Page 11 of My Summer of Magic Moments

Claire heard a creaking as her sister ventured in. Heard the click of the light switch, the blink into darkness. She lay down in her own bed, settling onto her pillow with a sigh and a warm feeling of love for her sibling. Then, unable to resist pulling out an old saying of their gran’s, she perched up on one elbow and shouted across the landing, ‘Night, night, sleep tight. Hope the bed bugs don’t bite.’

‘Bitch,’ was launched back. But she knew Sal was grinning too.

It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages. Claire squinted her eyes to try and gauge the time. Gone ten o’clock! She could hear someone shuffling about downstairs, the sound of a kettle bubbling to a boil. Ah, a cup of tea, that would be good. She tried to sit up and felt like she’d been hammered all over during the night. Hammered was certainly something to do with it, she winced, trying to pull a leg out of bed. Oh, good God, she hadn’t had a hangover in years. Through all the cancer treatment she’d steered clear of alcohol, thinking her body had enough to deal with. Obviously her tolerance levels had plummeted – she hadn’t had much more than two glasses. Okay, so maybe they were large glasses. Now she realized she’d probably been a bit stupid, but she’d been enjoying herself, had lost track.

She summoned the energy to creep downstairs, to find Sal in the kitchen popping teabags into mugs.

‘Hey, you – I was going to bring one up to you.’ Her sister looked amazingly bright-eyed and breezy.

Claire slumped onto a kitchen chair, leant her arms on the table and placed her head in her hands.

‘Paracetamol, hun?’

‘Yes please.’

‘No worries, always keep some in my handbag.’

Thank God her sister was so organized. ‘Ta.’ She raised her head a little, trying to avoid any sudden movements as things seemed to be slamming around in her brain.

Sally passed her a large glass of water and placed two painkillers in her palm. Her tongue seemed to seize up as she popped them in and tried to swallow, her throat constricting around them. She gulped down a couple of glugs of water to shift them. Now she remembered why she didn’t normally drink much.

‘Been up long?’ she rallied, trying to make conversation. She didn’t want to waste the limited time she had with her sister.

‘Since about three a.m., itching.’

‘Nooo!’

‘Just kidding, Clairebo! Had you there, though. No, I’ve only been up about half an hour myself. Been sitting looking at the view. Not a bad spot you’ve got here. I can just picture it all done up, a nice white-and-blue beach theme going on. All distressed furniture and shabby chic instead of just shabby.’ Sal passed her a steaming mug of tea.

‘Hmm.’ Yes, she could picture that too, like something out of Homes & Gardens, all beachside chic. Her sister had always had an eye for design – her own house was gorgeously furnished and decorated.

Claire then wondered what, or more precisely who her sister had been watching out on the beach. It would hopefully have been too late for Grumpy-Gorgeous’s early-morning swim. That was a little gem she liked to think she could keep to herself.

‘That guy next door was out jogging with his dog.’

Was she some kind of mind-reader?

‘Oh, right.’ She tried to sound cool. ‘What kind of dog has he got?’

‘Labrador. Black one.’ Pause. ‘He’s quite dishy, isn’t he?’

‘What, the dog?’

‘Hah, very funny. Your neighbour.’

‘Hmm, not bad. I told you he’s a right grumpy thing, though.’

‘He certainly is. I had to nip and get something from the car as he was coming back in. He wasn’t very chatty, I must say. He’s called Ed, apparently. That’s about all I found out. The dog’s cute, though. She was far more friendly.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a dog myself one day.’ Claire was glad to move the conversation on.

‘Me too – a spaniel or something. Though our house is mad enough at the best of times. Can’t quite imagine a dog in the mix at the moment. Maybe when the boys are older, then they could help walk it.’

Claire sipped her tea, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon, but it was kind of soothing letting her sister chatter on. She just nodded now and then, with an occasional ‘Ah-huh’, until finally her head began to clear, though it was still fragile. ‘Think I might head up for a shower.’

She felt somewhat revived by the splashing of warm water and zingy blast of shower gel.

Half an hour later they were strolling down the beach, heading towards Bamburgh, where they spent a very pleasant hour in the courtyard garden of the Copper Kettle tearooms with a pot of Earl Grey and some very scrummy slices of lemon drizzle cake.