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‘I guess so, but Mum regularly came out to visit me, wherever I was.’
The newspaper around Belinda’s parcel crackled when she folded her arms, crushing her bag against her chest. ‘Sofia showed off her holiday photos to everyone in the village. She lived for those visits.’
‘And we Skyped a lot when she was over here. All the time, really.’
Sorrow washed over Rosie as it hit her there would be no more internet calls, no more picking up Mum from foreign airports, no more sending her pics of hot and dusty Spain on WhatsApp. It still didn’t seem real.
‘Hmm, well I suppose that was better than nothing. And it’s good you’re back now. I dare say there will be a lot to sort out up at the house.’
‘I expect so. That’s where I’m going now.’
‘Right.’ Belinda’s sharp features softened. ‘If you need any help, don’t forget that we’re all here and watching over you.’
She was only trying to be nice. Rosie knew that, but the back of her neck still prickled. She always felt claustrophobic in Heaven’s Cove with its tiny, cobbled streets that were jammed with tourists in the summer months. Even the cove itself had a hemmed-in feel, with its crescent of bright sand curbed by cliffs at either end. But it was the constant feeling of being watched that had got to her as a teenager.
She couldn’t put a foot out of line without someone – usually Belinda – reporting back to her mum. Whether it was sitting with her legs dangling over the cliff edge, jumping off rocks into the cool sea, or skipping out of school at lunchtime to buy chips, the gossips of Heaven’s Cove made sure that her mother heard about every minor transgression.
‘Thank you, Belinda,’ said Rosie, her throat tightening. ‘But I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
‘You’ll be jetting back to Greece or Italy, or wherever it is you’re living now, before you know it. Everything done and dusted and Heaven’s Cove forgotten forever.’
Rosie nodded, not trusting herself to speak, as Belinda launched into one of her infamous gossip-fests. ‘Did your mother keep you up to date with village news while you were away? Did you hear that Phyllis Collins has moved to Exeter to live with her awful niece, Serena near the quay has taken up with a chartered accountant, and Simon in the old coastguard’s cottage has decided he’s gay?’
Rosie nodded again, although it was the first she’d heard of any of it – unlike Belinda, her mum didn’t revel in passing on village gossip. She was also sure that Simon hadn’t simply ‘decided’ to be gay, as Belinda had so succinctly put it.
‘And we’ve just carried out repairs on the village hall roof because the old one was leaking like a sieve. I ended up chairing the fundraising committee, of course. If you want a good job done around here, do it yourself.’ Her laugh juddered through Rosie like nails down a blackboard. Belinda was mostly well meaning, but she was hard to cope with on a day like today.
Rosie stepped into the road and moved around her. ‘Sorry not to stop and chat but I’d better get to Driftwood House.’
‘Oh yes, of course. As I say, we’re all very sorry about your mother. Sofia was an unusual woman – a bit of a hippy, really. But she was one of us and we’ll miss her. Look after yourself, my dear.’
A hippy? That was probably fair enough. Her mum was never happier than when walking barefoot over the cliffs, with wild flowers threaded into her long hair. Rosie batted away the painful memory and walked along the lane, dragging her suitcase over the cobbles and feeling Belinda’s eyes on her back until she turned the corner.
