‘Just investing in the place, surely. I don’t like to see shops empty. It’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?’
‘That’ll be £4.50 please,’ says Jan, handing over the messy cone with a couple of tissues. ‘Sorry.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ says Tim. ‘It’s about to get a whole lot messier, trust me.’ And he hands the cone to Josh whotakes it in both pudgy fists as though he has just received the Olympic torch.
‘Well, I don’t think it’s right,’ says Lottie, picking up the conversation again. She can tell by the stoop of Tim’s shoulders that he is disinterested but she ploughs on. ‘This is exactly the sort of thing I’ve seen on the news in recent years. It’s a real issue for local people. And you can bet that for every Olivia and Tobias Woolf, there are dozens more like them, up and down the coast.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not our fight, Lottie. Please, can we just try to have a nice break while we’re here? We’re on holiday, remember?’
As Lottie turns and opens her palm for the change from a fiver, Jan seems to hold her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
‘Problem?’ She asks, her kind weatherbeaten face looking between them.
‘It’s our Airbnb apartment,’ answers Lottie even though she catches Tim shooting her a look. ‘We’re right next door to a massive renovation project. The noise and dirt is awful and the owners are being so unreasonable about it.’
Jan gives a knowing nod of her head, sending her mop of frizzy black curls into motion.
‘Sign of the times, I’m afraid. We see it more and more. Not a lot you can do though. But it’s a shame if it’s spoiling your holiday.’ She gives Josh a wink as he stands quietly, face-planting into his ice cream.
‘You don’t know of any other rental spaces going free round here?’ asks Lottie. ‘Right now I’d settle for a caravan as long as it’s safe and quiet.’
Jan gives a thoughtful look but then shrugs.
‘Most spaces are booked up at this time of year. Some locals are also subletting. My son even decided to start camping with his friends at one point,’ she says with a shake of her head. ‘But I’ll keep an ear out for you.’
‘Thanks,’ says Lottie. ‘We’d appreciate that. Though it’s probably too late now to be honest.’ She sees that Tim has already left the shop taking Josh with him.
‘Don’t let it get you down, sweetheart,’ says Jan with another of her friendly winks. She has one of those faces that seems to have lived a thousand lifetimes already, has seen it all before, but can still smile. Lottie finds a lump coming to her throat inexplicably and she suddenly misses her mum. The stress of this week has obviously affected her more than she realised and Tim just doesn’t seem to get it at all. She is about to leave but then she looks down at the coins in her hand and deposits them in the Lifeboat Appeal box that is chained to the side of the till.
‘Thanks, my love,’ says Jan. ‘Mind how you go.’ And Lottie smiles with a nod of acknowledgement.
By the time they have arrived back at the holiday let, they are all hot, tired and sticky. Lottie is fantasising about a long cool shower and a moment of peace with her book if she can grab one. As ever, she feels herself bristle as they must run the gauntlet of the steps down through the garden to their apartment, which takes them past the builders. She has been trying to avoid them as much as possible since she lost her temper and smashed the speaker.
The building site is a hive of activity. Production levels seem to have been upped lately, even as the temperature rises, and for a moment she considers what hard work it must be in this heat; the sun beating down relentlessly amid all this dust and noise. As she walks past, she keeps her head down, eyes averted, determined to avoid an altercation today. But then she hears a voice, low and conspiratorial. It is Petras, the man who had tried to intercede for her, who saved Josh from a skirmish with the cement mixer. She briefly thinks again of his partner showering by the beach in her underwear earlier that morning.
Lottie’s features soften as she takes in his long, lean face, the imploring dark eyes. She pauses as Tim and Josh continue onahead of her and into the apartment. Petras has laid his tools to one side and is taking something out of his trouser pocket. To her astonishment, it is a lip gloss, an expensive branded one, its luxury packaging quite at odds with the muck and grime of its surroundings. He offers it to her.
‘I found this here, on the ground, when I start work today. It is yours? You drop it, no?’
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘No. Sorry, that’s not mine. I don’t really use things like that.’
He shakes his head at her, disappointment on his face.
‘Please. It is yours?’ he tries again.
‘No. Not mine. Thank you though.’
He shrugs apologetically as though this is somehow his fault and places the lip gloss back in his pocket. She is about to walk away when she stops again.
‘My name is Lottie by the way.’ She pats her chest and repeats her name as he nods and smiles. ‘My husband, my man, is called Tim. And my little boy is Josh,’ she says, indicating his height with her hand near the ground. Petras’s face breaks into a grin and he nods enthusiastically.
‘Your wife? Your woman?’ she prompts him.
‘Mila,’ he confirms and Lottie repeats the name to herself, remembering the woman’s gaunt beauty, her proud look as she washed herself.
‘I wanted to say thank you,’ Lottie adds. ‘For the other day. For helping.’
His eyes register concern and his smile fades a little. He looks about him, at the others working beside them and she sees they are being casually watched, overheard.
