High Tide

by Veronica Henry

  The girl behind the desk was about to flip her passport open when Kate grabbed it.

  ‘Sorry. Could I have that back?’

  ‘You don’t want to check in?’

  So many things were running through Kate’s mind. She didn’t have long.

  ‘Miss? There are people waiting.’

  Kate put her passport back in her bag, turned and walked away.

  She didn’t want to go back to New York. She didn’t want to go back to her superficial, orchestrated lifestyle, where, it seemed, somebody else owned your ass, and if you didn’t jump, you could go and hang.

  She wanted to live in a place where people really cared about people. Where the air was clean and the sun was bright. Where she could walk out of the door in no make-up and no one would mind. Where people had known her mother and her father. Where people knew who she was.

  She pushed back through the tide of people and out to the taxi rank.

  ‘Could you take me to Pennfleet?’ she asked the driver.

  He frowned. ‘Where’s that then, love?’

  ‘Cornwall.’

  ‘You’re having a laugh.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s going to take what – five hours?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘It’s going to cost you a few hundred quid.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She pulled open the door.

  He started up the engine with a shrug. ‘M4, M5?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll have to stop for a pee at some point.’

  ‘Of course. No problem.’

  She settled into her seat. The cab pulled away and snaked through the rest of the cabs. Behind the terminal she could see planes taking off. She wondered if one of them was hers.

  In minutes, they were on the motorway. A large blue sign said ‘South West’ and her heart lifted. She could see a snake of red tail-lights in front of her. Leading the way.

  ‘Wake me up when we get to the end of the motorway,’ she said to the driver. ‘I’ll direct you from there.’

  She didn’t care if it was rude not to talk to him. She was paying. She probably wouldn’t sleep, but she had a lot to think about. She folded her pashmina into a small square and rested her head on it. Faces glided in and out of her mind as she relived the past week: Debbie, Sam, Dr Webster, Robin … They were all going to be part of her new life. She started to make plans. She would join the church flower rota, in honour of her mother. She’d take Debbie with her when she went to pack up her New York apartment – she’d buy her a ticket on her air miles. They could go out like they had when they were teenagers. She would sit for Nancy so that Robin could have a break every now and then. Again, in memory of her mother. What she would do for money she had no idea yet, but she wasn’t daunted.

  When the driver woke her, she guided him through the twisty lanes – the back route known only to locals. It was pitch black, the high banks on either side of the road creating a tunnel. The only light was the stars peppering the sky.

  ‘Jesus,’ said the cab driver. ‘This is the arse end of nowhere.’

  She couldn’t be bothered to contradict him. Eventually they reached the roundabout and turned off into the road that led down to Pennfleet. Street lights and houses loomed either side as they made their way towards the centre of town. How many times had she made this journey? she wondered. Even in the dead of night it lifted her heart. She opened the window to breathe in the sea, and a gust of wind blew in.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said the driver. ‘It’s a force ten gale out there. Shut the window, love.’

  Soon, they were embraced by the cottages of Captain’s Hill. She felt as if they were closing in to hug her.

  ‘I’ll never get the cab down here.’

  ‘Yes, you will. You can get a coach down here, no problem.’

  She could name each house as she passed it. She knew every window box, every hanging basket. This was where she belonged. Not some swanky Manhattan apartment block, where nobody knew her name.

  ‘Just here, on the left,’ she directed. ‘The blue one. Belle Vue.’

  Not that he could see it was blue, in the dark. But he drew up outside the cottage, and she felt her heart swell. It was a curious mixture of pride and fondness and relief. More than anything, she felt safe. Safe and secure. She didn’t think it was cowardly to want that. She’d tried other things, after all. New York had been exciting and exhilarating and glamorous, but she didn’t want that for ever.

  She paid the driver with her credit card, and gave him a substantial tip. He didn’t seem grateful but then he didn’t seem the type to be grateful for anything. She watched him do a three-point turn that turned into an eight-point turn because of the narrowness of the road, then drive off up the hill.

  She turned and looked up at the house. The night breeze ruffled her hair, a gentle caress of welcome that was like a kiss on her skin.

  She was home at last.

  32

  It was the last weekend in October. The weekend the clocks went back, and Pennfleet was ready to celebrate. Banners proclaiming Turn Back Time were stretched across the streets, together with glittering lights and luminous clock faces that spun in the breeze. People from miles around were coming to Pennfleet to join in the fun. There was live music, and fire-eaters, and a fairground, and the shops were all going to be open late, and most of the restaurants had done special menus.

  Vanessa was briefing the girls on how much discount they could give if people wanted to buy anything. She looked at her watch. She just had time to change before Nathan came down to pick her up.

  ‘I think I can manage to get to the quay by myself,’ she’d joked, but he insisted. He was old-fashioned in so many ways, and Vanessa realised she was properly looked after and protected. Yet respected, too. He was chivalrous, but not chauvinistic.

  She hurried back down the street and into her house. She was only going to swap one pair of jeans for another, but her make-up could do with a touch-up, and she wanted a decent silk scarf to tuck into her jacket.

  She went back down to the kitchen to check on Luna, and took her outside for a final wee. She was going to leave her here – the town’s antics might be too much for a tiny puppy. She stood on the terrace while Luna pottered about, looking over at the harbour and the lights of the town. She could hear the music from the funfair in the carpark.

  And then she heard another noise. She froze. Listened harder, but it was definitely there. A faint miaow. She turned around to see if she could find the source of the noise. Her mouth fell open.

  ‘Frank Cooper!’ she cried.

  For there, looking considerably thinner, his coat staring somewhat, was Frank Cooper, nose to nose with Luna, sniffing at her as if to say ‘What are you doing on my patch?’ Vanessa flew across the terrace and scooped him up.

  She felt filled with joy. It was the one thing that had been marring her happiness, for every morning she looked for him. Every morning she missed his four paws landing on her chest as he woke her. But he was back, and it was all going to be perfect.

  If some people looked at her relationship with Nathan in disapproval, whether because of the age difference, or because it had been a rather short time since Spencer’s death, she didn’t much care. It was her life. Their life. And they certainly weren’t doing anyone any harm. Even his grandfather had taken a grudging shine to her.

  ‘She’s all right, boy,’ he’d told Nathan, which was positively effusive for Daniel.

  When Nathan turned up, she was still bubbling with the excitement.

  ‘He must have got swept down the river and took his time finding his way back,’ said Nathan, rubbing the marmalade cat between the ears.

  Vanessa was amazed when Frank Cooper settled down happily with Luna on the big rug on the kitchen floor.

  ‘I think it’s love,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Vanessa. ‘I think it probably is.’

  She and Nathan walked hand in hand up to the quay, where lon
g trestle tables had been set up. Over the top of them were a series of arched trellises interlaced with fairy lights and garlands made of autumn leaves, berries and acorns. Peeping out from amongst them were woodland creatures whose eyes lit up – squirrels and mice and foxes. It was like a woodland grotto, spooky yet magical.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ Sam told Alexa when she put on the finishing touches.

  ‘You should see the inside of my head.’

  ‘I can only imagine.’

  Sam, who was on the festival committee, had persuaded Alexa to help out with the decorations, not realising quite how fertile her imagination was. She had thrown her heart and soul into it, and loved doing something that was part of the community. She had held back from mixing in for so long, self-conscious about what people might think of her, worried that they might gossip about her past and speculate. She was thrilled to find they didn’t much care at all, as long as she mucked in.

  Sam, meanwhile, was in charge of food.

  Along the length of the trestles was an edible centrepiece: plaited sourdough rolls, deep-fried sage, parsnip crisps and chunks of pork crackling. To go with it, Sam served brown paper cups full of soup: creamy pumpkin, parsnip and apple and a deep-red borscht. A huge spit-roast hog was turning, ready to be cut up and served in thick slices with chunky homemade apple sauce and bowls of crunchy Thai coleslaw with a hefty kick. Afterwards, there was sticky parkin, and plum and orange cake.

  ‘Do you think we should go back and check on the puppies?’ asked Sam, thinking how beautiful Alexa looked, in a red coat with a white fur hat like a halo around her head.

  ‘I think they’ll be all right for a while,’ she told him. ‘They’ve got each other.’

  Andy and Edie were snuggled up in a pen in Sam’s living room, brother and sister, snoozing away, quite oblivious to the celebrations.

  The townspeople milled around, their breath visible in the cold night air, their hands clasped around the soup cups. Screams from the fairground could be heard, along with the thumping of the bass. There were stalls set up leading down to the harbour, selling clutter and nonsense. Children rushed about clutching their pocket money, buying sparklers and glow lights and plastic swords and pirate hats.

  At eight o’clock, Oscar and his band The Love Rats played on a temporary stage set up by the quay. They were supporting the main act due on later, but it looked as if they were in danger of upstaging them entirely, as they played a blinder. Oscar was dressed in skinny jeans and a silk paisley shirt, a scarf round his head, black eyeliner under his eyes. Somehow his shyness disappeared when he was on stage, and he became cocky and charismatic, showing off to the crowd, the consummate rock star. A crowd of girls quickly gathered, gazing up at him.

  ‘Impressive,’ Jim had to admit to Daisy. It took a lot to impress Jim.

  Daisy felt a bubble of happiness. Not just because of the kudos of going out with the coolest kid in town, but because of the way things had turned out. Sam had talked to her and Jim not long after their blind date.

  ‘I think Alexa and I are going to … go on a date,’ he told them. ‘A proper date. We’re going to take it slowly, of course. We’re not going to rush into anything. And I know you like her, but there might be times you find it a bit weird. It might take you by surprise, and that’s OK. But I want you to be able to talk to me about it if you want.’ He looked sheepish. ‘It’s weird for me too, you know.’

  Daisy and Jim looked at each other.

  ‘Mum would love her,’ Daisy told him. ‘I know she would.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Jim. ‘She’d think she was cool.’

  Sam looked a bit glassy-eyed.

  ‘I’m so proud of you both,’ he told them, and turned away.

  Behind him, Daisy could see the portrait of Louise, and she was smiling, and telling them it was going to be OK.

  And Sam and Alexa had been almost inseparable since. Not in an icky way, with embarrassing displays of affection, but in a way that benefitted both their families. They cooked big meals, and went on walks with the puppies, or took trips out to riverside pubs, and any of their combined children could tag along too. They amalgamated almost seamlessly, yet it didn’t feel forced.

  Daisy in particular liked having Alexa in her life. She really did.

  Earlier, Alexa had painted her an intricate face mask in black and silver, painstakingly applying it with a thin brush so it looked like a lace veil. Daisy had loved being in her kitchen, the crazy Brazilian music on the CD player, the kids running in and out, the exotic scent of a pomegranate candle filling the air. She loved the female companionship: the companionship of a woman older and wiser than her. She’d missed that in her house of boys. And Alexa seemed to know just how to be with her: kind and gentle but not too familiar. She wasn’t her mum, and never would be: maybe more like an older sister. She was irreverent and funny and made rude jokes too, and her laugh was infectiously raucous.

  Jim took a little longer to bond, but he’d put himself in charge of the puppies and their training, and spent hours with them doing recall and teaching them to sit. It was the perfect challenge, and got him away from the iPad.

  Sam stood to one side as Oscar came off the stage and went straight to find Daisy, not paying any attention to the entourage clamouring for his attention.

  ‘What,’ Alexa asked Sam, her eyes shining with mischief, ‘do you fancy doing with the extra hour tomorrow?’

  Sam pondered for a moment. ‘The crossword?’ he suggested with a grin.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ she nodded, and bit into her toffee apple. It shattered into shards, and Sam reached out to catch the broken bits as they fell from her mouth.

  Sam gazed at her as she laughed, and thought how lucky he was, to have had two such amazing women in his life. Not to mention his children. He could see Daisy and Oscar with Jim and the little ones, lighting up sparklers and waving them round, still kids at heart even though they seemed to have grown up so fast this year.

  He’d made the right decision, he thought. He put his arm round Alexa and looked around the harbour, at the people he’d made friends with, at his café up the road.

  Pennfleet, he realised, was his home.

  Kate took a sip of the hot buttered cider. It was buttery-sugary-cinnamony nectar, with a kick of rum that warmed her stomach. It was just what she needed after a tough week. She had woken up the day after she had deliberately missed her flight feeling panic-stricken but determined in equal measures.

  Carlos had been incandescent when she broke the news to him. There had been talk of lawsuits. Kate hadn’t fallen for any of his hot air. What could he do, from that far away? She didn’t feel guilty about letting him down. She was pretty sure that by this time next week he would be in love with her replacement – and there would be plenty of girls queuing up for the job. And she had left him with a brilliant legacy. She would read about the ball in a few months’ time in the gossip columns, and feel, no doubt, a prickle of regret that she wasn’t there.

  Only a tiny one, though.

  The question now was what she was going to do with her life. There weren’t really many career options for A- list party planners in Pennfleet. But Kate didn’t want to do anything like that this time round. She wanted to do something with a bit of meaning, though she wasn’t trained for anything much else. She had some savings, and her mother had left a small amount of money, which would tide her over while she made a plan of action: maybe she would go back to college and retrain. In the meantime, she had the cottage to do up. Now it was empty, she could see its potential, and she felt excited about breathing new life into it.

  Debbie had been thrilled when she’d banged on her door and told her she was staying.

  ‘That’s awesome!’ she said. ‘It’ll be great to have someone to hang out with.’

  She was here now, with Scott and the kids, their breath sweet and fingers sticky with candy floss. Scott was going to take the kids back in a bit, so Debbie and Kate could watch the main band on
at nine. It really was almost as if time had been turned back: they had gone to the festival since they were teenagers. Here they were, in their jeans and their scarves and bobble hats, clutching their cider, as if they were still sixteen.

  Kate felt Debbie give her a sharp nudge in the ribs. ‘Look out,’ she told her. ‘It’s matey.’

  Kate looked through the crowds to where Debbie was pointing and saw Rupert. He’d seen her, and was walking towards her, looking puzzled. He was in jeans and a tobacco suede jacket with the collar turned up.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘Nice to see you, too,’ replied Kate.

  ‘I thought you were going back to New York?’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Kate. ‘I couldn’t face it. I just couldn’t bear the thought of selling the cottage, of letting go, of never coming back to Pennfleet.’

  ‘So you’re staying?’

  Kate took a sip of her buttered cider. Then she nodded.

  ‘I guess so.’

  She looked down at the ground for a minute. Her heart was pitter-pattering, and she realised that Debbie had melted away into the crowds.

  Rupert was frowning. ‘You might have told me.’

  She realised he was cross.

  ‘I was going to phone you,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I know you wanted to put in an offer—’

  ‘Never mind the bloody cottage.’

  Kate stared at him. ‘What, then?’

  Was there something else she didn’t know about? Had they discussed something she had forgotten?

  ‘You!’ said Rupert. ‘I really wanted to kiss you that night, after we went to the Townhouse. But I thought you were going back to America, and I didn’t want a one-night stand. So I didn’t.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kate, rather nonplussed. ‘Well, that was very restrained of you.’

  ‘I know. It was probably the first time in my life I’ve been such a gentleman.’

  He looked so indignant she burst out laughing.

  ‘I don’t know what’s so funny,’ he said.