Page 8 of The Path to the Last House Before the Sea

‘She’s moved into the caravan at the end of Magda’s garden.’

‘Really?’ Jack lifted his head. ‘The old wooden one? I didn’t think it had any electricity or running water.’

‘A few improvements have been made so it’s not as ramshackle, and she uses the shower at Magda’s, who’s a soft touch.’

‘Always has been,’ said Jack, already trying to work out how he might call in on Magda without bumping into her garden guest. ‘How long has she been living—?’

He stopped talking when the colour suddenly drained from his father’s face and the old man sat down heavily on the stool nearby. There was a half-drunk cup of tea on the counter, which Jack pushed towards him. ‘Are you OK, Dad? Have a drink.’

Stan pushed the tea away, impatiently. ‘That’s stone-cold. And I’m a bit tired, that’s all, and fancied a sit-down. I’m fine and dandy.’

‘That’s good then,’ said Jack, although if his father were fine and dandy, he wouldn’t be here, in the wilds of Devon, taking time out from his job.

Sharon, his boss, had taken pity on him – mother recently deceased, marriage breaking down, and father unwell. How much more could one man take? At least, that’s what Sharon’s expression had suggested when she’d insisted that he take time off: Have a break before you collapse in a snivelling heap and cock up the research data we’ve been working on for months.

Not that he would lose concentration and mess things up. Not when focusing on clinical data kept the rest of the world at bay and the darkness confined to the edges of his mind.

‘Be a good lad and make me a nice hot cup of tea,’ said Stan, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbing it across his mouth. ‘I could murder a fresh cuppa.’

Jack went into the tiny kitchenette just off the shop floor, pulled the teapot from a cupboard and switched on the kettle. A cold draught hit his neck while he waited for the kettle to boil and he glanced around, almost expecting his mother to walk into the room.

‘Don’t be daft,’ he murmured, dropping two teabags into the pot. ‘You don’t believe in all that. Mum’s gone.’

The vicar at Heaven’s Cove church had insisted his mother had gone to a ‘better place’ at her funeral and was still watching over her family. It was a lovely fairy story, but not one that brought Jack any solace. The only thing that brought comfort to his aching heart was his belief that energy could be transformed but never destroyed.

Which surely meant that his mum, always fizzing with life, would exist forever in some form or other: as atoms flying across the universe towards myriad suns; in the smell of baked earth dampened by summer rain; or in the waves breaking on Heaven’s Cove beach.

That’s what brought him solace in the dead of night, when even pi lost its healing power and he lay awake wondering how his life had gone so badly wrong.

‘Is that tea going to be ready any time soon?’ asked Stan, walking into the kitchen, one foot dragging slightly. ‘A man could die of thirst around here.’

‘Sorry. I got distracted. It’s on its way, and shouldn’t you be sitting down?’

Stan grimaced. ‘Oh, don’t fuss! I’ll go back to my stool and try not to dehydrate while I’m waiting.’

‘Very funny.’ Jack returned to his tea-making and was just carrying two mugs into the shop when the front door opened and a customer walked into the store.‘Oh, hell!’

He ducked down behind a shelf of biscuits, trying not to spill the drinks. A flash of pink top was visible between the bourbons and digestives as the customer walked to the till and announced: ‘Hello, Stan. I’m reporting for duty.’

Reporting for what? Jack carefully placed both mugs on the floor and poked his head around the end of the shelf. It was definitely the tour guide from this morning – Anna, Ava, or whatever her name was. She’d pulled her dark hair into a ponytail, but a pink-streaked tendril had escaped its tie and was twisting past her shoulder.

‘Hello, Alyssa. It’s good to see you.’

Alyssa! That was it. With any luck, she’d buy what she wanted and get the hell out, thought Jack, feeling ridiculous behind his shelf, and vaguely cowardly. But his father’s next words shattered his hopes.

‘Nip down to the cellar, will you, love, and bring up the box of crisps on the table. Then, you can get to work.’

‘Will do.’

When Alyssa had disappeared down the cellar steps, Jack picked up the mugs and approached the till. ‘What’s going on, Dad?’

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Stan gave an awkward laugh. ‘You and Magda are always saying I work too hard, so I’ve taken on some additional help. Alyssa Jones is my new assistant.’

‘Which you didn’t mention before you suggested I take her tour.’

‘I thought it would be a nice surprise to see her here, after you’d got to know each other elsewhere. Once you’d seen what else she can do.’ Stan glanced at him then looked away. ‘Magda says she’s a lovely young woman, and she lives alone in that caravan. No partner at all, apparently.’

Jack felt like a grumpy teenager when he rolled his eyes. But if this was his father’s clumsy attempt at matchmaking, he didn’t know his son at all. Jack would rather stick pins in his eyes than spend time with a woman who peddled stories of demons and dragons. And after his ungallant behaviour this morning, he was sure she felt the same way about him.

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