I smile at him. ‘I think my mum just got the wrong end of the stick,’ I tell him. ‘And she rushed me down here.’
‘I didn’t realise you could rush anyone with a broken leg anywhere,’ he says with a knowing smile. ‘Is there anything you want to talk about? Everything remains between us, obviously.’
I feel like he’s looking straight through me. ‘I … I need to take a pregnancy test,’ I admit.
‘Oh,’ he replies. ‘So your leg is fine?’
‘Yes,’ I admit sheepishly. ‘I was just trying to get my mum to drive me here, so that I could buy a test … I didn’t realise she’d ring you and make me an appointment and tell you what I’d told her. I’m really sorry.’
‘Hey, you have nothing to apologise for,’ he insists. ‘You’re in a very difficult position. How about we do a test now?’
‘That would be great, thank you,’ I reply.
I have no idea what the result will be, but I feel a little better already, just for having someone to talk to, to help me out without judgement.
After taking the test it isn’t long before we’re back in our seats, waiting for the result.
‘Thank you for this,’ I say. ‘I haven’t had anyone else to talk to about it. I, erm, broke up with my boyfriend this morning.’
‘Well, that isn’t ideal timing, is it?’ he replies sympathetically. ‘And no need to thank me, I’m just doing my job. Had you been together a long time?’
‘Nine months,’ I say, laughing to myself. It takes nine months to grow a baby, and nine months to see someone’s true colours apparently. ‘I thought things were great but, to be honest, it’s easy to see how rubbish things were now. I mean, he didn’t even want to look after me when I broke my leg – and I don’t think he was being honest with me so … so … balls to him.’
‘That’s a refreshing attitude to hear,’ Will points out. ‘A woman walking away from a bad relationship with a good attitude.’
‘I guess I have bigger problems,’ I reply. ‘Any news?’
Will glances at his watch. After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, he looks at the test.
‘It’s negative,’ he says.
‘Oh, OK,’ I reply. ‘Thanks.’
‘Is that what you wanted to see?’ he asks.
‘Well, yes, right? I mean, I’m single … so … I mean, I know single people have babies all the time, but it’s easier to do it with another person, right? And when your leg isn’t broken and …’
‘It’s OK, I totally understand. But you have plenty of time to do it in the future, and on your own terms, too.’
‘Do I?’ I ask, suddenly aware of the fact that, if I’m not pregnant, then my usually like-clockwork period hasn’t turned up for some other reason. ‘Might something be wrong with me, if I’m late?’
‘Have you been having any other issues?’ he asks.
I shake my head, a little embarrassed. I really hadn’t imagined myself getting into this with him.
‘Have you been exercising a lot, dieting, under a lot of stress?’
‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘Which one?’
‘All of them,’ I say. ‘I was a bridesmaid for my bridezilla best friend’s wedding. I had a lot to do and a dress to fit into.’
‘Well, there you go,’ he says. ‘Often, things like weight loss and stress can cause you to be a little late. It’s nothing to worry about if it doesn’t happen often. Was it a wonderful wedding at least?’
I laugh to myself before I reply.
‘No, I broke my leg,’ I reply.
‘Oh,’ Will replies, laughing too, but probably only because I am, rather than because he’s a doctor who finds injuries hilarious.
‘And then she wouldn’t look after me either. That’s how I ended up leaving London and having to come back home,’ I reply. ‘I’m a thirty-two-year-old with loads of friends and not one of them wanted to look after me. They were all too busy.’
‘Well, that’s the good thing about the north,’ he replies with a smile. ‘None of us have anything going on, which means we have plenty of time for interfering in other people’s lives.’
‘Yes, it has its pros and cons,’ I reply.
‘Well, with that in mind, how about I pop over and see you later, and I’ll bring you those things I was telling you about, to make your life easier. We’ve got these things you can put over your cast, so that you can have a shower – best ones you can get.’
‘That would be amazing, thank you,’ I tell him.
‘Back at the lighthouse, yes?’
‘Back at the lighthouse,’ I reply.
‘Well, I might be allowed upstairs this time,’ he says. ‘To look out the window, I mean, obviously. Hopefully your mum won’t kick me out.’
Given all the information I have, I am absolutely certain she wouldn’t.
‘OK, well, I’ll see you later then?’ I say.
‘Yes, see you later,’ he replies. ‘Glad I could help.’
As Will wheels me back out to my mum, who is in fact chatting away with Will’s next patient, I go over in my head how I feel about my news. It’s for the best that I’m not pregnant, even if it is something I want to do eventually, and maybe I am running out of time, but I don’t want to do it alone, and I know that Patrick would have run a mile. I’ll put it out of my head – Patrick too – and focus on now. At least I have tonight to look forward to, with Will popping over to see me. I know he’s just being nice, and that I am on the rebound but, I don’t know, there’s just something about him now that gives me butterflies in my stomach.
We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?
Chapter 11
You know that horrible feeling when you are absolutely starving, but you have no idea what you want? Well, that’s how I feel right now. One of the pros of having parents who employ a chef is always having someone on hand who can make you something amazing. Of course, for a while, the main con has been that that someone is Vince.
Now that Robbie is here though, and we seem to be getting on really well, I finally feel like I have someone who can make all my culinary dreams come true. He’s currently preparing me something – a surprise, is what I asked for – in the kitchen, while they are between shifts and Vince is out on his break.
At first Robbie asked me what I wanted, but I couldn’t make my mind up. He told me to give him two ingredients that I fancied and, after much mental deliberation, I landed on cheese and tomato.
He asked me if I wanted them in a sandwich – I said no. He asked if I fancied pasta – again, I didn’t. I didn’t know what I wanted, I just knew what I didn’t want … so he’s making me a surprise.
It’s really nice, to have a young, fun person at the B & B, someone I can chat to and hang out with, who I’m not related to, who knows nothing about me.
It’s nice to get to know Robbie a bit better too. It turns out he’s worked all over the world over the last few years – mostly on cruise ships, but that still counts, especially because they were all five-star cruises.
Eventually he pops a plate down in front of me with small, Cornish-pasty-looking things on it. Well, the shape is similar at least, but the pastry looks completely different.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Your surprise,’ he replies with a cheeky grin. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve. You said you’d eat anything I made.’
‘I did say that, didn’t I?’ I respond with a laugh. ‘I didn’t think it would be something so mysterious though. Everything is hidden inside … it.’
‘Well, why don’t you try it,’ he says encouragingly.
Feeling a little brave, but mostly just being polite, because I did ask for this, I take a bite.
‘Oh my gosh,’ I say through a mouthful. ‘What is this?’
‘Do you like it?’ he asks nervously.
‘I love it,’ I can’t help but stress.
It’s like a sealed-up pizza … a bit like a calzone, but ther
e’s something different about it. The delicious dough, the rich tomato sauce, the melted cheese. I thought the crisp sandwich was good, but this is even better.
‘Is that a fried pizza?’ Vince asks, horrified, after walking into the kitchen and finding us together, digging into what I can confidently say is my new favourite food.
‘It’s panzarotti,’ Robbie replies.
‘It’s a fried pizza,’ Vince snaps back. ‘Get it out of my kitchen please.’
‘Yeah, actually, Robbie, if you could wheel me back to the family kitchen,’ I say before lowering my voice. ‘And pass me the plate, so I can take them with me.’
‘Sure,’ he replies sheepishly.
‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure him. ‘I’ll make sure you’re not in any trouble with my parents. They did tell me to ask in the kitchen if I wanted anything when they weren’t around.’
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I’m Vince’s cup of tea.’
‘Well, you are absolutely mine,’ I reply. I wonder if perhaps that sounds weird. ‘Chef-wise.’
Yes, because that doesn’t make it sound weird at all.
When we finally get to the kitchen, my mum and dad are sitting at the table.
‘Look at you, Lady Muck,’ my dad jokes. ‘Getting chauffeured around by your own personal chef.’
‘You have to try what Robbie has made,’ I tell them, leaning forwards to place the plate down on the table.
‘It looks interesting,’ my dad says, straight in there with his hands to try some.
‘What is it?’ my mum asks.
‘Bloody lovely,’ my dad says. ‘That’s what it is.’
‘They are panzarotti,’ Robbie tells them. ‘I learned how to make them in southern Italy – they’re really popular over there.’
‘Incredible,’ my mum tells him. ‘You made these?’
Robbie nods. My mum gives him a massive smile and he turns to head back to the B & B kitchen.
‘I know we made the right decision, hiring him,’ my mum says once Robbie has gone.
‘Absolutely. You should have these on the menu,’ I say. ‘You can’t get anything like this anywhere around here, right? You should have a chat with him about maybe modernising the menu. Vince is an amazing chef, without a doubt, but his stuck-up pub grub isn’t the most … accessible menu. Stuff like this though, it would be loved by everyone. Even kids because, let’s face it, Vince’s kids’ menu isn’t very kid-friendly.’
‘Do you think?’ my dad replies.
‘The “fish fingers” are deep-fried whitebait,’ I reply. ‘Not even I would eat those.’
‘We usually stay out of these sorts of things,’ my mum says. ‘We just hire staff that we trust to do a good job and leave them to it.’
‘And Vince absolutely does a good job,’ I reply. ‘But … maybe let Robbie come up with some specials? Maybe give people a taste of recipes he’s learned on his travels. The locals who eat here will love trying something a bit different and the tourists who stay here will love it too.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ my dad says cheerily. ‘What were we doing without you, eh? If you ever get bored of matchmaking and fancy running a B & B …’
‘About that,’ my mum chimes in. ‘Lola, I’ve offered your services tomorrow evening.’
‘Oh?’ I reply anxiously. I’m not all that sure my mum knows what my services are, so this could mean anything.
‘Yes. So, as you know, the public space here is being used as a stand-in venue for the town hall at the moment,’ she reminds me, but I don’t need reminding. I still have ‘Elvira’ playing on a loop in my head thanks to the line dancing troupe.
‘Yep.’
‘Well, we’re hosting a speed dating night here tomorrow, so I said you’d manage it. And no, this isn’t a ploy to have you fall in love with a local. I know you have a boyfriend,’ she quickly insists. ‘But they needed someone to figure out the logistics and, well, that’s your job, right?’
Speed dating is a little old-fashioned now, but I see the connection my mum made, and I am happy to help out. Well, she’s helping me out so much and I am incredibly bored. It will be nice to have something to do!
I wonder whether now might be the right time to tell her that I broke up with Patrick, but I don’t really want to get into the ins and outs of why right now.
‘Oh, that’s the doorbell,’ my mum announces, just in case my dad and I wondered what the ringing sound was – the same chime we’ve had for as long as I can remember.
‘It is indeed,’ my dad replies.
‘I suppose I’m supposed to go, am I?’ she says.
‘I mean, I would …’ I say.
‘I don’t mean you, Lola, I mean your dad. He’s getting so lazy in his …’ Her voice tapers off.
‘In his what?’ my dad asks.
‘Nothing,’ my mum insists. The doorbell chimes again. ‘I’d better go get that.’
‘She was going to say “old age”,’ my dad tells me once we’re alone. ‘She says that now, but when she wants some furniture building or something she’ll ask me like I’m twenty-one again.’
‘Yeah, you don’t seem old to me,’ I reply. ‘Maybe just lazy.’
I’m kidding, of course.
‘Hey, who do you think did most of the painting when we had our makeover?’ he quickly insists. ‘Now slide me that plate of whatever that is.’
I laugh as I push the plate of panzarotti towards my dad.
‘Look who I’ve found,’ my mum interrupts. ‘Dr Coleman.’
‘Please, call me Will,’ Will insists as he is ushered into the kitchen.
He’s wearing his usual work attire – a blue shirt with a tie (today’s has little French bulldogs all over it). He’s also wearing a blue jacket and carrying an Apple Blossom Deli bag.
‘Doing house calls, hmm?’ my dad says suspiciously. ‘What have you got there, lad?’
‘Oh, it’s not food,’ he says quickly. ‘Don’t let the bag get your hopes up. I was just dropping off some things for Lola, to help with her leg.’
‘Got any oxycodone in there?’ he asks.
I feel my eyebrows shoot up.
‘Paul James,’ my mum tells him off with his name before turning to Will. ‘So sorry, Doctor. He’s been watching a lot of Netflix.’
It’s nice to hear he’s using that Netflix gift card I bought him for Christmas. I remind myself to ask my dad what box sets he’s into because binge-watching TV shows could make this forced life vacation go a lot faster.
‘No opioids unfortunately,’ Will tells him. ‘There’s a rather fetching plastic bag you can wear in the shower though.’
‘Meh, Lola can have that,’ my dad replies with a faux seriousness.
‘Thank you so much, Will,’ I say. ‘My mum has just been wrapping my leg in bin liners.’
‘Don’t tell the doctor that,’ my mum says quickly.
It’s so weird how people in small towns – and especially older people – view doctors, isn’t it? My mum thinks doctors are rock stars. They’re the best kind of people, the most eligible bachelors, heroes without the capes. Jon Bon Jovi himself could check into the B & B – Superman could fly through the door – and she’d probably just remind them what time checkout is. But a doctor is a person to be adored, and you can see how my mum feels about Will by the look in her eye. It’s very different to the look she had when we were younger, when she threw him out because she thought he was a horny teenager. I imagine, if she’d known he would grow up to be a doctor, she probably would’ve lit some candles.
‘Doctor, forgive me for asking,’ my mum starts, and I instantly worry. ‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’
I cough and splutter, choking on my own breath. I cannot believe she just asked him that.
‘Erm, well, no, I’m not,’ he replies.
‘Marvellous,’ she replies. ‘Well, Lola is hosting a speed dating night here tomorrow night. You should come!’
‘Speed dating?’ Will
asks me with a laugh.
‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘I’ve been railroaded into hosting it by my overly forward mother. But I was thinking of taking part.’
The words have left my lips before I’ve even thought them through. Why did I say that?
‘I thought you said you had a boyfriend,’ my mum replies suspiciously over her cup of tea. Well, I have been insisting to her how loved up I am until pretty much right now.
‘Well, I’m single now,’ I tell her.
I look over at Will, who is stifling a giggle.
‘Well, double marvellous,’ my mum says, still looking a little puzzled. ‘I’m sure it’s no trouble for a professional like you, to host and participate.’
‘Are you a professional speed dater?’ Will asks, amused.
‘Not exactly,’ I reply. ‘But I’ll tell you tomorrow – I need to save something for our date, don’t I?’
My dad, clearly uncomfortable with me flirting in front of him, meaningfully clears his throat.
It’s funny isn’t it, how mums are always out to find their daughter an eligible bachelor to marry, but dads would be far happier if their little girls stayed single forever.
Wait, am I flirting with Will?! I mean, sure, he’s handsome and he has his head screwed on right, but it’s too soon to be flirting, right?
Tomorrow is definitely going to be interesting.
Chapter 12
Ding!
‘Hello, miss, my name is Toby.’
‘Can I give you some helpful advice, just to kick things off, Toby?’ I start.
He nods eagerly.
‘Don’t open with “hello, miss”. I feel like I’m a hundred years old now. It would be fine, I guess, if you weren’t so young.’
I mean, I’d probably never recommend approaching a woman with ‘hello, miss’ regardless, but the fact that he looks fresh out of school makes me feel like an old lady.
‘How old are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m eighteen, mi …’ He catches himself before he does it again. ‘I’m eighteen.’
Make or Break at the Lighthouse B & B Page 7
