Page 1 of The Summer That Changed Us

Chapter One

In Merle Bay, a small seaside town on the north-east coast of England, two seagulls were squabbling on Katie Small’s kitchen roof. She flung open the window and threw out her toast crusts into the cottage’s tiny backyard.

‘Stop fighting, you hooligans,’ she yelled.

The squawking stopped instantly, and two enormous white and grey birds swooped down to collect their spoils and flew off above the rooftops.

Peace at last, thought Katie, swallowing the last of her coffee.

The seagulls didn’t bother her anymore; she was used to their boisterous antics. Unlike her auntie, she laughed to herself, remembering how Auntie Jean used to yelp and duck down if one of them ever came near, convinced they’d attack her if they got the chance. Vicious blighters, she’d mutter darkly.

The yard, deserted now, was bright with spring sunshine and the terracotta pots her dad had filled with cheerful primulas yesterday caught her eye. Good old Dad. He and Mum had come up from Nottingham to spend the weekend here at the cottage. Allegedly to relax before flying off on holiday last night, but Dad had hardly taken his coat off before he was wielding a screwdriver, oiling squeaky hinges and tidying up the garden. He was always the same when he was here. Auntie Jean had been his older sister and he’d worshipped her, but now she was gone and the cottage belonged to Katie, he’d taken up the role as official handyman. Mum was as bad: washing everything in sight, from the net curtains (which really had to go, Katie thought with a sigh) to the cushion covers, right down to the skirting boards. Never knowingly without a damp cloth in her hand, that was his Josie, Dad had said fondly about his wife, teasing that that would be the epitaph on her tombstone.

Breakfast over, Katie quickly shoved the butter and milk back in the fridge, tossed the bread in the bread bin and ran hot water in the Belfast sink. The kitchen was tiny, a single storey addition to the terraced cottage. It was the only room which had been redecorated since Katie moved in with her auntie ten years ago. With its cream and pale blue colour scheme and beach-themed artwork, it was the room Katie felt most at home in. She washed her mug and her toast plate, drying them up with one of her auntie’s tea towels, which she noticed was looking a bit threadbare these days. Another thing to add to the list, she thought. But not right now, because it was already eight o’clock and she wanted to put a new window display in the shop before she opened up.

Katie went through to the living room to collect her keys and all the props she’d prepared for the window. She was filled with a sudden rush of warmth as she recalled one of a series of conversations she and Auntie Jean had had when it became obvious that the old lady’s days behind the counter were numbered.

‘Let’s talk shop, our Katie,’ she’d say, making herself as comfortable as her advancing illness would allow. ‘The shop window is our biggest advert. It’s our customers’ first impression of Auntie Small’s. Always make it a good one.’

Katie swallowed a lump in her throat at the memory.

The crocheted blanket draped over her aunt’s wingback armchair in front of the gas fire, the collection of china figurines on the shelves of the dresser, the hessian bag bulging with sea glass in the corner next to the plastic case full of Jean Small’s seventies disco vinyl records … Despite it being over a year since she’d died, her presence was evident in every nook and cranny of the cottage.

‘Right,’ said Katie determinedly, scooping up her shoulder-length chestnut hair and securing it into a bun. ‘I’m off to make a good impression.’

She picked up a wooden crate and a black sack full of willow twigs and stepped out onto Merle Bay’s high street, a steep hill lined with a mix of cottages, shops, tea rooms and a pub or two. She gazed downhill as always while she locked the door, marvelling at the view: a shimmering blue-green sea, under an endless sky.

Her heaven, her haven. She was happier here than anywhere else in the world.

Still with keys in her hand, she moved uphill a couple of paces to the next door and unlocked it. Her five-second commute was over. It was time for work.

Forty-five minutes later Katie climbed down off her chair and fanned her face, glad to be out of the direct sunlight. She studied her new spring window display critically. Not bad at all.

After her parents had left yesterday, she’d spent the evening making flowers from tissue paper. Now they were suspended with coloured thread from branches of twisted willow. She’d taken a rustic wooden crate that had been lurking in the shed full of Auntie’s gardening paraphernalia and brushed it clean. Now it was stuffed with armfuls of tulips and anemones and bluebells – artificial of course, she didn’t want to have to touch the window again for at least another four weeks.

She leaned back into the tight space and adjusted one of the mannequins. There. Done. The new spring lingerie collection at Auntie Small’s was officially on sale: cotton prints, sleek satin and pretty lace in pastel shades of yellow, pink and aqua – something for everyone. Well, nearly everyone. She pushed up the sleeves of her oversized shirt and remembered the utilitarian plain white garments beneath. She favoured sports bras: supportive and comfortable with the added bonus of strong compression which made her boobs look smaller than they were. Not in the least bit flattering, and neither were her big knickers, but as it had been two years since she’d allowed anyone close enough to see her in her undies, what did it really matter?

‘Why can’t you wear something a bit more sexy?’ her last boyfriend, Gareth, had complained. ‘Even my mum wears smaller knickers than you.’

It was the last time Gareth saw her underwear, or her for that matter, because she dumped him on the spot. That sort of comment made Katie’s skin crawl. It wasn’t that she was a prude, but she wanted a partner who respected her choices, not ridiculed them. And shortly after that, Auntie Jean’s leukaemia worsened, and Katie had taken over the running of the shop. As much as she loved living here, the average age of residents was nearer sixty than thirty. There might be plenty more fish in the sea, but not many of them seemed to have made their way inland to Merle Bay. And as for internet dating, the thought of putting her profile online brought Katie out in a cold sweat.

The bell above the door chimed as the first customer of the day walked in and Katie abandoned thoughts of her dismal love life with pleasure.

It was Mel who owned the hair salon at the top of the high street.

‘Hello!’ said Katie, surprised.

There were only about six hundred people who lived in Merle Bay all year round (some of the houses were second homes, or holiday lets with no permanent residents); a good proportion of the women bought their underwear here and Katie was familiar with a lot of people’s vital statistics. But until now, not Mel’s. As far as Katie could remember, Mel had never bought anything from Auntie Small’s.

‘Hi.’ Mel hovered at the door, twirling a lock of her dark hair around her fingers. ‘Have you got anything that will make me feel like a million dollars, but ideally only cost me about twenty-five pounds?’

‘You’re in luck, loads of things fit that request,’ said Katie.

Nula, the shop’s only member of staff knew everyone. Katie remembered her saying that Mel’s husband had left her just after Christmas out of the blue. Which might explain why Mel looked as if she had lost quite a bit of weight since Katie had last been into the salon for a trim.

‘Is it for a special occasion?’ she added.

‘I wish,’ Mel said flatly. ‘No. I looked in my underwear drawer yesterday and was greeted by a sea of grey. It was depressing.’