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They strolled back, arms swinging, laughing and chatting, watching the children playfully run on ahead, and got back to the house in time for lunch. Sam always stopped to check if Maya needed a hand up some of the steeper paths, and for much of the way they’d walked in a comfortable silence. She knew it wasn’t awkward, as they were both happy to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the views.
Back at the bed and breakfast, the delicious aroma of baking cakes engulfed them as they entered the kitchen and Maya’s face flushed warm, invigorated by the wind and the exercise. Even with a couple of windows open, the room was hot from Rose’s cooking. But when Maya sat down, with a freshly brewed coffee placed before her, she felt suddenly tired and overwhelmed with anxiety, knowing she had to face the long drive home. She gave a spontaneous yawn and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Did the walk wear you out?” Sam asked, sitting beside her.
Maya shook her head. “A little. The Prosecco last night is probably catching up with me too. I’m not looking forward to the drive home.”
“Stay, then.” His tone was patient and caring, almost pleading.
“I can’t, Sam,” Maya said, looking at him, then breaking her gaze. She didn’t want to outstay her welcome. Sam’s family had been so accommodating, including her and the children in everything, but she knew she had to leave. “I’ve got to go home.” She was worried she was enjoying Sam’s company a bit too much.
“I know… I know.” His gentle smile touched her. “What time do you think you’ll set off?”
“If the weather stays like this —” she gestured to the ominous clouds outside — “I’m wondering if I’d better leave in the early afternoon.” Maya tucked a loose tendril behind her ear, blown out of her ponytail by the wind as they’d walked. She dreaded to think what she looked like, windswept and with no make-up. “Otherwise, I had been thinking about four o’clock.”
“That’s okay, you’re probably fed up with me anyway, and we have next weekend to think about too,” Sam said.
“Oh, yes. Are you sure you’re okay with Amber sleeping over?”
“I’ve promised Chloe. But I’m sure they won’t play me up too much. I’ll just have to be prepared to watch a girly movie with them.”
“Yes, that should do the trick.” Maya laughed. “Having a brother, Amber is pretty unfussy. She’ll watch anything. Just promise you’ll keep it to a PG.”
Maya let her children watch some movies rated twelve, but she usually sat with them, or had vetted them first.
“Of course,” Sam said. “I will check with you first before we watch anything.”
“Yes, well, if she gives you the ‘my mum lets me watch fifteens’ line, you’ll know she’s lying.”
“Don’t worry, I have a devious daughter too.”
“Why are they so intent on wanting to grow up fast? They’ll get to our age and wonder where the hell their childhood went.” Maya huffed, then laughed. She drained the last of her coffee from her mug. The caffeine was kicking in. She felt more alert now.
After lunch, the sun refused to make an appearance from behind the thick layer of cloud, but it remained dry. To have an excuse not to leave yet, Maya decided to peruse the shops along Kittiwake Cove high street with her children. There weren’t many, but it would be nice for Lewis and Amber to buy a souvenir to remember their holiday by and to take something back for Nanny and Granddad. She also needed to buy a gift for Rose and Charles for looking after her so well. There was a boutique which sold very pricey clothes but also seaside ornaments and trinkets, as well as another shop selling bits and pieces for the home and garden. She picked out some scented candles in terracotta pots for their garden, thinking they would be a good addition to their patio when they had barbecues. She thought they’d go well with the couple of bottles of wine she’d also purchased. Amber found some shells and a little something for Chloe — a friendship bracelet. Lewis wanted a toy which he found in the Spar, of all shops. Maya discovered a little something for her own home — a small piece of Cornish slate, hand-painted with the words ‘Kittiwake Cove’ to hang in her kitchen. She bought some traditional Cornish biscuits for her parents, and picked up a box for Pierce too, feeling she shouldn’t go home empty-handed. She couldn’t decide what else to get — she didn’t know him well enough. But everyone loved Cornish Fairings.
Loaded with all her gifts, Maya hesitated outside a gallery called White Horses. Amber and Lewis gave a moan. Maya didn’t want the kids going inside in case they broke something.
“You two go on ahead.” She could peruse at her leisure then, stress-free. “You know where the B&B is. Just watch the road and stick together.” Suddenly, Maya was wishing she hadn’t said they could go off on their own. Crossing roads and strangers added to her worry.
They walked off happily. Maya watched for a moment, then, reassured they were safe and sensible, she entered the gallery, the bell above the door ringing. It had a light, airy feel, with wood flooring and white walls adorned with paintings and framed photographs. Abstract ornaments made from glass, metal or clay were displayed on narrow white solid blocks and there was a rack of cellophane-wrapped prints near the door. In the far corner, a young woman in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, dirty with splodges of different coloured paint, was standing at an easel, painting a seascape. She looked up as Maya entered.
“Good afternoon.”
“Hello,” Maya said, nervously. It was so quiet, she felt that she was interrupting the woman’s concentration.
“Feel free to take a look around. Any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask,” the young woman said, smiling kindly at Maya. “I’m Tilly.” Behind Tilly was a pram with a baby asleep, which she occasionally rocked.
Maya strolled around the gallery, enraptured by the variety of paintings by local artists. One artist, specialising in the wildlife found along the Cornish coast, had an area dedicated to his work. He painted crabs, various seabirds including a cormorant, which made Maya think of Joe’s pub, and even a puffin. Maya particularly liked his detailed painting of a starfish. There were seascapes and landscapes in oils, acrylics, and pastels, depending on the artist’s preferred medium, some more abstract, some more traditional, almost photographic. The seascapes were Maya’s favourites, capturing the waves crashing against rocks and the sky in different shades. There was one large, prominently displayed canvas that particularly captured her attention. It reminded her of the view she’d seen the other evening, sitting with Sam and watching the sun set over the sea at Kittiwake Cove. Unfortunately, although the price was probably very reasonable given the hours it had taken to paint, Maya couldn’t justify buying it.
“I’ve had that one made into a postcard,” Tilly said. “They only came in yesterday, ready for the summer.” Dropping her paintbrush into a jar of water, she went over to a stand by the till, found what she was looking for and held out a postcard of the painting Maya was looking at.
Maya admired the postcard as she took it. “I was thinking how I’d seen that view the other evening.”
“Well, when you live here, you see it often,” Tilly replied, standing next to Maya and looking at the painting with her. “I can pretty much paint that view from memory now.”
“So, you’re the artist?” Maya looked at the signature on the painting: Tilly Conway.
“Yes, and I own the gallery,” Tilly said.
