It was taken years ago on the day my GCSE exams ended. In the photo, a group of us from school are sat, tanned bare legs and sand-coated feet dangling, on our favourite rock on the beach, against a backdrop of rugged cliffs and a cloudless azure blue sky. Betty’s finger slides across to the blond-haired lad who I’m leant against. ‘Ah, I remember the Coombes boy.’
‘You mean Noah?’ Pausing, I lean over and stare at sixteen-year-old Noah.
Betty holds the photo closer and screws up her eyes to get a better look. ‘You and the Coombes boy were childhood sweethearts.’
I nod. ‘Noah was my first love.’ I decide to miss out the bit about how we had a pretend wedding on my sixteenth birthday on the beach as Betty doesn’t need to know that and my father is still unaware. Lord knows what he would say if he knew.
Noah wrote me tiny love letters on little scraps of paper and inserted them into my pencil case when I wasn’t looking, he wrote me poems in our English class, and he held my hand under the desks in maths lessons.He was the boyfriend who was perfect in every way… until he broke my sixteen-year-old heart.
‘I was surprised at seeing you and the Coombes boy together. Your father never had a good word to say about the Coombes family.’
Fidgeting on my chair, I scratch my itchy neck. ‘I should have listened to Dad. He was right about that family.’
Betty leans closer to me, her nose twitching inquisitively. ‘A few weeks after this photo was taken Noah told me his dad was emigrating to Ireland. He swore to me that he would write me letters, emails, call me and save up enough money to visit me.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘He said we’d one day meet again down by our rock in Blue Cove Bay.’
Our rock is a small one that sticks out from the slate grey cliffs that hem Blue Coves Bay’s beach. It has a peculiar angular shape and if you squint it looks like the side profile of an ogre’s head with a nose, forehead, and jaw. You can climb up the side and sit on the top of it to watch the world go by or listen to beachgoers below comparing their suntans. I first discovered the rock after Mum died. If you sit on the rock and look up, you can see the edge of the coastal path. Sitting on the rock used to make me feel closer to her. When Noah came into my life, the rock became our meeting place. As teenagers we would run and escape up there. For a long time, it was our happy place.
Betty laces her fingers together. ‘The Coombes boy didn’t come back to meet you by your rock. I wonder why that was.’
Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. ‘He never wrote back or called, Betty. I know it sounds silly, but I’ve always wondered why he did that. Noah and I had something special back then and we both cried the day he left. I honestly believed him when he said we would one day meet again by our rock.’
‘You both were very young.’ Betty takes another glance at the photo. ‘A handsome boy like that would have been very popular with those Irish girls.’ She stops and stares at my face. ‘I’ve said the wrong thing again – haven’t I?’
Years of Noah Coombes agitation rises inside me. ‘Betty, I know Noah and I were only sixteen and he probably did hook up with a new girl the minute he stepped off the ferry but…’ My neck and shoulders stiffen. ‘I can’t forget about what he did. If I am honest, I’m still mad at him for leaving me hanging on. I know it sounds silly, but I carried on writing to him and heneverreplied.’
Betty fishes out a ball of tissue from the sleeve of her lilac cardigan. ‘I think you’re still mixed up about what happened with your wedding. Heartbreak can dredge up all sorts of painful memories.’
I let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’m not getting my heart broken again. Frankie thinks I’m being negative when I talk like this but falling in love with scumbags and getting hurt is taking its toll on me. No one is going to get a chance to hurt me again.’
Lucas goes off to wander around the tea shop. Betty leans over to whisper, ‘I see Pete Towns was in that photo. His mother was never happy with the haircuts I gave her. I don’t like to speak bad about the dead, but she was a miserable woman who had coarse black hair. It was like cutting wire. I hear Pete’s bought a house on the outskirts of town.’
‘Yes, he has.’ Guilt at declining Pete’s invite to his housewarming party creeps over me.
Betty frowns. ‘Wasn’t Pete close to the Coombes boy?’
It takes a lot to push the words off my tongue. ‘They were best friends.’
Betty flashes me a mischievous smile. ‘Good job Noah didn’t return – eh?’ She glances over at Lucas who is busy sticking his tongue against the front window. ‘Lucas looks more like Pete every day.’
A familiar uncomfortable feeling passes through me.
CHAPTERTHREE
It’s Sunday and my only day off from Ronald’s tea shop. The old grandfather clock in the hall downstairs is chiming to announce it’s seven in the morning, which I don’t want to know as I’d rather be still asleep. I’m awake with my head shoved under the pillow, although not to block out the noisy clock. It’s so that I can rid my nose of foul-smelling dog wind.
Lucas and I are living in my old bedroom. Lucas has my old bed and I’m sleeping on Dad’s camp bed, an uncomfortable metal contraption, which is low to the ground. It also doesn’t quite fit in the room so we can’t fully close the door. This means Bean, Dad’s beagle, likes to come in during the night, curl up beside the camp bed and break wind whenever he pleases.
My phone bleeps. It’s Frankie. ‘Alice,’ Frankie croaks, his voice thick with emotion. ‘Please come to The Little Love Café.’
‘What?’ I gasp, sitting up on my camp bed. Luckily Lucas hasn’t stirred.
My heart is pounding. Something is wrong. I don’t think I’ve heard Frankie this upset in a long time. ‘Now?’
‘Yes.’ His voice wavers.
Creeping downstairs, I rummage in Dad’s desk for a pad of paper; I need to write him a note and let him know where I’ve gone. The only thing I can find is the cream letter writing paper I was using when I returned from Surrey. In a tear-fuelled frenzy, I decided to write all fifty-six of my wedding guests a handwritten apology note for the wedding cancellation. My first and only handwritten letter is still attached to the pad.
Dear Ray, Irene, and family,
