couple of the buildings had remained single dwellings, and Robin could just make out the gleam of blue glaze on the clay plaque next to number four’s front door. Tabitha Thomas had lived there, observing everything that had happened on Goldcrest Road with a quiet watchfulness, until her death earlier that year. Robin felt the familiar twinge of regret when she thought of Tabitha, who she’d known so well growing up, but who had become a distant memory after Robin’s move to London.
‘Robin,’ Sylvie said, raising her voice to compete with the whistle of the wind, ‘I wanted to have a chat with you about something.’
‘Righto,’ Robin said warily, her shoulders tensing. ‘Fire away.’ Her mother was the more serious of her parents, but this tone was especially solemn, and Robin felt that whatever was coming was the reason Sylvie had brought her out here. It wasn’t likely to be about the fireworks. She tried to interpret the expression on Sylvie’s face but found that it was unreadable, her features scrunched up against the wind. Her mum was a couple of inches shorter than she was, her frame more fragile. She’d always said that Robin was lucky to have been gifted her delicate features and her dad’s long, lithe limbs in equal measure.
‘Your dad and I have had a talk,’ she said now. ‘To be honest, we’ve had thousands, on a daily basis, and long before you came back to Campion Bay in September.’
‘You are married,’ Robin said. ‘It would be strange if you didn’t.’ She smiled, but the joke remained unanswered. Robin bit her lip, dreading what was coming next.
‘We can’t run the guesthouse any more,’ Sylvie said bluntly. ‘Bookings are down too much, with no sign – despite your optimism about tonight – of picking up. Our advanced bookings for the spring are paltry, and by now we’d usually have a few full weeks in May and June. We’re both getting on and the truth is, darling,’ she turned towards Robin, grasping her hands and looking her square in the face, ‘we’ve made an offer on a house in Montpellier, and it’s been accepted.’
Robin stared at her mum, trying to let the words sink in as the winter gusts squeezed tears out of the corners of her eyes.
‘What?’ It came out as a hoarse whisper. ‘I knew you’d been looking, thinking about retiring, but … but you’re actually going? When? What will happen to – I mean, what about the guesthouse?’ She released a hand and flung her arm in the direction of Goldcrest Road.
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Obviously we don’t want to leave you here without …’ She sighed, the sentence trailing off.
‘Anything to do?’ Robin gave her mum a quick, humourless smile, realizing how pathetic it was to depend on her parents to give her purpose.
‘You can’t spend the rest of your life helping us run our guesthouse,’ Sylvie said, her tone softening. ‘You’re destined for greater things. I know this was – is – a stepping stone, that you needed to come back here after what happened in London, but you were always going to have to think about your future.’
‘I know that,’ Robin murmured, turning towards the water. She hadn’t even started to think about what she wanted to do after London; she’d come back to Campion Bay to regroup and hadn’t realized she was working to a deadline.
‘We’re buying the house in France with the money your gran left me,’ Sylvie said, ‘so it’s not dependent on us selling the guesthouse. There’s no rush for you to move out, though I imagine you won’t want to stay in such a big place.’ She resisted adding ‘alone’, but Robin heard the inference.
‘But what about the business?’ she asked, choosing to focus on less complicated things than her emotions or her own future. ‘You can’t just close it. It’s been running for almost thirty years, it’s nearly reached its pearl anniversary.’
Sylvie smiled at Robin’s attempt to lighten the mood, but her tone was grim. ‘Yes, but it’s failing. It’s had some wonderful years, we’ve been very successful, but it’s not what people want any more. Sometimes you have to count your losses.’
‘Everyone wants to come to the seaside,’ Robin protested, flinging her arms wide. ‘The seaside never goes out of fashion.’
‘What we’re offering is behind the times, then. It happens. Your dad and I are past trying to keep up with newer, more fashionable hotels.’
‘Mrs Harris is still going,’ Robin said, as they turned away from the sea and began walking back. ‘She doesn’t show any signs of closing down, and she doesn’t even advertise it as a Bleak House hotel.’
‘Robin,’ her mother chided. ‘She caters for a different market; she has a steady, loyal clientele who return each year – often more than once. The Campion Bay Guesthouse is slipping through the gaps. We’re not traditional, but we’re by no means trendy any more.’
‘So renovate then,’ Robin said, whirling to face her as the sand gave way to shingle. ‘Give it a makeover. Don’t let it go so easily. When I was running Once in a Blue Moon Days I saw hundreds of amazing hotels – boutique and modern and classic and themed and, sometimes, downright bizarre. I’ve got some ideas, we could work on it together.’ The rug was about to be pulled out from under her feet, and she couldn’t get her head around the thought of having to start all over again quite so soon.
‘Robin, darling. If the guesthouse ran solely on your enthusiasm, then we wouldn’t be struggling at all. Things have been so hard for you over the last year, and you haven’t given up.’
‘I gave up on Once in a Blue Moon Days,’ Robin whispered, looking down at the pebbles.
‘No.’ Sylvie shook her head. ‘You kept working at it until the bitter end, until there was nothing you could do. A luxury event company like that can’t survive on one person’s energy and determination to keep it going. You’re a fighter, Robin, and we’re so proud of you. But your dad and I, we don’t have the energy, or the fight, left in us. We’ve spent a long time talking it over – we’re not taking this decision lightly – but this is right. I know it’s a shock, but we didn’t want to tell you until it was definite.’
Robin’s legs felt heavy as they made their way past Skull Island Crazy Golf, closed down for the winter, and back to the Campion Bay Guesthouse.
Robin had returned to Campion Bay after her London life had fallen apart because it was safe, because she knew what to expect and she could slip back into a familiar, almost mindless, routine. But now that, too, was coming to an end. As the shock started to dissipate, Robin discovered that what was underneath was panic. What would she do if she had no guesthouse to help out with? How would she cope without her parents’ gentle, unobtrusive comfort? She hadn’t felt like partying before their walk, but now the thought of putting on a dress and eyeliner and spending the evening socializing seemed impossible.
She understood why her parents had made their decision. She knew, as soon as her mum had told her, that it was the right time for them to retire. But that still didn’t answer the question thrumming through Robin’s head as she took her coat and gloves off and went to put the kettle on: what would she be left with?
‘Just open it,’ Molly said, thrusting two glasses underneath Robin’s nose and waggling them, her charm bracelet tinkling delicately in the quiet. They were standing in the Campion Bay Guesthouse’s huge living-room-cum-dining-room, the French doors at the back leading out to a small patio garden, the windows at the front looking out on to the sea. It was close to six o’clock and it was dark outside, the lighting low,
