Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year
Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year
Bella Osborne
Ottercombe Bay was originally published as a four-part serial. This is the complete story in one package.‘Bella Osborne has such a nice touch with description that I was utterly charmed by Ottercombe Bay’ Sue Moorcroft‘Absolutely brilliant. It's funny, heartwarming, entertaining and I couldn't put it down. It's exactly what you need if you want a delightful summer read’ Phillipa AshleyDaisy Wickens has returned to Ottercombe Bay, the picturesque Devon town where her mother died when she was a girl. She plans to leave as soon as her great uncle’s funeral is over, but Great Uncle Reg had other ideas. He’s left Daisy a significant inheritance – an old building in a state of disrepair, which could offer exciting possibilities, but to get it she must stay in Ottercombe Bay for twelve whole months.With the help of a cast of quirky locals, a few gin cocktails and a black pug with plenty of attitude, Daisy might just turn this into something special. But can she ever hope to be happy among the ghosts of her past?Authors and readers love Bella Osborne’s gorgeous novels:‘I really enjoy Bella Osborne’s books’ – Katie Fforde‘A warm and engaging story with relatable characters who will worm their way into your heart. A great read!’ – Talli Roland‘Loved it! Believable characters, a sweetly told, lovely story… a great read’ – Jane Lovering‘Romance, comedy, and mystery abound in this delightful British novel’ – I Read That Book!‘A great read, with some really special moments… so beautiful and romantic’ – Annie’s Book Corner‘A well-written and charming tale.’ – Paris Baker’s Book Nook'Makes me feel like I should be reading it while wearing a tea dress, drinking posh coffee from a china cup and eating Victoria sandwich cake with a dainty little fork. It's charming, adorable, amusing and all those sorts of words' – Escape Into Words
Copyright (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Published by Avon, an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018
Copyright © Bella Osborne 2018
Cover illustration © Kim Leo
Cover design © Head Design 2018
Bella Osborne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008258153
Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9780008258160
Version: 2018-06-04
Dedication (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
For my mum – thank you.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u83d98ecd-13c8-53b9-902b-317fc0954558)
Title Page (#u3cb4e612-d154-5080-8126-3ddd4bae4485)
Copyright (#ucee1a47b-3762-5221-8f84-cfab60ca5beb)
Dedication (#uf2d90c71-6cc9-5c69-af8f-5b62772b331e)
Chapter One (#ud59148dc-0d3f-5511-b6e9-2e9c93ad7833)
Chapter Two (#uee1e9cae-eaf9-5e65-93de-f5cd31d25be6)
Chapter Three (#u81608542-cd42-58a7-9183-3b8a728bf2db)
Chapter Four (#u3cf7337f-b222-54fe-ac01-e11c67643141)
Chapter Five (#u5b134633-1cb4-51e8-818b-e3aca9945c3b)
Chapter Six (#u6fc9584c-f769-57ad-98f9-dbfdf06a762c)
Chapter Seven (#u2ecfc753-29d7-5153-90f1-7d50ade48d64)
Chapter Eight (#uf1724f11-143c-548b-839a-b3d464cfd2a1)
Chapter Nine (#u0ee2c214-41e2-5f57-ac5d-64cff5eab65b)
Chapter Ten (#ubacc706e-ab68-5ed0-8210-196962b22ade)
Chapter Eleven (#ue06855cf-a96a-557a-9ecd-05c7a9378984)
Chapter Twelve (#u001dbdb7-7637-500d-8b5b-4cf81a5b3fee)
Chapter Thirteen (#u5f944eae-121b-51c9-aa1f-f5a6649e2f14)
Chapter Fourteen (#ud055a304-4b26-5115-a5d1-2b391d914833)
Chapter Fifteen (#uf16b3f12-c5de-5284-8482-12532e71a10b)
Chapter Sixteen (#u6375ce79-d99c-5b6a-84c7-911149f426a6)
Chapter Seventeen (#u2340c783-52a0-58c9-819e-a62a9601eb49)
Chapter Eighteen (#u6884d015-29df-5fa8-82cd-b0bfb5f3d75e)
Chapter Nineteen (#u522cb0a8-375f-5318-b8ba-c1dea6f9f09e)
Chapter Twenty (#udbbca069-5b03-52e9-ba74-b36e510095b1)
Chapter Twenty-One (#ub99b2bea-6be7-5dc6-87fe-05e4f5b1f932)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u12176321-d656-5e19-a5b0-982d2fe3e8c9)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u950c2a36-ee7b-5640-a519-596b32773a0e)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u53fbedfc-4ee0-5c19-aeb8-527ea26b2a8b)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u7fb69eba-d462-509d-b9b8-0265373d56b2)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u86c08104-7957-512b-8c3d-d3165300fc5a)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#uc5e3975c-ab16-51e3-ba79-d4c3ca2c5a39)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u9a4c37ba-d11b-5209-baf9-ed4edc33a606)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uafd07c68-04ca-5f37-9b0e-9dfbfb151623)
Chapter Thirty (#ubfe35e7e-886c-5e15-9297-e181fd464c19)
Chapter Thirty-One (#u99957528-0522-5c63-a5fd-7ddf5f34e13d)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#uf7e4bd09-0f84-57c7-ad4f-a180f7bb8a31)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u46749a4c-5a45-53bd-bcfb-53cf5e70eff7)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u7d29a1a3-24a6-5783-977c-c6feba5a0ad0)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u1d5c8326-d3a7-52a7-82a1-396de0bb0648)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#udeb9255f-72d1-5f03-8be4-a31cb79bb876)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#uc93e36b2-c9cc-5cc8-a1fb-203505e124dd)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u0e2fd743-5379-5379-8ee8-92dfcd699cb2)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#u92d1a474-83fc-5422-bc81-9166a7fe9c90)
Acknowledgements (#ub7d45a54-7716-5eb3-8ce3-002fcbe7fbab)
Keep Reading … (#u08465b95-98eb-5598-86f1-cae03917e991)
About the Author (#uc36b553a-ff18-5906-a57c-efffdd6cd776)
Also by Bella Osborne (#ue66d4735-b7c3-5ba6-8cda-5f981bb672f8)
About the Publisher (#u9c383f8a-32ba-563d-b7c7-4ab7228b408f)
Chapter One (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Daisy’s bum didn’t feel like her own thanks to four hours on an old motorbike. A pretty village sign welcomed her, but Daisy felt a long-buried sadness creep over her like frost across a windowpane. Coming back to Ottercombe Bay was a big mistake. If only I had a choice, she thought.
A good-looking man in an unattractive high-vis jacket interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out in front of Daisy’s motorbike. She hastily swerved and braked, and the ancient vehicle spluttered to a halt.
‘You can’t come this way,’ the young man said, his muscled arms clamped across his luminous chest.
‘Please,’ she said, followed by her best cheesy grin; something familiar about the man’s mop of dark hair had her memory working overtime.
‘No way,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders.
Daisy flicked up her helmet visor with an air of defiance; she wasn’t easily intimidated. ‘Don’t be daft. I need to get to Trow Lane.’ She looked longingly down the main road. She was only three streets away.
‘You’ll have to go around.’ The man was peering at Daisy. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, a frown appearing briefly on his tanned face.
‘I doubt it. Look, it’s daft to go miles out of my way. I’m only going down there,’ she said, pointing. Daisy was tired after her long journey and didn’t need this jumped-up workman telling her what to do, especially when she could see no reason why the road was cordoned off on a sunny Saturday evening in late June.
She revved the motorbike back to life but high-vis man stepped up to her front tyre, blocking her path. They glared at each other. Daisy revved the engine again and made the motorbike hop an inch forward. He didn’t even flinch. She was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering nearby. Then she heard it – a distant clanging sound. She frowned and the man glared back. The clanging sound drew closer and Daisy recognised it as drums accompanied by what sounded like someone trying to get a tune out of an elephant. She spotted the bunting crisscrossing the road. The penny finally dropped – it was carnival parade night. He was right, there was no way she would be able to ride her bike through town tonight. She slammed down her visor and grumbled an apology before she skidded the motorbike away leaving the smug-looking high-vis man swathed in a fug of black smoke.
Daisy was still cross when she pulled up at Sea Mist Cottage. She stopped the bike, tugged off her helmet and tore the heavy backpack off her aching shoulders. This was not a good start and it was further confirmation that she shouldn’t have come back. She turned and looked at the cottage. It was like being transported back in time – it hadn’t changed a bit. The ancient building still looked like the sad face Daisy had imagined she saw when she was a child, with its heavy overhanging thatch eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.
‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.
‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.
Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’
At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.
Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.
‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.
‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.
Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.
‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.
‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’
‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily and her mood lifted. She dropped her rucksack and sat down at the small kitchen table with its pristine white tablecloth. She looked about her whilst Aunt Coral busied herself with the tea. It was as though time had stood still. The kitchen was just as it had been when she was a child; the only changes she could spot were that the walls had been painted yellow, when they used to be blue, and there appeared to be the addition of a corkboard with a variety of pieces of paper and notes pinned to it. She spotted the last postcard she had sent from France and her good mood quickly faded when she remembered the disaster of her French boyfriend Guillaume.
Daisy looked down at her rucksack. Everything she owned was in it, apart from the motorbike. That was it. All her worldly goods in one package. She pulled back her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. This was the way she liked it. No ties, nothing to keep her in one place or hold her back. She was as free as a bird and that suited her just fine. Aunt Coral ferried a large tray with a teapot and a pair of fragile-looking cups and saucers to the table and sat down opposite Daisy. She pointed at the rucksack. ‘You’re not planning on staying long, then?’ There was a sadness in her eyes as she poured their tea.
‘No, sorry. I need to leave straight after the funeral.’ Daisy broke eye contact and picked up the delicate teacup. She didn’t know where she was heading next. She had been staying in a hostel in Canterbury, hopping from one job to the next, when Aunt Coral had telephoned. It had seemed like an ideal opportunity to make it a permanent departure from Kent. As to where she was going next, she had no idea, but she wouldn’t be staying in the small Devon town any longer than was absolutely necessary.
‘Well, you can’t leave directly after the funeral, I’m afraid, because there’s the will and—’
A knock at the door was simultaneously accompanied by frantic barking from the garden making Daisy feel she was under attack from two different directions. Aunt Coral calmly got up and headed for the front door. As soon as Daisy heard the high-pitched voice a bell started to ring in the deepest recesses of her mind.
The visitor’s Devonshire accent was strong and her voice got louder and faster as she approached. ‘OhMyGod. I can’t believe it’s actually you. I mean I hoped it was when I saw the bike because I don’t know anyone with a bike like that. Not round here. And it is you, you’re here!’ A young woman with long straight dark hair flung herself at Daisy and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off Daisy, which was quite disconcerting.
‘Tamsyn,’ said Daisy, recognising her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do you still live next door?’
‘Yeah, with Mum and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you too.’
‘Tamsyn has been a wonderful help keeping an eye on Reg while I’ve been at work. Reg has kept every card or letter you have ever sent from all your travels and I think he’s read them all to Tamsyn a few times over. And you know how he always liked to tell stories and you featured in quite a few of those too.’
‘Not the fantasy ones with dwarves. You weren’t in those,’ said Tamsyn, her face deadpan.
Daisy wasn’t sure how to respond, but thankfully Aunt Coral started speaking again. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Tamsyn these last few months. She’s virtually one of the family now. Aren’t you, Tamsyn?’
‘OhMyGod. Does that make us sisters?’ said Tamsyn, jigging about excitedly in her chair – the same action being mirrored at the back door by the dog.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Daisy with a chuckle. Tamsyn was joking, wasn’t she? Here was a prime example why people should leave home and explore the world, thought Daisy. Staying here had turned Tamsyn into Ottercombe Bay’s answer to Phoebe Buffay from Friends, blurring the line between adorable and certifiable.
‘Where are you going next?’ asked Tamsyn, wide-eyed, cupping her tea with both hands. Daisy wished Tamsyn would blink more often – it couldn’t be good for her eyes. Daisy spotted Aunt Coral also looking at her intently; she felt under pressure to say something and oddly the need to impress.
‘Um, I’m not sure. Abroad again probably …’ She didn’t have the money right now but her long-term plan was definitely to travel more extensively. ‘South America,’ she blurted out. It was somewhere she had always wanted to go but living hand to mouth meant it was only ever going to be a pipedream.
Tamsyn’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow, you are my absolute hero.’ She turned to Aunt Coral who gave a proud nod.
Daisy felt awkward and it showed on her face. She dropped her gaze to her teacup. She began to recall more about Tamsyn as her brain rearranged her archived memories. She remembered the little girl who followed her everywhere, who went beachcombing with her and liked to collect shells but screamed if she found a crab. She remembered sitting on the edge of the pavement watching the carnival procession together. She remembered them as gawky teenagers swigging cider behind the beach huts. She remembered a friend.
‘You not going to the carnival tonight?’ asked Daisy.
Tamsyn grinned. ‘I was on my way out when I spotted the motorbike.’
‘Sorry,’ said Daisy. ‘You shouldn’t miss it for me.’
‘Uh, no way. You’re far better than any crumby old carnival. I was only going to get a look at the men in uniform.’
Daisy recalled the officious bloke in the high-vis top. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, yeah. Police, firefighters, lifeboat crew, they all have floats in the carnival now.’ At the mention of lifeboat crew Aunt Coral and Daisy exchanged looks.
‘It’s a shame my brother couldn’t make it for the funeral,’ said Aunt Coral, her nose twitching slightly. Daisy noted the offhand reference to her father.
‘Dad’s really sorry. He sends his love though,’ said Daisy, who had hoped her father would have made the effort to attend but given he lived in Goa it was never really on the cards. Aunt Coral nodded her understanding.
‘Oh, I remember your dad. He rescued me once when I built this amazing sandcastle with a moat and I was so busy trying to keep the water out I hadn’t noticed the tide creep in and it was all around me and he waded out to save me,’ said Tamsyn, as she machine-gunned the story out.
Daisy smirked. ‘I remember that day. It was only ankle deep; you didn’t need rescuing at all.’ Daisy laughed.
Tamsyn pouted playfully. ‘Huh, I could have been swept away – the current here is very strong.’
Before she realised it, Daisy was deep in conversation as the memories flooded back. And for a change they were pleasant ones she was happy to recall. Time seemed to whizz by and Daisy was vaguely aware Aunt Coral was now walking around wearing pyjamas. She checked her watch, causing Tamsyn to look at the kitchen clock.
‘Crikey it’s late,’ said Tamsyn, making Daisy grin at the old-fashioned turn of phrase. ‘Mum and Dad will be wondering where I am.’ Getting to her feet Tamsyn gave Daisy another huge hug. ‘I am pleased you’re home,’ she added, then turned to Aunt Coral and kissed her cheek. ‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, thanks Tamsyn.’
‘Tomorrow?’ asked Daisy as the sound of the porch door being vigorously shoved announced Tamsyn’s departure.
‘She comes around most days.’
‘Doesn’t she work?’
‘Oh yes, good little worker is Tamsyn, but it’s all a bit erratic at the beach café. They have school kids working there in the summer, pay them next to nothing and only have poor Tamsyn for the lunchtime rush.’
Daisy pondered this. She’d always thought her lack of being able to land a decent job was because of her frequent moves but it seemed even if she’d stayed locally she’d have been no better off. Her thoughts were invaded by a disgruntled-looking Bugsy rushing into the kitchen. He marched up to Daisy and shook himself. Daisy offered him a finger to sniff and he promptly wiped his nose on it.
‘Ew!’ Daisy recoiled, pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her hand. Bugsy looked quite pleased with himself, he even gave a brief wag of his curly tail before he turned around and presented Daisy with his bum.
‘Right, I’m off to bed,’ said Aunt Coral, picking up the dog. ‘It is lovely to have you back even if it’s only for a few days.’
‘Oh yeah, that reminds me. What were you saying about me not being able to leave after the funeral?’
Aunt Coral’s eyebrows danced. ‘Oh yes. You need to stay for the reading of the will. Great Uncle Reg has left you something substantial – that was what the solicitor said. Night, love, see you in the morning.’ And with a fleeting kiss on the top of Daisy’s head she disappeared upstairs.
Chapter Two (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Daisy was woken by something scratching at her door. She was coming round, whilst wondering where she was, when the bedroom door sprung open and something burst in. Daisy leapt in fright but quickly realised it was only Bugsy. At virtually the same time the dog seemed to spot who was in the bed. He snorted his disgust and strutted out of the room. It seemed Bugsy’s wake-up calls would be a disadvantage of having a bedroom on the ground floor.
It was Monday morning, the day of the funeral. She had tried to talk to Aunt Coral about the will yesterday but she didn’t know anything more than she’d already shared except to say Daisy’s father, Ray, hadn’t been left anything because Reg had helped him out financially in the past and Ray had agreed he’d already had his fair share of any inheritance. This in itself had been a revelation to Daisy, but looking back her father had rarely had a stable job while she’d been growing up so the money they had lived on must have come from somewhere. Reg had always been generous to a fault, one of the many things she’d loved and admired about him.
She wondered what Great Uncle Reg had left her in his will. She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, it had been almost three years ago, shortly after she dropped out of university for the second time and she felt a twinge of guilt. He had seemed full of life despite his advancing years. She recalled his mane of grey hair and wayward beard that always seemed at odds with his otherwise smart appearance, which invariably included a cravat. He’d said something to her then about securing her future but she hadn’t paid much attention – she now wished she had, the suspense was killing her.
A light tap on the door pulled her from her thoughts. ‘Good morning. I’m glad you’re awake. Tamsyn will be here shortly and we’ve got a truckful of sandwiches to make for the wake,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘Or “pallbearers party” as Reg liked to call it,’ she added with a chuckle before she disappeared into the kitchen.
The truckful of sandwiches was no joke, because shortly after Daisy was up to her elbows in a buttery production line whilst Tamsyn did her best to update her on who she may know at the funeral.
‘You remember Max, don’t you?’ she asked.
Daisy jutted out her lip and slapped a piece of ham on the buttered bread Aunt Coral had just handed her. ‘Not sure.’ But even as she said it a picture of a cider-fuelled teenage snogging fest loomed ugly in her mind. Whilst she had left Ottercombe Bay at seven years old she had returned each year for a two-week holiday, giving her a snapshot of the life she’d been pulled away from.
‘You doooo,’ said Tamsyn. ‘Max Davey, he never tucked his shirt in.’
‘Sounds like every boy at primary school to me.’
‘Jason Fenton, remember him?’
Daisy paused with a slice of ham held aloft. ‘Skinny kid, played with trains at break time?’
‘Yes. That’s him. He’s a policeman now,’ said Tamsyn, with a firm bob of her head.
‘Wow, well done Jason. Why would Jason and this Max be coming to my great uncle’s funeral?’
Tamsyn opened her mouth but Aunt Coral was already on the case. ‘They’re both lifeboat crew and your great uncle supported the lifeboat his whole life. He was Lifeboat Operations Manager for many years,’ said Aunt Coral proudly. ‘Max and Jason both used to meet him for a coffee once in a while to hear his stories.’ She paused briefly mid-spread with her buttered knife aloft. ‘There’s lots of people in this town who are going to miss him.’
Daisy patted her arm, Aunt Coral gave her a wan smile and returned to spreading.
Daisy shed a few tears during the service but overall the funeral was surprisingly cheerful, which reflected Reg’s personality. A few people told their favourite stories of Reg – one of them involving a donkey and a top hat, which had them all belly laughing – so as everyone filed out of church most of them were smiling, which was exactly what Reg would have wanted.
Daisy studied the floral tributes and wondered who all these people were who knew her great uncle but who she’d never heard of, especially some calling themselves Bunny and Toots.
‘Hi … again,’ said a deep voice behind her. Daisy turned to see a ruggedly handsome young man. ‘I’m sorry Reg died, he was a sound bloke. You okay, Daisy?’
‘Hi …’ She paused where his name should go as a cavalcade of memories bombarded her.
He twitched his head. ‘Don’t remember me? For one thing, I stopped you riding your bike through the carnival procession on Saturday. Prevented a potential massacre, I reckon,’ he said, his local accent soft and barely noticeable.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Daisy feeling more than a little embarrassed at her behaviour that night. ‘Sorry about that.’ He didn’t look half as aggressive now, with his hair groomed and wearing a smart shirt and tie although he kept running his finger around his collar giving the impression he wasn’t very comfortable in the outfit. ‘You’re Max. You were the boy who always had his shirt untucked at school.’ She was keen to avoid reminding him about their teenage antics.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Yep, that’d be me, all right.’
‘And you were friends with my great uncle?’ It still seemed an odd pairing to Daisy.
‘Yeah, me and Reg used to catch up from time to time. I’ll remember him fondly.’
The look in Max’s eye intrigued her. ‘What will you remember most about him?’
‘He taught me I’m as good as anyone else …’ Max blew out a long slow breath and looked for a second like he was going to get emotional, ‘… and how to judge the tides.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Daisy feeling awkward; her memories weren’t quite as profound. ‘I’ll remember being curled up next to him watching films with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.’ In a flash a memory of the film Bugsy Malone popped up and she had a ‘doh’ moment when she realised where the dog’s name had come from. They’d watched that film many times when she was little.
‘Ah, here you are,’ said Aunt Coral joining them. ‘Daisy, you can come back to the house in car one with the oldies; I’m in car two with the Exeter crowd.’ She turned her attention to Max. ‘Lovely of you to come today, Max. Are you coming back for the wake?’
‘No, sorry, Coral, I’m working. I swapped my shifts so I could see old Reg off. Raise a glass for me at the party.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Aunt Coral gave him a fleeting pat on the shoulder and went to organise some others.
‘I ’spect I’ll see you around, if you’re staying here for a bit,’ said Max.
‘Unfortunately, I won’t be staying,’ said Daisy. ‘But it was nice to see you again. Bye.’
Max paused. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, his eyes warm and intense making her almost rethink her decision.
The next morning Daisy found herself in a warm and stuffy solicitor’s office sipping a strong filter coffee.
‘Do you think he would have liked the party?’ asked Aunt Coral.
It was an odd question, but she knew Aunt Coral had been worrying about giving Reg a deserving send off. ‘He would have loved it. He definitely would have approved of all the port.’ Aunt Coral visibly relaxed and Daisy felt a swell of affection for her. The wake had been well attended and diverse, with some serious talk about coastal erosion and an impromptu singalong. It had been exactly what Reg would have wanted.
Daisy didn’t really want to hear his will read. She didn’t need anything to remember Great Uncle Reg; she had her memories. Although she had to admit she was curious about what he had left her that could be described as ‘substantial’. Cash, perhaps, but she wasn’t sure Reg had a lot of money. She needed some cash; she hated living hand to mouth. Possibly a share in the cottage, which would be very tricky because it was Aunt Coral’s home and she definitely wouldn’t want to sell it. Daisy decided she wouldn’t think about that option as it made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was a family heirloom, although the only items she could think of were pieces of furniture. That’s probably it, she thought. The large clock in the hallway and the dresser in the kitchen could both be described as substantial. Her mind wandered off and imagined her on the Antiques Roadshow trying hard to master her ‘I’m not at all disappointed it’s only worth tuppence’ face.
‘I am terribly sorry to keep you waiting,’ said the solicitor, hurrying into the office with a folder in his hand. ‘Now, I shouldn’t keep you long.’ Daisy was warming to the old gent already; she was keen to get packed up and head off up the M5. She hoped to get as far as Gloucester tonight but she wasn’t sure where she was heading afterwards.
‘This is the last will and testament of Reginald Montgomery Fabien Wickens …’ There then followed a paragraph of formal jargon before Daisy tuned in again. ‘… To my niece, Coral Anne Wickens, I leave the property of Sea Mist Cottage, Trow Lane, Ottercombe Bay, in its entirety …’ Aunt Coral let out a small sob and Daisy took her hand to comfort her. Daisy’s heart was starting to increase its speed. ‘To my great niece Daisy May Wickens, I leave the property and grounds of the former Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and adjoining car park, subject to her being resident in Ottercombe Bay for a full twelve months from the date of the reading of this will. My residuary estate is to be divided equally between Coral Wickens, Daisy Wickens and the Royal National Lifeboat Institution Ottercombe Bay Station. Should any beneficiary fail to meet the conditions of bequest their share will be divided equally between the other beneficiaries. Signed Reginald Wickens.’ The solicitor laid his hands flat on the document and patted it gently. Nobody spoke.
Daisy’s mouth had gone dry, she was baffled and a quick glance at Aunt Coral showed she mirrored how she felt. Daisy put her hand to her necklace and closed her fingers around her locket for comfort. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s left me what exactly?’ she asked.
‘Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and car park.’
‘But there’s not been trains here for years,’ said Aunt Coral.
The solicitor shuffled through a pile of papers and leaned across the desk to hand something over. It was a dog-eared auction notice. ‘The railway station at Ottercombe was decommissioned in 1975 and bought by …’ he checked his notes, ‘… a Mr Arthur Wickens who bequeathed it to your great uncle on his death. There are also some historic planning applications for demolition and site development that were refused in 1989, 1992, 2001 and 2010.’ He removed his glasses and smiled at them warmly from across the desk.
Daisy stared at the piece of paper in her hand. She was looking at a faded photograph of a Victorian railway station building. ‘He’s left me an old railway station?’
Aunt Coral was peering over her arm. ‘Do all those refused planning applications mean there’s not a lot she can do with it?’
‘Not at all. It simply means the council weren’t in favour of it being demolished, although there is a letter here saying they would be open to an application for change of use but it’s dated 2010.’
‘Can I sell it?’ asked Daisy, her voice coming out a little croaky.
‘Once it has passed to you formally following the adherence to the conditional clause.’
Daisy stared at him. Why didn’t these people just use normal words? ‘And when does it pass to me formally exactly?’
The solicitor twitched. ‘One year from today, assuming you have been resident in Ottercombe Bay for the full twelve months. This is also for you,’ he said, handing Daisy a thick cream envelope with her name beautifully written on the front in fountain pen; she recognised it instantly as Great Uncle Reg’s handwriting. ‘I believe this letter will explain things a little further.’
For once Daisy opened her mouth but could not think what to say so she shut it again. What was going on?
‘This may be a stupid question,’ started Aunt Coral, ‘but I’m guessing this is all legal and watertight and there’s no way to get around the conditions he’s set?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the solicitor, who started to discuss paying for the funeral and the process of probate. Daisy thumbed the envelope in her hands and studied the writing. There was a slight wobble in the letters but it was unmistakably Reg’s; she could imagine him sitting in his favourite chair writing it.
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Aunt Coral, as they left the solicitor’s office a few minutes later. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Flabbergasted, but I’m fine,’ Daisy said, when she really felt like running away.
Daisy hardly spoke a word on the way home. She could feel an uncomfortable sensation take hold, a feeling akin to claustrophobia; a sense of being suffocated and chained down that she needed to fight against and escape from. Back at the cottage she changed out of her smart clothes quickly and shoved her things into her backpack.
‘Cup of tea?’ came the call from the kitchen.
Daisy started to panic. She couldn’t stay for tea, she couldn’t stay another minute. This place was simply not good for her; she was uneasy most of the time she was here but knowing it was only for a couple of days it had been bearable. A whole year was unthinkable. She stood for a moment and gripped her locket. As long as she had it she could be anywhere and her mother would be with her. She took a deep steadying breath before replying to Aunt Coral, ‘No thanks. I’m just going out.’ She grabbed a pencil and searched for a piece of paper. She scribbled a note on the back of an old envelope.
I“m so sorry but I have to go. I“ll be in touch. Take care of yourself. Love D x
She left the note on her pillow, picked up her bag and left the bedroom as quietly as she could. Panic rose as she wrestled with the porch door. It was one thing to run away but to be foiled in her attempt would be excruciating. ‘Bloody thing,’ she grumbled but a whimpering at her feet drew her attention. Bugsy was sitting watching her, his head on one side. He studied her with his abnormally big eyes. She stopped for a moment, for some odd reason she felt she needed to explain to him why she was leaving, although she suspected he wouldn’t be sad to see her go.
‘I have to go,’ she whispered. ‘This place has too many bad memories for me. Too many ghosts.’
Bugsy stood up, turned around and she heard a sort of phht sound, which was followed by a foul smell. Daisy shook her head, gave the door one more shove and slunk out.
She pulled on her helmet, got on the bike and was thankful it started first time. She surveyed Sea Mist Cottage one last time, opened the throttle and drove away. Hopefully this would be the last she’d see of it for a very long time.
Chapter Three (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
In a few short minutes her breathing had steadied and despite a small niggle she knew she was doing the right thing. She didn’t like not saying goodbye to Aunt Coral but she would only have tried to make her stay. She turned into the high street and pulled up at the traffic lights. Tamsyn jumped in front of her waving her arms.
Oh cock, thought Daisy.
‘Hello. I knew it was you; your bike sounds ropey. Wasn’t it a lovely service? Proper good send off, lots of people, which is really lovely, especially for an old person because sometimes there’s not many people there because all their friends have died, but everyone loved Reg. Why have you got your rucksack with you?’
‘Umm,’ mumbled Daisy.
Tamsyn came to the side of the bike. ‘Are you leaving?’ Tamsyn’s face fell, she looked instantly despondent.
Daisy wished she was a better liar as she lifted her visor. ‘Sorry, Tamsyn, I need to go. You take care now.’
‘No. You’ve only just come back, you can’t leave now …’ Her eyes filled with tears and Daisy felt like she was torturing a toddler.
The traffic lights changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Daisy, she meant it. She flipped down her visor. Someone behind hooted and Daisy revved the engine and started to pull away.
‘Sandy wants you to stay!’ shouted Tamsyn with desperation in her voice.
Of all the things she could have shouted after her this was the one thing that would have the desired effect. The words were still ringing in Daisy’s ears as she pulled her bike into the kerb and switched off the engine. Tamsyn walked over looking anxious.
Daisy felt numb. She pulled off her helmet and stared at Tamsyn.
‘What do you mean “Sandy wants me to stay”?’ snapped Daisy. Daisy’s mother was called Sandy, was this who she meant?
Tamsyn nibbled her bottom lip. ‘You remember my mum, Min?’ she said, sounding like she was saying a tongue twister.
If this was going to be another long drawn out story Daisy was likely to scream. ‘Yes, why?’
‘She kind of gets these feelings. It’s a bit like a spiritual medium but not really the same. They’re like a sixth sense message from those who’ve left us. And she said to tell you but I wasn’t sure if you’d think she was mad or not and I didn’t want to upset you and—’
‘Tamsyn, please spit it out.’
Tamsyn took a deep breath. ‘She felt your mum’s presence. She said she could tell Sandy was pleased you were home and she wanted you to stay.’
Daisy didn’t know what to think. She had seen no evidence herself of life after death so she had no reason to believe in it. But the thought of some sort of contact from her mum had such a powerful draw it wrestled hard with her logical mind. Daisy swallowed. Another car honked at her and overtook, nearly clipping her bike.
‘We can’t stay here. Get on,’ instructed Daisy.
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous without a helmet.’
‘I’ll go at like five miles an hour – it’ll be fine. Or better still, you can have mine.’
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s illegal. Hang on, I have an idea.’ She ran off towards the barbers. Moments later she came out wearing a black crash helmet featuring a bloodied skull design, which looked interesting when teamed with her long flowing summer dress.
‘Barber has a motorbike,’ she said and she climbed on the back. Daisy didn’t question her, she restarted the bike and pulled out safely into the traffic. She could have ridden anywhere but one particular place sprang to mind. She headed out of the town centre and turned onto the coast road. A short way along she turned off onto the gravel area that was both a small car park and viewing spot.
Daisy left the bike and walked off along the coastal path with Tamsyn following dutifully, a lot like it had been when they were children. Up ahead Daisy caught a glimpse of the sea – the dark blue smudge expanding as she neared the headland. The perfect crescent of Ottercombe Bay came into view on Daisy’s left side. From her high vantage point she had a good view of the divide that had existed in the bay for almost a hundred years; on one side of the beach were rows and rows of fishing boats of varying shapes and sizes and on the other a multitude of deckchairs, picnic rugs and tourists. The occasional shout of a child drifted up to her before ebbing away but otherwise it was peaceful high up on the cliff top.
As the sea breeze caressed Daisy’s senses she started to feel calmer and some of the frustration at having her escape plans interrupted diminished. She could smell the sea, the fresh scent quite like no other which reminded her of the summers she had returned to the bay with her father, year after year until he could bear it no more. For Daisy returning to the bay meant being reunited with her sadness but when they left there had also been the ache of being ripped away from everything familiar.
They walked to the far end of the headland; the tip of the crescent on one side of the bay. Daisy took off her leather jacket, laid it on the ground and she and Tamsyn flopped down on it.
‘I love this view,’ said Tamsyn at last. Daisy was amazed she’d managed to keep quiet this long.
‘Me too.’ She had forgotten how much she loved it. Pictures of the picnics she had had there as a child swam in her mind’s eye. Her mother and father dancing while she giggled and snuck an extra biscuit. The sun shining down on them whilst the sea beat a steady rhythm below – they were happy times. Her parents had loved this spot too it seemed, as it was somewhere they had come regularly. Daisy ran her fingers through the grass and wondered if her mother had sat on that spot and done the same thing; it felt likely. A familiar sense of loss pulled at her gut. Daisy was reminded of why she was here. ‘Is your mum some sort of psychic?’ she asked.
Tamsyn dragged her eyes away from the sea. ‘Not officially, but she’s always had these sensations and thoughts that weren’t her own. My dad calls it a load of witpot but I think there’s something in it.’
‘What makes you think there is?’ Daisy turned to gauge her reaction.
Tamsyn tipped back her head and stared into the cloudless sky. ‘Because she never lies. I mean like never – she can’t even tell a white lie. If I ask her “Do you like my hair up?” she’ll just go “No, it looks better down.” She never lies. So when she says things about people who have passed then I have to believe that too, don’t I?’
Daisy wasn’t convinced. ‘Who else has she had messages from?’
‘They’re not strictly messages,’ said Tamsyn, bringing her gaze back to earth. ‘She was in the paper shop a couple of months ago and Mrs Robinson was blathering on about gardening, like she does, and my mum had this thought about Mrs Robinson’s dad being unwell. Now she doesn’t know him but she says “How’s your dad?” and Mrs Robinson says “He’s fine”.’
Daisy pulled a strained face. ‘If he was fine then—’
‘Ah, that’s the thing. Mrs Robinson called round on the way home and her Dad was dead in the armchair.’ Tamsyn lay back on the jacket.
Daisy gave a pout and let out a slow breath. This wasn’t exactly the cold hard proof she was hoping for. ‘What exactly was the message or whatever it was she had about my mum again?’
‘She was in our garden and she rushed inside saying she felt cold and to be honest of late she’s only been overheating. Dad says she’s about the right age for the change. She told me she had a sense of Sandy being with her. She couldn’t see her or anything. Do you think she’s bonkers too?’ Tamsyn sat up abruptly and eyeballed Daisy.
‘No, she was always lovely your mum, she used to make me laugh. I don’t think she’s bonkers.’ Daisy remembered a kind woman with a wicked sense of humour. But whilst she had seemed nice that didn’t add any weight to her credibility as a conduit to the afterlife.
‘Why are mad people called bonkers and not people who bonk?’ Tamsyn, asked, looking at Daisy as if she was expecting her to provide a sensible answer.
‘Erm, I don’t know, Tams. Our language is weird.’
‘It is. Phrases confuse me too. Why do people say, “You can’t have your cake and eat it”? What else are you going to do with cake?’
Daisy laughed. ‘Very good point.’ Tamsyn had a way of putting you at ease and taking your brain off on an unexpected tangent so you forgot about all the serious stuff.
‘Why were you leaving?’ asked Tamsyn, plucking a daisy and tucking it behind her ear.
Daisy thought for a moment. ‘Because Great Uncle Reg is trying to make me stay.’
Tamsyn looked excited. ‘Did you get a message from beyond the grave?’
Daisy sighed. ‘Sort of. He left me some old railway station in his will and said I had to stay here for a whole year to get it.’
Tamsyn sat up poker straight. ‘He left you a railway station? What like Exeter or Marylebone?’
Daisy laughed. ‘No, the derelict one for Ottercombe Bay.’
Tamsyn startled Daisy by starting to clap her hands together in front of her as if she was doing a sea lion impression. ‘Wow, this is amazing. That is the cutest building ever.’ Daisy raised a doubtful eyebrow. ‘Seriously, it’s beautiful. I mean it’s all boarded up and has been for years but … this is so exciting!’ She let out a tiny squeal and Daisy couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. ‘And he wants you to stay here for one whole year?’ Daisy nodded forlornly. ‘I love that man.’ She threw her arms around Daisy and hugged her tight. She pulled away and her grin faded. ‘Please say you’re staying.’
Daisy gave a tiny shake of the head. ‘I don’t think so, Tams. I’ve not stayed in the same place for a whole year since …’ She had to think about the answer. ‘University I guess and then I was only there in term time.’
‘One year will go quickly and at the end of it you’ll own your own railway station. Which is totally amazing.’ Tamsyn made a noise like a train and Daisy chuckled. ‘You have to stay. You really do.’ Tamsyn clutched Daisy’s hand tightly and looked hopefully into her eyes. ‘It’s like you’ve been set a quest and you can’t say no to a quest.’
‘A quest?’ Daisy blinked hard. ‘This isn’t medieval times.’
Tamsyn bent forward. ‘No, but I love reading fantasy novels and usually there’s a quest for the main character and it’s dangerous but they always succeed in the end and live happily ever after. This is your quest and your happily ever after could be at the end of it.’
Daisy laughed until she noticed Tamsyn was deadly serious. She didn’t believe in happy-ever-afters but she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge.
Daisy hugged her knees, stared out across Ottercombe Bay and thought. ‘We’d best take a look at the place before I make any rash decisions,’ she said, but before she’d finished the sentence Tamsyn was dragging her unceremoniously to her feet.
In front of her was an odd sight. It was a single-storey ornate building sat on its own with a railway platform and portion of train track in front of it. Daisy stood with her hands on her hips and took it all in as Tamsyn ran backwards and forwards along the platform like a toddler in a toyshop. Daisy was standing in what apparently had once been the station car park and was now a waist-high weed jungle with a series of increasingly bigger potholes where there had once been concrete. The railway track was also overgrown and in its entirety only measured about a hundred metres; on it was a dilapidated old railway carriage. The station building itself was in better condition, it looked grubby but its golden Victorian brickwork was easily visible. Daisy felt like she was in a Poirot movie and despite the lack of more track a steam train was going to puff into view any minute.
Tamsyn stopped running up and down the platform and held her arms out wide. ‘What do you think?’
‘Probably make a nice museum.’ Daisy squinted in the sunlight.
‘But it’s soooo pretty. Isn’t it?’ said Tamsyn, jumping down from the platform and landing on the railway line. Daisy could see why her grandfather, Arthur, had wanted to build on the land, it was in a prime location about a mile inland where the ground got flatter, close to the town but convenient for the main roads and just a stroll to the beach. It was prime holiday rental territory but if the council weren’t going to let them build on it she couldn’t see much use for it – even if it was a pretty little building. Tamsyn came to stand next to her.
‘I love the three chimney pots,’ said Tamsyn, studying the tall stacks spread across the roof.
‘Hmm,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m guessing inside it’s split into three rooms.’
‘Dunno. Shall we open it up?’
Daisy looked at the boarded-up windows and door and the missing roof tile. ‘We’d need tools. I don’t think there’s a lot of point to be honest, Tams.’ She glanced at Tamsyn who was gazing at the building the same way children look at Cinderella’s castle at Disney World – it was a look of complete awe. Daisy had another look herself, perhaps she was just more of a realist than Tamsyn.
‘Come on, I thought you were the adventurer – you’re not telling me you don’t want to explore inside?’ said Tamsyn, giving Daisy a small dig in the ribs.
Daisy had to admit she was curious. She liked old buildings. Daisy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind a snoop about but—’
‘Right come on then. My dad has tools,’ said Tamsyn, striding back to the bike. Daisy took a deep breath, she knew it would be easier to simply go along with her. She checked her watch. She wasn’t going to get far tonight, she may as well stay, have a good home-cooked meal with Aunt Coral and head off tomorrow. She didn’t feel good about sneaking out earlier. Aunt Coral deserved an explanation before she moved on, it was the least she could do. She hoped she hadn’t already found the note she’d left.
Back at the cottage Tamsyn went to hers to get the tools and Daisy slunk inside quietly in the hope Bugsy wouldn’t go off like a house alarm. A quick peek through the kitchen and she could see Aunt Coral was in the garden. Daisy let out the breath she was holding in and scurried through to her bedroom. She dropped the rucksack and went to retrieve the note from the pillow but it wasn’t there. She hunted about the bed and floor but there was no sign of it. Her heart sank. What must Aunt Coral think of her? For a moment she considered making a run for it anyway but something twanged at her heartstrings and she decided she’d simply have to face up to things. She went through to the kitchen and was about to go out the back door when a flash of black and white caught her eye as it scooted under the table. She crouched down. There was Bugsy with the envelope she had written the note on.
‘Good boy, Bugsy, give me the envelope,’ she asked politely stretching out a hand but he reversed away emitting a low growl, his teeth clamped tightly to his treasure. ‘Drop it,’ she hissed. ‘Leave, give. Hand it over.’ But nothing was working. Bugsy backed away. He looked from his treats cupboard to Daisy. ‘Are you blackmailing me?’ This creature was smarter than he looked – but she supposed that wasn’t hard.
As Aunt Coral turned the handle of the back door Daisy lurched underneath the table and made a grab for the envelope. She had a grip on it but so did Bugsy. They both pulled and the envelope ripped in half making Daisy topple backwards and bang her head on the underside of the table. ‘Cock!’ said Daisy loudly as Aunt Coral came in.
‘Oh dear,’ said Coral. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, sorry about the language.’ Daisy shuffled from under the table rubbing her head where she’d bumped it. ‘I was just leaving you a note to say I’m going to take a look at the railway station and Bugsy stole it. But now I don’t need to leave a note,’ she said quickly screwing up her half of the envelope and shoving it into her pocket. She eyed the dog who was now defiantly tearing his half to shreds, which was perfect and she felt a sense of superiority at outwitting the canine blackmailer.
Tamsyn’s dad gave them and the toolbox a lift to the old railway station and Daisy hauled the large box of tools out of the boot. ‘Right, where shall we start?’ Daisy asked Tamsyn who still had one foot in her father’s car and was checking her phone.
‘Oh, SOS. The café want me to come in to work. Tell me tonight if you find any treasure. Good luck,’ she called before getting fully back in the car and being driven away.
‘Great,’ said Daisy. She tucked her locket inside her t-shirt and walked onto the platform, where she stopped by the boarded-up door and opened the toolbox. She found a useful-looking small crowbar and set to work trying to prise off the boards. It was hard work and she tired quickly. Her arms started to throb, but she continued all the same. It took her some time but eventually she felt the lower board give a little and it spurred her on. Another heave and the nails gave way and pulled free.
Daisy felt a sense of accomplishment as she dropped the crowbar and stuck her head through the gap. Her nostrils twitched. ‘It whiffs in here,’ she said, which was something coming from someone who had experienced the toilets in the remote corners of Goa. This was an altogether different, more musty smell. She peered inside but with everything boarded up and only an odd tile missing from the roof it was dark. There was little point going in.
Daisy went to put the crowbar back in the toolbox but found herself having a quick rummage instead. She soon came upon exactly what she needed – a head torch. She pulled it on, adjusted the strap and crawled inside the old building. She stood up, dusted herself down and looked about her. She was in a perfectly square room. There were two boarded-up windows – one next to the door and one on the far wall – and a cursory swipe over with the torch showed them to be intact. On her right was a find that made her face light up almost as much as the torchlight: it was an old-fashioned ticket window. She was in the ticket office.
She went through a doorway to the right to find another square room with a large cupboard. She peered inside. Its many shelves were well worn and she suspected this may have been some sort of luggage storage. She crouched down to find a dusty sign on the bottom shelf. When she went to pick it up she was struck by how heavy it was for something half the size of an A4 sheet of paper. Most likely cast iron, she thought. It had a red background and gold letters that read ‘Beware of the trains’, which she thought was a bit obvious at a train station but you never could account for the stupidity of some folk.
A further grope around uncovered a brush with GWR painted on it but not many bristles and a box of papers that generally looked quite dull apart from the beautiful script of the writing; sadly she doubted they were worth anything. She popped the heavy plaque and old brush into the box and carried them out through the ticket office and into the last room, the door to which still had a sign on it saying ‘Waiting rooms’. The door was heavy and ornate and the hinges groaned when she opened it. Inside it was like stepping back in time. This had two more rooms off it labelled ‘Women’s waiting room’ and ‘Men’s waiting room’ but it turned out they were simply single toilets.
The ceiling was lower here and had a loft hatch. She’d need a ladder to get a look inside there. The room itself had a large fireplace that had long since lost its surround but a long wooden bench remained as well as a large wooden station sign saying ‘Ottercombe Bay’. Daisy was grinning as she plonked the box on the bench and created a cloud of dust that caught in her throat. She started to cough violently.
‘Who’s in there?’ A fierce male voice came from outside. ‘Come out now.’ Daisy couldn’t answer but she continued to cough. ‘Don’t make me drag you out!’ the voice shouted. Daisy didn’t like the tone and as she managed to get the coughing under control she grabbed up the small cast iron ‘Beware of the trains’ sign. It would be dark outside by now and she didn’t know if she may need it to defend herself.
As Daisy pushed on the door into the main ticket office someone pulled on it and she lurched forward brandishing the sign.
‘Argh!’ the other person shouted and brought up their forearm quickly making Daisy react by giving them a swift whack with the sign.
‘You’re trespassing,’ she shouted lifting the sign ready to strike again if necessary.
‘Bloody hell. Daisy?’
Daisy took a step back and tried to assess who she was blinding with the head torch. ‘Max? What the hell are you doing?’
‘Investigating who’s breaking into the railway building. And all I get for my trouble is a broken arm,’ he said, nursing his injury whilst muttering swear words.
‘I was defending myself because you lifted your arm to hit me.’
‘I lifted it to shield my eyes from your bloody light.’ He pointed with his good arm.
‘Oh, right,’ said Daisy, a little more conciliatory. She pulled off the head torch and it shone at a more comfortable level. ‘Let’s look at your arm.’ She didn’t wait for him to offer it she just took hold making him wince. She ran her fingers over his taut forearm carefully, noting the muscle definition. ‘It’s not broken.’
‘Are you sure?’ Max gave his arm a thorough inspection.
‘Fairly sure.’
‘You a doctor or nurse?’
‘Nope, but I worked in a specialist hospital once …’
‘Specialist?’
‘Actually, I cleaned out the cages at a vets near Nice.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Max again but this time there was laughter in his voice and Daisy started to lighten up too. ‘If the police see you in here you’ll be the crime of the century. You’d best make a run for it.’
Daisy gave him a quizzical look. ‘You think I’m stealing?’
‘Er, yeah. Why else would you break in here with a crow-bar?’
‘Good point,’ said Daisy, she would most likely have come to the same conclusion. ‘I was just having a look at my inheritance. Turns out there wasn’t much.’
‘Inheritance?’
‘Yep. This is all mine,’ she said her voice dripping with sarcasm. She retrieved the box and Max looked inside.
‘Did Reg own this place then?’
‘Apparently my grandfather bought it and then left it to his brother, Reg, and now he’s left it to me. Proper family white elephant. They’ve tried four times to get planning permission to build on the land and every time it’s been refused.’
They heard the distant sound of a police siren and Max became uncomfortable. ‘Come on, we’d better get out of here. I don’t want to have to explain all this to the local constabulary,’ he said already heading for the door.
Once outside Daisy put down the box and picked up the board that had covered part of the door.
‘Here, let me,’ said Max taking it from her. She passed him the biggest hammer from the toolbox and with a few swift knocks the board was back in place whilst she tried to ignore the sight of his muscular forearm.
‘Arm’s all right now then?’ asked Daisy with a smirk, noting how easily he hammered it back in place.
‘It was the other arm,’ said Max, returning the sneer.
‘Thanks for helping …’ Daisy paused. Max seemed to have grown up to be an okay sort of person despite her previous impression. ‘Let me buy you a pint.’
‘So I don’t put in a claim via a personal injury lawyer?’ said Max, looking serious.
Daisy’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘You’d better be joking.’
‘I am. Come on, I’m dying for a pint.’ Max bent down, put the box with the railway items under his arm, picked up the toolbox and headed off across the platform. Daisy wasn’t keen on being dictated to but she was intrigued by Max and right now he was walking off with her stuff so she pulled herself together and followed.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/bella-osborne/coming-home-to-ottercombe-bay-the-laugh-out-loud-romantic-co/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Bella Osborne
Ottercombe Bay was originally published as a four-part serial. This is the complete story in one package.‘Bella Osborne has such a nice touch with description that I was utterly charmed by Ottercombe Bay’ Sue Moorcroft‘Absolutely brilliant. It's funny, heartwarming, entertaining and I couldn't put it down. It's exactly what you need if you want a delightful summer read’ Phillipa AshleyDaisy Wickens has returned to Ottercombe Bay, the picturesque Devon town where her mother died when she was a girl. She plans to leave as soon as her great uncle’s funeral is over, but Great Uncle Reg had other ideas. He’s left Daisy a significant inheritance – an old building in a state of disrepair, which could offer exciting possibilities, but to get it she must stay in Ottercombe Bay for twelve whole months.With the help of a cast of quirky locals, a few gin cocktails and a black pug with plenty of attitude, Daisy might just turn this into something special. But can she ever hope to be happy among the ghosts of her past?Authors and readers love Bella Osborne’s gorgeous novels:‘I really enjoy Bella Osborne’s books’ – Katie Fforde‘A warm and engaging story with relatable characters who will worm their way into your heart. A great read!’ – Talli Roland‘Loved it! Believable characters, a sweetly told, lovely story… a great read’ – Jane Lovering‘Romance, comedy, and mystery abound in this delightful British novel’ – I Read That Book!‘A great read, with some really special moments… so beautiful and romantic’ – Annie’s Book Corner‘A well-written and charming tale.’ – Paris Baker’s Book Nook'Makes me feel like I should be reading it while wearing a tea dress, drinking posh coffee from a china cup and eating Victoria sandwich cake with a dainty little fork. It's charming, adorable, amusing and all those sorts of words' – Escape Into Words
Copyright (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Published by Avon, an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018
Copyright © Bella Osborne 2018
Cover illustration © Kim Leo
Cover design © Head Design 2018
Bella Osborne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008258153
Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9780008258160
Version: 2018-06-04
Dedication (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
For my mum – thank you.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u83d98ecd-13c8-53b9-902b-317fc0954558)
Title Page (#u3cb4e612-d154-5080-8126-3ddd4bae4485)
Copyright (#ucee1a47b-3762-5221-8f84-cfab60ca5beb)
Dedication (#uf2d90c71-6cc9-5c69-af8f-5b62772b331e)
Chapter One (#ud59148dc-0d3f-5511-b6e9-2e9c93ad7833)
Chapter Two (#uee1e9cae-eaf9-5e65-93de-f5cd31d25be6)
Chapter Three (#u81608542-cd42-58a7-9183-3b8a728bf2db)
Chapter Four (#u3cf7337f-b222-54fe-ac01-e11c67643141)
Chapter Five (#u5b134633-1cb4-51e8-818b-e3aca9945c3b)
Chapter Six (#u6fc9584c-f769-57ad-98f9-dbfdf06a762c)
Chapter Seven (#u2ecfc753-29d7-5153-90f1-7d50ade48d64)
Chapter Eight (#uf1724f11-143c-548b-839a-b3d464cfd2a1)
Chapter Nine (#u0ee2c214-41e2-5f57-ac5d-64cff5eab65b)
Chapter Ten (#ubacc706e-ab68-5ed0-8210-196962b22ade)
Chapter Eleven (#ue06855cf-a96a-557a-9ecd-05c7a9378984)
Chapter Twelve (#u001dbdb7-7637-500d-8b5b-4cf81a5b3fee)
Chapter Thirteen (#u5f944eae-121b-51c9-aa1f-f5a6649e2f14)
Chapter Fourteen (#ud055a304-4b26-5115-a5d1-2b391d914833)
Chapter Fifteen (#uf16b3f12-c5de-5284-8482-12532e71a10b)
Chapter Sixteen (#u6375ce79-d99c-5b6a-84c7-911149f426a6)
Chapter Seventeen (#u2340c783-52a0-58c9-819e-a62a9601eb49)
Chapter Eighteen (#u6884d015-29df-5fa8-82cd-b0bfb5f3d75e)
Chapter Nineteen (#u522cb0a8-375f-5318-b8ba-c1dea6f9f09e)
Chapter Twenty (#udbbca069-5b03-52e9-ba74-b36e510095b1)
Chapter Twenty-One (#ub99b2bea-6be7-5dc6-87fe-05e4f5b1f932)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u12176321-d656-5e19-a5b0-982d2fe3e8c9)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u950c2a36-ee7b-5640-a519-596b32773a0e)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u53fbedfc-4ee0-5c19-aeb8-527ea26b2a8b)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u7fb69eba-d462-509d-b9b8-0265373d56b2)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u86c08104-7957-512b-8c3d-d3165300fc5a)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#uc5e3975c-ab16-51e3-ba79-d4c3ca2c5a39)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u9a4c37ba-d11b-5209-baf9-ed4edc33a606)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uafd07c68-04ca-5f37-9b0e-9dfbfb151623)
Chapter Thirty (#ubfe35e7e-886c-5e15-9297-e181fd464c19)
Chapter Thirty-One (#u99957528-0522-5c63-a5fd-7ddf5f34e13d)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#uf7e4bd09-0f84-57c7-ad4f-a180f7bb8a31)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u46749a4c-5a45-53bd-bcfb-53cf5e70eff7)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u7d29a1a3-24a6-5783-977c-c6feba5a0ad0)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u1d5c8326-d3a7-52a7-82a1-396de0bb0648)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#udeb9255f-72d1-5f03-8be4-a31cb79bb876)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#uc93e36b2-c9cc-5cc8-a1fb-203505e124dd)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u0e2fd743-5379-5379-8ee8-92dfcd699cb2)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#u92d1a474-83fc-5422-bc81-9166a7fe9c90)
Acknowledgements (#ub7d45a54-7716-5eb3-8ce3-002fcbe7fbab)
Keep Reading … (#u08465b95-98eb-5598-86f1-cae03917e991)
About the Author (#uc36b553a-ff18-5906-a57c-efffdd6cd776)
Also by Bella Osborne (#ue66d4735-b7c3-5ba6-8cda-5f981bb672f8)
About the Publisher (#u9c383f8a-32ba-563d-b7c7-4ab7228b408f)
Chapter One (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Daisy’s bum didn’t feel like her own thanks to four hours on an old motorbike. A pretty village sign welcomed her, but Daisy felt a long-buried sadness creep over her like frost across a windowpane. Coming back to Ottercombe Bay was a big mistake. If only I had a choice, she thought.
A good-looking man in an unattractive high-vis jacket interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out in front of Daisy’s motorbike. She hastily swerved and braked, and the ancient vehicle spluttered to a halt.
‘You can’t come this way,’ the young man said, his muscled arms clamped across his luminous chest.
‘Please,’ she said, followed by her best cheesy grin; something familiar about the man’s mop of dark hair had her memory working overtime.
‘No way,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders.
Daisy flicked up her helmet visor with an air of defiance; she wasn’t easily intimidated. ‘Don’t be daft. I need to get to Trow Lane.’ She looked longingly down the main road. She was only three streets away.
‘You’ll have to go around.’ The man was peering at Daisy. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, a frown appearing briefly on his tanned face.
‘I doubt it. Look, it’s daft to go miles out of my way. I’m only going down there,’ she said, pointing. Daisy was tired after her long journey and didn’t need this jumped-up workman telling her what to do, especially when she could see no reason why the road was cordoned off on a sunny Saturday evening in late June.
She revved the motorbike back to life but high-vis man stepped up to her front tyre, blocking her path. They glared at each other. Daisy revved the engine again and made the motorbike hop an inch forward. He didn’t even flinch. She was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering nearby. Then she heard it – a distant clanging sound. She frowned and the man glared back. The clanging sound drew closer and Daisy recognised it as drums accompanied by what sounded like someone trying to get a tune out of an elephant. She spotted the bunting crisscrossing the road. The penny finally dropped – it was carnival parade night. He was right, there was no way she would be able to ride her bike through town tonight. She slammed down her visor and grumbled an apology before she skidded the motorbike away leaving the smug-looking high-vis man swathed in a fug of black smoke.
Daisy was still cross when she pulled up at Sea Mist Cottage. She stopped the bike, tugged off her helmet and tore the heavy backpack off her aching shoulders. This was not a good start and it was further confirmation that she shouldn’t have come back. She turned and looked at the cottage. It was like being transported back in time – it hadn’t changed a bit. The ancient building still looked like the sad face Daisy had imagined she saw when she was a child, with its heavy overhanging thatch eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.
‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.
‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.
Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’
At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.
Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.
‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.
‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.
Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.
‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.
‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’
‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily and her mood lifted. She dropped her rucksack and sat down at the small kitchen table with its pristine white tablecloth. She looked about her whilst Aunt Coral busied herself with the tea. It was as though time had stood still. The kitchen was just as it had been when she was a child; the only changes she could spot were that the walls had been painted yellow, when they used to be blue, and there appeared to be the addition of a corkboard with a variety of pieces of paper and notes pinned to it. She spotted the last postcard she had sent from France and her good mood quickly faded when she remembered the disaster of her French boyfriend Guillaume.
Daisy looked down at her rucksack. Everything she owned was in it, apart from the motorbike. That was it. All her worldly goods in one package. She pulled back her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. This was the way she liked it. No ties, nothing to keep her in one place or hold her back. She was as free as a bird and that suited her just fine. Aunt Coral ferried a large tray with a teapot and a pair of fragile-looking cups and saucers to the table and sat down opposite Daisy. She pointed at the rucksack. ‘You’re not planning on staying long, then?’ There was a sadness in her eyes as she poured their tea.
‘No, sorry. I need to leave straight after the funeral.’ Daisy broke eye contact and picked up the delicate teacup. She didn’t know where she was heading next. She had been staying in a hostel in Canterbury, hopping from one job to the next, when Aunt Coral had telephoned. It had seemed like an ideal opportunity to make it a permanent departure from Kent. As to where she was going next, she had no idea, but she wouldn’t be staying in the small Devon town any longer than was absolutely necessary.
‘Well, you can’t leave directly after the funeral, I’m afraid, because there’s the will and—’
A knock at the door was simultaneously accompanied by frantic barking from the garden making Daisy feel she was under attack from two different directions. Aunt Coral calmly got up and headed for the front door. As soon as Daisy heard the high-pitched voice a bell started to ring in the deepest recesses of her mind.
The visitor’s Devonshire accent was strong and her voice got louder and faster as she approached. ‘OhMyGod. I can’t believe it’s actually you. I mean I hoped it was when I saw the bike because I don’t know anyone with a bike like that. Not round here. And it is you, you’re here!’ A young woman with long straight dark hair flung herself at Daisy and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off Daisy, which was quite disconcerting.
‘Tamsyn,’ said Daisy, recognising her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do you still live next door?’
‘Yeah, with Mum and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you too.’
‘Tamsyn has been a wonderful help keeping an eye on Reg while I’ve been at work. Reg has kept every card or letter you have ever sent from all your travels and I think he’s read them all to Tamsyn a few times over. And you know how he always liked to tell stories and you featured in quite a few of those too.’
‘Not the fantasy ones with dwarves. You weren’t in those,’ said Tamsyn, her face deadpan.
Daisy wasn’t sure how to respond, but thankfully Aunt Coral started speaking again. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Tamsyn these last few months. She’s virtually one of the family now. Aren’t you, Tamsyn?’
‘OhMyGod. Does that make us sisters?’ said Tamsyn, jigging about excitedly in her chair – the same action being mirrored at the back door by the dog.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Daisy with a chuckle. Tamsyn was joking, wasn’t she? Here was a prime example why people should leave home and explore the world, thought Daisy. Staying here had turned Tamsyn into Ottercombe Bay’s answer to Phoebe Buffay from Friends, blurring the line between adorable and certifiable.
‘Where are you going next?’ asked Tamsyn, wide-eyed, cupping her tea with both hands. Daisy wished Tamsyn would blink more often – it couldn’t be good for her eyes. Daisy spotted Aunt Coral also looking at her intently; she felt under pressure to say something and oddly the need to impress.
‘Um, I’m not sure. Abroad again probably …’ She didn’t have the money right now but her long-term plan was definitely to travel more extensively. ‘South America,’ she blurted out. It was somewhere she had always wanted to go but living hand to mouth meant it was only ever going to be a pipedream.
Tamsyn’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow, you are my absolute hero.’ She turned to Aunt Coral who gave a proud nod.
Daisy felt awkward and it showed on her face. She dropped her gaze to her teacup. She began to recall more about Tamsyn as her brain rearranged her archived memories. She remembered the little girl who followed her everywhere, who went beachcombing with her and liked to collect shells but screamed if she found a crab. She remembered sitting on the edge of the pavement watching the carnival procession together. She remembered them as gawky teenagers swigging cider behind the beach huts. She remembered a friend.
‘You not going to the carnival tonight?’ asked Daisy.
Tamsyn grinned. ‘I was on my way out when I spotted the motorbike.’
‘Sorry,’ said Daisy. ‘You shouldn’t miss it for me.’
‘Uh, no way. You’re far better than any crumby old carnival. I was only going to get a look at the men in uniform.’
Daisy recalled the officious bloke in the high-vis top. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, yeah. Police, firefighters, lifeboat crew, they all have floats in the carnival now.’ At the mention of lifeboat crew Aunt Coral and Daisy exchanged looks.
‘It’s a shame my brother couldn’t make it for the funeral,’ said Aunt Coral, her nose twitching slightly. Daisy noted the offhand reference to her father.
‘Dad’s really sorry. He sends his love though,’ said Daisy, who had hoped her father would have made the effort to attend but given he lived in Goa it was never really on the cards. Aunt Coral nodded her understanding.
‘Oh, I remember your dad. He rescued me once when I built this amazing sandcastle with a moat and I was so busy trying to keep the water out I hadn’t noticed the tide creep in and it was all around me and he waded out to save me,’ said Tamsyn, as she machine-gunned the story out.
Daisy smirked. ‘I remember that day. It was only ankle deep; you didn’t need rescuing at all.’ Daisy laughed.
Tamsyn pouted playfully. ‘Huh, I could have been swept away – the current here is very strong.’
Before she realised it, Daisy was deep in conversation as the memories flooded back. And for a change they were pleasant ones she was happy to recall. Time seemed to whizz by and Daisy was vaguely aware Aunt Coral was now walking around wearing pyjamas. She checked her watch, causing Tamsyn to look at the kitchen clock.
‘Crikey it’s late,’ said Tamsyn, making Daisy grin at the old-fashioned turn of phrase. ‘Mum and Dad will be wondering where I am.’ Getting to her feet Tamsyn gave Daisy another huge hug. ‘I am pleased you’re home,’ she added, then turned to Aunt Coral and kissed her cheek. ‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, thanks Tamsyn.’
‘Tomorrow?’ asked Daisy as the sound of the porch door being vigorously shoved announced Tamsyn’s departure.
‘She comes around most days.’
‘Doesn’t she work?’
‘Oh yes, good little worker is Tamsyn, but it’s all a bit erratic at the beach café. They have school kids working there in the summer, pay them next to nothing and only have poor Tamsyn for the lunchtime rush.’
Daisy pondered this. She’d always thought her lack of being able to land a decent job was because of her frequent moves but it seemed even if she’d stayed locally she’d have been no better off. Her thoughts were invaded by a disgruntled-looking Bugsy rushing into the kitchen. He marched up to Daisy and shook himself. Daisy offered him a finger to sniff and he promptly wiped his nose on it.
‘Ew!’ Daisy recoiled, pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her hand. Bugsy looked quite pleased with himself, he even gave a brief wag of his curly tail before he turned around and presented Daisy with his bum.
‘Right, I’m off to bed,’ said Aunt Coral, picking up the dog. ‘It is lovely to have you back even if it’s only for a few days.’
‘Oh yeah, that reminds me. What were you saying about me not being able to leave after the funeral?’
Aunt Coral’s eyebrows danced. ‘Oh yes. You need to stay for the reading of the will. Great Uncle Reg has left you something substantial – that was what the solicitor said. Night, love, see you in the morning.’ And with a fleeting kiss on the top of Daisy’s head she disappeared upstairs.
Chapter Two (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Daisy was woken by something scratching at her door. She was coming round, whilst wondering where she was, when the bedroom door sprung open and something burst in. Daisy leapt in fright but quickly realised it was only Bugsy. At virtually the same time the dog seemed to spot who was in the bed. He snorted his disgust and strutted out of the room. It seemed Bugsy’s wake-up calls would be a disadvantage of having a bedroom on the ground floor.
It was Monday morning, the day of the funeral. She had tried to talk to Aunt Coral about the will yesterday but she didn’t know anything more than she’d already shared except to say Daisy’s father, Ray, hadn’t been left anything because Reg had helped him out financially in the past and Ray had agreed he’d already had his fair share of any inheritance. This in itself had been a revelation to Daisy, but looking back her father had rarely had a stable job while she’d been growing up so the money they had lived on must have come from somewhere. Reg had always been generous to a fault, one of the many things she’d loved and admired about him.
She wondered what Great Uncle Reg had left her in his will. She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, it had been almost three years ago, shortly after she dropped out of university for the second time and she felt a twinge of guilt. He had seemed full of life despite his advancing years. She recalled his mane of grey hair and wayward beard that always seemed at odds with his otherwise smart appearance, which invariably included a cravat. He’d said something to her then about securing her future but she hadn’t paid much attention – she now wished she had, the suspense was killing her.
A light tap on the door pulled her from her thoughts. ‘Good morning. I’m glad you’re awake. Tamsyn will be here shortly and we’ve got a truckful of sandwiches to make for the wake,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘Or “pallbearers party” as Reg liked to call it,’ she added with a chuckle before she disappeared into the kitchen.
The truckful of sandwiches was no joke, because shortly after Daisy was up to her elbows in a buttery production line whilst Tamsyn did her best to update her on who she may know at the funeral.
‘You remember Max, don’t you?’ she asked.
Daisy jutted out her lip and slapped a piece of ham on the buttered bread Aunt Coral had just handed her. ‘Not sure.’ But even as she said it a picture of a cider-fuelled teenage snogging fest loomed ugly in her mind. Whilst she had left Ottercombe Bay at seven years old she had returned each year for a two-week holiday, giving her a snapshot of the life she’d been pulled away from.
‘You doooo,’ said Tamsyn. ‘Max Davey, he never tucked his shirt in.’
‘Sounds like every boy at primary school to me.’
‘Jason Fenton, remember him?’
Daisy paused with a slice of ham held aloft. ‘Skinny kid, played with trains at break time?’
‘Yes. That’s him. He’s a policeman now,’ said Tamsyn, with a firm bob of her head.
‘Wow, well done Jason. Why would Jason and this Max be coming to my great uncle’s funeral?’
Tamsyn opened her mouth but Aunt Coral was already on the case. ‘They’re both lifeboat crew and your great uncle supported the lifeboat his whole life. He was Lifeboat Operations Manager for many years,’ said Aunt Coral proudly. ‘Max and Jason both used to meet him for a coffee once in a while to hear his stories.’ She paused briefly mid-spread with her buttered knife aloft. ‘There’s lots of people in this town who are going to miss him.’
Daisy patted her arm, Aunt Coral gave her a wan smile and returned to spreading.
Daisy shed a few tears during the service but overall the funeral was surprisingly cheerful, which reflected Reg’s personality. A few people told their favourite stories of Reg – one of them involving a donkey and a top hat, which had them all belly laughing – so as everyone filed out of church most of them were smiling, which was exactly what Reg would have wanted.
Daisy studied the floral tributes and wondered who all these people were who knew her great uncle but who she’d never heard of, especially some calling themselves Bunny and Toots.
‘Hi … again,’ said a deep voice behind her. Daisy turned to see a ruggedly handsome young man. ‘I’m sorry Reg died, he was a sound bloke. You okay, Daisy?’
‘Hi …’ She paused where his name should go as a cavalcade of memories bombarded her.
He twitched his head. ‘Don’t remember me? For one thing, I stopped you riding your bike through the carnival procession on Saturday. Prevented a potential massacre, I reckon,’ he said, his local accent soft and barely noticeable.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Daisy feeling more than a little embarrassed at her behaviour that night. ‘Sorry about that.’ He didn’t look half as aggressive now, with his hair groomed and wearing a smart shirt and tie although he kept running his finger around his collar giving the impression he wasn’t very comfortable in the outfit. ‘You’re Max. You were the boy who always had his shirt untucked at school.’ She was keen to avoid reminding him about their teenage antics.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Yep, that’d be me, all right.’
‘And you were friends with my great uncle?’ It still seemed an odd pairing to Daisy.
‘Yeah, me and Reg used to catch up from time to time. I’ll remember him fondly.’
The look in Max’s eye intrigued her. ‘What will you remember most about him?’
‘He taught me I’m as good as anyone else …’ Max blew out a long slow breath and looked for a second like he was going to get emotional, ‘… and how to judge the tides.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Daisy feeling awkward; her memories weren’t quite as profound. ‘I’ll remember being curled up next to him watching films with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.’ In a flash a memory of the film Bugsy Malone popped up and she had a ‘doh’ moment when she realised where the dog’s name had come from. They’d watched that film many times when she was little.
‘Ah, here you are,’ said Aunt Coral joining them. ‘Daisy, you can come back to the house in car one with the oldies; I’m in car two with the Exeter crowd.’ She turned her attention to Max. ‘Lovely of you to come today, Max. Are you coming back for the wake?’
‘No, sorry, Coral, I’m working. I swapped my shifts so I could see old Reg off. Raise a glass for me at the party.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Aunt Coral gave him a fleeting pat on the shoulder and went to organise some others.
‘I ’spect I’ll see you around, if you’re staying here for a bit,’ said Max.
‘Unfortunately, I won’t be staying,’ said Daisy. ‘But it was nice to see you again. Bye.’
Max paused. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, his eyes warm and intense making her almost rethink her decision.
The next morning Daisy found herself in a warm and stuffy solicitor’s office sipping a strong filter coffee.
‘Do you think he would have liked the party?’ asked Aunt Coral.
It was an odd question, but she knew Aunt Coral had been worrying about giving Reg a deserving send off. ‘He would have loved it. He definitely would have approved of all the port.’ Aunt Coral visibly relaxed and Daisy felt a swell of affection for her. The wake had been well attended and diverse, with some serious talk about coastal erosion and an impromptu singalong. It had been exactly what Reg would have wanted.
Daisy didn’t really want to hear his will read. She didn’t need anything to remember Great Uncle Reg; she had her memories. Although she had to admit she was curious about what he had left her that could be described as ‘substantial’. Cash, perhaps, but she wasn’t sure Reg had a lot of money. She needed some cash; she hated living hand to mouth. Possibly a share in the cottage, which would be very tricky because it was Aunt Coral’s home and she definitely wouldn’t want to sell it. Daisy decided she wouldn’t think about that option as it made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was a family heirloom, although the only items she could think of were pieces of furniture. That’s probably it, she thought. The large clock in the hallway and the dresser in the kitchen could both be described as substantial. Her mind wandered off and imagined her on the Antiques Roadshow trying hard to master her ‘I’m not at all disappointed it’s only worth tuppence’ face.
‘I am terribly sorry to keep you waiting,’ said the solicitor, hurrying into the office with a folder in his hand. ‘Now, I shouldn’t keep you long.’ Daisy was warming to the old gent already; she was keen to get packed up and head off up the M5. She hoped to get as far as Gloucester tonight but she wasn’t sure where she was heading afterwards.
‘This is the last will and testament of Reginald Montgomery Fabien Wickens …’ There then followed a paragraph of formal jargon before Daisy tuned in again. ‘… To my niece, Coral Anne Wickens, I leave the property of Sea Mist Cottage, Trow Lane, Ottercombe Bay, in its entirety …’ Aunt Coral let out a small sob and Daisy took her hand to comfort her. Daisy’s heart was starting to increase its speed. ‘To my great niece Daisy May Wickens, I leave the property and grounds of the former Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and adjoining car park, subject to her being resident in Ottercombe Bay for a full twelve months from the date of the reading of this will. My residuary estate is to be divided equally between Coral Wickens, Daisy Wickens and the Royal National Lifeboat Institution Ottercombe Bay Station. Should any beneficiary fail to meet the conditions of bequest their share will be divided equally between the other beneficiaries. Signed Reginald Wickens.’ The solicitor laid his hands flat on the document and patted it gently. Nobody spoke.
Daisy’s mouth had gone dry, she was baffled and a quick glance at Aunt Coral showed she mirrored how she felt. Daisy put her hand to her necklace and closed her fingers around her locket for comfort. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s left me what exactly?’ she asked.
‘Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and car park.’
‘But there’s not been trains here for years,’ said Aunt Coral.
The solicitor shuffled through a pile of papers and leaned across the desk to hand something over. It was a dog-eared auction notice. ‘The railway station at Ottercombe was decommissioned in 1975 and bought by …’ he checked his notes, ‘… a Mr Arthur Wickens who bequeathed it to your great uncle on his death. There are also some historic planning applications for demolition and site development that were refused in 1989, 1992, 2001 and 2010.’ He removed his glasses and smiled at them warmly from across the desk.
Daisy stared at the piece of paper in her hand. She was looking at a faded photograph of a Victorian railway station building. ‘He’s left me an old railway station?’
Aunt Coral was peering over her arm. ‘Do all those refused planning applications mean there’s not a lot she can do with it?’
‘Not at all. It simply means the council weren’t in favour of it being demolished, although there is a letter here saying they would be open to an application for change of use but it’s dated 2010.’
‘Can I sell it?’ asked Daisy, her voice coming out a little croaky.
‘Once it has passed to you formally following the adherence to the conditional clause.’
Daisy stared at him. Why didn’t these people just use normal words? ‘And when does it pass to me formally exactly?’
The solicitor twitched. ‘One year from today, assuming you have been resident in Ottercombe Bay for the full twelve months. This is also for you,’ he said, handing Daisy a thick cream envelope with her name beautifully written on the front in fountain pen; she recognised it instantly as Great Uncle Reg’s handwriting. ‘I believe this letter will explain things a little further.’
For once Daisy opened her mouth but could not think what to say so she shut it again. What was going on?
‘This may be a stupid question,’ started Aunt Coral, ‘but I’m guessing this is all legal and watertight and there’s no way to get around the conditions he’s set?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the solicitor, who started to discuss paying for the funeral and the process of probate. Daisy thumbed the envelope in her hands and studied the writing. There was a slight wobble in the letters but it was unmistakably Reg’s; she could imagine him sitting in his favourite chair writing it.
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Aunt Coral, as they left the solicitor’s office a few minutes later. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Flabbergasted, but I’m fine,’ Daisy said, when she really felt like running away.
Daisy hardly spoke a word on the way home. She could feel an uncomfortable sensation take hold, a feeling akin to claustrophobia; a sense of being suffocated and chained down that she needed to fight against and escape from. Back at the cottage she changed out of her smart clothes quickly and shoved her things into her backpack.
‘Cup of tea?’ came the call from the kitchen.
Daisy started to panic. She couldn’t stay for tea, she couldn’t stay another minute. This place was simply not good for her; she was uneasy most of the time she was here but knowing it was only for a couple of days it had been bearable. A whole year was unthinkable. She stood for a moment and gripped her locket. As long as she had it she could be anywhere and her mother would be with her. She took a deep steadying breath before replying to Aunt Coral, ‘No thanks. I’m just going out.’ She grabbed a pencil and searched for a piece of paper. She scribbled a note on the back of an old envelope.
I“m so sorry but I have to go. I“ll be in touch. Take care of yourself. Love D x
She left the note on her pillow, picked up her bag and left the bedroom as quietly as she could. Panic rose as she wrestled with the porch door. It was one thing to run away but to be foiled in her attempt would be excruciating. ‘Bloody thing,’ she grumbled but a whimpering at her feet drew her attention. Bugsy was sitting watching her, his head on one side. He studied her with his abnormally big eyes. She stopped for a moment, for some odd reason she felt she needed to explain to him why she was leaving, although she suspected he wouldn’t be sad to see her go.
‘I have to go,’ she whispered. ‘This place has too many bad memories for me. Too many ghosts.’
Bugsy stood up, turned around and she heard a sort of phht sound, which was followed by a foul smell. Daisy shook her head, gave the door one more shove and slunk out.
She pulled on her helmet, got on the bike and was thankful it started first time. She surveyed Sea Mist Cottage one last time, opened the throttle and drove away. Hopefully this would be the last she’d see of it for a very long time.
Chapter Three (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
In a few short minutes her breathing had steadied and despite a small niggle she knew she was doing the right thing. She didn’t like not saying goodbye to Aunt Coral but she would only have tried to make her stay. She turned into the high street and pulled up at the traffic lights. Tamsyn jumped in front of her waving her arms.
Oh cock, thought Daisy.
‘Hello. I knew it was you; your bike sounds ropey. Wasn’t it a lovely service? Proper good send off, lots of people, which is really lovely, especially for an old person because sometimes there’s not many people there because all their friends have died, but everyone loved Reg. Why have you got your rucksack with you?’
‘Umm,’ mumbled Daisy.
Tamsyn came to the side of the bike. ‘Are you leaving?’ Tamsyn’s face fell, she looked instantly despondent.
Daisy wished she was a better liar as she lifted her visor. ‘Sorry, Tamsyn, I need to go. You take care now.’
‘No. You’ve only just come back, you can’t leave now …’ Her eyes filled with tears and Daisy felt like she was torturing a toddler.
The traffic lights changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Daisy, she meant it. She flipped down her visor. Someone behind hooted and Daisy revved the engine and started to pull away.
‘Sandy wants you to stay!’ shouted Tamsyn with desperation in her voice.
Of all the things she could have shouted after her this was the one thing that would have the desired effect. The words were still ringing in Daisy’s ears as she pulled her bike into the kerb and switched off the engine. Tamsyn walked over looking anxious.
Daisy felt numb. She pulled off her helmet and stared at Tamsyn.
‘What do you mean “Sandy wants me to stay”?’ snapped Daisy. Daisy’s mother was called Sandy, was this who she meant?
Tamsyn nibbled her bottom lip. ‘You remember my mum, Min?’ she said, sounding like she was saying a tongue twister.
If this was going to be another long drawn out story Daisy was likely to scream. ‘Yes, why?’
‘She kind of gets these feelings. It’s a bit like a spiritual medium but not really the same. They’re like a sixth sense message from those who’ve left us. And she said to tell you but I wasn’t sure if you’d think she was mad or not and I didn’t want to upset you and—’
‘Tamsyn, please spit it out.’
Tamsyn took a deep breath. ‘She felt your mum’s presence. She said she could tell Sandy was pleased you were home and she wanted you to stay.’
Daisy didn’t know what to think. She had seen no evidence herself of life after death so she had no reason to believe in it. But the thought of some sort of contact from her mum had such a powerful draw it wrestled hard with her logical mind. Daisy swallowed. Another car honked at her and overtook, nearly clipping her bike.
‘We can’t stay here. Get on,’ instructed Daisy.
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous without a helmet.’
‘I’ll go at like five miles an hour – it’ll be fine. Or better still, you can have mine.’
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s illegal. Hang on, I have an idea.’ She ran off towards the barbers. Moments later she came out wearing a black crash helmet featuring a bloodied skull design, which looked interesting when teamed with her long flowing summer dress.
‘Barber has a motorbike,’ she said and she climbed on the back. Daisy didn’t question her, she restarted the bike and pulled out safely into the traffic. She could have ridden anywhere but one particular place sprang to mind. She headed out of the town centre and turned onto the coast road. A short way along she turned off onto the gravel area that was both a small car park and viewing spot.
Daisy left the bike and walked off along the coastal path with Tamsyn following dutifully, a lot like it had been when they were children. Up ahead Daisy caught a glimpse of the sea – the dark blue smudge expanding as she neared the headland. The perfect crescent of Ottercombe Bay came into view on Daisy’s left side. From her high vantage point she had a good view of the divide that had existed in the bay for almost a hundred years; on one side of the beach were rows and rows of fishing boats of varying shapes and sizes and on the other a multitude of deckchairs, picnic rugs and tourists. The occasional shout of a child drifted up to her before ebbing away but otherwise it was peaceful high up on the cliff top.
As the sea breeze caressed Daisy’s senses she started to feel calmer and some of the frustration at having her escape plans interrupted diminished. She could smell the sea, the fresh scent quite like no other which reminded her of the summers she had returned to the bay with her father, year after year until he could bear it no more. For Daisy returning to the bay meant being reunited with her sadness but when they left there had also been the ache of being ripped away from everything familiar.
They walked to the far end of the headland; the tip of the crescent on one side of the bay. Daisy took off her leather jacket, laid it on the ground and she and Tamsyn flopped down on it.
‘I love this view,’ said Tamsyn at last. Daisy was amazed she’d managed to keep quiet this long.
‘Me too.’ She had forgotten how much she loved it. Pictures of the picnics she had had there as a child swam in her mind’s eye. Her mother and father dancing while she giggled and snuck an extra biscuit. The sun shining down on them whilst the sea beat a steady rhythm below – they were happy times. Her parents had loved this spot too it seemed, as it was somewhere they had come regularly. Daisy ran her fingers through the grass and wondered if her mother had sat on that spot and done the same thing; it felt likely. A familiar sense of loss pulled at her gut. Daisy was reminded of why she was here. ‘Is your mum some sort of psychic?’ she asked.
Tamsyn dragged her eyes away from the sea. ‘Not officially, but she’s always had these sensations and thoughts that weren’t her own. My dad calls it a load of witpot but I think there’s something in it.’
‘What makes you think there is?’ Daisy turned to gauge her reaction.
Tamsyn tipped back her head and stared into the cloudless sky. ‘Because she never lies. I mean like never – she can’t even tell a white lie. If I ask her “Do you like my hair up?” she’ll just go “No, it looks better down.” She never lies. So when she says things about people who have passed then I have to believe that too, don’t I?’
Daisy wasn’t convinced. ‘Who else has she had messages from?’
‘They’re not strictly messages,’ said Tamsyn, bringing her gaze back to earth. ‘She was in the paper shop a couple of months ago and Mrs Robinson was blathering on about gardening, like she does, and my mum had this thought about Mrs Robinson’s dad being unwell. Now she doesn’t know him but she says “How’s your dad?” and Mrs Robinson says “He’s fine”.’
Daisy pulled a strained face. ‘If he was fine then—’
‘Ah, that’s the thing. Mrs Robinson called round on the way home and her Dad was dead in the armchair.’ Tamsyn lay back on the jacket.
Daisy gave a pout and let out a slow breath. This wasn’t exactly the cold hard proof she was hoping for. ‘What exactly was the message or whatever it was she had about my mum again?’
‘She was in our garden and she rushed inside saying she felt cold and to be honest of late she’s only been overheating. Dad says she’s about the right age for the change. She told me she had a sense of Sandy being with her. She couldn’t see her or anything. Do you think she’s bonkers too?’ Tamsyn sat up abruptly and eyeballed Daisy.
‘No, she was always lovely your mum, she used to make me laugh. I don’t think she’s bonkers.’ Daisy remembered a kind woman with a wicked sense of humour. But whilst she had seemed nice that didn’t add any weight to her credibility as a conduit to the afterlife.
‘Why are mad people called bonkers and not people who bonk?’ Tamsyn, asked, looking at Daisy as if she was expecting her to provide a sensible answer.
‘Erm, I don’t know, Tams. Our language is weird.’
‘It is. Phrases confuse me too. Why do people say, “You can’t have your cake and eat it”? What else are you going to do with cake?’
Daisy laughed. ‘Very good point.’ Tamsyn had a way of putting you at ease and taking your brain off on an unexpected tangent so you forgot about all the serious stuff.
‘Why were you leaving?’ asked Tamsyn, plucking a daisy and tucking it behind her ear.
Daisy thought for a moment. ‘Because Great Uncle Reg is trying to make me stay.’
Tamsyn looked excited. ‘Did you get a message from beyond the grave?’
Daisy sighed. ‘Sort of. He left me some old railway station in his will and said I had to stay here for a whole year to get it.’
Tamsyn sat up poker straight. ‘He left you a railway station? What like Exeter or Marylebone?’
Daisy laughed. ‘No, the derelict one for Ottercombe Bay.’
Tamsyn startled Daisy by starting to clap her hands together in front of her as if she was doing a sea lion impression. ‘Wow, this is amazing. That is the cutest building ever.’ Daisy raised a doubtful eyebrow. ‘Seriously, it’s beautiful. I mean it’s all boarded up and has been for years but … this is so exciting!’ She let out a tiny squeal and Daisy couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. ‘And he wants you to stay here for one whole year?’ Daisy nodded forlornly. ‘I love that man.’ She threw her arms around Daisy and hugged her tight. She pulled away and her grin faded. ‘Please say you’re staying.’
Daisy gave a tiny shake of the head. ‘I don’t think so, Tams. I’ve not stayed in the same place for a whole year since …’ She had to think about the answer. ‘University I guess and then I was only there in term time.’
‘One year will go quickly and at the end of it you’ll own your own railway station. Which is totally amazing.’ Tamsyn made a noise like a train and Daisy chuckled. ‘You have to stay. You really do.’ Tamsyn clutched Daisy’s hand tightly and looked hopefully into her eyes. ‘It’s like you’ve been set a quest and you can’t say no to a quest.’
‘A quest?’ Daisy blinked hard. ‘This isn’t medieval times.’
Tamsyn bent forward. ‘No, but I love reading fantasy novels and usually there’s a quest for the main character and it’s dangerous but they always succeed in the end and live happily ever after. This is your quest and your happily ever after could be at the end of it.’
Daisy laughed until she noticed Tamsyn was deadly serious. She didn’t believe in happy-ever-afters but she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge.
Daisy hugged her knees, stared out across Ottercombe Bay and thought. ‘We’d best take a look at the place before I make any rash decisions,’ she said, but before she’d finished the sentence Tamsyn was dragging her unceremoniously to her feet.
In front of her was an odd sight. It was a single-storey ornate building sat on its own with a railway platform and portion of train track in front of it. Daisy stood with her hands on her hips and took it all in as Tamsyn ran backwards and forwards along the platform like a toddler in a toyshop. Daisy was standing in what apparently had once been the station car park and was now a waist-high weed jungle with a series of increasingly bigger potholes where there had once been concrete. The railway track was also overgrown and in its entirety only measured about a hundred metres; on it was a dilapidated old railway carriage. The station building itself was in better condition, it looked grubby but its golden Victorian brickwork was easily visible. Daisy felt like she was in a Poirot movie and despite the lack of more track a steam train was going to puff into view any minute.
Tamsyn stopped running up and down the platform and held her arms out wide. ‘What do you think?’
‘Probably make a nice museum.’ Daisy squinted in the sunlight.
‘But it’s soooo pretty. Isn’t it?’ said Tamsyn, jumping down from the platform and landing on the railway line. Daisy could see why her grandfather, Arthur, had wanted to build on the land, it was in a prime location about a mile inland where the ground got flatter, close to the town but convenient for the main roads and just a stroll to the beach. It was prime holiday rental territory but if the council weren’t going to let them build on it she couldn’t see much use for it – even if it was a pretty little building. Tamsyn came to stand next to her.
‘I love the three chimney pots,’ said Tamsyn, studying the tall stacks spread across the roof.
‘Hmm,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m guessing inside it’s split into three rooms.’
‘Dunno. Shall we open it up?’
Daisy looked at the boarded-up windows and door and the missing roof tile. ‘We’d need tools. I don’t think there’s a lot of point to be honest, Tams.’ She glanced at Tamsyn who was gazing at the building the same way children look at Cinderella’s castle at Disney World – it was a look of complete awe. Daisy had another look herself, perhaps she was just more of a realist than Tamsyn.
‘Come on, I thought you were the adventurer – you’re not telling me you don’t want to explore inside?’ said Tamsyn, giving Daisy a small dig in the ribs.
Daisy had to admit she was curious. She liked old buildings. Daisy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind a snoop about but—’
‘Right come on then. My dad has tools,’ said Tamsyn, striding back to the bike. Daisy took a deep breath, she knew it would be easier to simply go along with her. She checked her watch. She wasn’t going to get far tonight, she may as well stay, have a good home-cooked meal with Aunt Coral and head off tomorrow. She didn’t feel good about sneaking out earlier. Aunt Coral deserved an explanation before she moved on, it was the least she could do. She hoped she hadn’t already found the note she’d left.
Back at the cottage Tamsyn went to hers to get the tools and Daisy slunk inside quietly in the hope Bugsy wouldn’t go off like a house alarm. A quick peek through the kitchen and she could see Aunt Coral was in the garden. Daisy let out the breath she was holding in and scurried through to her bedroom. She dropped the rucksack and went to retrieve the note from the pillow but it wasn’t there. She hunted about the bed and floor but there was no sign of it. Her heart sank. What must Aunt Coral think of her? For a moment she considered making a run for it anyway but something twanged at her heartstrings and she decided she’d simply have to face up to things. She went through to the kitchen and was about to go out the back door when a flash of black and white caught her eye as it scooted under the table. She crouched down. There was Bugsy with the envelope she had written the note on.
‘Good boy, Bugsy, give me the envelope,’ she asked politely stretching out a hand but he reversed away emitting a low growl, his teeth clamped tightly to his treasure. ‘Drop it,’ she hissed. ‘Leave, give. Hand it over.’ But nothing was working. Bugsy backed away. He looked from his treats cupboard to Daisy. ‘Are you blackmailing me?’ This creature was smarter than he looked – but she supposed that wasn’t hard.
As Aunt Coral turned the handle of the back door Daisy lurched underneath the table and made a grab for the envelope. She had a grip on it but so did Bugsy. They both pulled and the envelope ripped in half making Daisy topple backwards and bang her head on the underside of the table. ‘Cock!’ said Daisy loudly as Aunt Coral came in.
‘Oh dear,’ said Coral. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, sorry about the language.’ Daisy shuffled from under the table rubbing her head where she’d bumped it. ‘I was just leaving you a note to say I’m going to take a look at the railway station and Bugsy stole it. But now I don’t need to leave a note,’ she said quickly screwing up her half of the envelope and shoving it into her pocket. She eyed the dog who was now defiantly tearing his half to shreds, which was perfect and she felt a sense of superiority at outwitting the canine blackmailer.
Tamsyn’s dad gave them and the toolbox a lift to the old railway station and Daisy hauled the large box of tools out of the boot. ‘Right, where shall we start?’ Daisy asked Tamsyn who still had one foot in her father’s car and was checking her phone.
‘Oh, SOS. The café want me to come in to work. Tell me tonight if you find any treasure. Good luck,’ she called before getting fully back in the car and being driven away.
‘Great,’ said Daisy. She tucked her locket inside her t-shirt and walked onto the platform, where she stopped by the boarded-up door and opened the toolbox. She found a useful-looking small crowbar and set to work trying to prise off the boards. It was hard work and she tired quickly. Her arms started to throb, but she continued all the same. It took her some time but eventually she felt the lower board give a little and it spurred her on. Another heave and the nails gave way and pulled free.
Daisy felt a sense of accomplishment as she dropped the crowbar and stuck her head through the gap. Her nostrils twitched. ‘It whiffs in here,’ she said, which was something coming from someone who had experienced the toilets in the remote corners of Goa. This was an altogether different, more musty smell. She peered inside but with everything boarded up and only an odd tile missing from the roof it was dark. There was little point going in.
Daisy went to put the crowbar back in the toolbox but found herself having a quick rummage instead. She soon came upon exactly what she needed – a head torch. She pulled it on, adjusted the strap and crawled inside the old building. She stood up, dusted herself down and looked about her. She was in a perfectly square room. There were two boarded-up windows – one next to the door and one on the far wall – and a cursory swipe over with the torch showed them to be intact. On her right was a find that made her face light up almost as much as the torchlight: it was an old-fashioned ticket window. She was in the ticket office.
She went through a doorway to the right to find another square room with a large cupboard. She peered inside. Its many shelves were well worn and she suspected this may have been some sort of luggage storage. She crouched down to find a dusty sign on the bottom shelf. When she went to pick it up she was struck by how heavy it was for something half the size of an A4 sheet of paper. Most likely cast iron, she thought. It had a red background and gold letters that read ‘Beware of the trains’, which she thought was a bit obvious at a train station but you never could account for the stupidity of some folk.
A further grope around uncovered a brush with GWR painted on it but not many bristles and a box of papers that generally looked quite dull apart from the beautiful script of the writing; sadly she doubted they were worth anything. She popped the heavy plaque and old brush into the box and carried them out through the ticket office and into the last room, the door to which still had a sign on it saying ‘Waiting rooms’. The door was heavy and ornate and the hinges groaned when she opened it. Inside it was like stepping back in time. This had two more rooms off it labelled ‘Women’s waiting room’ and ‘Men’s waiting room’ but it turned out they were simply single toilets.
The ceiling was lower here and had a loft hatch. She’d need a ladder to get a look inside there. The room itself had a large fireplace that had long since lost its surround but a long wooden bench remained as well as a large wooden station sign saying ‘Ottercombe Bay’. Daisy was grinning as she plonked the box on the bench and created a cloud of dust that caught in her throat. She started to cough violently.
‘Who’s in there?’ A fierce male voice came from outside. ‘Come out now.’ Daisy couldn’t answer but she continued to cough. ‘Don’t make me drag you out!’ the voice shouted. Daisy didn’t like the tone and as she managed to get the coughing under control she grabbed up the small cast iron ‘Beware of the trains’ sign. It would be dark outside by now and she didn’t know if she may need it to defend herself.
As Daisy pushed on the door into the main ticket office someone pulled on it and she lurched forward brandishing the sign.
‘Argh!’ the other person shouted and brought up their forearm quickly making Daisy react by giving them a swift whack with the sign.
‘You’re trespassing,’ she shouted lifting the sign ready to strike again if necessary.
‘Bloody hell. Daisy?’
Daisy took a step back and tried to assess who she was blinding with the head torch. ‘Max? What the hell are you doing?’
‘Investigating who’s breaking into the railway building. And all I get for my trouble is a broken arm,’ he said, nursing his injury whilst muttering swear words.
‘I was defending myself because you lifted your arm to hit me.’
‘I lifted it to shield my eyes from your bloody light.’ He pointed with his good arm.
‘Oh, right,’ said Daisy, a little more conciliatory. She pulled off the head torch and it shone at a more comfortable level. ‘Let’s look at your arm.’ She didn’t wait for him to offer it she just took hold making him wince. She ran her fingers over his taut forearm carefully, noting the muscle definition. ‘It’s not broken.’
‘Are you sure?’ Max gave his arm a thorough inspection.
‘Fairly sure.’
‘You a doctor or nurse?’
‘Nope, but I worked in a specialist hospital once …’
‘Specialist?’
‘Actually, I cleaned out the cages at a vets near Nice.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Max again but this time there was laughter in his voice and Daisy started to lighten up too. ‘If the police see you in here you’ll be the crime of the century. You’d best make a run for it.’
Daisy gave him a quizzical look. ‘You think I’m stealing?’
‘Er, yeah. Why else would you break in here with a crow-bar?’
‘Good point,’ said Daisy, she would most likely have come to the same conclusion. ‘I was just having a look at my inheritance. Turns out there wasn’t much.’
‘Inheritance?’
‘Yep. This is all mine,’ she said her voice dripping with sarcasm. She retrieved the box and Max looked inside.
‘Did Reg own this place then?’
‘Apparently my grandfather bought it and then left it to his brother, Reg, and now he’s left it to me. Proper family white elephant. They’ve tried four times to get planning permission to build on the land and every time it’s been refused.’
They heard the distant sound of a police siren and Max became uncomfortable. ‘Come on, we’d better get out of here. I don’t want to have to explain all this to the local constabulary,’ he said already heading for the door.
Once outside Daisy put down the box and picked up the board that had covered part of the door.
‘Here, let me,’ said Max taking it from her. She passed him the biggest hammer from the toolbox and with a few swift knocks the board was back in place whilst she tried to ignore the sight of his muscular forearm.
‘Arm’s all right now then?’ asked Daisy with a smirk, noting how easily he hammered it back in place.
‘It was the other arm,’ said Max, returning the sneer.
‘Thanks for helping …’ Daisy paused. Max seemed to have grown up to be an okay sort of person despite her previous impression. ‘Let me buy you a pint.’
‘So I don’t put in a claim via a personal injury lawyer?’ said Max, looking serious.
Daisy’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘You’d better be joking.’
‘I am. Come on, I’m dying for a pint.’ Max bent down, put the box with the railway items under his arm, picked up the toolbox and headed off across the platform. Daisy wasn’t keen on being dictated to but she was intrigued by Max and right now he was walking off with her stuff so she pulled herself together and followed.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/bella-osborne/coming-home-to-ottercombe-bay-the-laugh-out-loud-romantic-co/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Bella Osborne
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 18.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Ottercombe Bay was originally published as a four-part serial. This is the complete story in one package.‘Bella Osborne has such a nice touch with description that I was utterly charmed by Ottercombe Bay’ Sue Moorcroft‘Absolutely brilliant. It′s funny, heartwarming, entertaining and I couldn′t put it down. It′s exactly what you need if you want a delightful summer read’ Phillipa AshleyDaisy Wickens has returned to Ottercombe Bay, the picturesque Devon town where her mother died when she was a girl. She plans to leave as soon as her great uncle’s funeral is over, but Great Uncle Reg had other ideas. He’s left Daisy a significant inheritance – an old building in a state of disrepair, which could offer exciting possibilities, but to get it she must stay in Ottercombe Bay for twelve whole months.With the help of a cast of quirky locals, a few gin cocktails and a black pug with plenty of attitude, Daisy might just turn this into something special. But can she ever hope to be happy among the ghosts of her past?Authors and readers love Bella Osborne’s gorgeous novels:‘I really enjoy Bella Osborne’s books’ – Katie Fforde‘A warm and engaging story with relatable characters who will worm their way into your heart. A great read!’ – Talli Roland‘Loved it! Believable characters, a sweetly told, lovely story… a great read’ – Jane Lovering‘Romance, comedy, and mystery abound in this delightful British novel’ – I Read That Book!‘A great read, with some really special moments… so beautiful and romantic’ – Annie’s Book Corner‘A well-written and charming tale.’ – Paris Baker’s Book Nook′Makes me feel like I should be reading it while wearing a tea dress, drinking posh coffee from a china cup and eating Victoria sandwich cake with a dainty little fork. It′s charming, adorable, amusing and all those sorts of words′ – Escape Into Words