by Kate Field
‘Have some more Champagne,’ he said, sloshing the liquid in the general direction of her glass. Most of it trickled down her hand and, in the flickering light between fireworks, he reached out and brushed it away. His touch was warm and felt extraordinarily intimate.
‘Did you pay for that?’ Mim asked, whisking her hand away quickly.
‘No.’ He took a long swig from the bottle. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘What gave it away?’
The only reply was a quiet laugh which echoed in the darkness.
‘It’s a strange time, New Year, isn’t it?’ he continued, his voice clear despite the backdrop of fireworks. ‘It makes you reflect too much. About the ways the old year didn’t work out as you’d hoped. About the emptiness of the year ahead. About how different things might be, if you’d been born into another life. Don’t you think?’
He was drunk. Mim wondered why she hadn’t realised that before. Perhaps he’d been helping himself from the bar all night. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was a maudlin drunk feeling sorry for himself.
‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s no point envying the people here. If you don’t like what you’ve got in life, change it. There’s always something you can do. You can’t stop trying, however bad it gets.’
‘Are you one of those relentlessly cheerful people for whom the glass is always half full?’ he asked.
‘I’m one of those relentlessly poor people and I’m always grateful to have a glass.’
Fireworks flashed over their heads again. He was closer than she’d realised and looking right at her. She could feel heat radiating off his body and see curiosity in his face. She raised her Champagne glass to him, in a mock toast, and that smile shone out again, so luminous that it was hard to look away. The moment was broken when cheers rang out from the garden and the guests started to sing a ragged version of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
‘Happy New Year,’ the man said, and he clinked his bottle against her glass. ‘Let’s make the most of that glass and have another drink.’
‘I have to go.’ Her break was over and presumably his was too. There was still a huge amount of clearing up to be done and thirsty guests to serve.
‘Disappearing on the stroke of midnight?’ He laughed. ‘Who are you, Cinderella? Will you leave me your shoe as you escape?’
‘I’d better not.’ She smiled. ‘It’s the only pair I’ve got.’
Chapter Three
It felt like déjà vu when Mim was woken the next morning by a knock on her caravan door. This time, Bea was standing on the veranda wearing a large pair of sunglasses despite the mist swirling around her and the general dreariness of the day. Mim stifled a pang of disappointment at this Lancashire-like weather. Shouldn’t it always be glorious down south?
‘Aha, you’re still here,’ Bea said. ‘Can I come in?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, but brushed past Mim and sank down onto the sofa that ran along the wall in the lounge area of the caravan.
‘Sorry, I must have overslept,’ Mim said. Overslept again. This Devon sea air was knocking her out more effectively than sleeping tablets. ‘I can be gone in ten minutes, if that’s okay?’ Bea didn’t seem to be listening. She was rubbing her head and groaning quietly. Mim swallowed a huge chunk of pride and forced herself to carry on. ‘I don’t think I have enough petrol to get me back to Lancashire and I’m short on cash at the moment. Would you mind filling the car up?’
‘Why is it so cold in here?’ Bea asked. She was wearing an oversized camel cardigan that Mim suspected was worth more than her Volvo, but still shivered and wrapped it more tightly round herself. ‘Are the heaters broken?’
‘I didn’t switch them on.’
‘Whyever not?’
‘Because they would have cost money to run.’
‘Pooh! Pennies.’ Bea dismissed this with a flap of her hand. ‘You can’t put a price on being warm.’
Mim could. She remembered all too well the places she’d lived before finding work with Gordon at the hotel. There had been many days when she’d had to choose between putting 50p in the gas meter or buying food. The price of warmth had been hunger. Whatever happened, whatever it took, she wasn’t going back to those days again.
‘So, about the petrol?’ Mim asked again.
‘Yes, you don’t need to worry about that, my dear. Bill will take you to the garage. It’s hard to find your way down the single-track lanes if you’re not familiar with them. It may be open tomorrow, or perhaps the day after. It’s always tricky to know at New Year.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Mim repeated. ‘But I was planning to go back today.’
‘Were you?’ Bea raised the sunglasses off her face and peered at Mim, before wincing and letting them fall back to the bridge of her nose. She patted the sofa seat beside her. ‘Stop hovering by the door. Come and sit down and let’s have a chat.’
That sounded ominous, but nonetheless Mim crossed the caravan and sat down next to Bea.
‘I’m not being judgemental, my dear,’ Bea said, ‘but there’s clearly more going on than you’re telling us. Have you run away from home? From a husband or partner or whoever?’
‘No. I don’t have any sort of partner. I haven’t run away.’
‘I see. Only, it looked as if all your worldly goods were stashed in that car of yours. I’m sure I saw your toothbrush in one of those bags you tried to cover up. And then I found a blanket on the back seat, and it may sound silly, but I had the absurd notion that you might actually be sleeping in your car. Tell me that’s a ridiculous idea, Mim. I can’t bear to think of it.’
‘It’s not ridiculous,’ Mim said. She hadn’t wanted to volunteer the information but she wouldn’t lie about it now. ‘It’s true. It’s only been a couple of weeks, though. Not long. And it won’t be for much longer. Something will come up soon. I’m lucky, really, having the car. Many people are much worse off.’
Bea leaned forward and grabbed Mim’s hands.
‘How can this be?’ she asked. ‘How did you find yourself in such dire straits?’
‘Quite easily.’ It had been frighteningly easy. Mim had never realised what a fragile divide lay between being employed and being homeless. ‘I told you I worked in a hotel. I’d been there for ten years and I lived there too. Four months ago, Gordon, the owner, died.’ Mim took a deep breath to calm the sob that was lurking. She still missed him dearly. ‘His daughter inherited the hotel and left me to carry on running it while the probate went through and she looked for a buyer. She told me the week before Christmas that she’d sold it to a property developer to turn into flats and that the business was closing with immediate effect. I lost my home and my job.’
She hadn’t been the only one affected. There had been Beryl, who had taken on a cleaning job at the hotel when her husband had been made redundant six years earlier. Then there was Robbie, who Gordon had taken on as chef despite his spell in prison, and who had been about to celebrate his first Christmas with a new baby. There had been the local businesses who supplied goods and services to the hotel, from laundry to fresh eggs, the guests who had rooms booked, and the locals who had arranged to come to the hotel to enjoy Christmas lunch. Mim had been given one day to cancel all the contracts, break the bad news to staff and guests, and close down the business. There had been no time to think of her own plans. When all the work was done, she had grabbed her bags and driven off, not looking back. It wasn’t the first time she had been moved on at short notice. She would survive it, just like she had done before.
‘Surely you must have had family or friends who could put you up for a while?’ Bea said.
‘No.’ Mim shrugged. She’d seen the extent of Bea’s family and friends last night. Their worlds were so far apart that it would be hard for Bea to understand. ‘No family and no friends. I’m on my own.’
‘No you’re not. You have us.’ Bea squeezed Mim’s hands. ‘If you have no home, no job, and no one waiting for you in Lanc
ashire, why are you going back? You might as well stay here.’
Mim stretched her leg and turned on the tap with her toe, letting more hot water gush into the enormous roll-top bath in Bea’s en suite bathroom. It was utter bliss. The bathroom itself was huge, bigger than the attic bedroom where Mim had lived at the hotel, and it was beautifully decorated with glossy white tiles and hints of sea green to reflect the coastal location. Underfloor heating made the room toasty warm, and a fluffy bath sheet hung on the towel rail, waiting for Mim to step out of the bath. If she ever did. She could live in this room forever.
It was a couple of hours since Bea had visited her in the caravan, wrung her story out of her, and suggested she should stay in Devon. As it seemed that she was stuck here at least until tomorrow, when Bill would pay for her petrol, Mim had agreed to think about it. From there, Bea had made short work of persuading her to the house for lunch, and inviting her to use her bathroom when Mim had admitted that the hot water in the caravan was tepid at best.
She lay back and let the water cover up to her chin, soothing the aches in her muscles and joints that were a lingering legacy from her cramped sleeping arrangements in the car. Bea’s question had touched a nerve. Why was she going back to Lancashire? She couldn’t be homesick for somewhere when she’d never had a proper home. All that was left for her there were sour memories, and the three months she had left on the leisure-centre pass that Gordon had bought for her birthday so she could indulge her love of swimming; it had been a godsend over the last few weeks, providing access to toilets and showers.
Once the Christmas break was out of the way, her top priority was to find a job and somewhere to live, but couldn’t she do that just as well here? Maybe there were more opportunities down here in tourist country for someone with hotel and bar experience. She took a deep breath and immersed herself in the water. She needed to make an objective decision and not be swayed by luxuries such as orange-scented bubble bath and a roast dinner. These were temporary treats, not a real part of the life she might lead in Devon. And yet, as she eventually strode out of the bathroom wrapped in the warm towel, and let her toes sink into the deep pile of the bedroom carpet, she couldn’t resist dancing across the room and pretending that all this was hers.
She paused by the window, looking out across the lawn. The mist still hung low in the distance, over where Mim guessed the sea to be, but the garden was clear and she could see a team hard at work dismantling the marquee. Voices and laughter drifted up, stirring a memory. There were two men standing below her window, one wearing a sweatshirt with the marquee company logo on it, and the other a dark-haired man wearing jeans and a woolly jumper. She pressed closer to the glass for a better look, and as she did, the man in the jumper turned and she glimpsed the bewitching smile of the waiter who had hidden under the trees the night before. She was surprised to see him again; perhaps he worked for the family and was expected to help with whatever needed doing around the house. It was certainly big enough to need staff. She felt a flash of sympathy; she knew what it was like to juggle a multitude of random jobs, trying to make ends meet. Before she could move away, he glanced up and caught her watching, and his smile grew. She pulled the towel more tightly round her and retreated into the bedroom.
The kitchen was busy when Mim eventually found her way back downstairs. Bill was kneeling on the rug between the sofas, helping two small children build an elaborate construction with coloured bricks which looked far too advanced for their ages. A couple around her own age, who Mim didn’t know, lounged on one of the sofas, chatting. Lia was perched on a chair at the table, sketching, and an unfamiliar man in his twenties was helping Bea in the kitchen. Classical music flowed out from hidden speakers. Mim hovered in the doorway, relishing this picture of contented family life. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.
‘Mim’s here!’ Bill called, looking up from the bricks and spotting her. ‘Come in, come in. Don’t be lurking there. Olly, pour Mim a glass, there’s a boy. She deserves it more than the rest of us. She did a day’s work yesterday while we were enjoying the party. Make it a large one and you can top up the rest of us while you’re at it.’
The young man in the kitchen – presumably Olly – filled a Champagne flute from one of several bottles resting in an ice bucket and handed it to Mim.
‘Good to meet you, Mim,’ he said. ‘Although from the way Mum and Dad have been talking, I’m disappointed you don’t have wings and a halo.’
‘I only wear them on special occasions.’ Mim smiled in response to Olly’s infectious grin. It was easy to see the connection with Lia; he had the same delicate features and expressive eyes, although she guessed he was a year or two older. He was immaculately dressed in striped trousers and a floral sprig shirt, which probably shouldn’t have worked together but somehow did. Like everyone else she’d met in the family, his outfit shrieked of designer labels and expensive price tags.
‘I knew that bath would do you good,’ Bea said, smiling at Mim. The sunglasses had now been replaced with a pair of normal glasses, with half green and half blue frames, that co-ordinated with her jumper and chunky necklace. ‘You’re glowing. You look more relaxed already. See how Devon life suits you! Now, who don’t you know? That’s Olly, number three, and over by the window you’ll find Ros, number two, with her husband Jonty. The little ones are their children Jeremy and Maisie. We’re just waiting for Corin, the son and heir, and then everyone’s here. First born, but generally the last to any gathering!’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Mim asked. There were pans on every ring of the large induction hob, and three ovens were blasting out welcome heat. Everything looked under control but she would prefer to be doing something useful than idling about making small talk. How would they ever find common ground?
‘You’re a darling to offer, but certainly not. You’re a guest.’ Bea laughed. ‘Don’t be fooled, my dear. I’m not actually cooking. Paula brought the whole meal round yesterday. All I’m doing is heating it up in accordance with her detailed instructions.’ Bea waved a typed sheet of paper at Mim. ‘On the subject of Paula,’ she continued, ‘she left this for you.’
She opened a drawer and passed an envelope to Mim. There was a stack of money inside, more than double what Mim had in her purse at the moment.
‘What’s this for?’ she asked Bea.
‘It’s your wages for yesterday. It seemed light to me, but Paula assures me it’s the going rate.’
‘That’s brilliant. Thank you.’ Mim flicked through the notes. Light? She felt suddenly weighed down by riches. She’d thought the work yesterday was a favour to Bea. She hadn’t realised she would be paid for it. Her mind whirled with images of what she could do with the money. She could treat herself to a hot meal every day for a couple of weeks. Or pick up a warmer coat and some boots from a charity shop. Or pay for her own petrol back to Lancashire so she didn’t have to beg Bill. If she was even going back to Lancashire…
‘Do you think Paula would have any more work available?’ Mim asked. This might help her make a decision. The going rate in Devon seemed much better than in Lancashire, judging by the notes in her hand.
‘There’s no harm in asking. She said you were an excellent worker.’ Bea smiled and held out her glass for Olly to refill. ‘Does this mean that we’ve persuaded you to stay in Devon?’
‘I’ll go wherever there’s work. And a place to live,’ Mim added.
‘Plenty of spare rooms here now the mob have gone,’ Bill called over. ‘Don’t worry on that score.’
‘Oh no.’ Mim cringed at how her words must have sounded. ‘I wasn’t hinting about staying here.’
‘Wouldn’t have minded if you were.’ Bill laughed. ‘We rattle around this old place. We’d be happy to fill it up again. The more the merrier.’
‘Thanks, but I really couldn’t.’ Mim gulped at the Champagne that Olly had given her, wondering how she could explain without sounding ungrateful. It was an extraordinarily gen
erous offer, but she couldn’t accept it, not after the trouble she’d had at the hotel. Gordon’s daughter had accused Mim of taking advantage of him when she’d first moved in, even though it had been his idea, and had never overcome her initial suspicion and hostility towards Mim. It had been the only blot on life at the hotel. She wasn’t risking that again. ‘I need my own space.’
‘Of course you do,’ Bea agreed, but Mim thought there was a touch of wistfulness in her reply. ‘You can stay in the caravan for as long as you like until you find somewhere better.’
‘Oh Mummy, have you seen the caravan?’ Lia exclaimed, looking up from her sketchbook. ‘It’s hardly fit for anyone to live in.’
‘It’s perfect for me,’ Mim said. She wandered over to the table and looked at what Lia was drawing. It was a pencil sketch of the two children, and though Mim knew nothing about art, it seemed an impressive likeness. ‘If you’re sure you don’t need it? But I can’t stay there for nothing.’
‘We certainly won’t take any money,’ Bea said. ‘So please don’t offend us by suggesting it.’
‘I can’t afford to give you any money.’ Mim wracked her brains, but there was only one solution she could think of. ‘What if we agree on a barter? I’ll do jobs for you in exchange for staying in the caravan. Is there anything you need doing? I’ve turned my hand to most things over the last few years. I can clean, drive, do some gardening or general labouring, manage basic accounts, cook a mean English breakfast…’
‘Sounds like the perfect woman, eh Jonty?’ Bill said with a grin. Ros silenced their laughter with an exasperated sigh.
‘You don’t need to do any of that, my dear,’ Bea said, giving Mim an apologetic look. ‘We already have a housekeeper, and a cleaner, and a handyman who deals with the garden.’ That explained the man in the woolly jumper, Mim thought. ‘You do too, don’t you Ros?’ Bea continued.
