by Agatha Frost
“Is everyone so touchy feely in this place?” Liz asked as she wiped her hand on her jeans again.
“You’re so funny,” Nancy laughed, slapping Liz on the arm, the action alone confirming her question.
They were about to leave, but raised voices from the recently arrived boat caught their attention. They turned on their heels and looked in the direction of the commotion.
“I don’t care how long you’ve been here, you are useless!” a bearded man shouted at a boy who did not look any older than twenty. “You aren’t cut out for this job, and you don’t show any signs of improving, Adam!”
“Frank, I’m trying!” the lanky teenager pleaded. “You know I’m trying! I need this job.”
“That’s not good enough! You’re lazy. You don’t care about this job one bit. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to!” Frank shouted again. “I’m sorry, but you’re fired!”
“This is because of Mandy, isn’t it?” Adam cried back. “This isn’t fair!”
Frank clenched his fists by his side, and for a moment, Liz readied herself out of habit to jump in. To her surprise, the bearded man stormed down the walkway and along the seafront. A small brown and white beagle jumped over the edge of the boat and ran after him, its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.
“Who was that?” Liz asked as she watched Frank disappear.
“Frank is Chris’ head fisher,” Nancy whispered as they watched Adam talk to Christopher. “Not the nicest of men. Remember the barmaid I told you to stay away from? That’s her father.”
“Mandy?” Liz thought aloud. “Adam said ‘this is because of Mandy’.”
“I always thought Frank liked Adam,” Nancy said. “Frank’s not the easiest guy to work with. He is set in his ways, but Adam seemed like the right sort of kid to listen. Frank will probably see sense tomorrow. I bet they’re crying over spilt milk. You know what men are like.”
“Or spilt fish guts.”
“You’re so funny, Liz!” Nancy exclaimed again, slapping her on the arm once more. “You’re going to fit right in!”
They left the harbour and set off back to Liz’s flat. When they were outside, Nancy gave her another hug, and Liz was finding that she was not seizing up as much now that she was getting used to it.
“I hope you enjoyed your tour,” Nancy said with a fiddle of her glasses. “It’s nice to make a new friend.”
“It is,” Liz said. “I’ll see you around.”
Liz waved Nancy off, more than sure that she would see her on a regular basis. She did not mind. After spending the afternoon with her, she had grown to enjoy her quirks.
She pulled her keys out of her bag but turned when she heard something trundling along the street towards her. She spotted a tractor slowly making its way up the steep road. When she noticed Simon was the driver, a little smile took her lips by surprise.
“How’s this old place treating you?” Simon shouted down at her as he slowed the noisy tractor to a shuddering halt, the scent of diesel thick in the air. “I hope you’re settling in.”
“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” she called up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Big tractor.”
Liz looked around Simon and spotted a little girl in the passenger seat. She had blonde pigtails, denim dungarees, and big glasses. She hummed a tune Liz did not recognise as she kicked her heels against the seat, her feet barely scraping the floor.
“This is Ellie,” Simon said when he noticed Liz staring. “My little sister. Say hello, Ellie.”
Ellie hid behind Simon’s shoulder and peeked at Liz through the strands of hair that had fallen out of her pigtails. She gave Liz a shy smile, her two front teeth bigger than the rest, but she did not speak.
“Hi, Ellie,” Liz said, her years of working with children at the station softening her voice. “I’m Liz. How old are you?”
Ellie bobbed her head around her brother’s shoulder again, her shyness seeming to quickly disappear. She edged forward along the seat and twirled one of her pigtails around her finger.
“I’m seven,” she announced, holding up seven fingers. “Seven and a quarter.”
“Aren’t you a big girl?” Liz said with pretend shock. “I remember when I was seven, but that was a long time ago now.”
A grin spread from ear to ear on Ellie’s face, her two front teeth sticking out over her bottom lip
“Are you Simon’s girlfriend?” Ellie asked as she wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. “He said the new woman was pretty yesterday.”
“Ellie!” Simon cried, his cheeks blushing. “Why don’t you finish your lollipop?”
Ellie pulled an unwrapped lollipop from her pocket and crammed it in her mouth as she resumed kicking her feet against the chair.
“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Simon stuttered. “You know what kids are like.”
“Heading anywhere nice in this thing?” Liz asked as she slapped the side of the tractor, choosing to ignore what Ellie had said.
“We’re delivering some cheese to the café,” he said as he reached in the back to retrieve a wrapped block. “It’s as fresh as it comes. Ellie insisted we take the tractor. She loves the thing, don’t you, Ellie?”
“Is my tongue a funny colour?” Ellie asked as she stared down her nose, ignoring her brother.
“It’s very – blue,” Liz assured her. “Been eating Smurfs?”
Ellie chuckled as she continued to lick her lollipop. Liz smiled, not wanting the sadness to take over her. Lewis had always said they would have kids when their careers quietened down, but she had long since come to accept that would never happen now.
“Here you go.” Simon passed Liz the wrapped cheese, breaking her thought. “It may not look like much, but looks can sometimes be deceiving.”
“Thank you,” Liz said as she looked down at the block in her hands. “Everyone in this town is so welcoming. I’m not used to it.”
“We try,” he said, blushing again. “I hope we’re much nicer than city folk. Must be off. We still have deliveries to do, so I’ll see you around. Enjoy the cheese.”
She waved them off as Simon turned the tractor and headed down the road. Ellie spun around in her chair and waved enthusiastically at Liz as she stuck out her bright blue tongue. When the tractor disappeared, Liz stared down at the cheese, wondering how it could be any different from the stuff she normally bought at the supermarket.
When she returned to her flat, she spent a couple of hours unpacking before setting up her easel. The rest of the unboxing could wait until she had something beautiful to hang above her fireplace.
She knew once the shop opened up below, she would have less time to paint, so she was going to enjoy it while she could. She had painted almost everyday since Lewis’ death. Thinking about the past sent a shiver down her spine, but she forced herself to think of something else. She had spent enough time grieving, and it had not done her any favours.
She dragged her easel over to the small window overlooking the street and placed a small canvas on the ridge. While she mulled over what she wanted to paint, she flicked the kettle on and looked over the different boxes of tea she had bought from the shop that morning, settling on cranberry and cinnamon. After placing the tea bag and newly hot water into a mug, she walked over to her easel.
She looked out of the window as the day started to fade, the peachy sunset astounding her. The pinks, oranges, and purples engulfed the sky, inspiring her in an instant. Liz sipped on her tea as she fingered through her box of oil paints. When she decided what she was going to do, she balanced her paintbrushes on the windowsill and got to work.
She looked out at the fishing town, sketching as she went. She traced a few buildings here and there, and then drew the castle on the hill. When she was happy with the outline, she started to paint. She settled on using the same colours she could see out of the window
As her brush hit the canvas, her brain switched off, entering her happy p
lace. Her fingers danced across her easel, completely submerged in her work as though she was the conduit and someone else was the painter.
The hours passed by in an instant, as did the sunset. She worked from memory, the beautiful burning colours etched in her mind’s eye. She took a final sip of her tea, not minding that it had gone cold. When she looked at the clock, she let out a yawn, not wanting to believe it was already past midnight. She finally set down her brush; the details would have to be added another time.
The painting had drained her, so she quickly prepared a bowl of cereal. She had never been much of a cook, but she had not needed to be with Lewis. Her meals now consisted of things she could pour into a bowl and whatever would fit in the microwave.
After wolfing down the bland cereal, she washed the bowl, and as she was drying her hands, she looked at the unopened cheese on her kitchen counter. She unwrapped it, picked a crumb from the corner, and popped it into her mouth. Just like the ice cream, she was surprised by how delicious it was. Picking off another chunk, she tossed it into her mouth as she walked to her bedroom.
After climbing into bed, her mind wandered back to the argument she had witnessed at the harbour, but before she could focus on the details, she drifted off into a deep sleep.
3
Liz took herself and her easel down to the harbour the next morning. She left her sunset painting in the flat, deciding she wanted to make use of the stunning sea views Scarlet Cove had to offer. They were, after all, the reason she had picked the place for her fresh start.
She set up away from the boats and Christopher’s office, in front of a bar called Coastline Cabaret, which was next to a small souvenir shop called Tidal Trinkets. People passed by, smiling at her curiously, but nobody interrupted her, which was just how she liked things.
As she stared out to sea, she thought of the times she had gone out and painted in nature. During her days in college, she had loved to paint countryside landscapes, but since rediscovering her love of painting, her art had revolved around dull cityscapes and urban scenes. The multitude of blue shades in the sky and sea excited her. She unclipped her box of oil paints and looked at some of the barely touched shades she was determined to use today.
She pulled out her binoculars and stared out at the small boats on the horizon. After sampling Simon’s cheese again that morning, she was excited to see what other food Scarlet Cove had to offer. She had not even considered that she was probably going to be eating a lot more seafood until meeting Christopher the previous day.
As she quickly sketched out the scene in front of her, she thought about how unprepared she had been for the move. In a way, she had wanted to know as little as possible about the place she was moving to so she could experience it first-hand. Resting her pencil against the canvas, she closed her eyes and inhaled the salty sea air, the only sound coming from the seagulls above. It was pure bliss.
That bliss was quickly interrupted when a distant barking dog caused her to run her pencil against a crudely sketched fishing boat. She flipped the pencil over and rubbed out the line before checking that she had not damaged the canvas. When she was satisfied that it was fine, she started to mix the perfect base shade for the sky.
“You’re a painter?” a voice called from behind. “How fascinating.”
She turned to see Christopher walking towards her, hands deep in his trouser pockets. He was wearing another well-fitted business suit, which Liz could tell was expensive.
“I don’t have a creative bone in my body,” he said when she did not reply. “I was always more interested in numbers.”
“It’s a good release,” Liz said as she washed her custom shade over the upper portion of the canvas. “It’s free therapy.”
Christopher stood back and watched her paint for a moment. She could feel her hand moving a little less freely than usual, and she was starting to second-guess her strokes. She lifted the brush off the canvas and began to slowly mix another shade of blue in the hope Christopher would leave her in peace.
“All of those boats are mine,” he said, wafting his finger in the direction of the half a dozen boats in the distance. “I’ve built myself a sturdy fishing empire here. I’m thinking of expanding out across the coast when the time is right.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” she mumbled noncommittally as she eased a little white paint out of the tube and onto the palette. “I suppose you have a lot of work to do.”
“Not until the boats come back,” he said, leaning against the wall and facing away from the view. “How are you settling in?”
“Quite alright,” she replied, wincing as the distant dog began to bark again. “Although I envisioned this being a more peaceful activity.”
“I’ve never understood the point of art myself,” Christopher mumbled, appearing a little distant. “My sister is mad for the stuff.”
Liz scratched at her red wavy hair with the end of the paintbrush. She looked at the glistening wash of blue on her canvas and realised she was not going to spend the morning painting by the sea like she had hoped. She considered taking a picture of the view and retreating back to the safety of her flat, but it would not be the same. She had moved to Scarlet Cove to paint by the sea, and she was determined to do just that.
The second her paintbrush touched the canvas again, she jumped and painted over a blank space she had been saving for the sun when the dog barked again.
“Where is that coming from?” Liz asked, the frustration loud in her voice.
“Sounds like Paddy, Frank’s beagle. They should be back by now, but I suppose it’s taking longer since he sacked Adam.”
Liz picked up her binoculars again and scanned the boats. She landed on the one she recognised Frank steering back into the harbour yesterday. She spotted the beagle, barking wildly at the air, but she did not spot Frank. She watched for a moment and waited for him to bob up from below deck, but nothing happened.
“I can’t see him,” Liz said, the binoculars crammed against her eyes. “Maybe he’s hurt?”
“He’s probably drunk.” Christopher snatched the binoculars from Liz and stared out at sea. “Everything’s tiny!”
Liz pulled the binoculars from his grip and turned them around.
“He’s become so unreliable,” he continued after an awkward chuckle. “Has a hip flask with him wherever he goes now. He’s a shadow of the man he was when I first bought the company.”
Liz stood up and shielded her eyes from the sun. She could just make out Paddy jumping up onto a box and looking overboard. He barked furiously at the water, looking as though he might jump in, but he stopped himself.
“If he’s passed out on deck, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Christopher said as he tossed the binoculars back to Liz. “I can’t keep letting him get away with this. Why do you have binoculars anyway? Are you a painter or a spy?”
“They’re good for seeing details,” she said quickly, not wanting to admit they were the ones from her detective days. “What if something has happened? Paddy sounds distressed.”
“It’s the boat I’m worried about,” Christopher replied. “If Frank is drunk out there and he hasn’t dropped the anchor, the thing could drift off into the unknown.”
“And what about Frank?”
“They’re expensive boats,” he snapped. “Frank is replaceable. I need to go out there and bring it back in, and I might fire the fella while I’m at it! There are only so many times I can let him get away with these things!”
Christopher checked his chunky gold watch, which looked like it cost more than a year’s worth of rent for Liz’s flat. He ran his hands through his slicked back hair and let out a tired sigh as though the whole ordeal was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
“How are you getting out there?” Liz asked as she peered over her canvas at the stranded boat.
“I have a speedboat on hand.”
“Can I come?” Liz replied. “It would be nice to see Scarlet Cove from the sea.”
> Christopher looked sceptically at Liz for a moment, but he smiled and nodded to let her know it was okay. She quickly packed up her painting things and carried them down the seafront to the harbour. She left her easel and paints in his office before climbing into his boat.
“Hold on tight,” he said as he started up the engine. “The water can be too choppy for some women.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Liz said, not telling him it was not her first time in a boat.
Christopher set off, steering the small boat expertly, proving that he had done it many times before. They bounced up and down on the water, the wind licking Liz’s face, her wavy hair catching the salt spray. The way Christopher looked back at her with a smug grin proved how little he was concerned about his head fisher being drunk and passed out on the deck.
As they got closer to the fishing boat, the speedboat let out an ear-splitting groan and halted, thick puffs of grey smoke billowing from the engine.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Christopher replied smacking the engine with a forceful fist. “This has never happened before.”
Christopher ran his hands through his dishevelled hair as he looked desperately back to the shore.
Paddy’s barks grew louder and more aggravated, unsettling Liz. She had owned a beagle growing up, and it had been her best friend. Losing him had been so painful, she had never dared put herself through the heartache again. She had considered getting a pet as part of her new start, but she was sure she was more suited to a goldfish than anything else, and even that seemed like more responsibility than she could handle.
“Can’t you do something?” Liz cried, growing more and more worried. “Maybe it’s run out of fuel?”
From where they were, she could see the boat, but she still could not see Frank, only Paddy.
“Frank?” Christopher shouted now standing, undeniably irritated. “If you can hear me, you’re fired!”
Liz opened her mouth to speak but immediately stopped when she saw something orange floating in the water. When she realised it was a lifejacket, and it was attached to a man, she let out a small gasp, her heart fluttering in her chest. She pulled Christopher back down to her level, her hands shaking.
