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Ottercombe Bay – Part Two: Gin and Trouble
Bella Osborne


Escape to the Devon coast, with Part Two of a brand-new four-part serial from the author of  Willow Cottage. Daisy 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‘An absolutely glorious read full of laugh out loud moments and beautifully observed characters who spring to life on the page’ Phillipa Ashley‘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‘I wasn't expecting a debut novel to be this good’ – The Bookish & The Romantic'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'This book is perfect chick lit' – Gidget Girls Reading














Part Two

BELLA OSBORNE










Copyright (#u8881f309-5ef2-5e6d-8f5b-56d8dd21c484)


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 © February 2018 ISBN: 9780008258122

Version 2018-05-04


For my mum – thank you.


Table of Contents

Cover (#u0eea6d92-2b74-56a6-a869-d30b7d15d5fc)

Title Page (#u5daffc73-d7ab-5dfd-8832-14ca2d47930d)

Copyright (#u9a58cb5c-cdc7-596e-b6d6-1a91b3f259db)

Dedication (#ub2ac7146-b792-53b8-8ae9-f3c5d5843d8d)

Chapter One (#u96130c7d-430d-5d13-8842-783dadefaf5d)

Chapter Two (#u88c28e9f-bbee-59de-9e52-77be14bfa62c)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



Also by Bella Osborne (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#u8881f309-5ef2-5e6d-8f5b-56d8dd21c484)


Daisy whipped open the bedroom curtains, almost expecting to see someone standing there, but all she saw was the strip of front garden and her old motorbike. What had happened? She scanned the bedside cabinet again, still in disbelief that her precious locket could have been taken. Daisy ran upstairs.

‘Um, Aunt Coral, are you awake?’ she asked hesitantly at her aunt’s bedroom door.

‘Yes, love,’ came the answer from the bathroom behind her making her jump.

‘Have you seen my locket?’ Daisy asked the bathroom door.

‘The book-shaped one you always wear?’

‘Yes,’ Daisy said, rolling her hands over and over in front of her as if trying to hurry Aunt Coral along.

‘Then yes I’ve seen it.’

Daisy felt elated as the relief washed over her. Aunt Coral opened the bathroom door and Daisy was tempted to hug her but she was brushing her teeth.

‘Where is it?’

Aunt Coral looked blank. ‘Last time I saw it you were wearing it. Have you mislaid it?’

‘No,’ said Daisy shaking her head and looking desolate. The awful sense of loss reappeared immediately gripping her insides. ‘I put it on the bedside cabinet last night but this morning it’s not there. I think it’s been stolen.’

Jason arrived quickly with a colleague carrying what looked like a large briefcase. ‘Scene of crime officer,’ he explained. ‘We’ll check the whole house for any fingerprints, residue or material fragments.’

The SOCO coughed behind him. ‘Actually I’m just going to dust around the window frame for prints. It’s not a murder enquiry. Can you show me where to go?’

‘Of course, officer,’ said Aunt Coral, leading the way. ‘I’m afraid they’ve made quite a mess of the room,’ she said, opening the door and revealing the room in a total state of disarray. Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but paused. Was there any benefit in owning up to the fact she’d created the mess? It wasn’t going to make any difference to what had been stolen. Perhaps she’d tell Jason on the quiet later.

Jason strode in putting on latex gloves, making them ping at the cuffs. ‘My word, they have roughed the place up. What could they have been looking for?’ he said, picking up a discarded bra on his pencil and placing it on the unmade bed. Daisy cringed. Tidying up before they arrived would have been a good move, but she’d barely had time to get washed and dressed before they were banging on the front door. She guessed there wasn’t a lot of criminal activity in Ottercombe Bay. Jason whipped out his notebook and started scribbling. ‘And you were in here at the time? I guess they woke you up?’ He waved his pencil at the mess. Daisy bit her lip and gave a brief shake of her head. ‘Interesting,’ said Jason, continuing to scribble. ‘Did you see anyone? Hear anything?’ Daisy shook her head again. Perhaps honesty would have been the best policy, she thought. ‘Where were the items taken from exactly?’

‘On here,’ said Daisy, pointing at the bedside cabinet.

Jason stuck his head out of the window. ‘They must have taken them as a consolation prize when they didn’t find what they came for. If it was purely opportunist they could have just reached through the window and taken them off the cabinet as it’s right under the window.’

He was very good, thought Daisy, and she opened her mouth to explain but Aunt Coral was already speaking. ‘Would you like a coffee, boys?’ she asked.

‘Please, and a slice of your Vicky sponge if you have any?’ asked Jason. Daisy thought how unlike CSI it was as she left the embarrassing scene and went to join Aunt Coral in the kitchen.

An hour later the SOCO was long gone and Jason had moved on to sketching the locket as the only photos Daisy could find of herself wearing it wouldn’t zoom in with enough focus for the detail to be seen properly.

Daisy couldn’t believe it had gone. All these years it was the first thing she put on each morning and the last thing she took off at night. It had always been with her since her mother died. It was her comfort blanket and she felt bare and vulnerable without it. She kept putting her hand to her chest and every time she was shocked not to feel it under her fingers. She knew she would never get used to not wearing it.

‘I’m quite observant,’ said Jason. ‘Your locket was rectangular, wasn’t it?’ Daisy nodded. ‘Was it solid silver?’

‘Yes, there’s a funny symbol inside it.’

‘Did it have any other distinguishing features?’ asked Jason, his whole face alert. Daisy didn’t like him referring to her beloved possession in the past tense. She thought how odd it was that in her time of distress here he was in his element, doing the job he loved.

‘Is it likely I’ll get it back?’ she asked, the sorrow evident in her voice.

Jason paused, his pencil hovering. ‘We’ll do our best to recover your locket but I suspect whoever took it will be looking to sell quickly.’

‘Basically no chance then.’

Jason gave a weak smile and carried on sketching. ‘Does this look right?’ He turned the page around for Daisy to see the drawing better.

Daisy took the pencil from him. ‘The shape is right,’ she said. ‘But the pattern was different.’ She made an oval in the centre and started to sketch the scroll pattern within it. She knew the locket so well – she knew its smooth edges, its intricate patterned front and simple swirls on the reverse. She always knew it was immensely important to her, but was not prepared for the sense of loss she felt. The locket, like her mother, was irreplaceable.

After a few minutes Daisy noticed droplets splosh onto the picture and she stopped drawing. She was crying. Jason passed her a tissue. ‘I promise I’ll do absolutely everything I can to get it back.’

She nodded. Daisy feared if she tried to speak she’d end up sobbing and she and tears had an unhappy relationship. She always went blotchy and got a headache when she cried and she had done far too much of it in her lifetime.

After Jason eventually left she had barely shut the door when Tamsyn appeared on the other side. Daisy let her in and was immediately swamped by a bear hug.

‘This is sooo awful. To think hard end criminals have been in this house …’ Tamsyn paused. ‘I wonder why they call them that?’

‘It’s not hard end, it’s hardened, as in toughened by their experiences. Do you want a cuppa?’ Daisy sloped off to the kitchen and whilst she got cups out Tamsyn hovered in the doorway.

‘Actually …’ started Tamsyn and Daisy paused with the kettle under the tap. ‘Can I look at the crime scene?’

Daisy sighed. ‘Yeah, be my guest.’ Once again she was a point of local interest – a stop on the sightseeing tour of life, something to ogle and wonder at. Well, her bedroom was anyway. Daisy waited at the table and sipped her tea while Tamsyn’s slowly lost its heat.

Tamsyn came scuttling back and slid into her seat opposite Daisy. ‘They’ve made a right mess in there. What did they take?’

Daisy suspected she would get asked this quite a lot. ‘A few quid and my locket.’ She looked into her teacup.

‘The swines,’ said Tamsyn with feeling, then realisation seemed to permeate and her hands flew to her face. ‘Your mum’s locket?’ she asked, with a gasp.

Daisy flicked her eyebrows in response; she didn’t want to unlock the emotions bubbling uncomfortably below the surface. It was best if she tried not to think too much about it, although that was hard not to do. They sipped their tea in silence for a bit.

‘Right,’ said Tamsyn forcefully. ‘What you need is cheering up.’ Daisy wasn’t sure this was even worth attempting. ‘I know what we’ll do. We’ll go to the donkey sanctuary.’

Daisy felt herself physically slump. Wandering about looking at animals who were permanently miserable would do little to lift her mood. ‘I don’t think—’

‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ said Tamsyn, standing up. ‘First of all, we’ll sort out your bedroom. Come on.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Daisy, but the words were said to an empty room. By the time she’d washed up the teacups and wandered through to her room Tamsyn was plumping the pillow and doing the final adjustments to her bed. The room looked perfect.

‘There. You’d never know they’d been in here.’ Daisy didn’t like to point out it was highly unlikely they had been in the room because everything on the bedside cabinet was reachable from the open window.

‘Thanks, Tams. This is kind of you.’ Daisy vowed to keep her room tidy from now on. She wasn’t sure how long it would last, but at least she’d try.

‘Right, let’s go,’ said Tamsyn with gusto. She linked arms with Daisy and marched her out of the house, giving her barely time to grab the house keys. ‘We can look out for Nesbit the eagle on the way. He’s been spotted in a back garden over that way. He frightened the life out of an old lady hanging out her washing.’

Thankfully it was a short drive in Tamsyn’s battered Nissan Micra. The car either had an issue with its steering or Tamsyn’s driving was a little on the erratic side. She seemed to stray over the white line on more than one occasion making their arrival in the car park a welcome relief.

On the walk to the entrance the sound of braying donkeys welcomed them. Tamsyn was looking excited even before she’d seen a donkey. Daisy was surprised to see it was free to enter and became intrigued by the map promising all manner of donkeys, a gift shop, a café and a variety of walks around the many donkey enclosures. Daisy decided that if she was to get through the next couple of hours she had better upgrade her attitude. She took a deep breath, slapped a smile on her face and followed Tamsyn through the gate. Her friend was trying to take her mind off things, the least she could do was try to look as if it was helping.

‘I love it here,’ said Tamsyn, her face one large grin. ‘It’s my happy place.’

The first couple of enclosures had some bored-looking donkeys on the other side of their paddock who had no intention of making the long walk across to say hello. Tamsyn read out the information on the small board and Daisy listened to the sad story of Bernard and Biscuit, two of many rescue donkeys now leading a happy life at the sanctuary. By the third enclosure Daisy was starting to feel a bit better about things, some of the poor animals had suffered terrible neglect and had bounced back and here she was making a fuss about a possession. Learning about the suffering of another was good at giving you perspective, even if it was a donkey.

They walked through some pretty gardens, past a children’s play area where the volume rose above a comfortable level and then it changed to near silence as they reached a tree-lined area where many benches were dotted about. Each bench had a neat shiny plaque and they stopped to read them, noting the increasingly tear-jerking dedications. She was glad to come to the end. A sign announced the Poitou donkey enclosure and Daisy found her mouth tweaking at the edges at the sight of the giant hairy donkeys. They were friendly and came to the fence to be fussed. She discovered scratching a donkey’s ears was quite calming. A large gingery donkey cantered over, announced his arrival with a loud bray and barged the others out of the way.

‘Steady on,’ said Daisy, checking the name on his collar. ‘Hiya Guinness.’ Guinness wobbled his large head and tried to eat Daisy’s shirtsleeve, which made her laugh.

‘You feeling better?’ asked Tamsyn tentatively.

Daisy gave her friend a half hug. ‘Yeah, I am. Thanks for getting me out of the cottage.’

‘It’s what friends do.’

‘Let’s get a coffee. It’s my treat,’ said Daisy, and they followed the signs to the café. They took their tray outside and settled themselves down with a view of some white donkeys being fed their lunch.

‘Are you working today?’ asked Daisy in between mouthfuls of heavily buttered teacake.

Tamsyn gave a heavy sigh. ‘Yeah, they want me in at one o’clock, but they may not need me past four when everyone starts leaving the beach. I can never be sure what I’m going to get paid. Dad hinted again last night that I should be thinking about leaving home but even with saving all I can I don’t stand a chance of being able to afford my own place. Especially not around here.’ She sighed again and sipped her latte. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t moan. Especially not after the day you’ve had.’

‘My day has got a whole lot better,’ said Daisy. ‘Thanks to you.’ Tamsyn gave a weak smile, which quickly changed into a huge grin.

‘I’m going to hand in my notice. I’m going to quit the beach café.’

‘Whoa there. Let’s not get hasty,’ said Daisy. She wasn’t the best source of advice but at least Tamsyn had a job, however crap it might be.

‘No, I should have done it years ago. If I quit then I have to get something better.’ She picked up her coffee to clink mugs with Daisy.

‘Or you could keep the beach café job whilst you look for something else,’ she suggested. ‘That way you still have some income.’ How did you tell someone you cared about that this was the worst idea ever?

‘Hmm,’ said Tamsyn, appearing to consider this.

Daisy stared on wide-eyed and fearful. ‘What’ll you do?’

Tamsyn slowly ran a finger across her eyebrow. ‘I might do reading …’

‘I don’t think anyone will pay you for that. Unless you mean like a book editor – I think that’s all they do all day.’

‘No, palm reading, silly.’

‘I didn’t know you were like your mum.’

‘I’m not sure I am but if I don’t try I won’t know.’ Tamsyn was still grinning, the obvious flaws in her plan clearly not obvious to her.

‘You should probably test out your skills first. Punters will be hacked off if it turns out you can’t tell them their future.’

Tamsyn appeared to ponder this. ‘Let me try on you,’ she said, taking Daisy’s hand.

Daisy looked about her quickly, what would other people think? It looked like Tamsyn was about to propose. ‘I think you’re meant to read it not hold it,’ pointed out Daisy, embarrassment stealing over her.

‘I’m seeing if I can sense a connection.’

A loose connection in Tamsyn’s head was all Daisy could think of. Tamsyn shut her eyes and gripped Daisy’s hand. Daisy acknowledged an elderly couple who went past shaking their heads. Daisy waited. ‘Anything?’

‘I’m not sure what I’m meant to be sensing.’

‘Usually people with a gift tell you something about yourself you don’t already know.’

‘How can I not know something I’m telling you? Makes no sense.’ Tamsyn looked confused.

‘If you have the gift. You tell me something I know but you don’t.’ Tamsyn opened her mouth looking as if a light bulb had just pinged on above her head. ‘And not something Reg told you,’ added Daisy quickly. Tamsyn’s face dropped. ‘Just relax and see if you can sense anything.’ Daisy offered Tamsyn her hand once more.

‘Okay, let’s try again.’

Tamsyn held Daisy’s right hand for a while. Daisy noticed her coffee was going cold so picked it up with her left hand, which felt odd and she clumsily put it to her lips.

‘A-ha!’ shouted Tamsyn her eyes snapping open.

Daisy slopped her drink down herself. ‘Cock,’ said Daisy and Tamsyn gave her an old-fashioned look making her feel she needed to amend her swearing. ‘Cock … a-doodle-doo?’ Tamsyn seemed happy with the alteration. ‘Did you sense something?’

‘Yes,’ said Tamsyn emphatically.

Daisy was preoccupied with wiping the spilled coffee off her top. ‘Okay, what was it?’

‘Teaspoons!’ said Tamsyn her voice triumphant.

Daisy stopped what she was doing and blinked. ‘What about teaspoons?’

Tamsyn straightened. ‘My mind was a complete blank …’ This did not surprise Daisy. ‘And then teaspoons popped into my head. Do you collect teaspoons?’ Daisy shook her head. ‘Hmm. Have a fear of teaspoons perhaps?’ Daisy shook her head again. ‘Do you even like teaspoons?’

‘Not especially,’ said Daisy, as the serviette she was using to mop up the coffee began disintegrating.

‘Ahh, but you don’t dislike them.’

‘No.’ This was possibly the oddest conversation she’d ever had.

‘There you go then.’ Tamsyn seemed pleased. ‘I think I might have something.’

‘It’s a bit of a cliché but seriously Tamsyn I don’t think you should give up the day job.’

‘O-kay.’ Tamsyn’s tone was sulky.

‘You need to plan what job you really want to do. What are all the things you love? Think of those and they may uncover a wonderful opportunity.’

‘I love buttons,’ said Tamsyn and Daisy bobbed her head enthusiastically whilst she tried desperately to think of an associated job.

In that moment Daisy realised she also wanted something more – to do something she loved and not just for the money. She was here until the end of June and she couldn’t spend her time doing nothing because then it would seem like a life sentence. In the back of her mind something Max had said started to germinate. Perhaps it was worth having a chat to the planning office about the railway building; it couldn’t do any harm.

Jason was sitting in the pub engrossed in a newspaper headline about a drugs raid in Exeter, not taking his eyes off the page as he sipped his half of shandy.

‘All right?’ Max pulled out the stool opposite noting Jason’s intense expression. This was the stuff of his dreams – a big police case.

Max was wearing his lifeguard’s uniform and his orange shorts strained when his muscled thighs flexed as he sat down. He put his pint down and looked across the table. It made Max smile that as well as the drugs raid, Nesbit the eagle’s safe return home had also made the local front page.

‘Have the shed arsons made it to the nationals yet?’ he joked.

‘Don’t ridicule it, it’s a serious crime, Max. Mr Patel’s shed was torched on Monday and his tortoise was burned alive.’ Jason’s face was sombre unlike Max who was already cracking up.

‘Toasted tortoise. It might become a delicacy,’ said Max, bringing his laughter under control.

‘He was very upset,’ said Jason, folding up his paper precisely and laying it on the table.

Max snatched up the paper and turned to the sports pages. ‘I hear you’ve got another big case to crack.’

‘Yes, a second burglary took place this morning.’ His eyes widened as he spoke.

‘Proper crime wave,’ said Max, with a smirk.

‘It could be the start of something. Perhaps organised crime.’ There was no mistaking the excitement in Jason’s voice.

‘Steady on,’ said Max, before taking a long slow drink. ‘Not likely in Ottercombe Bay though is it?’

Jason raised a finger. ‘Now, you say that but a place where you wouldn’t expect to find an underworld cell has to be the perfect place to hide one.’

Max couldn’t disagree with the logic, however unlikely it was in reality. It was hard to keep a straight face. He started to hum a melody.

Jason gave him a longsuffering look. ‘And you can stop with the Midsomer Murders theme tune as well.’

Max and Jason had always been mates – an odd combination of the once local troublemaker and the ultimate goody two shoes. They had diverse upbringings and therefore differing outlooks on life but their differences were what made them a good team. Max encouraged Jason to be brave, to step outside the rules occasionally and Jason tempered Max’s wayward streak.

Jason and Max were both from local families who could trace back their ancestry to multiple generations of Devon residents – but there the similarity ended. Jason had doting parents; a mother who worked part time and a father who was a coach driver and shared Jason’s love of trains. They were still very much in love after umpteen years of marriage and were immensely proud of their son, the policeman.

Max on the other hand had mainly been brought up by his mother who to all intents and purposes had been a single parent through his formative years because her husband had been in and out of prison as his petty crimes got bolder. She had finally moved to Scotland with a new boyfriend when Max was eighteen leaving him with his dad. His father had tried to stay on the right side of the law but it simply wasn’t profitable enough to support them both. Max turned a blind eye to his father’s antics until he tried to persuade him to join him on a criminal venture – that was the last time Max had spoken to his father.

Jason adjusted his jacket and leant forward a fraction. ‘Your dad must be due for release soon. Isn’t he?’ he asked, looking slightly embarrassed.

Max’s expression changed. ‘Not for another couple of months. Let’s not go pinning anything on him just yet.’




Chapter Two (#u8881f309-5ef2-5e6d-8f5b-56d8dd21c484)


Jason was turning out to be a useful person to know. As the local bobby, everyone knew him and therefore he had a wide network he could tap into, particularly as he had a colleague with an uncle working in the local planning department. After a warm-up phone call from Jason he was happy to meet Daisy for a chat. She had made an effort, steered clear of both espresso and Bug’s furry patch on the sofa, and she felt ready for her meeting.

An older-looking gent with thinning hair and thick glasses collected her from the waiting area at the council offices and they did introductions.

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ said Daisy, starting to feel a little less prepared as she followed him into an office and saw a mountain of paper on his desk.

‘No problem but you will need to submit a formal application through the proper process. Anything discussed here today does not in any way constitute agreement of any changes to the property or land we are discussing. I hope you appreciate this?’

Daisy swallowed hard. With formal wording like that he would get on well with Great Uncle Reg’s solicitor. She hadn’t even suggested anything yet and she was being told off. ‘Yes, of course. I’m just looking for guidance. Some ballpark areas that may be worth exploring.’

‘This is the last application we received for the property,’ said the planning officer, passing Daisy a pile of papers. She had a quick flick through and spotted some blueprints – it looked like her grandfather had taken the whole thing seriously and spent some money in the process.

‘And I think the solicitor said this was turned down, as were the other ones before it. I’m guessing the same would happen again if I were to suggest building a new property in what was the car park.’

‘I think that is a fair assumption. There are properties nearby that would be affected and the apartment building previously proposed would have looked out of place in the surrounding area and had a visually overbearing impact.’

‘How about smaller buildings? Single-storey properties perhaps?’ Holiday cottages could be a profitable option, thought Daisy.

‘Very unlikely,’ he said, a crease deepening on his forehead. ‘You see the car park has a designated public right of way through it.’ He drew a line with his finger across the blueprints virtually cutting the car park in half.

‘And knocking down the platform and railway building?’ She had to ask.

His frown intensified. ‘The railway station is considered a historic building. It is grade two listed and is therefore subject to a number of conditions. Demolition is not an option.’

‘Can I open the car park and charge people to park there?’ This felt like an easy way to make money although, now it was August, the summer season was already well underway.

‘Subject to obtaining a parking permit, public liability insurance and undertaking a risk assessment to ensure there would be no environmental damage caused by vehicles or inconvenience to pedestrians.’

Daisy had to control the urge to huff out her frustrations. ‘Could I not just take down the fencing and charge £5 a day?’ she said, failing to hide a brief pout.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Right, so what can I do?’ Daisy was starting to feel this was a pointless meeting.

He nudged his glasses down his nose and viewed the file over the top. ‘Subject to application you could apply for a change of use.’

‘What else can you use a car park for?’ It was hard not to sound cheesed off at this point.

‘I meant the building itself.’

Daisy perked up. ‘Could I convert it into somewhere to live?’ One holiday rental would be better than nothing, she thought.

‘It’s possible,’ he said, although his face said different. ‘But I believe something commercial that retains the original features of the property and complies with the grade two listing would be the most likely to be looked upon favourably.’

Daisy wasn’t sure what else you could do with a railway platform and dilapidated ticket office. ‘Like what?’

‘A railway museum perhaps?’ He looked the most animated he had since she’d met him. What was it with men and trains?

She felt her shoulders slump forward in surrender. ‘I don’t think that would bring in much money.’

‘You’d be surprised. There are a lot of railway enthusiasts who would be interested and it would likely cover the increase in rates that would accompany a change of use.’

‘Increase?’ said Daisy sitting up, meerkat-like.

‘Yes, there is an annual cost associated with the property, which will fall to you as the owner. Any change of use will incur a review and a likely increase.’

Bloody brilliant, thought Daisy, not only could she do nothing with it, which would mean it would be virtually impossible to sell, it was also going to cost her money. Great Uncle Reg hadn’t thought this through.

The planning officer went on about what she could do to keep the site secure as they had had some complaints over the years of kids messing about and playing ball games in the car park area but Daisy let it wash over her, agreeing at what she hoped were appropriate moments. There was no way she was throwing good money at it. She thanked him for his time and advice, took his business card and vowed to think carefully about all he had said. But it was unlikely she would be submitting a planning request any time soon.

She decided she needed something stronger than an espresso and headed for the pub. Monty gave her a warm welcome and she sat at the corner table where she had sat with Max and sipped a large glass of Rioja. She had taken a liking to red wine whilst living in Spain and Rioja was one of her favourites, but it didn’t taste the same today; there was a certain bitter aftertaste.

Just when she thought she was at today’s low point, Max walked in, looking tanned and relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world. He scanned the bar and when his eyes alighted on Daisy his face fell and Daisy involuntarily huffed. She didn’t like him because ever since she’d come back he’d seemed to annoy her; what with leaving her to lug home the heavy boxes, suggesting her mother had killed herself, knocking coffee down her before her interview and generally being hostile. It appeared to be a mutual loathing; although she wasn’t sure what she’d done, she got the feeling he was on Great Uncle Reg’s side when it came to what was best for her. She began studying the contents of her glass. Monty materialised and started to pull Max a pint – it appeared a bob of the head between them was communication enough. Daisy wondered how Max could afford to drink out virtually every night and then realised she had no idea what he did for a living.

Max took his drink, turned around and scowled briefly at Daisy.

‘You can sit here too, if you like.’ Daisy indicated the empty seats. She guessed it was most likely Max’s usual spot. She wasn’t going to move but she would attempt to be civil, however hard that might be.

Max gave a quick look around. There weren’t any other tables available. ‘Okay,’ he said looking rather reluctant as he sat down opposite Daisy sending across a whiff of freshly showered man. ‘Sorry to hear about the burglary.’

‘Thanks.’ She noted his clean t-shirt and casual jeans. Even his clothes mirrored his customary relaxed demeanour.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their respective drinks and avoiding eye contact until Daisy could bear it no more. ‘My day was shite. How was yours?’

Max sniggered. ‘Not great, but possibly not as bad as yours. What’s up?’

‘Met a planning officer about the old railway. Turns out it’s grade two listed so I can’t demolish it and I can’t build near it. All I could do is apply for change of use and make it into a boring museum for railway nerds.’

Max was frowning. ‘If you can apply for change of use I’d have thought there were more options than just a museum?’

‘He said commercial use, but there’s not a lot else you can do with a moth-balled ticket office,’ she said glumly.

‘Er, yeah there is,’ said Max, taking a long drink of his pint.

‘Like what?’ There was more than a hint of a challenge in her voice.

Max sat back in his seat and let his knees part. ‘If you think about the other ones locally there’s one that holds craft workshops, they seem to do okay. There’s one they converted into a pottery shop, another one is an antique shop – they specialise in railway memorabilia so they might be interested in your stuff.’

‘Hmm.’ She didn’t look convinced.

‘What about all the other old buildings that get converted, like banks and post offices? I’ve seen them turned into bars, coffee shops, restaurants, offices and one of them is even a car showroom.’

‘I can’t see the planning officer going for any of those; he seemed quite set on the railway museum idea. And all your suggestions sound like they’d cost a lot to fit the building out.’

‘You’re just on a downer – nothing I say is going to be a good idea because you’ve already decided you don’t want it to be a success.’ Max took another easy slug of his beer.

‘What? Of course I want it to be a success.’ Daisy was starting to get riled. She tried hard to control it with a mouthful of Rioja.

‘No, you don’t. You don’t want old Reg to be proved right. You’ll sabotage your time here just to prove a point.’ He shook his head.

‘You are talking nonsense. I’m here aren’t I? And I have every intention of staying the full year.’

‘But then what?’

‘I’ll go travelling. There is a whole world outside of Ottercombe Bay, but you probably hadn’t noticed because you have your head so far up your own arse!’

‘And you running away again was precisely what Reg was trying to avoid. He’s given you an opportunity most people would jump at. But you’re just too stubborn to see it or even try.’ Max stretched out his arms, folded them behind his head and raised an eyebrow as if in challenge.

‘Travelling opens you up to a world of possibilities and experiences and—’

‘It’s still running away.’

Daisy was fuming. ‘I have neither the patience nor the crayons to explain this to you.’ She downed the rest of her wine, slammed down her glass and stormed out.

Daisy sat on the headland, her face pointed out to sea but she wasn’t really looking at the view and she certainly wasn’t seeing anything. Her hand was resting near her throat where her mother’s locket used to sit. Her aunt had offered her one of her necklaces to wear but it wasn’t just the feel of the jewellery against her skin she was missing. She missed the connection she felt to her mother, the reassurance she had when she touched it. She knew people wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t a lucky talisman: to Daisy it was her connection with the past.

Losing the locket had given her a renewed desire to know more about her mother’s death, but she didn’t know where to start on a case the police closed eighteen years ago. She wished she’d done more investigating when she still had the locket – she was convinced it held the key.

She lay back on the grass, the sun warming her skin, and stared up at the wispy clouds drifting aimlessly above her. She watched the shapes slowly change. She remembered lying in the exact same place trying to see pictures in the clouds as a child – at moments like this it didn’t feel that long ago. She wondered how different her life would be if her mother hadn’t died. It was likely they would all still be living in Ottercombe Bay and she would never have travelled further than Exeter … or maybe she was doing her parents a disservice; perhaps as a strong unit of three they would have seen the world together – she couldn’t be sure.

She knew if she wanted to search deeper into her mother’s death she probably needed to call her father but that was always a difficult subject to broach with him. It would need careful planning, rather than rushing in – something she was famous for. She puffed out a breath. She had come up here to calm down and it had worked.

The row with Max in the pub had escalated quickly. Now she was thinking more rationally she knew some of what he had said was right, even if she hadn’t wanted to hear it. Great Uncle Reg had always looked out for Daisy, so she knew he only had good intentions when he had left her the old railway building and his forcing her to stay in Ottercombe Bay in order to inherit it was his attempt to get her to put down some roots. But when you had been nomadic for such a long time, it wasn’t that simple.

When her mother had died, her father had been devastated and the local rumours of how she might have died tortured him until he had packed up their things, flung them in the back of their old car and left the bay, taking Daisy with him. They rarely made it to a year in one place so she spent her formative years travelling around the UK. It didn’t take long for it to feel completely normal. They only ever came back to the bay for two weeks’ holiday each summer. That was all her father could cope with.

Daisy sat up and looked around. She watched the painted sky lighting up the horizon as the last drop of sunlight dissolved silently into the sea. The vibrant colours were reflected on the cliffs, giving the bay an ethereal glow – nature’s light show was beautiful. There wasn’t a lot to dislike about Ottercombe Bay. It was busy in the summer – the tourist trade was both a blessing and a curse. The tourists overran the place in high season but the locals needed that income to get them through the stark winter months.




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