in for Clemmie with George, she’s first in the queue to be his new receptionist, just what he needs to put his customers at ease.’
I purse my lips and stay silent. The only way to deal with Sophie in her ‘conquer the world’ mood is to go with her. Then clear up the wreckage afterwards.
‘I will – even if she does make me mix my days up.’ He sighs, then as he swings through the door to his appointment his face finally creases into a grimace rather than a smile. ‘Although any day’s a great day for a deal.’
I groan and wait for the door to close. ‘Did he really say that? And there goes proof that looks and personality don’t always go together.’ Although Maisie seems smitten. And when he finally managed that sardonic wince he did have those creases in his cheeks that make your knees give way. And teeth. Beautiful, not-quite-perfect incisors. ‘Imagine if you had to face that every morning, you’d be so queasy breakfast would be impossible.’ And damn for letting that slip out.
Sophie raises an eyebrow. ‘Queasy? What kind of queasy?’
I push my hand on my stomach to stall the churning and swallow hard. ‘No, you’re right, it would take more than the thought of ugly buildings to put me off my pain au chocolat.’ I think I got away with that. Swooning at alpha males is what we take the piss out of, not what we do. Like everyone else on the harbour, I’ll blame the cocktails.
Sophie’s frown is rivalling Charlie’s. ‘According to Nate, the Hobson signature move is to buy up rows of cottages one by one, then bulldoze them and shoe horn super-expensive flats into the plots. No doubt about it, he’s here to price out the locals and destroy our village.’
‘Trouble on legs then.’ Although I suspect I knew that already.
She nods. ‘The man’s a wrecker. He does exactly the same with large detached villas.’
‘Everything we don’t want here.’ I’m surprised how fighty and defensive I feel considering how happy I usually am to wave goodbye to the place.
Sophie’s nostrils are flaring. ‘He’s hell bent on buying up St Aidan one brick at a time. Although obviously, we aren’t going to let him.’ She gives me a significant stare. ‘We could do with keeping close tabs on him, if you fancy building on your acquaintance. However crass he sounds he’s not short on smoulder.’
Sometimes I think she’s deaf. ‘Absolutely not.’ It comes out so loud, I have to back pedal. ‘Thanks all the same. Now how about seeing this flat?’ And who’d have thought I’d be rushing her into this?
At Seaspray Cottage
Thunderstorms and Surprise Rainbows
Thursday
‘So what do you think, Clemmie? Can you remember any of it?’
Sophie and I are standing outside Seaspray Cottage with our backs to the turning tide as we take in the peeling render, the slender bay windows, and a slate roof that’s shining like hammered silver against the cornflower sky. The paintwork is weathered to the colour of the beach and the letters on the name board are so faded the only way we know we’re in the right place is the balcony above that looks so precarious it could be held up by invisible hooks to the sky. As we make our way towards the front door the slant of the steps makes me stagger.
‘When George said “past its sell by date”, that was an understatement. It’s shot to frigg, end of story. Time to walk away?’ I wasn’t expecting to be proved right quite this soon.
Sophie sounds thoughtful. ‘A lot of people think patina is characterful. In any case, the cottage is bound to get all the weather because it’s placed to get the views in three directions.’
I’m scrunching up my face as I wrack my brain. ‘I don’t remember it being at a dead end.’ Somehow the cottage is marooned beyond the quayside where the road runs out into a small path across the dunes that cuts through to the sea front. With every wind gust the sand’s blowing up the beach, over the low boundary wall, and drifting into the garden that extends back beyond the sides of the cottage. Although it’s small in scale, with its three storeys and repeating windows, it’s larger than it looks at first.
Sophie’s suppressing a smile. ‘As it’s so close to the sea I’m guessing the name is more real than romantic.’
Worse and worse. ‘You mean the water actually blasts against the windows?’ Not that I was enthusiastic to begin with, but imagining cold brine hammering on the glass on stormy days is making my shivers seismic.
She laughs. ‘Don’t worry, it’s only Seaspray Cottage, not Splash House or Tidal Wave Towers.’ Shifting Maisie in her arms, Sophie fishes in her bag for the keys. ‘Now we’ve come this far we might as well go in and see the dereliction inside.’
Instead of the anticipated struggle with a rust encrusted lock, the key turns easily, and the door swings open without a creak. Then as we step into a pale buff hallway filled with splashes of sunlight the familiarity is so jarring my feet stop moving before I’ve stepped off the neat coir door mat.
‘The smell’s just the same. How strange is that?’
Sophie wrinkles her nose and somehow manages not to crash into my back. ‘Fresh salty air … and the beeswax on those ancient floor boards?’
My words come slowly, as if I’m dragging them from very far away. ‘With a hint of rosemary and thyme … because that’s what grew in the herb patch at the side of the cottage. They used to mix the leaves into the polish.’ There isn’t time to wonder how I know that because I’m darting forwards again. ‘And there’s the staircase, at the end of the hall.’ Even though I can’t see past the first flight of steps, I already know. ‘On the way to the top floor it winds so tightly the steps run out to nothing at the edge. And there are creaky bits on the landing where the boards groan.’ Like timbers on an old ship. Wasn’t that what Laura used to say?
Sophie’s giving me a searching look. ‘The paintwork’s better in here too. Are we going for a look?’
My diffident shrug is misleading. The weird thing is, I couldn’t stay away now even if I wanted to. I’m trying to play down that there’s an invisible force drawing me upwards. ‘We might as well. Before we do the sensible thing and leave.’ My fingers are already stroking the silky smoothness of the bannister rail.
I wind my way up two floors so fast that by the time Sophie arrives, panting from carrying Maisie, I’m already at the landing window that opens onto the balcony, staring across the expanse of sand to where the sea is glinting way down the beach.
‘I’m ignoring that stupendous view for now. Here you go … flat six.’ Sophie waves another key, and one click later the door on the left of the window is ajar.
I hold my breath as I tiptoe in. Then as I look around at a room crammed with cosy sofas and tables and shelves full of books I let out a gasp. ‘Oh my, the same furniture’s still here, it’s like I’ve flipped back thirty years.’ Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t to step into a time warp. Although up until this moment, just like with the thyme, and the creaky stairs, I’d mostly forgotten. And obviously now I’m seeing it as an adult, I’m
