Wills shrugged. ‘Might have known you wouldn’t do the decent thing and discuss it with Mum like you said you were going to on the way here,’ he shot back at his father.
Derek pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Your mother was asleep when I got back last night, so I couldn’t.’ He turned to face Karen. ‘I put the house on the market this week. We need to downsize.’
Karen felt her mouth open and fury well up inside her.
‘You can’t just decide to sell up without discussing it with me,’ she said. ‘It’s my home too. My name is on the deeds next to yours.’
Derek glared at her. ‘You’ve got this place – going to share it with me? No? Thought not. I have to leave.’
‘You can’t just leave without discussing it with me,’ Karen protested. ‘It’s our family home. And I’m not signing anything. And I told you I needed to talk to you too.’
Derek shrugged.
‘Like I said – we need to downsize. Anyway, I’ve got an important meeting later this afternoon, so I’ll get my stuff and go.’ He turned and went upstairs.
Speechless, Karen turned to Wills, who shrugged.
‘Sorry – it was the only way I could think of to make him tell you what he’s up to.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘The For Sale sign in the front garden was a dead giveaway,’ Wills said. ‘Sorry, Mum.’
Karen stayed sitting where she was, trying to make sense of the news. What exactly did Derek mean by ‘downsizing’? And why was it suddenly so urgent? Where did he plan on them living in the future?
Derek came back downstairs carrying his overnight bag. ‘Right. I’m off.’
Karen looked at him dully. ‘We need to talk. Now more than ever.’
Derek shrugged. ‘It’ll have to wait until next time.’
‘Wait for how long? End of summer? Or are you planning on coming down to stay for a while?’
‘Thought I’d come down near the end of the month – or even August. Not sure yet. Depends on my schedule. I’ll let you know.’ And he was gone. Leaving her in shock and feeling more than slightly nauseous.
*
5.30 a.m. and Guy, as usual, was awake. Throwing off the duvet he stood for a moment looking down over the lawn towards the swimming pool. So far he’d ignored its pull, but today the urge to go for a swim was persistent.
At this hour nobody was about. He wouldn’t have to make polite small talk. He could do a few lengths of the pool and be back in the cottage before anyone else was up. He sure as hell could do with the exercise.
Pulling his trunks on and shrugging his arms into the denim overshirt he’d been slobbing around in for the last few days, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom and let himself out of the cottage.
Ignoring the neat path around the lawn that led down to the pool, he leapt over the small wall for a more direct route, enjoying the feel of the dewy grass under his bare feet as he ran down the slope.
Leaving his things on a poolside chair, he walked to the deep end and stood for several seconds looking down before taking a breath and executing a dive into the water. Surfacing half a length down the pool he covered the remaining distance with a slow front crawl to catch his breath before turning and upping his pace. As always, he lost himself in the rhythm of the strokes and concentrating on the number of lengths swum.
He finished on twenty lengths, happy he was still fit enough to manage that amount, turned on his back and began to float slowly down the pool to the steps. That had been the best swim in ages – since the hotel pool in Paris with Hugo when Melissa had…
Guy turned on his front and began a slow, deliberate breaststroke down the pool. As he swam he silently repeated his mantra of the past few months. It’s in the past. Let it go.
He grabbed the steps rail to haul himself out of the pool, taking deep breaths to steady his breathing. A quick towel down, shirt on and he was making his way back to the cottage.
‘Good morning. The coffee’s on, if you’d care to join me?’
Startled, he was about to shake his head and mutter ‘no thanks’ when, perversely, he heard himself say ‘Thanks’ and began walking towards The Bosun’s Locker.
‘I’m Bruce Adams,’ Bruce said, holding out his hand. ‘How d’you like your coffee?’
‘Black, please. Guy Widdicombe,’ he said, grasping the offered hand and noticing the flag hanging limply on its lanyard, not yet pulled up the flagpole. ‘Shall I do the honours with this, while you fetch the coffee?’ he added, looking at the flag.
‘Thanks. Rare to have company this time of day. Couldn’t you sleep either?’ Bruce asked.
Guy muttered an incoherent reply to Bruce’s back, and concentrated on pulling the rope. Seconds later and the Devon flag was fluttering in the morning breeze as Guy looped the lanyard around its cleat.
Bruce reappeared with two mugs of coffee and the two men stood looking out to sea.
‘Coffee out here first thing sets me up for the day,’ Bruce said.
Guy nodded. ‘I can understand that.’
‘My late wife, Gabby, used to enjoy an early morning swim,’ Bruce said. ‘Me, I’m not much of a swimmer. I’d organise breakfast and coffee while she did her hundred laps.’
‘She must have been fit to do that many laps,’ Guy said. ‘I only managed twenty this morning.’
‘She was.’ Bruce took a gulp of his coffee. ‘Always took life at a gallop.’
Guy waited, wondering if Bruce was going to volunteer more information. Bruce turned to look at him.
‘You married?’
‘Sort of. It’s complicated,’ Guy muttered. Damn. Why hadn’t he just said the truth? Yes, I’m married. He waited for the inevitable questions to follow.
Instead Bruce regarded him thoughtfully before saying, ‘I’m going into town this morning, at about eleven. Want a lift?’
Guy shook his head. ‘No, thanks. Thought I’d take a walk along the coast.’ He drained his mug and placed it on the table. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
‘Any time. Something stronger on offer at sundown if you want.’
Guy smiled, raising his hand in acknowledgement before turning away and making for No. 3.
Standing under the shower, relishing the needles of hot water hitting his body and washing away the lingering chlorine smell after his swim, Guy closed his eyes. Not since he was at college had he spent so much time navel-gazing.
Sitting around doing nothing had always been totally alien to him. Once he’d hit the big wide world of photo-journalism in his early twenties, he’d revved up the speedometer of his life, allowing precious little time for reflection. The harder he worked, the more recognition he gained, the more money he earned, the more successful he was in the eyes of the world. Now the years had disappeared, while life had happened to him and around him almost without him noticing.
This solitude he’d desperately felt in need of was wearing thin. Cabin fever was getting to him, he decided. Ten minutes later, decision made, he was closing the cottage gate and making for the coastal path. His walk came to a premature end, though, when he heard a whimpering in the hedge just one hundred yards from the cottages. Cautiously he approached and discovered a small black and white dog huddled into the undergrowth, its body trembling and regarding him with frightened eyes.
Carefully Guy moved his hands over the dog’s body. ‘Steady. I won’t hurt you. I wonder if you can stand?’ Gently he lifted the dog onto its feet but it could barely stand and made no effort to move. Guy sighed. He was pretty sure the female dog had nothing broken but was painfully thin and weak. Nothing for it but to pick the poor thing up and carry it back to the cottages and get some help.
He went straight to The Bosun’s Locker in the hope that Bruce would still be in.
‘D’you have a number for a taxi?’ he said as Bruce appeared. ‘Found this poor dog up on the path. Need to get to the vet’s.’
‘I’ll take you,’ Bruce said, grabbing his car keys from the ho
ok.
Ten minutes later they were in town and Bruce pushed open the vet’s door as Guy gently carried the dog into the crowded waiting room.
‘What’s happened to her?’ the receptionist said, looking at the dog.
‘No idea. I found her out on the coastal path,’ Guy said.
‘Take a seat and I’ll push you through as quickly as I can.’
‘I’m next in line, the dog can take my place,’ a woman called out. ‘My cat’s only here for her annual check-up. She can wait.’
Bruce and Guy smiled their thanks before following the receptionist into a small consulting room and placing the dog on the table in front of the vet, who briefly introduced herself as Holly before turning her attention to the dog.
‘Mmm,’ Holly said ten minutes later. ‘I can’t find anything broken. She’s very thin and dehydrated. I’d say she’s about eighteen months old. Not micro-chipped so I suspect she’s been dumped and has been struggling to survive for some time. I’ll give the local refuge a ring and get them to pick her up. They’ll nurse her back to health before rehoming her.’
‘No,’ Bruce said. ‘I’ll keep her. Get her well again.’
Both Guy and the vet looked at him, surprised by the steely note in his voice. ‘I’m sure the refuge is excellent and would do a good job but it would only be temporary. If I take her, she gets her forever home straight away.’
Gently he stroked the dog’s head and trusting brown eyes regarded him. ‘How about it, girl? Fancy coming home with me?’
Holly smiled at him. ‘Okay. I’ll give her a booster injection. Small meals to start with. Plenty of water. Bring her back in a week. We’ll check her over again, micro-chip her and do the necessary annual injections when she’s stronger.’
Driving back to the cottage, with the dog again on Guy’s lap and a car full of dog food, shiny new bowls, a comfy basket, a collar and lead, all bought in the shop at the vet’s, Guy said, ‘Can’t help feeling guilty about this. Happy to help with expenses.’
‘No need to feel guilty,’ Bruce said. ‘This little girly is in sore need of a good home right now. We always had dogs when I was growing up but my wife was allergic, so…’ He shrugged. He didn’t add that he’d be glad of the company or that Girly would be someone to talk to. He laughed.
‘What?’
‘No idea what her name was but I’ve just christened her Girly.’
Back at the cottage, Guy carried Girly into her new home while Bruce filled the water bowl and put food in the dish before disappearing upstairs to find an old blanket to line the basket with. The two of them watched as Girly ate the food and lapped at the water before making her way on wobbly legs towards the French doors and flopping down on the carpet in the sunshine with a sigh.
After Guy had left, saying he was going for the walk he’d intended to take that morning, Bruce made himself a cup of coffee and, opening the French doors, went out on the terrace. Girly watched him as he passed her but didn’t move. Sitting there, enjoying his coffee in the sunshine, Bruce looked back at the dog. The vet had confirmed his initial feelings that Girly was a collie.
Had he been a bit impulsive saying he’d keep her? When he and Gabby had first got together, all those years ago, he’d looked forward to turning into a happily married family man, with everything the phrase implied. Gabby’s allergies, though, had scuppered his original plan for them to get a dog. Initially he’d missed having one around, but then life with Gabby and work had taken over. Before he’d realised it, both the no-pets hole and the childless pit in his life had been seamlessly sealed and had disappeared over the years.
But the blueprint of his comfortable existence had been torn up with Gabby’s death. He’d never felt so alone as he had over the past few months. And if he was honest, the last week hadn’t been easy either. He kept expecting to see Gabby enjoying a glass of wine on the terrace, or sunbathing down by the pool with Karen and Hazel. He kept sensing her presence everywhere. It was all well and good telling Karen he was going to change his life by coming down here to live – but what if it was the wrong thing to do? Maybe he needed somewhere completely new.
As he turned and looked at Girly sleeping on the carpet, her body twitched and she grunted in her sleep. Bruce smiled, hoping the grunt indicated she felt safe and was having a happy dream.
Having a dog to walk and feed would inject a new routine into his days, that was for sure. Take him out of himself. Maybe that was why he’d been so impulsive at the vet’s. He couldn’t help feeling the dog had turned up for a reason. They needed each other.
*
Carrie took one last look around the flat. It was as clean and tidy as she could make it for the locum who was arriving that evening. She’d de-personalised it as much as possible. Most of her clothes were in the two suitcases by the door, ready to take with her back to the farm. Personal papers, passports, etcetera were in her briefcase and her laptop was charged and ready to go.
She’d debated about leaving her houseplants in situ but in the end had taken them down to reception where they’d joined the other spider plants and orchids on the shelf by the window.
Quickly she scribbled a welcome and thank you message to her temporary replacement, wishing them luck, telling them to help themselves to the food in the fridge and where to find clean bed linen, and propped it against the kettle.
Right, time to go. A quick glance at her phone in case she’d missed a call from Dom. Nothing. Perhaps she should call or text him? At least tell him she was taking a sabbatical. Her fingers hovered over the keys for several seconds, undecided. She was about to shut down when the phone beeped. Her heart lifted as she read the text message.
‘Lunch? Usual place 12.30. I have news. x’
Carrie hesitated. As much as she longed to see Dom, it would mean arriving at her parents’ later than she’d intended, but the chance to spend an hour with Dom now he was back couldn’t be missed. Besides, she was curious to know what his news was.
Dom was locking his car as she drove into the pub car park and strolled across to meet her after she’d parked up. Carrie sensed a certain tenseness about him as, unusually, he gave her only a quick kiss on the cheek instead of a lingering kiss and an all-enveloping hug.
‘You going somewhere?’ he asked as he saw the suitcases in the back of her car.
‘Long story,’ Carrie said. ‘I’ll tell you about it over lunch.’ Still smarting from the low-key welcome from Dom she said, ‘Good holiday? You look well.’
‘Brilliant,’ Dom said. ‘We all had a great time.’
Then why the tension, Carrie thought but didn’t voice. Had something happened between him and his ex?
A month after they’d met, Dom had introduced Carrie to both Sophie, his ex-wife, and the children. Briefly and awkwardly, it had to be said, but having met the children she’d expected Dom to want her around on the weekends he had them staying. He hadn’t. When she’d tentatively suggested joining them on a visit to the local theme park so she could get to know them, Dom had brushed it aside.
‘It’s enough they know I have you in my life. It’s too soon for you and them to start bonding.’
Carrie had heard and understood the hidden implication in the unspoken words ‘in case we break up’. Now, four months later, she was beginning to wonder whether he would ever start to include her on the weekends his children stayed.
Before taking Dom home to meet her parents, Carrie had tried to explain his marital status to them. He was currently going through a very civilised break-up for the sake of the children, and staying friends with his wife was very important to him. And no, it would be a few months yet until his divorce was finalised. Both Elizabeth and Malcolm had given her old-fashioned looks, but apart from telling her they didn’t want to see her hurt, they’d wisely kept their own council. The tension on that visit had been palpable and she hadn’t taken him home since. She hadn’t told them either about Dom going on holiday with his children and his soon to be ex-wife.
Once they were seated in one of the old-fashioned booths at the restaurant, Dom having declined a table in the garden on the grounds it would be too busy, Carrie said, ‘So, what’s your news?’
Dom shook his head. ‘I’m intrigued by your suitcases – you first.’
Carrie took a deep breath and told him about being adopted and the inheritance. ‘I’ve taken a sabbatical from work until the 1st September, so I’ve had to clear stuff from the flat for the locum. I’m on my way to my parents’ for a few days and then I’m off to Devon.’
‘How do your parents feel about this legacy?’
‘It was as big a shock for them as it was for me. But Mum pointed out that I could do a lot of good with the money, so on that basis I agreed. Though heaven only knows what I’ll end up doing with it.’
‘What are you going to do with the property – rent it out or sell it?’ Dom asked.
‘I’m thinking of renting the Bristol flat to somebody from the university,’ Carrie said. ‘I need to see the Devon house before I decide what to do with it. Apparently it’s still full of furniture and stuff from the flat.’
‘Well, don’t forget your friendly antique dealer,’ Dom said, grinning. ‘You know I’ll give you fair prices.’
Carrie laughed, remembering the day they’d met, when she’d tried to haggle over the price of a chair she wanted to buy from Dom’s stall at a local antique fair – and lost.
‘Right – your turn. Tell me about your holiday and give me your news,’ she said. ‘Have you found a rare piece of furniture that’s going to make your fortune at auction?’
‘I wish.’ A shadow seemed to pass over Dom’s face and he hesitated for a couple of seconds before adding, ‘Holidays in the south of France are always good. The kids spent most of their time either in the water or on it, sailing, paddleboarding or surfing.’
The waitress arrived at that moment with their drinks and the menu and Carrie’s repeated question, ‘So, what’s your news?’, got lost in the business of ordering their lunch.
It wasn’t until much later that she realised Dom hadn’t told her what his news was.
Summer at Coastguard Cottages Page 5
