Page 28 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘The gulls seem to like him, does he feed them?’
‘No,’ said Gemma. ‘He protects them, makes sure their nests in the cliffs stay untouched and looks after them if they break a wing or something. That’s what I mean by “nature man” – he’s kind of a wildlife caretaker.’
The clouds that had been threatening to drop their load all morning suddenly did so. A curtain of cold water collapsed from the sky; the blue-black surface of the sea danced as though a swarm of piranha frenzied beneath it.
‘Oh my God!’ screeched Annie.
Gemma was squealing and covering her head with an ineffectual cotton neck scarf. Maeve remained unmoved, as though refusing to let the rain see it was making her wet.
‘Quick!’ shouted Annie. ‘Come back to mine.’ She pointed over to Saltwater Nook.
The women looked at one another as a shared recognition dawned. They followed without speaking, and Podrick leaped about them, excited by the sudden change in the weather. The rain pummelled Annie’s skin pink as she fumbled with the keys at the front door. Her expensive anti-wrinkle cream had run into her eyes and stung like a bastard, so that she was half blind and squinting when she finally found the right key and the three women and one wet dog stumbled into the lower hallway.
Maeve shut the door on the rain and Annie flicked the light on. Pools of water were collecting at their feet as their saturated clothes expunged what they could no longer hold.
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ said Annie, making for the stairs.
‘I can’t bring Podrick up,’ said Maeve. ‘He’s soaking.’
As if on cue, Podrick, who had been investigating the bottoms of the skirting boards, suddenly shook himself and sent a spray of water up the walls and over the women. The cramped hallway was already becoming infused with the odour of wet dog. Annie had an idea.
‘No problem,’ said Annie. ‘We’ll go in here!’
Annie found the appropriate keys and set to work on the door to the disused tea room. Truth be told, she’d been waiting for an excuse to go in and have a look around.
The room was dark, the windows covered on the outside by wooden shutters. Annie ran her hands along the wall for the light switch and flicked it. A strip light in the ceiling buzzed angrily like a disturbed bee and flickered into life.
‘Well I never!’ said Maeve. ‘It’s just as I remember it.’
Aside from a couple of boxes of Christmas decorations and an old door lying up against one wall, the place looked as though it had just been closed down at the end of a working day. Mismatched wooden chairs stood upside down on battered pine tables – three smaller and one long bench table which ran almost the length of the sea-facing window. Six old nautical oil lamps in mottled brass sat along the windowsills, covered in a rind of dust. Along the wall by the door they had just come in through was a short counter, a small chiller and a myriad of shelves behind them. The till on the counter was pre-electric.
‘I never came in here,’ said Gemma. ‘It had closed down before we moved to the bay. We always make good use of the kiosk in the summer, though.’
‘It’s tiny!’ said Annie, comparing it mentally with The Pomegranate Seed.
‘Did a roaring trade, though,’ said Maeve. ‘Got too much for her in the end.’
‘Couldn’t she have hired some help?’ asked Annie.
‘She had help,’ Maeve replied. ‘But she wanted to retire. Didn’t want the hassle that goes with running a business.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Annie. ‘I’ve spent half my life running a business. And then one day you wake up and realise that so much of what defines you is inthe businessthat you’re not sure who you are without it.’
‘So that’s what you’re running from,’ said Maeve.
‘Maeve!’ said Gemma. ‘Put your filter back in. Sorry, Annie.’
Annie was about to protest that it was fine when Maeve cut back in.
‘Oh rubbish,’ she said. ‘Any fool can see she’s running from something. What are you? Mid-forties? So, I ask you: why is a middle-aged, articulate woman, with a clear line where her wedding ring was recently removed, hiding in a glorified beach hut?’
‘Easy there, Marple,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m so sorry, Annie. She lost her filter when she hit her sixties and nobody’s been able to find it.’
Annie laughed.
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ she said. ‘Maeve’s not wrong. Though it’s more of a retreat than a hiding place.’ Annie took a breath. She figured if she told her story now, she wouldn’t have to tell it again; small villages being what they were, gossip spread quickly. ‘I’ve walked out on my failed marriage and left behind my half of the business.’
‘What was the business?’ asked Gemma. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
