Page 117 of In at the Deep End

The door opened, and Callum and Matt walked out, carrying trays.

“Callum showed me the bike.” Matt grinned. “She’s a beauty.” He set out the tea pot, cups, and saucers.

“She always was. Have you ever ridden one?” Owen asked.

Matt shook his head.

“Dad, you should take him over to the Isle of Wight.”

Before Owen could get a word out, Matt interjected, “Owen mentioned it when we were at IKEA.” His eyes gleamed. “He sold it as an area of historical interest, which is right up my street.”

“Dad was always going over there.” Callum’s face tightened a little.

Owen managed a smile. “It’s one of my favourite places.”

“Mum and Dad used to take me when I was a kid.” Callum helped himself to a biscuit. “Since then, I found entirely different reasons for visiting it. Well, mostly West Wight.”

“Why there?” Matt inquired.

“It’s the quieter side,” Owen offered.

Callum nodded. “I go surfing there, windsurfing, swimming. Or sometimes I just sit and stare at the sea.”

Matt smiled. “Sounds lovely.”

Callum brightened. “There’s this great pub, the Sleepy Dormouse Inn.”

Owen’s breath caught. “Is it still going? I haven’t been there in years.”

Six, to be precise.

“Yeah, it changed hands a few years ago. The two managers are brilliant.” Callum bit his lip. “You’d probably like Alex.”

“Why him in particular?”

His eyes glittered. “He bats for your team. His partner works there too.” Callum let out a sigh. “The view’s worth the trip on its own. You can sit outside with a pint and look straight across Compton Bay.”

“What’s the food like?”

“Worth getting hungry for. Proper pub food, huge portions, and they make one of the best steak and ale pies I’ve ever eaten.” He glanced at Owen. “If you do decide to go there, take some carrots with you.”

Owen frowned. “Carrots?”

Callum grinned. “Just in case Robbie’s around. He’s a thirteen-year-old Fox Red Labrador, and he loves carrots. His owner always brings a bag with him. And if you’re really lucky, you’ll get pulled into some fascinating conversations with some of the locals. There’s this one guy, Martin Simpson. He’s sort of the island’s dinosaur expert.”

Matt buffed his nails on his chest. “I deal with dinosaurs on a daily basis.”

Owen laughed. “Except yours are the stuffed variety.”

“Martin’s had fossils named after him. He’s trying for a record.”

Matt bit back a smile. “You’re both painting a wonderful picture of the place.”

“Then Dad needs to take you there.” Callum glanced at Owen. “You could drive to ours, leave your car, and take the Yamaha.”

Owen stilled. “Hey, I never⁠—”

“Come on, Dad. Zipping along those little winding roads? The island’s made for motorbikes. And you used to love riding it over there.”