Page 43 of Escape to Starshine Cove
“No worries. Give me a minute.”
She discards her slippers and replaces them with slip-on Skechers, then leans down to kiss Big Betty on the lips. I hope I hide my surprise, and tell myself off for making too many assumptions about people, spotting their matching wedding rings and realising that they are much more than friends.
We follow her outside again, and to the back of the bakery, where we find a parking space and a set of external stairs.
“Now, the thing to remember,” announces Betty as she opens the door, “is to duck.”
She does exactly that, avoiding a sloping ceiling in a way that speaks of bitterly learned lessons. It’s not a problem for Connie, who is vertically challenged, and it’s actually okay for me, as I come in at the perfectly average end of things when it comes to height.
I find myself in a spacious room that must run across the whole length of the bakery. There is a small kitchen area, a sofa that I expect turns into a bed, and a door at the back that will, I’m sure, lead to a bathroom. It is basic but cosy, clean and tidy and decorated in rich cream tones, and the whole place is filled with the smells of sugar and spice and all things nice. One of the advantages of living above a bakery, I suppose.
There are skylights in the roof, and at the far end of the room is a window in the shape of a porthole, which I find myself immediately drawn towards. I push back the pale yellow curtain, and see exactly what I expected to – a perfect view of the beach, framed in a circle of glass. I stand and stare while the other two chat, not really hearing a word of it. I am gazing out at the sea, lost in the gentle roll of the waves, the shimmer of the sun, the sight of a man standing at the edge of it all, throwing pebbles into the water.
I turn around, see both of them looking at me expectantly.
“I know it’s not much,” says Betty, gesturing at the room, “but I always think it’s nice. A bit like a hobbit hole.”
She’s absolutely right, I think – it is a tiny retreat built for one. A place where you could feel cosy, and warm, and safe. As with the surgery, it is all too easy to imagine myself here, curled up with a book and glass of wine and Larry.
The dog seems to agree, as he has already jumped up onto the sofa and twined himself into a tiny ball of fur. He gives me a look from beneath his shaggy eyebrows, and it’s one that seems to say ‘What are you waiting for? We’re home!’
“What do you think?” Connie asks, frowning slightly. “Don’t you like it?”
I do like it, I think. I like it a bit too much.
ChapterTwenty-Two
I find Jake where I’d spotted him from the hobbit hole, right at the edge of the retreating shoreline. He is sitting on the sand, obviously having given up on filling the sea with pebbles, now just staring out at it, looking serious.
Larry spies him and runs over to deliver the traditional greeting, and I lower myself down next to him.
“Hi,” I say simply, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “Are you thinking deep thoughts? Composing poetry?”
He looks at me and smiles, replying: “Nah. Just clearing my mind before the dinner shift. I’ve been for a run.”
I take in his trainers, the damp T-shirt that is clinging to his chest.
“I see that. Good way of clearing your head. Look, Jake…can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
“I mean, really talk. I’m sorry about last night. That didn’t quite go to plan, did it?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, and I can tell that he is trying to figure out what to say next. I have spent the whole day with Connie and George, people who are open and sharing and wear their hearts not only on their sleeves, but on every item of clothing they own. Jake, like me, is a different kind of creature. We hide our hearts under as many layers as we can.
“It’s okay,” he says eventually, stroking Larry’s ears. “It was probably for the best. I don’t think either of us was thinking straight.”
I recall the touch of his fingers against my palm, the scent of his cologne as I nuzzled his neck. The strands of his thick hair falling through my hands. No, I decide, we weren’t thinking at all – we were just feeling. While it lasted, it was dazzling, blinding – but now we need to see clearly.
“Probably,” I agree, “but…well. I’m sorry it all ended like it did. Obviously, I didn’t know Mark was coming. And nothing happened, Jake – he stayed in the spare bed. It wasn’t some big romantic reconciliation.”
“Honestly, Ella, that’s none of my business, is it? It was just…a moment. It happens. It’s not a big deal, it’s not important. We barely know each other, really.”
He isn’t being rude, and he doesn’t sound angry, but there is a sense of distance in his tone that I find I don’t like. Whether I stay or whether I go, Jake has been a big part of this weird stage of my life, and I don’t want things to end badly between us. His friendship matters to me in a way that I never expected.
“I was pregnant,” I say quickly, before I can change my mind. “A few years ago. I lost the baby, and I was working in a hospital, and it changed everything. It’s a long story but not a complicated one – I closed down after it happened. To Mark, to my family, to my friends. To everyone. I didn’t even tell my parents. Coming here, meeting you, meeting the people who live here… Well, it’s been the first time I’ve genuinely felt connected to the world for a very long time. You can sit there and pretend we barely know each other, and maybe you’d be right – but I don’t think so. Sometimes, you can know people for years and still not understand them. Sometimes, the opposite is true.”
I feel his arm go around my shoulders, and he pulls me close next to him. I lean my head on his shoulder, and say: “I didn’t tell you that so you’d feel sorry for me, Jake. I told you that so you’d know that you matter. Even if I go tomorrow, I’ll always think of you as a friend.”
