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CHAPTER ONE
THE LETTER FELTlike it was burning a hole in Kate’s pocket. As she ran along the platform, she could sense it there, leading her on its merry dance. What in the world would possess her grandmother to do it? There must have been a mistake. Either the letter was fake, or had been sent to the wrong address. It was too good to be true; good things didn’t happen to people like Kate.
Kate hauled her bike onto the train and squished into a corner by the window. With no room on the luggage rack for her neatly folded bike, she leaned uncomfortably against it, pedals jabbing her legs as the train creaked out of the station. As the school holidays were finally over, Kate thought the train would be less busy. Not a chance.
Kate tried to look beyond the sweaty man in front of her to see who was travelling to the south west. She spotted a few grey heads. One couple had taken out their flask of tea and sandwiches before they’d even left Bristol Templemeads. She caught sight of a young couple, heads together, tongues locking them as one. Their slobbering made her feel sick. Newlyweds and nearly deads, that’s who was travelling that day.
There should be a separate category, Kate decided, -independent woman traveller. It didn’t have the same ring to it as the others, and if Kate were honest, she’d rather be in the newlywed category. Kate pulled down the window and let the smoggy city air cool her face. It was a good job she was small, or she might not have got on the train at all. It would be a long day if the train didn’t clear before Bodmin.
Kate’s feet ached like they were being held to a fire. She’d done a hellish fourteen-hour shift at The Sunbeam the day before. Kate was only supposed to be there till five, but one waitress had called in sick and she couldn’t turn down the money. If it weren’t for her good friend and workmate Flo, and the thought of a week’s leave coming up, Kate may have walked out on the job half way through her shift.What else could you do though?Damn the voice of reason. That same voice had kept her working a dead-end job in a run-down hotel for the past ten years.
The Sunbeam was an awful name for a hotel, but then again, it was an awful hotel, so perhaps it was appropriate. Despite the name and two-star ratings on Trip Advisor, tourists flocked there. It probably had something to do with the price; fifty-five pounds for a double room including breakfast was unheard of in Bath. You couldn’t get a cupboard on Airbnb for that.
Even worse than the name was the uniform. The manager, Silvia, insisted on all hergirlswearing a uniform. Unlike the posh hotels where uniforms were flattering, the Sunbeam’s chambermaids wore ill-fitting grey dresses, a large sun embroidered across their left breast. It looked like they’d been breast feeding and a baby had spewed its milk back up.
Hope your shift’s going OK,she texted Flo. Kate felt a pang of guilt for leaving her friend behind at the depressing hotel. If anything, Flo deserved a run of good luck more than she did. Kate had never met anyone who worked as hard as Flo, who battled against the odds to keep her head above water and still kept a smile on her face and a good-natured stream of expletives ready to make Kate laugh. If it weren’t for Flo’s encouragement, Kate may never have summoned the courage to get on the train and deal with the contents of the letter.
Kate tapped her pocket to check the letter was still there. It could be her ticket out of The Sunbeam and its endless stream of hen and stag parties to clean up after. It could mean the end of stripping sheets stained with foundation and fake tan, clearing overflowing bins and scrubbing hangover stained toilets.
In an attempt to rest her legs, Kate perched herself on the bike's saddle. The wheels went from under her and sent her flying into Sweaty Man. He turned with a scowl, which became a sickly smile as he realised his attacker was a petite brunette. Gross. Kate smiled back through pursed lips and shuffled herself and her bike as far back from him as she could, a distance that could be measured in centimetres, if not millimetres.
It already felt like a long day and wasn’t yet lunchtime. To save money, Kate had taken a bus from Bath to Bristol. The plan had been to cycle from the bus to the train station, but her phone battery had died, and without Google maps, she’d spent an hour cycling in heavy traffic before seeing a sign to the station.
Kate stuck her head out of the window as far as she could without risking decapitation. The air pounded her, clearing her mind of the cobwebs that had amassed over the past few months. The noise of the train and wind drowned out the anxiety she felt about making the journey. There was no turning back now, not until she had done what was needed. What would her mum think if she could see her now? She’d have a fit, or more likely drink half a bottle of vodka and swear at Kate till she passed out.Poor Mum, thought Kate, the familiar mix of sadness and anger twisting in her gut.
Green gave way to blue as the train snaked its way along the coastline. How old was she when she last made this journey? Five? Six? Kate could still taste the Spam sandwiches Mum had packed. She remembered the acrid taste as she’d taken a swig from Mum’s water bottle, only to find it wasn’t water at all.Grown up medicine, that’s what Mum had called it. Kate remembered jumping up and down on the seat when she’d first spotted the sea. It must have been one of Mum’s good days, as she’d laughed and cuddled her, singingOh I do like to be beside the seaside,until the woman in the seat behind asked her to shut up.
As the train arrived at Dawlish, the sandwiches and flask couple got off the train. Kate took her chance, pushing past Sweaty Man to secure a seat for both her and her bike. There was no smile from him this time. The scowl was back. Kate rested her head against the window and closed her eyes. She’d barely slept the previous night. Maddie had come round. Unlike Flo, who thought the letter equalled adventure, Maddie spent the evening trying to insist she come with Kate in case she was travelling to meet a con artist, or worse, an axe murderer. The thought had been planted in Kate’s mind and at two a.m. she’d finally given up on sleep and done a thorough google search of the solicitor to check he was legit. It all seemed above board, and besides, she doubted a con artist posing as a solicitor would choose Bodmin as their base.
Kate must have fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes the train was pulling out of Plymouth station. The passenger numbers had thinned, but she could still hear the sucking and slurping of the newlyweds. She put her headphones on and selected the latest Beyonce album. A guilty pleasure, but she needed a bit of female sass. She needed to feel in control.
Her favourite song was interrupted by the message tone on her phone. Alex. She didn’t open the message, just swiped across the screen and hit the delete button. There was nothing he could say that would be helpful today. Kate spent the time it took to reach Liskeard imagining all the things he might have said. Perhaps he was getting bored with Jess, though it seemed unlikely with her bouncy castle boobs and energy of a Duracell bunny.
A crackling announcement over the train’s tannoy informed her they would shortly arrive at Bodmin Parkway. Kate put on her backpack and carried her bike to the door. As she stepped off the train, she wondered what it would be like to have someone there to meet you. Not one of those people who hold out signs at airports, but someone there just for you, waiting with open arms. That was another thing that never happened to people like her.
Kate unfolded her bike and pedalled out through the station and into the nearby woods. Her phone had charged on the train and she checked the route again. It would be just her luck to get lost in a town as small as Bodmin. The woods gave way to a country lane, her muscles screaming as she forced her pedals to turn against the steep incline. A valiant two-hundred metres were covered before Kate gave up and pushed.
It wasn’t long ago that a thirty-mile bike ride would be a regular occurrence. But Alex insisted the bike he’d bought for her birthday belonged to him, so she’d left it at his house along with her pride. Weeks of eating ice cream and drinking gin (she didn’t even like gin) had taken their toll on her fitness, something she vowed to resolve at the earliest opportunity.
The ride into town was pretty, helped by sunshine and a gentle tailwind. Her memories of the town were vague, but Kate couldn’t remember there being so many hills the last time she had come. Mind you, that was twenty years ago and her mother had hailed a taxi for the three mile drive into town. Kate remembered the awkward encounter with the driver as her mum tried to haggle the price of the journey down.It’s funny what sticks in your mind,she thought, making the most of a downhill stretch to get back on the bike and pick up some speed.
Kate couldn’t afford a taxi fare. She’d be walking if it wasn’t for a well-timed Facebook ad that enabled her to get a decent bike for a very reasonable price. That was the trouble with working in hospitality. Not only were the hours crap, the pay was too. At least the waiting staff got tips. No one tipped the skivvies who cleaned poo from the toilet and scooped dirty towels from the floor.
Kate pushed on through another patch of woodland before coming out at an industrial estate.Welcome to Bodmin,she thought, cycling past dreary looking squat warehouses and pebble dash huts. Soon, the industrial estate was behind her, and she reached yet another hill. The cycle route signs took her around a park and she found herself in the centre of the town.
Pushing the bike slowly along the town’s main shopping street, she noticed how many shops were empty, big boards outside announcingFor SaleorTo Let. But she also saw signs of life, well-kept flower beds, historic buildings, signs advertising community events. Perhaps she wouldn’t write the town off just yet.
CHAPTER TWO
KATE LOOKED UPat the grand building in front of her and gripped the crumpled letter in her hands. She’d spent weeks ignoring the solicitor's emails, convinced they were just another in the gathering pile of spam she received on a daily basis. Kate was certain she had no long-lost relatives in Nigeria, or Australia, or Hungary, and even if she’d been stupid enough to fall for it, she didn’t have the one thousand pounds in her bank account thesolicitorneeded to release the funds. But this was different. Cornwall. She did have a relative here. And they’d sent an actual, paper letter. Who did that these days? Not scammers, of that she was certain.
Kate wiped her sweaty palms on the closest she had to smart trousers, stepped forward, and rang the bell.
“Hello?” came a crackly voice through the intercom.
“Oh, yeah, hi. I’m Kate, Kate Trenain, I have an appointment at one-thirty.”
“Come on in.”
