  We eat the rest of our impromptu breakfast in companionable silence. Then we sit and stare out at the sea, waiting for the sun to make an appearance. I was never a Girl Guide so I can’t tell if the tide is coming in or going out, but it’s a long way out on the sand. The sky is lightening by the minute. Soon the sun peeps out from its hiding place tucked behind the sea and rises steadily in the sky, washing the world in a delicate shade of pink.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Tears, it seems, are never far from my eyes these days. I let them roll down my cheeks. Gently, ever so gently, Noah dabs them with his serviette. ‘This was a nice idea.’

  ‘If I’m honest, Grace, I have an ulterior motive.’ He puffs out a breath. ‘I just wanted to spend some time alone with you.’

  I can’t speak. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘I know that it’s wrong of me.’

  Of course this is wrong. It’s wrong of both of us. I close my eyes. My soul settles when I’m with Noah. How can I tell him that? Instead, I lean against him and feel his arm slip round my shoulders.

  We sit there for as long as we possibly can, not speaking, not moving, until the sun is bold and big, and until we know that our loved ones in Cwtch Cottage will be stirring and we will be missed.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  We pull up outside the cottage and Noah turns towards me. For the last few minutes we sit in silence, warm in the fug of the car and cocooned from the rest of humanity.

  Eventually, he lets out a wavering breath. ‘OK?’ he asks and I nod.

  ‘Thank you.’ I don’t want to get out of this seat and face the real world. ‘Thank you for helping Ella. Thank you for a lovely breakfast.’ Thank you for being you.

  ‘Any time, Grace,’ he says.

  ‘I h
ave to tell Art,’ I venture. ‘I’m dreading it.’

  ‘Want me to be with you?’

  I shake my head. ‘I should do this alone.’

  He takes my hand and gives it a brief squeeze. ‘Ready?’

  I nod. He opens the door and reality rushes in like cold air.

  We plod back to the cottage. Noah has his hands jammed into the pockets of his fleece. It looks as if only Flick is up when we get back. As we go through to the kitchen, I can see her out on the terrace. She’s still in her dressing gown, but has got a cup of coffee and is puffing on a cigarette, staring out to sea.

  Noah and I exchange an anxious glance, then go straight outside.

  ‘Hey,’ Noah says as we approach.

  Flick wheels round and then recoils when she sees us together. She takes a deep drag on her cigarette and throws it to the ground, grinding it under her flip-flop. Her face is dark, her mouth pursed angrily. ‘Mind telling me where you two have been?’ she says.

  I flop down on the bench next to her. ‘To the hospital,’ I offer. ‘With Ella.’

  That takes the wind out of her sails, exactly as I intended it to. I’m not going to mention the extended breakfast that Noah and I shared in Broad Haven.

  ‘Is she all right?’ The tone of righteous indignation has gone.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, wearily. ‘She’s fine.’

  I don’t want to fight with Flick, not over this. It’s too heartbreaking.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Noah, probably wisely, disappears while I fill Flick in on the details.

  ‘She was bleeding in the night,’ I tell her. ‘I came to wake you, but couldn’t. You were dead to the world. So I woke Noah up instead and he drove us to the hospital.’

  ‘Shit,’ Flick says, suitably admonished. ‘I did have a skinful last night. You came to wake me up?’

  ‘Yes.’ I shrug. ‘You know what you’re like. Once you’re out for the count, you could sleep through an earthquake.’

  She has no argument against that. ‘I was worried when I woke up and found that Noah was gone. I didn’t know what to think.’ For once Flick looks shaky. ‘To be honest, I imagined the worst. I thought he’d left for good.’

  ‘I bite down my guilt. ‘I’m so sorry. I had to get Ella to the hospital. I didn’t know who else to turn to.’

  Flick waves away my apology. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I’m just worried about Ella. I should have been there for her, like you. I’m such a totally crap friend.’

  I try a smile. ‘She knows you too well to hold it against you, Flick. We managed all right. Noah was a great help.’

  ‘Of course he was,’ she says. ‘He’s bloody brilliant. How is she?’

  ‘Still at the hospital.’

  ‘I should go as soon as I can.’

  ‘I’ve got to ring and find out what time her scan is, but they’re hoping she can come out later on today.’

  ‘The baby’s OK?’

  ‘They think so. Apparently, it’s not uncommon to have a scare like this, but I don’t think her tumble on the bike will have done her any good. It’s made Ella realise just how much she wants this child.’

  ‘That’s a good thing.’

  ‘Yeah.’ But at what price? I cast a glance back at the cottage. ‘Is no one else up yet?’

  Flick shakes her head. ‘Haven’t seen either Art or Harry this morning. It’s still early, I guess.’

  I was forgetting that. It’s only just after seven. ‘I need to go and speak to Art. Tell him about what’s happened.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Something I’m not looking forward to.

  Flick gives a low whistle. ‘Do you need back-up? I can do this with you, at least.’

  ‘I think it’s probably best if I do it myself,’ I assure her. Wearily, I push myself off the bench. ‘I’ll take him some coffee.’

  ‘I’d take him some brandy,’ she says wryly.

  It might not be a bad idea.

  ‘Look, Grace, I’m sorry that I snapped at you and Noah. It’s just that I don’t feel that things are going all that well between us.’ She runs her hand through her hair. ‘I’m desperate for this relationship to work. Desperate. It has to. I can’t keep fucking around until I’m fifty. But you seem to get on so much better with him than I do. You’re so much more in tune with him. When I saw you together I thought that…’ Her words tail away. ‘Well, I don’t know what I thought.’

  I do know what she thought and it tightens my heart.

  Her laugh is brittle and I flush. ‘You’re not me, are you?’

  ‘No.’ But I think, guiltily, that at this very moment I’m much more like Flick than I’d like to be.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Noah is just about to pour the tea when I go back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll give that a miss,’ I say. ‘I’m going to take Art a coffee. Strong.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Noah fiddles with making Art a coffee so thick and black that you could stand the spoon up in it.

  ‘Think I should put a couple of spoons of sugar in it?’ I ask, peering into the cup. ‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for someone who’s in shock?’ As Art will be as soon as I break this news to him.

  Noah adds two cubes of brown sugar and then another two for good measure. He looks at me for approval. I nod for him to keep going and he drops in another two. It will either kill or cure him.

  ‘Good luck,’ he says. Then he nods towards Flick who’s still deep in thought on the terrace. ‘Everything OK out there?’

  ‘Yes.’ I pick at my nail. ‘She’s missing you. You should go and spend some time with her.’

  ‘I guess so,’ he concedes. ‘If you need me to do anything else, Grace, just let me know. I can drive you to the hospital later if you want.’

  ‘Thanks. We’ll see what happens. I’m sure that Art will want to get over there as soon as he can.’

  So, while Noah goes outside to placate Flick, I take the wake-the-dead coffee and reluctantly climb the stairs.

  I should probably stop in to see Harry first, but I want to get this onerous task over with as soon as possible. I knock on Art’s bedroom door and, from inside, there’s an answering groan.

  With a leaden heart and a weary sigh, I slip inside. The bedroom smells like a heavy night in a bar. In the middle of the bed, in a tangle of sheets, Art is spreadeagled. I have to smile to myself as he looks every inch the stereotypical hedonistic rock musician. The only thing wrong is that he’s in a cottage in Pembrokeshire rather than a city hotel in Berlin or somewhere.

  ‘I brought coffee,’ I say, putting it down on the bedside table.

  There’s an indeterminate noise from the heap in the bed.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. ‘And bad news.’

  That makes Art wake up. He grunts again and pushes himself up on to one elbow. Art’s a good-looking man, but clearly it must take a while for him to settle into the day as, at this moment, he looks every one of his thirty-five years. There’s stubble on his chin and, in the light from the window, his increasing smattering of grey hair is highlighted. He’s still wearing last night’s T-shirt and what I’m assuming are last night’s undies. Which is not a good look for anyone. Perhaps the years of drinking and hard living are finally starting to take their toll on him. Maybe there comes a time when the partying has to stop.

  ‘Bad news?’ he mumbles.

  ‘Drink your coffee.’

  He props himself up now and takes the cup from me. At the first sip, the hit from the caffeine makes him shudder.

  I’ve known Art for years and I’d consider him a good friend, so why am I struggling to break this to him? But then I think that Ella couldn’t do it either, so perhaps it’s not surprising. I sit down on the floor next to the bed so that my head is on a level with his.

  ‘It’s Ella,’ I start.

  He’s wide awake now and, for the first time, he realises she’s not in the bed. ‘Where is she?’ His head spins backwards and
forwards as he searches for her. A moment later, he looks as if he regrets it. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘Yes and no.’ My heart is racing and I’ve not had the benefit of strong coffee. I wait until my breathing is steady. ‘She’s in the hospital, but she’s all right.’

  ‘In the hospital? What’s happened?’ He looks around him, perplexed. ‘Was I that out of it last night?’