Page 11 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
Chapter Five
Thea stayed in the cool shower for a long time, and though the water pattering against the tender skin of her face, arms and knees was sometimes uncomfortable, it was mostly glorious. She dried herself, slathered on a generous helping of aloe vera cream – remembering Ben’s words – and dressed in her comfiest cotton dress. The sun was still strong, but the cottage was big enough that sunlight filled the rooms without bringing its scorching heat to every corner.
She made a cheese salad sandwich and a pot of tea, and sat on the sofa, scrolling through the photos on her phone. They didn’t do justice to the magnificence of the coastline, and already, it felt unreal that she had been there just a few hours ago. She sent them to Esme, and three minutes later, her phone rang.
‘God, Isowish I was with you,’ Esme said, after Thea had given her an edited version of her walk. She left out the despair, but did include her fear of the precariousdrops, and the encounter with the woman at the Old Post House.
Thea tried not to go on the defensive, because she knew, logically, that the festival mess hadn’t been her friend’s fault. ‘Yeah,’ she said, rubbing her leg where some of the aloe vera hadn’t absorbed, ‘but you’ve got the festival, and I know it’s important to you. How’s the prep going?’
‘Oh, great,’ Esme said, her brightness sounding forced. ‘It’s mostly done, but you know Alex: we’re dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s, then going back to the beginning, re-dotting and re-crossing everything.’
Thea knew her boredom was feigned, because they both loved working with Alex. She felt a pang of FOMO, a twinge of envy that Esme had him to herself, which must have been why she blurted out her next words. ‘The man next door offered me frozen hash browns for my twisted ankle, even though I’m sure it isn’t twisted, just twiddled a little bit.’
‘What man next door? Who is this?’
‘He owns the cottage next to mine, and he’s renovating it himself. He’s gruff. Cantankerous and irascible,’ she added, because she loved words, and tried to exercise her mind with lesser known ones on a daily basis.
‘Irascible?’ Esme asked. ‘And yet, he offered you hash browns.’
Thea’s stomach rumbled, because she’d burned off a lot of calories that day. ‘He did. He’s … I don’t know. Anyway. It was a good walk,’ she lied. ‘Something to tick off the list.’
‘Great,’ Esme said, and Thea could tell she’d become distracted. ‘Tick it off on our shared note, so I can stay up-to-date. I have to go now, because I just realised I haven’tsent the refund and returns policy to Wendy. I promised her I’d—’
‘It’s Sunday night,’ Thea cut in. Her laugh was forced, because even though Esme hadn’t had a choice, she still felt a sense of abandonment it was hard to quash. She loved the library, but she didn’t want to hear about the returns policy from Esme, when she should be sitting next to her on this squishy sofa so they could compare sunburns and share a bottle of wine.
‘I know,’ Esme said. ‘There’s just so much to do!’
‘I’d better let you get to it, then.’
‘Thanks! Oh, and please take a photo of Mr Irascible Hash Browns for me.’
Thea laughed as if it was a ridiculous request, and didn’t mention that she already had a photo of Ben, because it had been a little bit stalkery and she wasn’t proud of it.
They said goodbye and hung up, and Thea was left alone with her thoughts.
She felt bad that she hadn’t told her friend about her other reason for picking Port Karadow as their holiday destination, although, she told herself, if Esme had been with her, then she would know everything by now. Esme knew that running a bookshop by the sea was her lifelong dream, because they’d been friends since secondary school, but she didn’t know how serious that dream was, because they’d always talked about it in fantasy terms. She didn’t know that Thea had a business plan, or that Port Karadow was at the top of her list of locations: that it had gone from a:One day, when the stars align, what I’d love to do is—to:I’m actually making this happen.Esme’s absence meant that she was still in the dark, and Thea trusted that Alex wouldn’t reveal her secret.
It felt strange, she thought, as she poured herself a glass of wine, to be keeping something so big from the one person who had always been on her side, even when everyone else was laughing at her: who she trusted without question. But she couldn’t help holding her dream close; keeping it safe from prying eyes and other people’s judgement. She was afraid that the moment everyone knew – the moment it stepped from dream-land into real possibility – it would disintegrate. On Tuesday, two short days from now, she might be a step closer towards real possibility. She tried to ignore the way her heart sped up at the thought.
She went to bed early, changing into her summer pyjamas and turning off the light, then opening the curtains and the window. The night-time breeze was soft and cool, ruffling her cotton top as she looked out over the flat, still water, a midnight blue glossed in silver from the crescent moon. She drank it in, a sense of calm washing over her, and was about to climb into bed when a loud, rhythmic banging started up from next door.
Thea slumped onto the mattress, and there was a loud, splintering crack beneath her. She jumped up again, glared at the bed –which seemed exactly as it had done a minute ago – and tried not to wail. It was a huge, solid piece of furniture, but there was no escaping the fact that something had just broken. It was Sunday night, too late to call Mel, and she didn’t have the energy to investigate it. She walked around to the other side of the bed and slid gingerly beneath the lightweight duvet, hoping that whatever had happened was minor, and easily fixable.
Thea stared up at the darkened ceiling, listening to thebanging from next door, and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day.
When she woke up the following morning, her legs ached from her long walk, and her neck felt knotted from trying to lie very still so as not to cause more damage to the bed.
She got up and hauled the mattress over to the side, revealing the wooden slats underneath. One of them, near the middle, had cracked at the place where it joined the frame. Not a fatal wound in itself, but the more she slept on it, the worse it would get.
It was just after eight, and Thea knew she should call Mel and tell her what had happened, but she was worried the owner would blame her. Perhaps she would imagine Thea had had a guest to stay – which of course was up to her – but she didn’t want to make a bad impression, come across as a disruptive tenant, so soon into her holiday.
She listened carefully, but all was quiet next door. Maybe Ben was a night owl, rather than a morning person. Still, she could remember exactly what he’d said to her:If you need anything, just knock. I’ll be in.
She pulled on a skirt and a T-shirt and went downstairs.
The day was already bright and cloudless, and she could see several small boats dotted on the water; this early, she assumed they must be fishing boats. She squinted against the brightness, glad that the aloe vera had settled her skin to a pinkish sheen, and that even though it still felt tight, she was no longer Day-glo.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she walked up to Oystercatcher Cottage and knocked on the door. She heard Scooter barking, followed by a low murmur. Footstepsapproached and her pulse kicked up, then the blue door swung inwards.
