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Gerald said, ‘It’s not that she doesn’t like him. I think it’s just that she doesn’t know anything much about him.’
Emily had been down this road before. That was why it would be so nice moving out and living somewhere else. Why did she have to explain herself, or get her parents’ (or rather her mum’s) permission to date someone? So what if they knew little about Joss?
Emily had been counting on the fact that her mum would be having dinner when she stole out of the house and wouldn’t put two and two together if Joss didn’t eat at the guest house that evening. It wouldn’t be unusual for Joss not to dine in. He didn’t always. Sometimes he ordered a takeaway to be delivered, or went and got one himself, spending the evening in his room with his laptop. Was he working online? She’d never asked. She knew he’d done some odd jobs, landscaping work for her sister Abigail’s best friend Lili, who worked at The Potting Shed in Aldeburgh. He’d been living with his uncle for a bit in Southwold, and then had moved to the guest house at her sister’s suggestion. That was three months earlier.He’d become a bit of a fixture, helping her dad with odd jobs around the house. With a place that size, there was always some maintenance work to be done, or gardening.
Emily didn’t understand her mum’s objection to Joss. He wouldn’t take any payment for his time, and wouldn’t accept a discounted room rate either, insisting he continued paying the full rate. With the guest house normally empty at that time of year, the fact that Joss had stayed for so long, and in one of the most expensive rooms on the top floor with views over the cove, it was little wonder that her dad enjoyed having him around. But it wasn’t about the money. Joss was another guy to chat with while they were doing stuff together around the house or weeding the garden – although she noticed Gerald did all the talking. Typical Dad.
Emily walked over and looked at her reflection in the long mirror. It had been a while since she’d worn her little black number. The dress still fitted, thank goodness – being at home, and a bit bored, she’d started snacking in between meals. She’d straightened her long blonde hair, something she rarely bothered with while working at home all day. And she’d dug out her heels from the back of the wardrobe. It was times like these she would have liked a girlfriend – or two – to chat to and tell them excitedly that she had a date. Perhaps it was her own fault for not keeping in touch with her university friends. She had kept in touch through Facebook and WhatsApp. But they were all living in different parts of the country; there didn’t seem to be a right time to get together.
The messages between them on social media were dwindling as they moved on into new lives after university. Emily had heard that one had married, a couple were engaged, and one of their cohort had taken a year out after qualifying to go travelling and see the world.
She was the only one out of the small circle of friends on her course who had moved back home. It made her feel a failure. Perhaps that was why she was messaging them less and less, avoiding finding out how their lives were moving on.
It was the same with old school friends. Some of them had left Suffolk. But she hadn’t kept in touch with any of them. Emily had spent a lot of her time after school helping at the guest house. She’d got good money from her parents for doing so, but it had been at the expense of spending time with her friends. And she hadn’t been popular at school. Emily was thinking about the times her friends had had house parties when their parents were away, or sleepovers at weekends or on their birthdays.
Unfortunately for Emily, her invitations had dwindled when it became apparent there would be no return invites. She knew some of her friends would have loved a sleepover or a house party at her big old house on the cove. But it was not to be. The house she grew up in wasn’t like her friends’ houses. Emily’s home was a business. It meant her parents didn’t go on holiday or spend any weekends away, so a house party was out of the question. The guest house never closed; not even for Christmas. And because of paying guests, a load of giggling teenagers having a sleepover in her room was out of the question.
Emily didn’t think phoning her older stepsister was a good idea. Although they’d patched things up – Abigail had apologised over the fact that she’d spent years being unkind to Emily because she’d grown up with her own dad, while Abigail’s own father had died.
But there was one person she could call with her news.
Chapter 18
‘Clarissa, it’s Emily.’
‘Hey.’
Emily could hear Clarissa’s dog barking in the background, and children’s argumentative voices too. ‘Oh, I’ve caught you at a bad time.’
‘There’s never a good time,’ quipped Clarissa.
Emily smiled. They had some things in common; they’d both moved back in with their parents – in Clarissa’s case, with her dad – and they both lived in Shingle Street. But that was where the similarities ended. Clarissa was younger than Emily by six months, and yet she had responsibilities. She was a divorced young mother of two.
‘It’s not like you to phone – what’s up? Everything okay?’
Emily never phoned. If she wanted to speak to her friend, all she had to do was walk out of the guest house and halfway up the street and call on her.
Clarissa had grown up in London, where she’d met her husband. When they’d split up, Clarissa and the children had moved temporarily to Suffolk, to where her parents had retired. She was living with her dad in her parents’ cottage on Shingle Street. Nine months after she had moved in, it was looking a lot less like a temporary arrangement.
Emily thought it sad that Clarissa’s parents’ retirement dream of living in a cottage on the Suffolk Coast has been shattered when Clarissa’s mum was diagnosed with early onset dementia and had needed to move into a care home. But at least Clarissa’s dad wasn’t on his own now. Emily didn’t know how they did it, but they were all living in her dad’s small three-bedroomed terraced cottage. Clarissa’s children had to share a room. It wasn’t ideal, but she’d told Emily that her plan was to find her own place to rent when she’d sorted out a job.
‘So, what’s up?’ Clarissa asked again, above the background noise.
‘I’m going out on a date.’
‘Oh, Em! That’s amazing. Who with?’
‘Seriously?’ Emily said jokingly.
‘Ah, with the mysterious Joss.’
‘Yep.’
‘So, he asked you out? Or did you finally ask him out, like you’ve been saying you would?’
‘No, he asked me. Said he’s got something to show me.’ Emily rolled her eyes at Clarissa’s crude remark. ‘Clarissa – I swear you’ve got sex on the brain.’
‘Well, that’s because I ain’t getting any.’
