Page 25 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Skye got it: Clare had been expecting her and Ivy to be the sole focus of Liz’s attention. She was a new single mum who was bound to be still grieving for her own mother; she was probably desperate not only for a holiday, but for some maternal comfort. Skye was prepared to cut her some slack for all of that. But Clare was like a tiger around Ivy; every time Skye went near her, Clare found a reason to whisk her away. She’d offered to help at bath time, but by the look of indignation Clare had given her, anyone would have thought she’d suggested putting the baby on the barbecue. And her face when Liz had said she’d been given a different bedroom to usual – Clare had some serious resentment issues going on.

Once Ivy had gone to bed, things hadn’t improved much. After takeaway fish and chips – another first-day tradition to which Skye had been introduced – they’d sat outside watching the sun go down. Liz had opened a bottle of cava and relaxed once she had a drink in her hand. Clare not so much; she was paranoid that the baby monitor wasn’t picking up Ivy’s movements on the floor above and kept running up and down the stairs to check on her. Skye had offered to go for her a couple of times, but Clare wasn’t having any of it, so she’d stopped asking.

Liz’s drinking was a surprise. Skye had even seen her swig straight from a wine bottle yesterday afternoon when she’d thought no one was watching. And there were two empty cava bottles next to the sink this morning. She knew for a fact that Clare had only had one glass because she was still breastfeeding and Skye wasn’t a big drinker. Liz must have drunk the rest. Not a good sign.

Then there was the issue of Dad demanding money off Liz. Something felt odd about that. Surely if he was strapped for cash, he could raise it in a way that didn’t put his oldest friend under pressure?

Anyway, the long and short of it was that being in Salcombe for the summer didn’t feel quite the opportunity it had done when Liz had offered her the job on Friday night.

It was beautiful here, but … Skye sighed, watching a yacht glide through the water, leaving ripples in its wake … Should she stay, help Liz as promised, or go home and leave Clare to enjoy the holiday she’d expected? If she left now, she could be back in Exeter in just over an hour. She could apply for that job at the Night Market she’d seen instead to earn some money for the summer and then she could … what? Do what exactly?

She was almost thirty years old. Wasn’t life supposed to be sorted by now? At some point, she was going to have to stop running away and make a choice.

A sudden gust of chilly air sent her back inside; she shut the sliding doors, flopped into a chair and tucked her feet beneath her.

Growing up with two warring parents might have had something to do with her habit of running. She’d left home at eighteen to do Media Studies at university. That hadn’t been her first choice, but with her poor A-level results, she was just grateful for an offer. You should have applied yourself harder, Dad had said, like Clare, she had her pick of universities. (Clare had got straight As, natch.) Skye had finally dropped out of university, after trying two different courses. Dad had all but laughed and said that he’d expected as much, which had made her feel even more of a failure.

She imagined his face if she turned up at his house this morning. ‘Back again?’ he’d smirk. ‘That didn’t last long.’

Well, not this time. She wasn’t going to leave. She might be feeling as welcome as steak at a vegan barbecue, and she might be absolutely terrible as an upmarket caterer’s assistant, but she wasn’t going to give up. It was time to show Mike what she was made of. If he wanted his money out of the business by the end of summer, she’d make it happen.

Skye pushed herself off the chair with a burst of determination. She intended to get straight on with it. And she knew just where to start.

She ran upstairs, washed and dressed as quietly as she could and, once back down in the kitchen, picked up the keys to the lock-up and the business phone and slipped out of the house.

It was still early, but Salcombe was coming to life: shutters opening on shopfronts, the buttery smell of fresh pastries wafting out of bakeries, and vans trying to complete their deliveries before the tourists clogged the streets.

Skye stood at the crossroads and looked left and right, trying to decide which road to take. If that wasn’t an accurate metaphor her life, then nothing was. She felt the pull of the water and headed towards the quay.

She stood for a second gazing down at the water. The estuary was completely smooth and the sound of two boys messing about in a little dinghy in the distance was as clear as a bell. Maybe she’d take a trip to the beach later. Liz was doing afternoon tea for clients and would be out for a few hours; she could make herself scarce too and give Clare and Ivy some space.

As she turned to walk away, a figure caught her eye. A woman in a bikini was sitting on a towel at the end of the jetty, dark curly hair tied up in a ponytail, her posture faultless. Skye could only see her from the back, but she was struck by the lean muscles across her shoulders and down her spine. She was in lotus position, hands resting on her knees, thumbs to forefingers as if she was meditating. There was noise all around: people preparing their boats for a day on the water; seagulls; the rumble of cars; the roar of a speedboat in the distance, but this woman seemed oblivious to it all.

Skye slid onto a bench absently, impressed with the woman’s ability to focus, not to mention how self-confident she must be to sit there in a bikini.

In one fluid movement, the woman stood up and brought her hands to prayer position. Skye willed her to turn round so she could see her face, but instead she stretched her arms up and, with the neatest of splashes, she dived into the water. A second or two later, the woman’s dark head, sleek with water, re-emerged and she was gasping from the shock of the cold water, but laughing too. She dived once again, appeared a few metres away and then floated on her back like a starfish.

Skye couldn’t drag her eyes away; there was something so joyful about the way the woman gave herself up to the water, completely in the moment. Then she turned and swam back to the jetty and hauled herself out of the water.

‘Lovely morning!’ the woman shouted over to her as she picked up her towel and dried her arms and face.

‘Hey,’ Skye replied, embarrassed to have been caught spying on her. ‘That was impressive.’

The woman smiled and wrapped her towel around her. ‘What – the dive or getting into cold water?’

‘Both.’ Skye returned her smile. ‘I’m not sure I’d be brave enough.’

‘Of course you would be! The only limits you have are the ones you give yourself. You just need to have some self-belief.’ She slipped on her flip-flops, scooped up a tote bag and walked down the jetty towards Skye. ‘Anyway, I do this all year round – the water is practically tropical now compared with February.’

‘I do love the water,’ Skye admitted. ‘I grew up near the sea. And it does look tempting.’

The woman was even more beautiful close up. Similar in age to Skye, her wet skin tanned and goosebumpy, deep brown eyes with laughter lines at each side and a wide infectious smile.

‘Then you must try it some time – it’s such a good way to start the day. Boosts dopamine levels and gives you an endorphin surge. It makes you feel alive.’ She closed her eyes, filled her lungs with a deep breath and let out the air. ‘I feel incredible now.’

‘You’re certainly selling it to me,’ Skye laughed shyly. ‘Although I usually start my day with coffee.’

‘That works too,’ the woman replied, sitting beside her. ‘I can recommend the coffee from the café on Fore Street. I’m Marta by the way.’