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Joss looked down at his shoes. ‘Crap!’ he slid them off and left them on the doormat. ‘Will I see you at work next week?’
She smiled. ‘Of course.’
He lingered for a moment. There was an awkward silence. Abigail said, ‘What about your uncle’s car?’
‘Yeah, when I rang the AA they said if they get it repaired roadside, they’ll deliver it here. I gave them this address.’
Abigail spotted her mum, who had cottoned on to the fact that Joss was no longer following. She shifted her attention to Joss. ‘I’d better go. Bye, Mum!’
‘Bye, Abbi.’
Abigail turned to leave.
‘Oh, when will I get to see your cottage? Gerald told me you inherited it from Toby, who was the beneficiary of a trust made by Lord Somerville’s sister.’
That stopped Abigail in her tracks. She couldn’t believe Gerald had told her mum when she had expressly asked him not to. How long would it take for it to get back to the Somervilles?
Abigail’s mum wasn’t the only one staring at her. So was Joss. It was news to him too.
‘I can’t believe all these years Toby had a connection to the Somervilles, and you never told me,’ her mum continued.
Abigail heaved a sigh. The way her mum talked about them was as if they were royalty or something. She’d come into a lot of money with the insurance pay out, and had poured all the money, and her heart and soul, into her pride and joy, the biggest house on Shingle Cove. Abigail tried to keep her expression neutral. The trouble with her mum was that she always aspired to be something she wasn’t, to keep up with the Joneses. The only way she’d afforded the house was to run it as a guesthouse.
She could have bought a cash cottage like Toby’s parents had, but she’d wanted more, aspired to more – aspired to be like the Somervilles. She was a bit of a snob. Abigail hated snobbery, and she didn’t like that her mother thought people with money or titles, or both, were somehow better than everybody else. They weren’t. In fact, titles and money seemed to bring out the worst in people, and in some people a licence to behave however they pleased. Abigail was thinking of Oliver. He was an arrogant so-and-so.
‘Abigail? I asked you a question.’
She looked at her mother. ‘I don’t know, I’ve still got some things to sort out.’ Abigail wouldn’t elaborate.
‘Well, when you’ve sorted out whatever it is needs sorting, then we can come over.’
Abigail caught the sarcasm.
‘Gerald has already seen the cottage.’
‘No, I mean me, your brother and sister.’
I don’t think so, thought Abigail, although she didn’t say a thing. Why would Emily want to see her cottage? They hardly ever spoke. Her brother, Luke, was another matter, but she couldn’t imagine he’d be all that interested either, or have the time. In between shifts volunteering for the RNLI, he was a fisherman too, on his stepdad’s boat, working long hours.
Abigail just nodded at her mum noncommittally and waved at Joss. ‘Oh, can I leave my car here for a bit?’ she said.
‘Are you going for a walk along the beach, sweetheart? It’s such a lovely place to collect your thoughts.’
Abigail wasn’t planning to go there. The first time Toby had met her parents was when they’d decided to pop in when they were holidaying in Daphne’s cottage. Before they did so, he’d asked if she’d show him the beach. She’d thought he was just stalling, biding his time, building up his courage to meet them. Instead, he’d had it all planned. Toby had proposed on that deserted sandy cove. It had turned out to be the best day of her life.
‘Why don’t you show Joss?’ Her mother turned to him. ‘Have you seen the beautiful cove?’
Abigail caught him staring at her. There must have been something in her expression that told him accompanying her out of the guesthouse was not a good idea. ‘Perhaps another time,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see the room, though.’
‘This way.’
Joss smiled at her. ‘See you next week.’
She returned his smile and set off. She had no intention of going to the beach, but as she opened the gate at the bottom of the garden, she suddenly had the impulse to see the cove and revisit where it all began with Toby. But what good would that do? Despite her better judgement, Abigail turned for the shore. Taking the little lane down between the dunes, the cold sea air whipped around her hair, giving her goosebumps. Although still light, it was getting on for the evening. She expected the beach would be deserted. It was, apart from a solitary figure in the distance walking a dog.
Abigail wrapped her arms around herself as she walked along the sand down to the water’s edge, wishing she’d brought her coat. The small sandy cove could only be accessed from the village, which meant that at this time in the evening, the other person on the beach, walking their dog, probably lived in Shingle Street. Abigail stood for some time, staring at the horizon. Although it was still light, the sun was setting. It was on an evening such as this, with the sun setting on the horizon in a beautiful cloudless orange sky as the sun went down that Toby had proposed.
She stood there waiting and yet still no tears came. ‘Why can’t I cry?’
