The Hotel at Honeymoon Station : A totally heartwarming romance about new beginnings

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘Emma?’ she asked uncertainly, wiping sweat from her brow. Then she repeated it. ‘Emma… Emma Cotton… It is, isn’t it?’

  Emma tried not to frown. She hated situations like this, where someone recognised her and she didn’t recognise them – it was all sorts of awkward. But then the features suddenly registered and a memory clicked into place.

  ‘Tia?’

  Emma paused, taking in the trim figure, cropped hair, flawless olive skin and huge dark eyes. Tia Capaldi – she’d been wildly jealous of this girl at high school, who’d always seemed so perfect, so blessed and popular. Seeing her now, even all these years later, that pang of envy caught her again, but this time entirely by surprise. She shook away the ridiculous notion. They were grown women now and the time for that sort of insecurity ought to be long gone.

  ‘It’s me!’ Tia said. She nodded approvingly at Emma. ‘You look great! Have you coloured your hair?’

  ‘For many years now,’ Emma said. ‘And I was just thinking the same about you. I mean, you always had a great figure but now – well, you’re ripped!’

  Tia laughed lightly. ‘Thanks! It takes a lot of work, let me tell you, and some mornings I wonder whether I ought to trade some of my muscle mass for a nice lie-in.’ She put her hands to her hips and swayed from side to side; Emma presumed it was to keep her muscles from tightening up as she stood and chatted. ‘So, what are you doing with yourself these days?’

  Emma took a breath to reply, but then paused. What was she doing with herself these days? If she was perfectly honest, not much. A relationship that was going nowhere, a job pretty much the same, a distinctly underwhelming salary, a tiny, unassuming house, and not much in the way of prospects to change any of that.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, ‘mostly working.’

  ‘Yeah? Must be something clever – you were always the brainbox of the class. I remember you used to help me out with my maths questions when the teacher wasn’t looking – you were always such a sweetie. I don’t think I would have got through those classes without you.’

  Emma didn’t remember it quite like that. She recalled Tia leaning over from the table in front to catch a quick look at Emma’s answers, grinning and putting a finger to her nose and then copying them down on her own sheet. That was how it had been pretty much every week in the run-up to their exams. It didn’t seem important now, though, and wasn’t really worth bringing up.

  ‘I think you might be confusing me with my sister,’ Emma said. ‘She was the clever one.’

  ‘No… I seem to recall you were clever too.’

  ‘Well… anyway…’ Emma wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that, ‘what are you up to now?’

  ‘Right now I’m in between jobs,’ Tia said. ‘If I’m honest life is a bit crap at the moment. I’ve just gone through a horrible divorce – a huge relief but messy as they always are. We sold the gym we’d been running together and I get half of that…’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. So what are you planning to do?’

  ‘I have some plans… Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all that.’

  Emma sensed that despite Tia’s words, she wanted to tell Emma her plans. Perhaps they were the sorts of plans that were more dreams, dreams that only came true if you spoke them out loud, and maybe she hadn’t yet been able to tell them to anyone. Emma could be that person, and if she couldn’t help herself maybe she’d be able to help someone else. After all, it took no effort to listen.

  ‘If they’re things you can tell me about I’d love to.’

  Tia’s face lit up. ‘I’ve seen a business opportunity. It’s a crazy one, but I’m really thinking about giving it a go.’

  ‘Oh? What’s that? Is it fitness-related?’

  ‘No, a million miles away from the gym, but I think that’s what I like about it. It’s in Dorset.’

  ‘So a million miles away from here too,’ Emma said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, I suppose so,’ Tia said. ‘But I think a clean break is what I need. You know, new scenery, new people… I think it will do me good.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Emma said, longing to add that she understood better than Tia could imagine. ‘So what kind of business is it?’

  ‘A boutique hotel,’ Tia said. ‘I’m looking for a partner at the moment, someone to come on board with me. My funds will only cover half of what I need to get things off the ground… at least my dodgy maths is saying as much. I don’t suppose you know anyone who might be willing to take a chance on a hotel in Dorset…?’

  Emma gave a sympathetic smile. Maybe Tia’s dream needed more than speaking out loud after all. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t say I do.’

  ‘So you’re not in the market for an exciting new venture in the Dorset countryside yourself?’

  ‘I wish!’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t want to give up your job for something that wacky,’ Tia said ruefully. ‘That’s the thing – it’s finding someone who would. Most people I know are either in good jobs or are settled here and don’t want to move all the way to Dorset. Still, I’ll keep looking and I’m sure something will turn up eventually…’ She gave a smile that felt to Emma like it had taken a little effort to conjure. ‘It usually does.’

  My job’s not that great, Emma wanted to say. I work as an assistant to the HR manager at a haulage company in a tiny Portakabin. They treat me like crap. There are no prospects of promotion at all because that would mean I’d have to stop skivvying for the manager, while the owner looks at the women in ways he shouldn’t and thinks it’s OK to pinch your bum as he walks past…

  But she didn’t.

  ‘Well,’ Emma said. ‘It was lovely to see you again but I expect you want to get on with your run.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ll go off the boil if I stop for too long. It was lovely to see you too. Listen, look me up on Insta or Facebook; don’t be a stranger. I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been up to.’

  Emma wasn’t sure she believed that. Unless Tia was very desperate to fall into a coma from sheer boredom, in which case Emma could provide plenty of material to assist with that. She gave her brightest smile-that-wasn’t-really-a-smile.

  ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Are you on there as Tia Capaldi or did you change when you got married?’

  ‘I’m changing my name back, so you’ll find me as Capaldi easily enough. Or I could find you… Don’t worry, we can work it out somehow.’

  Working it out somehow was something Emma was already beginning to recognise as one of Tia’s mantras. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad one to have. Now that she thought about it, Tia had always been carefree and chilled at school and that had been one of the reasons everyone had liked her so much.

  ‘It was great to catch up,’ Tia added, starting to run on the spot to warm up again. ‘Don’t forget to look me up!’

  ‘I won’t!’ Emma called after her as she began to jog off. A moment passed while Emma watched her go, and then she turned to her path again. She put one foot in front of the other and stopped.

  Now that she thought about it, she didn’t know whether she liked the look of this path after all.

  Chapter Three

  She didn’t go to the pond in the end. After bumping into Tia, it suddenly felt like an unproductive, pointless waste of energy to confront Dougie, a negative experience that would only set her up for more misery. Instead Emma decided it would wait and that she’d be better off getting ready for work, collecting her thoughts before she went.

  By the time she got to the office it felt as if she’d been up for half the day already. Technically, she had, having woken at the crack of dawn and arriving at work four hours later. At this rate she’d be ready for bed just after lunch.

  Margot, the woman who purported to be the HR manager but who, in reality, held the title, collected the salary and let Emma do all the actual managing, was tucking into her usual 9 a.m. toast and jam when Emma finally sat at her desk. Emma could never quite understand
why Margot didn’t just eat breakfast at home like everyone else rather than as soon as she got to work, but she’d given up trying to understand Margot a long time ago.

  Margot looked up, toast halfway to her mouth. ‘Good morning, Emma,’ she said, spraying crumbs across her desk and wiping them onto the floor before cramming in another mouthful to replace the toast she’d just spat out.

  ‘Morning…’

  Emma’s gaze was drawn to a pile of folders on her desk. Personnel files – at least they looked like it. Burnbury’s Haulage had yet to enter the computer age so it wasn’t a surprise to see paper folders, but she did wonder why they’d been left there.

  ‘They need warnings,’ Margot said.

  Emma looked up. ‘What kind of warnings?’

  ‘They’ve all had too many absences this year.’

  Emma picked up one of the files and frowned at it. ‘All of them?’

  ‘I know… shocking, isn’t it?’

  ‘If there are so many how come it’s only just come to light? Surely we ought to have been picking those up as they happened.’

  By which Emma meant Margot ought to have been picking them up, as she was the manager and it was her job. Margot simply shrugged.

  ‘Who’s got to issue these warnings?’ Emma asked with a horrible sinking feeling. They had been left on her desk, after all; there wasn’t a lot of working out to it.

  ‘I had thought you could write the letters,’ Margot said, shoving the last corner of toast into her mouth and wiping her hands on her skirt.

  ‘That’s all? I just write letters and that’s it?’

  ‘I think so for now.’

  ‘And you’re signing the letters?’

  ‘Of course, but your name will have to go on there too. After all, you’re my assistant and when I’m not here they’ll need to know who else to contact if they want to discuss them.’

  And when the complaints came in – as they would – Emma would be picking them up whether Margot was there or not, because Margot always did her damnedest to avoid answering her phone at all times, and especially when she was expecting trouble. Come to think of it, she avoided actual work as much as she could at all times. For someone with the title of HR manager she did precious little managing, unless you counted managing a slab of cake an hour after the 9 a.m. toast. And then managing her lunch at eleven thirty. And then a second lunch at one because she’d already eaten her first one but she was hungry now because it was actually lunchtime. Then the mid-afternoon pick-me-up at 2 p.m., then the snack at four thirty to keep her going until she got home. She managed all those things bloody brilliantly.

  Emma shoved the files to one side with a barely contained sigh. ‘I’m going to make a drink before I start this lot,’ she said, getting up.

  ‘Oh, you couldn’t just pour an extra one?’ Margot scooted over on her wheeled office chair and dumped her mug onto Emma’s desk before scooting back again. ‘I’m absolutely snowed here.’

  Doing what, exactly, was a mystery, but Emma took the cup in silence and went to the tiny Portakabin next to theirs that doubled as a reception area to see drivers. It was where Burnbury’s kept their kitchen equipment, and when Emma got there she found Leonard Burnbury, the managing director, in there reading a paper.

  ‘Morning, Leonard,’ Emma said. ‘Don’t mind me, I was just making—’

  ‘Making a brew, are you?’ Leonard looked up from his paper. ‘Couldn’t just manage another one, could you? There’s a good girl; I’m parched.’

  Would it be slightly hysterical, Emma wondered, to throw the mugs she’d collected at Leonard Burnbury’s head and tell him to stick his job? In a better mood she might have given a wry smile – some brilliant career for the school brainbox. If only Tia Capaldi could see her now.

  Dougie was asleep on the armchair when she got home, looking like an old man who’d had a miraculous facelift. Emma was struck by a startling flash-forward of the kind of scene she might be treated to in fifty years’ time if they were still together, and it wasn’t a vision that cheered her. In fact, it was just about the rotten cherry on her miserable, rancid cake of a day.

  She’d typed half the warning letters, having had no choice but to do otherwise, when she’d happened to notice one of the staff members the letters were intended for didn’t qualify for a warning at all. So then she’d gone through the rest of the files to double-check, only to discover that Margot’s calculations had been as lazy as Margot and were way out. In fact, nobody had broken the sickness and absence rules at all. At least Emma hadn’t sent any of the letters – she could only imagine what kind of hell would have broken loose if she had – but it was still deeply irritating that the job had been given to her at all and she’d wasted hours on it. She’d confronted Margot, who’d just laughed it off and gone to the shop to buy some crisps, leaving Emma to silently fume at her desk.

  ‘Dougie…’

  He opened his eyes and pushed himself up in the chair. ‘Sorry, babes… only closed my eyes for a minute. Knackered.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said dryly. ‘Where did you go at the crack of dawn?’

  ‘Thought I’d get a few hours in at the lake. Nothing else to do.’

  Emma went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Dougie followed her.

  ‘So you haven’t heard back from any of those jobs yet? I’d have thought you’d have plenty to do today applying for some more. Unless you can do that and fish at the same time—’

  ‘Actually, I’ve got an interview Friday,’ he said indignantly.

  Emma turned to him, suddenly feeling guilty. Perhaps she was being harsh on him. Maybe she’d forgotten how hard job-hunting could be; after all, it was a long time since she’d had to do it. ‘That’s brilliant!’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘That warehouse on the trading estate that does wholesale trade.’

  Emma looked blank.

  ‘Next to the garage,’ Dougie added.

  Emma nodded. ‘Oh, I think I know where you mean. That’s good. The job looks good, does it?’

  ‘It’s a job, innit? It’s a bit beneath my qualifications if anything, and if I take it I’ll be selling myself short, but as you keep insisting I take the first thing—’

  She held a hand up. ‘Dougie, I don’t insist you take the first thing, but it’s been months and you haven’t taken anything. We can’t manage for much longer with just me earning; we need the money, and I think whether it’s beneath you or not is a moot point right now. Do you think I love my job? I do it to put food on the table.’

  ‘You could get another job if you don’t like it – I don’t make you stay.’

  ‘What? Just flounce out and spend months unemployed?’ She planted her hands on her hips. ‘I can’t see that working out, unless your long-term couple goals are for us to be homeless.’

  ‘Babes…’

  Dougie gave her a pleading look. She knew it well and it was hard to stay angry in the face of it. At this point she’d usually give in, but she’d had a shitty day and she still hadn’t forgiven him for the debacle that was Elise’s party.

  ‘Please tell me you’re going to take this job if they offer it.’

  ‘It depends what the pay is like and the—’

  ‘You know what,’ she cut in, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair where she’d put it only moments before, ‘I can’t deal with this right now. Find something in the fridge and feed yourself.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea, except that it will be away from you.’

  Emma didn’t plan it, but her walk took her to her aunt’s house. She’d briefly considered texting Elise to see if she was home, but she’d probably be busy with last-minute packing. Besides, Emma needed to offload and she didn’t want to worry her sister, who really didn’t deserve to have the shine stripped from her impending adventure. Not only that, but there was an awkward truth to acknowledge here: Emma felt like
a failure when she compared herself to her little sister, and to go and admit all her troubles to Elise would somehow only make it all worse.

  Patricia opened the door with a faint look of surprise.

  ‘I know you weren’t expecting me,’ Emma said. ‘But I was just passing. You don’t mind me calling, do you?’

  ‘Just passing?’ Patricia raised her eyebrows but opened the door wider to admit her niece. ‘It’s not often you’re just passing anywhere but of course I don’t mind. Come in – Dominic’s just bottling up, but it doesn’t all have to go into a bottle.’

  Emma smiled. She and her uncle’s home brew had been intimately acquainted before. It was potent stuff and the last time she’d had three or four glasses she’d been off her proverbial trolley. While the prospect of that was quite appealing right now, it was a week night and work the following day promised to be busy; probably best not to take another hangover in with her.

  ‘That does sound lovely but maybe another time? Tea would be good, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Tea it is.’

  Emma followed her aunt down the hall and into the kitchen. Through the window she could see her uncle tinkering with a strange-looking arrangement of pipes and bell jars at the open doors of his garden shed.

  ‘What’s he making?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Hmm?’ Patricia hunted in the cupboards for the mug she always gave to Emma on her visits. She had one for Emma with a letter E wrapped in rambling roses, and one that Elise always used, also with a large, cursive letter E on it, the difference being that the flowers were long chains of daisies.

  ‘The wine,’ Emma said. ‘Is it wine he’s making or something else?’

  ‘Oh, yes… wine. Peach. There was a big crate of damaged fruit going cheap outside the greengrocers and he thought they might make a nice drink.’

  ‘I think they would,’ Emma agreed. ‘Summery.’

  Patricia nodded vaguely. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I could eat – haven’t had tea yet.’

  ‘Neither have we. There’s plenty if you want to stay.’