He looks out across the bay and considers the handsome boats of varying sizes and splendour. What if he were to give up city life, the cut and thrust of finance, and retire down here? Take up sailing properly, even buy his own boat? It could work. And he’d be able to keep an eye on Livvy, find a new place.
The idea becomes more appealing with each passing moment, as he eats one hot chip after another, savouring the taste of salt and fat on his fingers, sluicing it all down with cold beer. His eyes narrow as he begins to lose focus, lost in this daydream; the coastline becoming a shimmering blur of colour and water and space. He is aware that he is feeling dizzy, light-headed, perhaps a little nauseous; the after-effects of bright sunshine, exertion and then coming into this cool, darkened interior. Perhaps he should have stopped sooner for shade and refreshment. Reaching for his pint again, he registers the pain in his chest, the fact his left arm feels weak and uncooperative.
Olivia was right. He should have taken better care of himself. Should have worn a hat, sun cream, kept out of the midday sun. What is it they say, mad dogs and Englishmen? A strange image crosses his mind of a rabid animal, frothing at the mouth, lunging and lashing out at everybody and everything. He looks down at himself, as if from a great height, and notices with mild interest that his head is lolling, he is listing to one side like a scuttled boat, broken on the inside, sinking and falling.
Tobias tries to call out for help. Will it come? He is alone in this quiet corner of the saloon bar. All the others are outside, on the beach, with their families or at home, taking the shade, having a siesta. Where is his family? He thinks of his wife, her soft, sad, disapproving eyes. ‘Oh, Tobias,’ she would say with disappointment. ‘What did I tell you?’ And Bella and Drew? Where are they? Then he remembers, he sent them away.Like Marcus. He said he would be leaving too. Said he couldn’t bear to spend another moment in his company, after the way he’d treated his mother all those years. The look of disgust and loathing written plain on his face.
And finally, he thinks of Susie. Yes, miraculously, he finds he can recall her face now. It comes to him quite clearly. He has not forgotten after all. Isn’t it strange, that hers should be the last face he sees, here at the end of it all? Before everything turns resolutely dark and, at last, black.
OCTOBER HALF TERM
FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER
62
‘I can see the sea,’ shouts Josh. ‘I see it, I see it, I see it.’
‘Ah, well done, mate,’ answers Tim, giving their son a high-five and then turning to Lottie with a private, indulgent smile.
She was unsure about coming back down here for another holiday. It had felt like returning to the scene of a crime. Though in fact, no case was ever found to answer for, as she had read in the online updates of local news. She had followed them feverishly for months while they were back in London, as their old lives had continued and they had sunk back into the well-worn grooves of their previous existence.
After a lengthy investigation and a long drawn-out tussle between the police, the fire service, the insurance company and the Woolfs’ legal team, a verdict of death by misadventure was pronounced for Petras. Lottie imagines that while it would never quite feel satisfactory for his widow, Mila, it is probably a relief to draw a line underneath it all and let him rest in peace. Tobias Woolf, on the other hand, was posthumously declared bankrupt. The insurance company failed to pay out due to negligence and his legal fees plus the subsequent compensation lawsuits ran into hundreds of thousands of pounds, devouring the proceeds from the sale of the London house and any residual savings.
It’s a small win, she concedes, as she takes up Josh’s hand, before he immediately shakes it off and runs in the direction of the beach. A year has made such a difference. Gone is the soft roundness and plumpness of her son, the fine, flyaway hair and instead are strong, sturdy legs, a wilful independence,shorter, thicker hair which is darkening to eventually match her own.
Lottie is glad they decided to come back at this time of the year. The October half-term break still brings a few visitors to the coast but not nearly as many as come in summer. But she likes the cooler, harder edge to the weather. The sea is darker, colder but still beautiful. The beach is only for the braver, hardier souls and she loves how desolate and quiet it is. Even the buildings look less chocolate-box without the sun to warm them, and most of the plants and trees have taken on a windswept barren appearance. Like the locals, they are in survival mode as the year turns slowly to its end.
On the way back from the beach, they find themselves traversing familiar cobbled side streets and it is hard not to feel a sudden swoop of anxiety – or even her old nemesis, anger – threaten to overtake her, but a few, deep steadying gulps of sea air and the sight of her husband and son placate her. She would hardly recognise the old fishmonger’s shop were it not for the fact that she spies Olivia Woolf inside, moving around what looks to be a calm, inviting interior where stylish works of art are arranged on walls and tables. And, with a double take, Lottie sees Mila standing at the till point, parcelling up ceramics in bubble wrap and cardboard, ready to be shipped to who knows where. Wow, she thinks, taken aback. That is certainly not a partnership she had ever imagined. After everything that happened at the renovation property, they seem to be the most unlikely of duos. They both look happy, though, contented in their work.
‘Look,’ she calls to Tim as he brings up the rear with Josh clamped to his leg. ‘She’s obviously made a go of it.’
Tim appears dumbfounded, looking around trying to assimilate what she’s talking about. Lottie resists the urge to sigh. She has been working on her patience, her anger management, for the last year and, though it can be a challenge at times, she tries to only see the good in everyone, especially her husband.
‘The shop,’ she says, nodding towards the smartly painted wooden exterior and its designer fittings within, which is glowing softly on this dour October day.
Tim still looks momentarily lost but then he reads the discreet signage above the window. ‘Olivia Saunders. Art & Ceramics.’
‘Yes, it’s interesting, isn’t it?’ says Lottie. ‘That she didn’t use her married name. Perhaps the word Woolf is still a black mark around here, like that burned-out shell of a house up on the hill.’
Comprehension dawns on Tim’s face and he nods sagely. ‘Ah well, good luck to her. For what it’s worth, I think she’s worked wonders with the place. And she’s obviously providing local employment.’
‘Hmmm,’ she agrees. ‘Yes, you’re right, I guess.’
‘Come on,’ says Tim. ‘Let’s see if they’re still serving ice cream at the corner shop. I promised Josh one and he’s like an elephant; he never forgets!’
Lottie takes one last lingering look at the gallery and then turns to follow her husband and son up the street.
63
Olivia carries a newly fired earthenware bowl in her arms, babying it like a newborn, clutching it to her dusty yet chic linen apron. She takes it over to the till point where Mila stands packaging up the day’s orders. Her co-worker cuts an austere figure—her hair still scraped back, her face blunt when in concentration—but Olivia can see how Mila has changed these past months. Grown brighter, more confident, her grief slowly lessening. She likes to think of her as a friend now, not just her employee. They share the living quarters upstairs as well as the workspace down here and they manage to rub along in harmony. Mila’s quiet, serious countenance and head for figures has provided the perfect complement to Olivia’s sociable, customer-facing ease and allowed her enough free time to create as well as sell.
It hadn’t been easy for either of them in the aftermath of the house fire, Petras’s and then Tobias’s deaths, the legal and financial uncertainty of it all. Both of them had lost so much, felt branded by it. And the local community was naturally wary and guarded when they set up the gallery and studio space. So many of them still remembered it as the old fishmonger’s shop, an emblem of days gone by, perhaps better times. But then, as they started to make a go of things, both Olivia and Mila living here full-time and committing everything to making it work, a gradual respect seemed to have grown for them and many of the locals have since said that it’s good to move on, to look to the future. For the sake of the next generation.
Olivia often thinks of her children, has missed them terribly when they have not been around, worried about how they are processing the death of their father. Bella had thrown herself back into uni life and Drew had been gratefully enveloped back into the familiar cocoon of his private school and studies. Thankfully his final year’s fees had already been paid and he was allowed to stay on as a boarder when the London home was sold. She had tried to be as much of a comfort to them both as she could, but she also felt a euphoric sense of release that went hand in hand with grief.
Her relationship with Bella became particularly strained at one point, with recriminations and blame followed by long gaps in speaking to each other. But her daughter seems to have settled now, met a nice new boyfriend – one a little closer to her own age this time – who appears to be a steadying presence in her life. Olivia only hopes he isn’t just another father figure.
Drew, on the other hand, would call her from school regularly and even let her write to him in time-honoured tradition. She would send him silly postcards from the corner shop with cryptic in-jokes written on them and Olivia felt blessed that she hadn’t lost him too. He passed his A levels with flying colours as predicted and gained his first choice of uni to study history with politics but then had surprised them all by deferring for a year. Instead he came down here and joined her by the coast, decided to work a summer season, helping out at the beach and working for the Taco Lads.
