style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Right,’ Robin managed. ‘You didn’t speak to him – Tim, I mean?’
Molly shook her head. ‘But he flashed me one of those what-a-man-I-am grins, as if maybe he knew I was going to relay the encounter to you.’
‘That’s how he smiles at everyone.’
‘I had a feeling that this smug grin was extra special. I’m unnerved by the fact that he’s not dropped by to see you yet. It makes me wonder what he’s up to.’
‘Maybe he heard about London, about what happened to Neve, and thought he’d give me some space.’ Robin chewed her lip. ‘Actually, no, if he’d heard about it, he would have offered me a shoulder to cry on.’
‘His shoulder would be the best, obviously.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Robin said, smiling at her friend, ‘none better in the whole of Campion Bay – or on the south coast, for that matter.’ She turned away, thinking how wrong it felt to talk flippantly about her grief, even though she knew it was progress – returning to some semblance of normality, making fun of the darkness when you were relieved to be emerging into brighter days. There had been a time, not so long ago, when even smiling had seemed like too much of a stretch.
‘Lunch?’ she asked.
Molly rubbed her stomach. ‘If you’re offering, otherwise some of these Sharpies might mysteriously disappear.’
‘Make yourself comfortable downstairs and I’ll bring in some sandwiches.’
Robin boiled eggs, fried rashers of streaky bacon and brewed Lapsang Souchong in one of the ruby-red breakfast teapots. As she did, she found her thoughts turning unavoidably to Tim.
Tim Lewis had been her childhood sweetheart. The most irritating, prank-playing, arrogant little shit at school who, somewhere between the ages of twelve and fourteen, had become utterly desirable. He had still played the odd prank, but his ridiculous blond curls were tamed, and his arrogance had honed itself into a confidence and determination that he was going to do something with his life.
Robin had, like all the other girls, harboured a not-very secret crush on him, and was more surprised than anyone else in the school – though only by a small margin – when, on a balmy September day, aged fourteen, he had asked her out. She had never been a wallflower at school, but she hadn’t reached the heights of popularity that put her automatically within his reach, either. He’d seemed over-confident when he’d asked, accidentally spilling the can of Coke he was holding nonchalantly in his hand, and Robin liked him all the more for that. They’d travelled on the bus to Bridport cinema and watched There’s Something About Mary, nervous at having got in a year too young. Towards the end of the film, Tim had slipped his hand in hers.
They’d dated, declaring each other boyfriend and girlfriend, their relationship surviving against the odds right up until Robin went to London to study Sociology. They’d thought they could make it work; Robin had harboured ideas of Tim coming to join her in the capital – she was sure his ambition would outgrow their cosy Dorset town – but she had misjudged him. Tim was happy where he was, staying close to his family and being a big fish in a small pond, working for a local estate agent, graduating from first homes and small flats to manage country estate sales. Now, it seemed, he’d progressed even further.
Robin poured out the boiling water and ran the eggs under the cold tap, the smell of sizzling bacon filling the kitchen. Of course she’d thought about Tim when she’d made the decision to return to Campion Bay, but they hadn’t spoken for over ten years. They were both in their early thirties now. Molly had kept her updated with significant news while she was in London, and so as far as she knew he wasn’t married, but did he still leave his hair that bit too long, allowing those gorgeous blond curls to flourish? Robin bit her lip. It was only a matter of time before they bumped into each other.
There had been something magnetic about his confidence, something altogether irresistible. It was the thing that made her heart beat faster now, so many years later, and even after the way it had ended. The problem was that Tim knew how irresistible he was, and over time the kindness and warmth that he’d directed at her had begun to fade, especially once Robin had moved away and their relationship had become more like hard work. Maybe she hadn’t been there often enough, telling him she loved him, keeping his ego inflated. Whatever it was, he’d eventually found comfort and adoration with someone else, and had admitted it to Robin during an argument weeks later, as if wanting her to know what she was missing out on.
And yet the thought of seeing him again left her feeling more than just unease. There was anticipation there too, which she was trying to put down to simple curiosity. Robin found she was bashing the eggs into submission, her chunky mayonnaise becoming more of a purée. She scooped the filling into two rolls, emptied packets of Kettle crisps on to the plates and took them through to where Molly was waiting on one of the sofas facing the sea view.
This room, she had already decided, would be called Sea Shanty. The upright piano, its keys remaining dusty for years, sat in one corner, and Robin had plans to distress the long wooden table that ran down the room’s centre, buy a tea-chest coffee table and antique globe, and soften the room by replacing the teal wallpaper with ivory and adding navy and red rugs, curtains and sofa cushions.
She sat down, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Thinking about the guesthouse was becoming a balm to other, more troubling imaginings, somewhere comforting she could turn to when thoughts of Tim, or memories of Neve, tried to take over. But, it seemed, Molly wasn’t prepared to let the subject lie.
‘Something else I should tell you about when I saw Tim,’ she said slowly, scooping up some stray mayonnaise with her finger.
‘What?’ Robin asked, a little too sharply. ‘Sorry, what else? Was he with someone we know?’
‘Uh uh.’ Molly shook her head. ‘I didn’t speak to them, but I might have scooted close to their table on a couple of occasions, and I heard them mention Goldcrest Road. Specifically number four.’
Robin swallowed too quickly and started coughing.
‘Shit, Robin!’ Molly slapped her vigorously on the back until the coughing had subsided and Robin’s shoulder blades were throbbing. ‘I should have waited until you’d finished eating.’
‘They want to buy Tabitha’s house?’
‘I didn’t hear enough of their conversation – I could only pretend to be interested in last year’s New Year’s Eve menu for so long. But they definitely mentioned next door.’
‘Do they want to develop it?’ Robin asked. ‘What’s it like inside, is it sellable?’
‘No idea,’ Molly mumbled through a mouthful of crisps. ‘But Malcolm and Tim are moving on from straightforward sales these days – except for “high end” properties.’ She accompanied the last words with quote-mark fingers. ‘They’re all about the developments. Replacing the old with the new, smartening up the area, as if Campion Bay needs to be turned into a sea of luxury high-rise apartment blocks. No beach finds in their properties, and I expect the word “guesthouse” would be laughed at for sounding too quaint.’
‘Well,’ Robin said, ‘they can’t do that with Tabitha’s house. It’s got special status.’
‘The Jane Austen plaque?’
Robin
