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‘Whoknows?’
‘It’sawful.’Mariongot up.Shewent to go and then turned back. ‘Oh, there’s some other news.Morepositive this time.’
‘What’sthat?’
‘There’sa sold sign on the old restaurant at long last.Theone just down the high street.Iwonder who’s bought it and what they’re going to do with it?’
‘Iwonder.’Daisysuppressed a smile.Itlooked as thoughRickhad gone ahead and bought it.
‘Well, whoever’s bought it,Ihope they open a nice clothes shop.Wecould do with some decent labels in town.’
‘What’swrong withTad’sTogs?’
‘Oh, darling, purleeze.’Marionflared her nostrils in disgust. ‘WhenIwant jeans and yacht shoes,Imight lower myself but not until hell freezes over and you knowIonly wearGucci.’
Daisylaughed.Itwas an outright lie. ‘Inyour dreams,Maz.’
Marionignored the jibe and screwed her eyes up as she tried to read the time on the shop’s clock.Itwas bright pink and each number was a flower, with stems ending in roses for hands.Moreornamental than practical, it was difficult to tell the time when the roses and the flower numbers clashed.Daisyheld on to it determinedly though.
‘Ohgosh, look at the time.Mustdash.Toodle-pip, darling.’
‘Bye,Marion.Ohwait,’Daisypicked up the flowers, ‘don’t forget your bouquet.’
Mariontook them off her. ‘Justgoes to show how busyIam.Myhead’s in a whirl.Thankyou.’Andwith that, she swept out, narrowly missing bumping intoJanwho was coming in.
‘Hi,Mum.’
‘Hello, my chickadee.Haveyou heard the news?Isn’tit awful?Allthat knitting for nothing.Oh– and the old restaurant’s been sold.’Janpaused and registered her daughter’s knowing expression. ‘What?’
‘You’retoo late,Mum.Thebush telegraph’s just been in.’
‘HowthatMarionCrawfordgets to know all the gossip first beats me.’
‘Metoo.Cupof tea?I’vegot some chocolate-chip cookies.’
‘Nowthat’s the sort of newsIlike.Leadme to the kettle!’
Chapter Nineteen
Daisycould hardly believe she’d done it.
Itwas a gloriously hot sunny day.Allmorning a stream of happy chattering families had trooped down the steep high street to the beach, wafting coconutty scents of suntan lotion into the shop.She’ddecided she wanted a bit of that for herself.Runningupstairs and changing quickly into shorts and a crop top, she’d turned the shop sign toClosedand had walked out.Inher bag was a fat paperback and a bottle of water.Crammingon her straw hat she slid sunnies onto an already slightly sweaty nose and headed downhill.
Sheturned right at the cobbled square at the bottom of the high street, sauntered along the promenade, feeling the slidey texture of sand on the concrete beneath herCrocs.Thebeach was packed; happy squealing children jumped the surf, gulls swooped, chattering overhead and wafts of salty sea, suntan cream and vinegar hit her.Sheknew it would be quieter on the other side of the harbour so headed there.Everythingwas a brilliant, sparkling blue.Seaand sky a breath-taking turquoise, the sun beating down hard but with a gentle sea breeze taking the edge off the heat.OnDorsetdays like these, who neededtheMediterranean?Daisyclambered over the rocks onto the grittier sand past the harbour wall, snaking around tents and family encampments with towels, buckets and spades, picnics and sun umbrellas.Evenhere it was busy but she spied a quiet patch and set up camp leaning against the wooden groyne.Spreadingout her towel, she lathered on some lotion and settled back with her book.Bliss.
Inthe end she didn’t read much, content instead to people-watch and doze under the hot sun.Smallchildren splashing in the shallows and shrieking, babies being held up just above the water to get their first exciting feel of the sea, quiet conversations and babbling laughter, the cackle of gulls overhead and an occasional human yell of indignation as one found its target of chips or ice cream.Someof the angst of the previous week floated away and her shoulders eased.Shesurrendered to her light covering of gritty sand and began to relax.Itwas good to reconnect with her hometown and she felt blessed to live in such a beautiful place.
Eventually, the sun lowered, the breeze blew cooler and the families packed away their beach kit, gathered up sticky sandy children and drifted, with sea-wearied legs, home.Daisyshoved her stuff into her bag and headed home too.Ithad been just what she’d needed, a little naughty time away from work but now she had to get back to some paperwork.Wincing, as the skin on her shoulders felt tight – she must have caught the sun – she trudged up the beach, skirted the harbour and strolled across the open space outside the yacht club.Sheflirted with the idea of popping into theSeaSprayCaféfor a snack but contented herself with an ice cream fromTheIceCreamDreamkiosk.
Anex-pupil served her and gave her an extra dollop ofExtraChocolateyChocolateand two flakes. ‘Luckyyou caught me.Wasjust about to close up.Beena busy day, like.Youenjoy that now,MissWiscombe.’
‘Thanks,Kyle.Iwill.’Shesmiled back at him thinking maybe not all those she taught had been awful.Saunteringslowly back along the prom, licking her ice cream before it melted all over her hand, she bumped into her cousin coming the other way.
‘Lucie, hi.Youjust coming out of work?’
Luciewas an estate agent in the town’s only agent in the high street.
‘Heythere,Daiz.Yeah.Skivedoff early.Noone serious wants to buy a house inLullburyinAugust.Eithereveryone’s on their hols or the grockles come in for a nose, ask a few questions, indulge their fantasy of living by the sea and off they go again.It’sa quiet month.I’mmeetingJamiefor a drink at theOldHarbourif you want to join?’
