‘Yep, but life isn’t just about impressing the opposite sex. It’s about impressing yourself; having self-respect. And that earns you the respect of others like your friends, colleagues and parents.’ He fiddled with his watch strap. ‘My dad has had high hopes for me. Working as a lookalike wouldn’t impress him much.’
This wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned his father and I was about to say aren’t you too old to worry about what he thinks, when I realised that I was no better trying to impress Saffron, a mere friend—and ex-friend at that—so talk about being a hypocrite.
‘How about dinner tonight?’ I said, brightly. ‘Seeing as last night’s date never took place?’
He kissed me on the cheek. ‘Sounds great.’ He stood up and took my plate. ‘Just don’t go hurling yourself into any other emergency situations, before we’ve had a chance to leave the resort.’
‘No need to tell me.’ I groaned.
‘Now go and sing some cool tunes. I’ll hear them from the kitchen.’
‘Still creating the perfect menu?’
He sighed. ‘I’m trying desperately to come up with my own quality version of burgers and chicken nuggets that will still appeal to kids but be reasonably healthy.’
‘Good luck with that,’ I said. ‘In my experience, nothing satisfies a kid’s taste buds more than saturated fat, additives and sugar when on holiday.’
Jokingly, Lucas held his head in his hands and I grinned as he strode off to the kitchen. Humming, I went into the open area ahead, in between the reception and the restaurant. Its back glass wall gave a great view of the swimming pool. Around stood comfy leather chairs, circling low coffee tables, plus a snooker table to the back left and a fruit machine to the right.
As you entered this area, on the immediate left there was a small podium with a mike-stand and DJ turntable. Plus, a CD machine with big speakers and a karaoke machine leaning against the wall. I plugged the mike in and switched it on.
‘Everything OK?’ said Tremain, who’d been polishing the coffee tables. He put down his cloth. ‘How are you feeling? After last night.’
‘My pride’s dented. I feel silly. Fine though. This sing-through will tell me if my lungs have fully recovered.’
Tremain curled his hand around the top of my arm. It felt as if liquid lava suddenly flowed from that spot to my chest and cheeks. ‘Sorry, if I was a bit harsh last night. Proper brave, you were. I just …’
‘It’s OK.’ I recalled Kensa’s words about the fire reminding him of something that had happened in his past. ‘How are you?’ I leant forward to sniff his hair and he stepped back.
‘What are you doing, woman?’
I giggled. ‘Just seeing if you’ve managed to get rid of the smell of smoke. I had to take more than one shower.’
He leant forward to smell mine. His proximity made my palms feel sweaty. Confusion washed over me. It was so long since I’d dated and now I wasn’t so sure of the telltale signs of attraction. Tremain caused a physical reaction, but him and me? No. Often he was rude, untalkative, detached … He chuckled. ‘Jeez. You smell like you spent the night enjoying a barbecue on the beach.’
‘Have the firemen any more details about how the fire started? Kensa filled me in on what they thought yesterday.’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing to add. The only bits of evidence are the shreds of newspaper, scented-candle holder and pink leopard-print bra—a size ten from M&S, apparently.’
‘Clearly not mine, then, Sherlock Holmes,’ I said and flexed my arms in the air, taking on a muscleman position.
‘Nor mine,’ he said and grinned before heading over to the reception desk.
Blimey. Perhaps that smoke had laughing gas as a secret ingredient. As he walked away, I admired his strong outline, remembering how he’d swept me into his arms last night. Hands up, that is hardly an alpha-female thought, but, as you know, I am an avid fan of historical romances, featuring dashing heroes on steeds.
I picked up the mike. ‘Testing, testing, testing, one, two, three.’ Hmm. Good quality. I wouldn’t have to overstretch my voice. However, just to double-check the area’s suitability, I ran through a couple of songs. ‘Blame it on the Boogie’ was always a sure winner, and got people on their feet to do the actions to the words ‘moon’ and ‘sunshine’.
As my CD played, I swayed side to side. Often for gigs I was lucky enough to have a mate, Jim, play his portable piano, but, failing that, I had a good range of recorded soundtracks, minus the vocals—compilations that I’d put together myself. Like this one for a disco evening. I had another for jazz. ABBA as well. A fifties one and another for eighties-retro evenings which had been really popular over recent years.
I closed my eyes as I sang and got into the zone, so that I could exactly judge the pitch and tone of my voice for this venue. When I opened them, Lucas had come over. The Peppards had arrived and sat watching, him in baggy knee shorts and a polo-neck shirt with a designer logo on the front. She wore a tight cream blouse with a plunging neckline and shorts that showed off the fact that she must spend every spare hour in the gym. Tremain now stood behind the computer at reception, fingers tapping in time on the desk.
When I stopped everyone gave me a quiet round of applause. I smiled. This was the one area of my life where I wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed. Compliment my outfit or make-up and my ears would probably glow scarlet but clap my singing and I’d just bow my head or give you the thumbs-up. It wasn’t because I considered my voice amazing—it was because the approval meant less. Of course positive reviews lit up my world for a while but bad ones would never stop me singing. It was what I did. It was me. Music ran through my bones. It gave my purpose. Singing was my past, present, future and any afterlife.
I closed my eyes again. How good it felt to be performing. A few days away from a mike made me feel like an addict reaching the point of needing a detox—singing again was the ultimate, feel-good rehab. I opened my eyes as the last notes of the CD player stopped, to see Mr Peppard shrug, pick up his golf magazine and get to his feet.
‘Coming to get a coffee?’ he said to his wife and jerked his head towards Donuts & Daiquris. You couldn’t miss Izzy, who had just arrived in her favourite yellow tie-dye T-shirt. While the resort wasn’t officially open, it made sense to serve people for early feedback.
Mrs Peppard glanced at Lucas. ‘No, dear, I’m not thirsty. I’ll just sit here and listen to some more music.’ She gave a false-sounding laugh. ‘And I’d only be tempted to have one of those doughnuts. Have to watch my figure—or no one else will.’
A meaningful comment directed at Lucas?
One more song, I thought. Something modern. I fast-forwarded the CD to one of my favourite Beyoncé tracks—suitably, for me, ‘Single Ladies’. Johnny never got as far as choosing a ring, let alone putting it on my finger—although, in a funny way, it always felt as if he had. Our future together had seemed so indisputable. Or so I’d believed.
I stared over at reception. Kensa had appeared and was trying to get Tremain to dance. Oh the horror on his face. Kensa looked about twenty years younger. It was the first time I’d seen her joking since we’d arrived. She must have been feeling positive about the week ahead. Mrs Peppard stood up and grabbed Lucas’s arm. Politely, he shook his head, but she pulled him nearer and placed one hand on his shoulder, leaving him no choice but to slide his arm around her waist. He shot a look backwards, towards Donuts & Daiquiris. Mr Peppard was sitting down, hidden behind his golf magazine. His wife stared intently into Lucas’s face. Her crush was more obvious than ever and reminded me of a scene from Dirty Dancing, where dance teacher Patrick Swayze is accosted by a wealthy woman holidaymaker.
‘It’s embarrassing for her—and her husband,’ I said to Guvnah, later that afternoon, as we sat in the bedroom of chalet number six, painting an image of Rocky Rabbit onto the wall.
Guvhah adjusted her headband. We both wore long aprons and had tied our hair back. Despite this, she’d still got a
splodge of white paint on her nose.
‘She must be lonely.’ My gran shrugged. ‘Money alone doesn’t bring you happiness.’
‘Agreed. Her husband has always got his head in a newspaper or magazine, or is criticising her clothes. Bravo Lucas for remaining polite. He even kissed her hand at the end of the dance and led her back to her husband. Talk about well handled.’
Guvnah’s tongue stuck out as she carefully drew an ‘R’ on the front of the rabbit. ‘Tremain seems like a lonely chap to me,’ she said. ‘Looks like he could do with the love of a good woman.’
‘You could be right. Just before she left to buy inflatables, Kensa asked if I have five minutes for a coffee. She’s got it into her head that Tremain and I get on well. Said that tomorrow—the fifth of August—was a big day for him. Bad memories or something. The second anniversary of an event he would rather forget. Kensa just mumbled something about wishing he’d never signed up. She wouldn’t say any more, but asked me to keep an eye on him.’
‘He used to be in the army?’ Guvnah stopped painting. ‘Well, I never … Although I suppose that explains his love of the outdoors. You said yes to Kensa, then?’
‘Naturally. Not sure how useful I’ll be though, without more information.’
‘Just stay close, I suppose—in case he needs a friendly face for a chat.’ Guvnah shook her head. ‘We take our Forces for granted. I’ll never forget old Mr Bartholmew who lived next to me, as a child. Fought during the Second World War, he had, and used to walk around shouting, “Bang!” He never recovered from all the shelling he experienced.’ She sighed. ‘I wonder what happened to Tremain.’
We both painted in silence for a few moments and then she cleared her throat. ‘You and Facebook. Izzy told me you still chat with Johnny on there. Or rather talk to. Chat with would imply it was two-way, which it isn’t. Sweetheart.’ She pursed her lips and met my gaze. ‘This pointless messaging has to stop.’
‘How could she? That’s breaking my confidence.’
‘Kate, my precious girl …’ Guvnah held her brush in the air and continued to meet my glare. ‘It’s only because she cares. We all do. Me, Izzy, Geoff, your mum …’
‘Really? Mum never mentions Johnny on the phone,’ I muttered.
Guvnah shrugged. ‘No. Because we’ve all been tiptoeing around you.’
Eyes tingling, I pulled a face.
‘Geoff and I discussed it last night. You know I adore you. But now I’ve got you near me for a while, I feel it has to be said. Here you are, a young woman, on holiday, with delightful young men around. You are beautiful, talented, kind-hearted … isn’t it about time you considered moving forwards with your life?’
‘In my own time, thank you,’ I said tightly and sat on the bed.
She sat down too and, with her free hand, slipped wrinkled fingers into mine and squeezed. ‘Your constant clicks on Johnny’s Facebook page … It’s like someone visiting a grave more than once a day.’ Guvnah cleared her throat. ‘Usually it’s people my age saying “who knows what’s around the corner”, but you know that for sure, having lost Johnny so suddenly. Don’t waste another minute, darling—please.’
My throat hurt at the pained expression on her face.
‘It’s like when your granddad passed—what I have with Geoff will never detract from that love. It’s a completely separate relationship at a different stage of my life. Equally as special but in no way denigrating my first love’.
I nodded, recalling the comment Johnny made about his grandad’s new relationship.
Guvnah paused for a moment. ‘How often do you message him now?’
My throat tightened further. ‘Not so often. And these last few days, I’ve not even read through his posts.’
‘But you still … I don’t understand. What do you get out of it, when you aren’t getting any response?’
‘I … It gave me something to focus on, I suppose, at the beginning. Helped make each day seem more normal, checking his pages on Facebook and Instagram. And then it became a comforting habit.’ I sighed. ‘He always used to say I was obsessed with social media. Guess I’m proving his point.’ I met her gaze. ‘This week has actually made a difference though. New faces. A change of scenery. The fire. I haven’t even looked at my phone today.’
‘Perhaps it is time to take unfriend him then,’ she said. ‘I know it’s a big step but it only involves a few taps on the screen.’
It was great having a grandmother who kept up with all things technical. I loved seeing her watercolour paintings on Instagram and pretended to get very cross that painter her had more followers than singer me.
We stared at each other.
‘What? Now? Right this minute?’ I said.
Guvnah shrugged, but didn’t take her eyes off my face.
Sitting in this bedroom reminded me of the smoke-filled ones I’d checked last night—the wave of panic that I might die, without having fully lived my life. Then Johnny’s face popped into my mind. The crinkly eyes. That mole just above his right eyebrow. The way his cheeks crumpled when he found something funny. All the little things. Then I saw Lucas, with his manly stubble and kiss-me-if-you-dare mouth. Finally, an image of Tremain hovered before my eyes. The determined gait. That short, short hair that begged to be ruffled. Those leaf-green eyes that for very brief flashes betrayed some deep hurt.
I refocused. Guvnah had started painting again and hummed one of Geoff’s favourite tunes from the sixties. I got up, walked over to the little window, took my phone out of my pocket. I tapped the Facebook icon and hit ‘Search’. Johnny’s name always came up first. My finger hovered over the ‘Friend’ button. I tapped it and then moved my finger down to the ‘Unfriend’ option. I inhaled. Exhaled. My chest squeezed as if I’d been strapped into the tightest bodice ever from one of my historical TV series.
Finger shaking, I closed my eyes and pushed downwards. When I opened them again, Johnny and I were no longer Facebook friends. Guvnah didn’t say anything as I brushed past her and out of the bedroom. Vision blurred, I headed out of the front door and outside. Despite the occasional white cloud, the August air felt warm and cheerful. Birds chirped. The freshly cut grass smelt fresh. A particularly adventurous brown bunny lolloped across my path. I snuck around the side of the chalet, leant against its wooden wall and sunk to the ground. Footsteps approached.
‘Kate? Everything all right? I was just bringing you and your gran coffees and doughnuts— Izzy insisted.’
I looked up and, with the bright, sky behind him, Lucas really could have been mistaken for the dreamy Poldark actor. He crouched down and lay his tray to one side. ‘You don’t look well. Think you need to go back to the hospital?’
I reached up with my hand and pulled him towards me. In that second I just … just needed some human contact of the romantic kind. I reached up with my other hand and gently tucked it behind his neck. Our mouths met. Urgently, I kissed him. No matter that all the old clichés of sparks flying and the earth moving didn’t apply. It was purely physical, although I waited for some degree of emotion to kick in, but nothing. Was it like that for him?
Eventually, I pulled away nevertheless gratified because it was as if I was emerging from a thick fog that had followed my every step for months.
‘Hey. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that,’ he said, one eyebrow raised.
‘Me neither.’ My mobile vibrated in my back pocket and I ignored the sensation as I caught my breath.
I was no longer chained to my phone—to Facebook—and, for the first time in ten months, I felt in charge of my own destiny.
CHAPTER 12
‘You kissed him? Again?’ said Izzy, her finely plucked eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline. We were setting out cocktail glasses in the bar. Saturday morning. Two days to go. We’d all achieved so much yet had so far to go. So much for a spa holiday! There was no time for beauty treatments. However, we had managed to get up early, have a swim and sauna.
‘What’s the big
deal?’ I said. ‘I bet you’ve kissed Greg for literally hours by now.’
Her face broke into a broad smile. ‘When I’m not laughing at his bad jokes, yes, but that’s not the point. You can’t compare. For you, Lucas is practically a celebrity! Just a peck on the cheek is a huge achievement! We should dye your hair red like that Demelza’s.’
‘Idiot,’ I said and smiled. ‘Next you’ll expect me to get his autograph.’
She grinned and for a few moments polished a glass. ‘But honestly, Kate,’ she said eventually, in soft tones, ‘it’s great to see my best mate dipping her toe into rocky romance waters again.’
‘You talked to Guvnah about me,’ I said.
Her cheeks pinked up. ‘Only because I’ve been so worried. I take my role as your auntie very seriously,’ she said brightly, eyes nevertheless glistening.
I put down my tea towel and gave her a quick hug. ‘I know. And I’ll never be able to repay the support you’ve shown me over the last few months. I’m sorry you’ve worried. But I honestly feel I’m … moving on now. Bit by bit.’ I stood back and rearranged glasses into orderly lines. ‘I’m so thrilled that this place has given you the challenge you’ve been searching for,’ I said, keen to change the subject. I wasn’t ready to voice out loud the fact that I’d unfriended Johnny. It felt right but telling Izzy made it seem so final. I just needed a little more time to fully get my head around that and ignore the occasional jab of guilt. Unfriend was such a brutal word. ‘Lucas is really interested in the reasons for your success.’ I said. ‘Last night he quizzed me all about your business secrets.’
‘Like what?’
I picked up a bottle of superior vodka. ‘The fact that you use only the best ingredients. None of this cheap stuff from the wholesalers. Plus the finest fruit to use as a garnish and good quality mixers. As for the doughnuts, they speak for themselves. All hand-crafted, with detailed decorations … Like the way, for this outlet, you’ve created flavours themed to Cornwall.’ I shrugged. ‘He wanted me to go into such detail, it’s almost as if he’s thinking of setting up his own bar. Perhaps he’s planning ahead, in case White Rocks’ rebranding doesn’t work. He couldn’t give up cooking though—maybe he’d open a bistro.’
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