Page 13 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

‘There must be better things to be doing late at night,’ she murmured, her nose wrinkling as her hand slid deeper through the squelchy rubbish. ‘Sleeping, for a start…aha!’ Her fingers had found the diary.

The velvet bag was ruined, its nap stained and smelly. But the diary inside was clean when Clara took off her gloves and slid it into her hand. Pushing the book into the pocket of her dressing gown, she reburied the bag deep in the bin and tiptoed upstairs to her room. Then, she got into bed and placed the diary on the duvet next to her.

Clara felt horribly conflicted. She knew she should listen to her mum and put the diary back in the bin, before her actions were discovered. But another voice was calling from across the years. Was that fanciful? she wondered. Perhaps she really was becoming obsessed with a dead woman.

Clara pulled back her shoulders, tucked away her guilt for disobeying her mother, and picked up the book. Then she opened the diary and began to read.

6

RIVER

It was long gone ten o’clock, but there was still a faint glow in the sky that caught the swell of the ocean. A silver moon was rising above the horizon and casting a path across the waves.

It was beautiful, thought River, sitting on the sand. A damn sight colder than Australia but, on the plus side, there was no risk of sharks lurking in the water.

It was funny, he thought, pulling his knees up under his chin. He’d been dreading coming back to Brellasham Manor, which held so many bad memories – his parents arguing, slammed doors, his mother crying and his father retreating to the library. He’d tried to block them out, over the years. But, without realising it, he’d blocked out the good memories too.

Heaven’s Cove was a beautiful village in the midst of glorious countryside. Driving through the village this morning, he’d been struck anew by the never-ending charm of its whitewashed cottages and winding lanes. It felt like home.

And being here at the house, seeing Clara again, had reminded him of happy days they’d spent together during school holidays, exploring the moors nearby, climbing trees in the manor grounds, swimming in this cove.

He’d known her for as long as he could remember, and they’d been best friends by the time they hit their teens. She was someone he could talk to about his posh boarding school that he hated, and the deteriorating relationship between his parents. She’d been a good listener and a great keeper of secrets.

They’d been thick as thieves, until Bartie had started joining them. River had never taken much notice of the saying ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’ until then. Clara was dazzled by older Bartie’s good looks and confidence, and River couldn’t blame her. He’d been rather dazzled too…and diminished.

He glanced through the trees behind him. He could just make out the cottage from here where Mrs N lived and there was a light on in Clara’s bedroom. What was she doing? he wondered.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Bartie, suddenly, making River jump. ‘I saw you from the library window, sitting out here, all on your own. Not thinking of wading into the water, are you? I can’t believe your return to the family fold has been that bad!’

‘It’s not been bad at all. Not really,’ said River, wrong-footed by Bartie’s appearance. ‘It’s good to see my father again, and this place which has hardly changed.’

‘Have you had a good chat with Geoffrey yet?’ asked Bartie, plonking himself down on the sand. ‘About…you know.’

‘No. Not yet. He’s been busy on the phone.’

River didn’t mention that he’d tried to speak to his father but, several excuses later, had given up. He’d got the feeling that his father was trying to avoid him.

Maybe, River told himself, he was simply being overly sensitive after an emotionally heightened day. But ever since he’d left as a teenager with his mother, the relationship with his father had been hard to maintain. They’d met up a few times, when his father was in Australia on business, but he’d never enjoyed those brief visits that were filled with stilted conversation and awkward silences.

River would sit with Geoffrey in some soulless hotel bar or restaurant, wishing he was at home with his mother instead. His mum’s colourful, modern house in Sydney – so different from the manor she’d chosen to leave behind – often rang with her warm laughter. He hadn’t heard his father laugh for a long time.

‘Old Geoff does seem busy but I managed to nab him for ten minutes.’ Bartie grinned. ‘He doesn’t change. Still the same old curmudgeon.’

‘Did you discuss his plans?’ asked River, experiencing a twinge of jealousy because his father had found time for Bartie.

His cousin adopted a more serious expression. ‘We did, and he seems determined to go through with it. It’s a shame, of course.’

River nodded. ‘It’s a real shame. I understand why he sees it as the only way forward but it’ll break his heart.’

‘It’s for the best, though, don’t you think? The best for all of us.’

River supposed so. He hugged his arms around his legs because it was chilly out here, even though Bartie had come outside in his shirtsleeves.

Bartie nudged his shoulder against River’s. ‘Hey, changing the subject…what about Clara Netherway then?’

River glanced at Bartie, who was staring out to sea. ‘What about her?’

‘I didn’t think she’d still be living in Heaven’s Cove so it was a pleasant surprise to find her here. What did you think of her?’

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