‘Morning, Mabel. Everything all right?’ He stretched his aching right arm up to the back of his neck.
‘No, lovey, it’s not.’ Her pale-blue eyes held nothing but dismay, and Will wondered what was wrong with the B&B.
‘What’s wrong, Mabel? Do you need to sit down?’ He moved towards her, but she placed her frail hand on his.
‘It’s Meadow House. They’ve been trying to reach you all morning. They called here.’
Every fibre of Will’s being woke. ‘Is Babs okay?’
Mabel slowly shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, lovey. She passed away in her sleep last night.’
He was sure that was what she said, but it took a moment for her words to sink in fully. Not knowing what to say or how to act, he just stood there, lifeless.
‘It’s okay, Will. I’ll help you.’ Mabel gestured at his room. ‘You get yourself ready, and we’ll pop over there in a jiffy. See what needs to be done.’
As he seemed to be unable to make any decisions himself, he followed orders, only feeling his senses return when they stepped foot inside the residential care home.
Clare came rushing forward, flinging her arms around him tightly. ‘I’m so sorry, Will.’ She pulled back, offering a warm smile. ‘She was one of my favourites. I’m going to miss her so much.’
Mabel thanked her, as Will stayed silent. ‘We thought it best to come over. See what you want us to do.’
Clare shook her head. ‘Oh, there’s nothing to do. It’s all sorted.’ She moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘Her body has already been taken, and I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Babs had made her own funeral arrangements a while back. Bought some package deal at the local funeral directors. I can put you in touch with them.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Mabel, as Will went over to a nearby chair to sit down.
From the moment Ginny tossed him out of her life to the second his backside met the plump seat in the foyer of Meadow House, it all seemed like a never-ending nightmare. Had he been the one who died? Did the Grim Reaper play tricks?
Alive or dead, Will had no one anymore. Babs was his past. Ginny no longer a future. He didn’t need to make arrangements for his gran, like a normal family member, because even that had been taken away. So he just sat there, feeling alone.
‘Come on, lovey,’ said Mabel. ‘Let’s get you home.’
The drive back to the B&B seemed to take longer, and Mabel going on about Boxing Day dinner went in one ear and out the other. What day it was no longer mattered.
Mabel stuck the kettle on as soon as they entered the warmth of her kitchen, but Will wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat or sympathetic smiles. He made his excuses and left, and not just for his sake. Mabel needed to be back in her own life, not worrying about him.
He waited in his room until he heard her go off to her friend’s house for dinner, then he popped back to the kitchen to grab something for his empty stomach.
Mabel had left him a note, stating there was a plate of turkey and stuffing sandwiches in the fridge with his name on them.
Will unpeeled the foil to check he had the right grub, grabbed a bottle of water, then headed off to his new shop.
It was cold inside, reminding him to call the electricity company soon. Sheila had cleared the place, leaving nothing but a small toilet and a back room suitable for a kitchen.
Shaun had promised to start renovations in a couple of weeks, so that was something at least. There wasn’t much to do in the grand scheme of things, but it certainly felt overwhelming as Will sat on the hard floor, going over the to-do list.
He bit into a sandwich, hoping it would help settle the swirl in his gut.
Paint charts caught his eye. He still hadn’t decided on a main colour. Something to do with the sea was winning the race, but Ginny’s café had the harbour theme well and truly in place. Perhaps aquamarine gingham for tablecloths and awning. Maybe the tearoom could look beachy, rather than harbour. Flip-flops and buckets and spades. But there wasn’t anywhere in Port Berry to make sandcastles.
‘Hmm.’ Will glanced around. ‘Speak to me.’ He stood, eating his sandwich as he approached the window to stare out at the empty street.
Ginny would be with her friends, enjoying Boxing Day, or not, seeing how he’d embarrassed her in front of them. There was no point thinking about how much she hated him. He’d had about as much self-pity as he could take.
‘Ah,’ he said, mouth full, pointing towards the lighthouse in the distance. ‘Could go red and white like that.’ He shook his head, as candy canes came to mind.
A seagull cried outside, gaining attention. Will knew he’d have a war on his hands with that lot come summer.
Harbour Light Café hit all the right notes for the fishermen, but what if the tearoom focused on the pirates of Cornwall? Surely that would make the customers smile. He’d noticed therewas something about a pirate at every turn since he arrived. Why shouldn’t the tearoom join in with the stories? He wouldn’t be able to fly the flag, as Robson’s pub already had one behind the bar, but he could have parts of a ship, make it more light-hearted so kids would tug their parents inside to plop on a hat and eat a skull and crossbones cupcake.
