The deli was crammed full with a family choosing ice creams and a further couple waiting to be served. Claire waved cheerily through the window at Lynda, who smiled back at her as she passed a creamy, vanilla-filled cornet over the counter. She decided she’d pop in and see her friend tomorrow on her last full day. She hadn’t tried the local pubs at all yet, having been a little reticent about venturing in on her own, but she suddenly found she fancied a long, cool drink. Why not … why not indeed?
There were two hotels in the village, both with bars – one at the top of the main street, the other at the base, near the castle. In the middle, just past the deli, was a more traditional-looking pub, aptly named the Castle Inn. Claire pushed open the heavy wooden door and went inside. It had wood panelling to halfway up the wall, and was hung with old paintings and photographs of the area. It had a cosy feel, with real fireplaces and a welcoming wooden bar area.
‘And what can I get you?’ the middle-aged barman asked warmly.
‘Hmm.’ She fancied trying something a bit different, maybe something local. ‘Do you have any local drinks? Anything you can recommend?’
‘Well, there’s an Alnwick rum, or there’s a Northumberland gin called Hepple, unless you’re a beer drinker – in which case we have lots of real ale.’
Claire couldn’t quite imagine herself sitting there with a pint. ‘The gin sounds perfect … with some tonic, please.’ A long cooling drink was just what she needed.
‘Ice and a slice?’
‘Yes, please.’
She watched him pour the gin and add cubed ice and a slice of lime, then pour the tonic, which bubbled down over it all. Fizzy, long and cool – perfect.
She took it over to a corner table near the fireplace, which, it being summer, wasn’t lit, and took a slow sip. Magic. It tasted herbal, almost perfumed – truly refreshing. She settled down with her guidebook, delving into the history of Bamburgh Castle once more.
‘Hey, haven’t I seen you here before?’ A voice startled her.
A man with dark wavy hair, who looked in his mid-twenties, was standing right next to her table.
‘Ah, I don’t think so. This is the first time I’ve been in.’
‘Ah well, maybe it’s from the beach, then … Do you surf?’
‘Nope.’
‘But I have seen you on the beach, yeah?’
‘Maybe. I’ve been walking there most days.’
‘That’s it. I knew it. I’m not one to forget a pretty face.’
Claire felt herself blush. The guy was tanned, fairly good-looking, and years younger than her. But although it was flattering, all she really wanted to do was sit quietly and read her guidebook. She knew there was a reason she didn’t venture into pubs on her own. She lifted her book pointedly.
‘I hire out the surf boards. You might have seen my van,’ he continued.
Ah, yes come to think of it, that was something she’d spotted in the beach car park. She nodded.
‘You here on holiday, then?’ He was persistent, she had to give him credit for that.
‘Yep, and it’s nearly the end of it.’ No chance of getting to know me more, was the subtext. The book was still perched before her.
‘Right-o. Live far away?’
She held back a sigh. ‘Newcastle, Gosforth area.’
‘Busy down there.’
‘Ah-hah.’
‘Tried that for a while – city life – but I’m way happier up here. Space, fresh air, catching the waves.’ He mimed a surfing action.
She couldn’t help but smile. He was probably only making conversation, after all, not about to kidnap her. She needed to lighten up a bit.
‘Right, well, I’ll leave you in peace. Have a good trip back to the metropolis.’
‘Thanks. And nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’
With that he gave her a friendly wink and went back to chatting to his mate at the bar.
Claire resumed her reading for a while, finished her G&T, and thought it time to head back to the cottage. It was gone four o’clock already. Dipping into the ladies’ loos before she left, she saw that her face was slightly red – a touch of sunburn from her nap in the dunes, no doubt. Oh well, she’d go back with some colour in her cheeks, at least, and a host of warm, Bamburgh memories.
9
Lying on your back watching the clouds drift by
It was the last day of her holiday, and Claire woke with a strange sinking feeling in her tummy.
She got up early and sat for a while on her balcony with a soothing cup of Earl Grey, watching the sun arc up over the sea. No sign of any early-morning swimmers by the looks of it, so she wasn’t going to get a last glance of Ed, not even from a distance. Oh well.
After a breakfast of strong coffee and buttered toast and jam, she took a stroll along the beach and popped into the deli to buy some local pâté and cheese for lunch and to say her farewells to Lynda.
‘Hi, Lynda – I’m after some of your gorgeous pâté and that blue cheese I had last time. I also need a gift to take home for my nephews, sweets or the like. Any suggestions?’
‘Well, the Lindisfarne fudge is always popular.’
‘Sounds great.’ Claire looked through the flavours and chose a traditional and a chocolate pack, as well as a bag of local choc-dipped cinder toffee.
‘When do you have to head back, petal?’
‘Tomorrow.’ Claire gave a frown. ‘Today’s my last day.’
‘Well, where did those three weeks go?’
‘I know. Too fast. But I’m kind of looking forward to getting back too.’ She’d missed her family and friends, and even work to some extent. And it would be lovely to catch up with her nephews over the weekend.
‘You take good care of yourself, pet. And you know where I am if you ever come back this way. You’ll always be welcome to call in, whether or not you’re wanting to buy anything.’ She smiled warmly.
‘Thank you,’ said Claire.
And with that, Lynda came out from behind the counter and gave her a big hug, which made Claire’s eyes mist up.
‘Now keep in touch, petal, and come back soon,’ the older lady requested with a smile.
‘Will do,’ was Claire’s response. A promise she hoped to keep.
The weird ache in her tummy reappeared as she walked back down the beach. She took her picnic to a sheltered spot in the dunes, about halfway back to the cottage, and took out of the bag the delicious cheese, pâté and juicy tomatoes along with a poppy-seed bread roll. Afterwards, she found herself watching the sky – it was amazing how relaxing it could be lying on your back in a sand dune watching clouds drift by, their shapes ever varied. She discovered a shark’s fin and a teddy bear within the first five minutes, moulded from heaps of cumulus.
Later that afternoon, Claire braved her swimming costume and took a full-body dip in the North Sea – it had to be done before she left. It was bloody freezing so she only lasted about five minutes, doing a few strokes of front crawl before running shivering back up to the cottage, wishing she’d left a big towel ready down by the shoreline for herself! She was so cold she had to have a warm bath to thaw herself out. God knows what Ed got out of his dawn swim – he must be some kind of masochist.
There had been no further sign of Ed since she’d bumped into him outside the butcher’s shop those few days ago. His car had been in the driveway that evening, but by the time she was up and about the next morning, it had gone. There was no one pottering about in the other garden that afternoon, and that evening there were no lights on. Perhaps he’d headed back to Edinburgh and was lying low, mortified after the runaway sex. It was probably just as well. There was no use torturing herself with the sight of him.
Once she’d warmed up, she decided to go back out for a walk on the beach and find a spot where her phone got a signal, have a chat with her mum, and let her know when she’d be back tomorrow. She perched herself on a hump of grassy sand with an elevated view across the bay and diall
ed. Her mum sounded delighted to hear from her, said she was so looking forward to seeing her, which made Claire feel much better about heading home. She had her family there. After being on her own for three weeks, though that had been very intentional, she had felt an aching pull of loneliness and she realized how lonely her mother must feel sometimes since the loss of her husband. How they all missed Dad. She wished she could chat to him now. Feel his big strong arms around her.
Claire listened to her mother chatting on about life in suburban Newcastle, smiling as she heard the latest gossip from the crescent: that Mrs Jones’s daughter (number 7) had got a First Class Honours in her Chemistry degree, how wonderful, and that little Joe from next door had fallen off his bike and knocked his two front teeth out, the poor little mite – the dentist had managed to pop them back in – hopefully they’d hold; his mother had had the sense of mind to put them in milk, got him to hold the cup with them in and drove him straight to the clinic. It was nice to hear her mother’s voice chattering on and to listen to tales about other people. The focus had been on herself and her illness for far too long.
‘Well, I’d better go, Mum. Lovely to chat. You take care, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘I can’t wait, love. Why don’t I come and pick you up from the station? It’s no bother. And you can tell me all about your holiday.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Well, a limited account anyway. ‘Thanks.’
As she sat outside that evening watching sunset colours fade over a calm sea, Claire thought about all the things she’d done on her holiday: ankle-dipping as well as her full-on plunge in the cold North Sea, eating fish and chips and Mr. Whippy ice cream on the harbour wall at Seahouses, watching families bustling about and life go by, finding Lynda and the deli, the amazing castle, hot bubbly baths, a cool bed for one. She’d loved the silence, seagull cries, the shusshh of the waves, children giggling, shouting, barking.
No one reappeared next door that evening. Maybe it was all for the good, how it was meant to be. Some things were better left alone.
And then, after a surprisingly peaceful night’s sleep, it was Friday morning, time to go home, or back, whichever it was. She packed up her belongings and gave the cottage a good clean, ready to catch the eleven-fifteen bus that passed the end of the cottage driveway. She’d found out the bus times that linked with the station; finances were tight enough without having to catch a taxi all that way again.
So there she was, standing on the roadside looking back over her shoulder at the two cottages with a strange mix of emotions. Getting away here had definitely done her a lot of good. It was a glorious place. The long stretch of beach with its golden sands, the ever-changing skies and sea, and the stunning castle and quaint village by the bay. She’d made a lovely new friend in Lynda. She’d learnt how to bake. She’d reconnected with her sister. And she’d grown to love the quirky little cottage behind her, even though it was falling apart. Bamburgh had stolen a little of her heart.
But all that stuff with Ed had left her confused. If it was just a one-night stand that didn’t quite happen, then she was a grown-up, she could cope with it. But after his car had gone, when she realized that she might never see him again, he was still there nagging away in her heart. Why?
She’d been through enough – she didn’t need complications, or Jekyll and Hyde men in her life who ran away from her scars – okay, so he hadn’t quite got to see them, but had he sensed something? So, she’d made an acquaintance of some unfathomable guy called Ed next door, who had the body of an Adonis … ooh my, she’d never forget watching him strip off to swim that first morning. That was etched on her brain forever. She’d store that in a little place in her mind for safekeeping. But now it was time to go. To leave it all behind.
The bus approached, she waved for it to stop, grabbed her rucksack and small suitcase and mounted the steps. She took a window seat on her own a few rows back, and watched the two cottages roll into the distance.
10
An hour’s respite from the mayhem of the city, tucked away in a coffee shop with a good book and a whopping piece of cake!
Charlotte, London
‘Hello, darling!’ Her mum Jane swept her into a perfumed hug under the red-brick arches of Newcastle-upon-Tyne’s railway station. She was dressed smartly in beige chinos and a white blouse, her hair styled in its usual grey-blonde bob. Then she stood back, eyeing her daughter up and down swiftly as mothers do: the two-second scan of health and mind-set. It was usually a pretty good gauge. ‘You’re looking well, Claire. The sea air and break must have done you some good.’
‘Yes, I think it has.’
‘Your sister mentioned it wasn’t the most luxurious of cottages.’ She raised her neatly plucked grey eyebrows.
Understatement of the year. Claire smiled. ‘It was fine. It had a lovely view.’ She decided to stick with the positives.
‘Now then, I’ve got a lasagne made ready to pop in the oven if you’d like to come back to mine for a couple of hours. We could have a nice catch-up and some early supper.’
‘Yes, that would be lovely. Thanks, Mum.’
So, that was it – she was swept up under her mother’s wing and driven back to her rather plush semi-detached in Jesmond for an afternoon of tea and chat, and a warming, tasty supper. Her mother was a good cook, and it was lovely to be looked after for a while.
It was eight o’clock by the time her mum dropped her off at her own house in Gosforth. The ‘For Sale’ sign looked stark in the small square of her front garden. She was back to her home that was no longer home.
‘Do you want me to come in?’ Her mum seemed to sense her unease.
‘No, I’m fine, Mum. I’m actually quite tired, so I’ll just get my bags in, probably set off a load in the washing machine and have an early night. Thanks again for a lovely meal.’
‘Well, you know you’re always welcome. And I’ll see you soon.’
‘Yes, will do. And thanks for picking me up from the station.’
‘Oh, Sally mentioned something about Sunday lunch, if you’re interested. A little get-together before you head back to work on Monday.’
‘Hmm, sounds good.’ Sally’s roasts were legendary. ‘Are you all trying to feed me up or something?’
‘Absolutely.’ Her mum smiled. ‘Well, see you soon.’ Her Audi car gave a little rev, and started to moved forwards. She waved out of the car window as she drove off.
Claire found her house keys, walked up the black-and-white tiled pathway to the front door and turned the lock. It felt chilly and so very empty as she walked over the threshold. Too quiet. The contrast with earlier times struck her forcefully. A year or so ago, Paul would be in watching TV, or trying to cook something basic, if she was late home from work. His culinary skills had never got much past a rather tasteless chilli con carne or heating up a frozen pizza and tossing a bag of salad into a bowl. But at least he tried to do his bit in the house, and he was a dab hand with a hoover.
She thought back to when they’d moved in. The first few years of their marriage had been lovely, exciting times. Learning all those new things about each other, from his favourite coffee brand, Nescafe – nothing too fancy – to the way his fingers felt as they traced her inner thigh. The house seemed all the more quiet somehow, having once known a happy marriage there. They had been happy. But so much had changed. They had changed. Though the wallpaper, the carpets, the curtains they had once chosen together remained the same, piece by piece her old life had been chipped away.
On Saturday morning, as Claire sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea trying to get used to being back, her mobile buzzed into action.
‘Hi, Andrea.’ She’d spotted the caller name. Her ally from the Herald.
‘Hey, are you back yet?’
‘Yep, just yesterday.’
‘Fab. Do you fancy coffee and cake over at Café 9 this aft? We have some serious catching up to do.’
‘I might be tempted. When are you thinking?’
/>
‘Two-ish? Danny’s out playing football today – he’ll be a couple of hours at least. Time for us to put the world to rights. I’m dying to hear all about your holiday.’
‘Okay, sounds great.’ Far better than packing up boxes on her own.
‘Meet you there then.’
‘Yep, okay. Thanks. See you later.’
It was just a short walk from the house to the café, a favourite haunt of theirs. They did the most amazing chocolate fudge cake, served hot or cold, with cream or ice cream – fantastic at any time of year. They’d often met there in the good times between chemo sessions when her appetite and energy levels were back; by then she was well ready for chat and cake and it was a relief to do something normal. To talk about normal girlie things. Claire had been intending to phone her friend for a chat that evening, but meeting up in person would be even better.
The corner table by the window – there she was with a big grin, dark-brown hair flicked out somewhat chaotically yet trendily from her face, her trademark bright-red lipstick, and two cappuccinos, their usual, before her.
She stood up and gave Claire a kiss on the cheek.
‘Hey you, you look great. Are you fancying cake?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Chocolate fudge,’ they both added at the same time.
‘I’ll go, you keep the table,’ Claire said.
It was busy there, a Saturday afternoon, always popular with the students in the area, as well as a couple of young mums with buggies and a kindly-looking elderly couple nestled with their teapot and scones at a table at the rear.
‘Hey, Claire. Haven’t seen you in a while, hen. You been okay?’ The café owner smiled from behind the counter that was laden with scrummy cakes and bakes. Many people in her everyday life knew of her illness – the bald head and headscarves of the past year had given the game away, if they hadn’t already read her column and online blog.
‘Yeah, I’m fine, Helen. Just had a lovely break away.’
My Summer of Magic Moments Page 9
