Snowflakes Over Holly Cove: The most heartwarming festive romance of 2018

by Lucy Coleman

  *

  Nic is gone by ten a.m. and for the first time since I arrived I feel at a loose end. I have a leisurely brunch, as Nic said he would grab something at the park’s cafe. I don’t feel like working and there’s only so much walking you can do when you are on your own. It’s infinitely more enjoyable when you have company.

  The sun is back and the sea is sparkling, so I decide to play the good tenant and do a little weeding in the front garden. The difference three weeks has made to how the garden has come alive, is incredible. There’s colour everywhere you turn and it lifts the spirits. It also encourages the dandelions, which have a sort of charm to them, admittedly, but one turns into fifty if you don’t keep on top of them. Before I know it, I have half a black sack full of garden debris.

  ‘Looking tidy, Tia. I didn’t know you were a gardener.’

  Max looks on, approvingly.

  ‘I’m not. I can’t face working today and Nic’s not around until later. I fancied some fresh air.’

  ‘I’m heading up to the car to grab some new fishing lines ready for tomorrow. I was going to put the boat away, but how do you fancy a trip along the coast and back? It’s a great way to spend an hour, or two, and the views are magnificent.’

  ‘I’d love that, thank you Max.’

  ‘Grab a jacket and maybe something for your hair, as it will be a bit breezy out there. I’ll be back in about ten minutes.’

  I head in to change into some jeans, a teeshirt and a long-sleeved top. Layers might be good and I pull out some old, comfy trainers and go in search of a waterproof jacket. By the time I’ve found my sunglasses and have everything ready, Max is walking back down the hill. I lock up, having left a note for Nic, in case he returns earlier than expected.

  Max and I trudge along in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence that’s more about taking in what’s going on around us. The seagulls are wheeling overhead, their raucous cries seem to echo from one end of the beach to the other. The cliffs give Holly Cove the distinctive shape of an amphitheatre, lending a similar sort of acoustic to the sounds created within it.

  I’ve never seen Max’s boat up close before. It stands on a trailer, which is sitting at the water’s edge. Max unclips the heavy cable attached to the trailer and makes his way back up to his workshop. The sounds of a winch grinding away, temporarily drowns out the noise of the birds overhead and it takes a few minutes to wind it in. Max walks back down and pushes against the end of the trailer until the rear half of the boat is submerged. Then with one hand he pushes the boat with apparent ease, off the trailer and into the water. There’s a small black line attached to the boat and I move closer, fascinated by the rollers on the trailer that are doing all the work.

  ‘I’ll lift you on board and then I need to turn her around.’

  I notice the boat’s name is Lazin’ as I stop short of the incoming waves. Max lifts me with ease and then strides out into the water, ignoring the waves lapping at the bottom of his cut-off jeans.

  ‘Grab hold and over you go.’

  The boat rocks wildly from side to side and I collapse in a heap on the deck. With two seats up front and what looks like a large storage compartment taking up nearly half of the open area behind them, I ease myself into the available space as the boat continues to bob up and down, rather alarmingly.

  ‘Don’t worry, once we’re further out it will calm down.’

  Although we are only a few feet away from the edge of the beach, it’s already much deeper than I thought it was going to be. That day when I scrambled out over the rocks, Max wasn’t joking when he said the ground falls away rather sharply.

  Max turns the boat by hand and hops over the side. He looks at my face as I’m still in a heap, holding on as if the boat is going to tip over. The engine kicks into life.

  ‘Stay there for a moment; another minute and we’ll be out of the shallows. I’ll sort you out a life jacket and then you can hop over into the passenger seat.’

  True to his word, it’s not long before the boat has stopped bobbing around and aside from a gentle movement as the sea swells, I feel much happier. Max opens the storage box and helps me slip the life jacket harness over my head.

  ‘Here, take my hand and step into the cockpit.’

  The sides of the boat are actually much higher than they look. Once I’m settled into the poly-plastic seat, thankfully, I feel quite secure. The solid windscreen provides good cover to stop the spray from soaking the front seats and above our heads is a large canopied arch to keep off the sun.

  ‘This is quite some boat,’ I acknowledge. Not that I know anything at all about them. It is very stylish and new; not at all what I was expecting.

  ‘Hold on, I’m going to open the throttle and take us out a bit further.’

  ‘Is this a speed boat?’ I shout over the sound of the engine and the slapping of the waves.

  Max eases back and lets it idle.

  ‘There you go. Now that’s the view every visitor needs to see.’

  Looking back at the craggy cliffs it’s easy to identify Langland Bay, then trace the headland back along to Caswell Bay. I can’t see Holly Cove any longer, but I know it’s tucked behind the headland, on the far side.

  ‘This is amazing, Max. No wonder you spend quite a bit of time out here.’

  ‘She’s a Stabicraft 1650 Fisher; one of the most versatile boats on the market. I wanted something solid and compact enough to fit into my workshop. She’s easy to launch from this type of beach and designed for offshore coastal fishing. The sea is a changeable beast and you need to know what you have is seaworthy. Lazin’ is certainly that, all right.’

  He opens the throttle once more and we head on past Langland Bay.

  ‘That’s the golf course.’ Max points inland. ‘Ahead of us is Mumbles. There’s a pier there.’

  I nod, the noise of the engine and the slapping of the water against the boat makes it hard to hear. My hair is whipping around my face, so I grab a band from my pocket to pull it back into a ponytail.

  ‘Not very hair-friendly, is it? This isn’t too fast for you?’ Max inclines his head towards me.

  I give him a thumbs-up and settle back for the ride.

  A short while later he kills the throttle and the engine idles. Max points out a few of the more prominent features along the coastline. Things you would never see from a car, or on foot. After Langland Bay the sheer cliffs rise up out of the sea, majestically. Max opens the throttle once more and does a three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn, to start heading back.

  I don’t think you can say you’ve seen the Gower coast until you’ve seen it from a boat. With the sun in our eyes and the sparkling glint reflecting back from the mirror-like surface of the water, we could be in some very exotic place on the other side of the world. I fleetingly wonder if Max has ever taken Nic out on the boat, but think it’s unlikely. And that’s a real shame, because I know he’d love this.

  By the time Max heads the boat back into Holly Cove and I stand watching as he winches the trailer back up to the workshop, there’s a chilly edge to the breeze. I help Max lift the boards that are placed over the deeper, dry sand in front of the workshop doors and he rewards me with a smile.

  ‘It was lovely to have your company today, Tia. This will probably be my last year on the beach, so every trip out is special.’

  I raise my head, to look at him.

  ‘The last year? You’ve leaving?’

  ‘I have a lady friend, someone I’ve known for a long time. She worries about me and my lifestyle choices. As time passes I’m coming around to the idea of being with someone, permanently, again. But she wants us to move away from the area so we can start afresh and she’s a Yorkshire lass. I don’t want to leave here until I’m sure Nic is settled. I want to spend one more Christmas at Caswell Bay. Some people like the summer, but I love the winter and the elements that remind me of a lifetime at sea.’

  I feel humbled that Max has shared this with me and now I understand
a little more about his life. Having lost his daughter, he must feel his son is also lost to him, but even so he can’t walk away until he can see Nic is strong enough.

  ‘He’s doing well, Max. He’s found something that inspires him and he’s looking forward with a real sense of purpose. It’s time to think about your own future, now.’

  He nods, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

  ‘I hoped you’d stay, Tia; make this your home, but I understand. I know the circumstances that brought you here are devastating. I hope it’s been a time of healing for you, too. We must have another trip out before you leave.’

  ‘I’d like that. Thank you, Max, for one of the most amazing afternoons I’ve had in a long while.’ I lean in and kiss his cheek. He looks back at me a little sheepishly, but his eyes are smiling.

  28

  An Impossible Situation

  Over dinner, Nic enthuses about his day. I listen as he tells me all about the staff he met and the composition of some of the shots he feels will be keepers.

  ‘This is turning out to be an amazing opportunity, Tia. There’s also a huge herd of fallow deer we didn’t see when I took you there, but John had someone drive me out to a good spot to catch a few shots. It’s the first time I’ve really been that close to a deer and the colours of their coats are amazing. I spotted, red, brown and black, and even a few pure white deer. They have a black line that runs along the back down to the tail and they are really majestic, powerful looking animals. The antlers on the males were impressive.’

  He pauses long enough to shovel in some pasta bolognaise and chew much faster than is probably good for his digestion.

  ‘This isn’t just going to give me photos for John’s project, but this will start off a collection. Photos I can sell to wildlife magazines, newspapers, journals. I’m thinking prints, even.’

  I’ve stopped eating to sit back and watch him. I can almost see his mind ticking over.

  ‘There is one little problem. I need a lens with a much longer focal length than the ones I have at the moment. They don’t come cheap.’

  I know nothing about photography and was surprised that day, when I saw he had several different lenses.

  ‘Is it worth the investment? How often will you be photographing animals again?’

  ‘It’s not just for wildlife shots, but anything that moves. It captures images with a narrower angle of view than a human eye. Distant subjects appear larger in the frame and it allows you to draw closer to the action. Panning can also be used to capture a range of moving subjects, such as cars at a racetrack. The combination of a sharp object in focus and a blurred background, gives a real sense of speed to the picture. It tracks the subject as it moves closer, or further away, and as it travels around the frame. We’re talking real pro stuff here and the best part of a grand. But it’s a game-changer and if I’m going to take this further, then I have to find the cash somehow.’

  I don’t know his past, only that at the peak of his career he was a Marketing Director for a big company. What led up to that could have been a grounding in media studies, for all I know, which I think covers film and photography.

  ‘Sorry, it’s all technical stuff and rather boring. The point is that this is a direction that I didn’t even consider as an option going forward. And now this could be a chance to pull together a portfolio that has some impact. Getting on board with John’s little project could be the start of a very lucrative business. He’s happy for me to take as many photos as I like without having a claim on them. Anyway, sorry, as you can tell I’m on a bit of a high at the moment. The thought of not having to drive the cab, or lug hay bales around anymore, is enough to raise my spirits.’

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you so inspired and happy. The cheque from the magazine is due to arrive any day now. It should cover the cost of that new lens and a small amount to kick off the boiler fund. Hopefully it will be well worth the investment.’

  ‘Really? That’s awesome, Tia. It would mean a lot. Anyway, enough about me. How was your day? Did you work through?’

  Oh, this is awkward.

  ‘You mean to say you didn’t notice your weed-free front garden?’

  As he swallows another mouthful of pasta I lean across the table and wipe the side of his mouth with a napkin. He smiles back at me with that cute grin of his.

  ‘Sorry. This is delicious and I’m starving. Thanks for doing the weeding, but now I feel guilty for leaving you all alone.’

  ‘I wasn’t alone all day. I did have some company for a few hours.’

  Nic’s head jolts upwards. I think he knows what I’m going to say.

  ‘I spent most of the afternoon on Max’s boat.’

  His face hardens, not quite a scowl but not far off.

  ‘I can’t tell you what to do with your time, or who to socialise with, but be aware he might have another motive. The man is a meddler and usually it doesn’t end well.’

  I’ve upset him and I didn’t mean to do that. But you can’t live your life ignoring what’s going on around you.

  ‘He’s your father, Nic, and he cares about you. Besides, the trip was very enjoyable and it was kind of him to offer.’

  Nic pushes his half-empty plate back away from him.

  ‘So he told you. And now he’s getting you to meddle, too.’

  Our eyes lock across the table. His face is stern.

  ‘As a friend and a bystander, I see two men who carry a very deep hurt that is gnawing away inside of them both. But I’ve come to know a little about each of you and he’s no monster, Nic. And neither are you. So, while I’m not trying to underestimate the damage that has been done, all I’m saying is that he doesn’t wish you ill in any way whatsoever. It might be worth mulling that over.’

  He stands, shakes his head and turns to walk towards the stairs, grabbing his camera bag.

  ‘I’ll be in the study downloading the photos. Thanks for dinner, Tia.’

  And with that, he’s gone.

  I clear the table, nursing a heavy heart. It’s so hard knowing both men and seeing how alike they are in many ways. Private, stubborn, a little lost in some respects; both desperately trying to manoeuvre themselves into a good place. But they must forgive themselves, before they can forgive each other.

  At shortly after nine o’clock I go up to bed. Entering the darkened room, I walk across to the window to peer out before drawing the curtains. All is as it should be and I smile to myself, wondering why I ever thought anyone would venture down here at night. For someone to wander around in the dark would be little short of madness, given the steep, rough terrain and the lack of lighting. Settling down to read my Kindle there’s no sign of movement from the other room. Even after I turn out the lights and snuggled down to sleep, I can still see a stream of light coming through the crack in the study door. I’m gutted that Nic is shutting me out and maybe I’ve been kidding myself that this thing between us is creating some sort of a bond. The bed feels so empty without him next to me but I have to remind myself that this will end soon. Then I will have to get used to being on my own once more.

  *

  When I wake up I’m alone; a quick check confirms that Nic slept on the sofa bed in the study last night. I was a fool to think that I could start the healing process in a relationship I don’t really understand. Good intentions mean nothing if it makes a situation even worse and I fear that’s what I’ve done. I hope Nic calms down enough to call in for a chat today, because I feel really horrible this morning. My head is aching and my stomach is churning with the upset. So much so, that I can’t wait for Olwen to arrive; anything to save me from sitting here at the table surveying my work and finding myself unable to function. When I hear the click of the front door shutting, it’s a relief. But Nic’s face as he stands before me now is angry and he is waving an opened envelope in the air.

  ‘What’s this? Have you been spying on me?’

  I rise up out of my chair, but he strides across and thro
ws some paperwork down onto the table in front of me. I pick it up and see the magazine’s letterhead. It’s the standard letter with a printed cheque attached to it. I look up at him, confused.

  ‘You can buy that lens now.’

  ‘You think I’m going to take it? That’s my mother’s name printed on the bottom of this letter. She sent you here to spy on me and now she’s dealing a really low blow. She said if I walked away I’d end up with nothing and this is her way of demonstrating how low I’ve sunk in her eyes. What was the next step, Tia? You make me fall in love with you and then the unstoppable Clarissa Cooper gets her son back as part of the deal?’

  I’m rooted to the spot, totally horrified by Nic’s tirade and struggling to comprehend what he’s saying.

  ‘Clever, but I’m not a fool. You’ve certainly earned your promotion and you’re a great little actor. You can go back to her and make it very clear that I don’t need her interference, or her help. If you use that interview I will sue the magazine. It will give me great pleasure to do so and be very vocal about her controlling behaviour and under-handed tactics. Now I want you out of my house by the end of the day. Tell her that I’m not so desperate for money I will take it under false pretences.’

  ‘But—’

  I watch as Nic turns, striding away from me with his face hard-set in anger.

  Tears start to trickle down my face. Now that I realise Clarissa has been using me I’m angry, but to what end, I have no idea. The thought of what I’ve lost is totally crushing. I’m well aware that I had already ripped up the rules Nic and I had agreed. The tiny fragments are now scattered, like discarded confetti, to which no one lays claim. I’d tried so hard not to fall in love with Nic, because he was clear about not wanting a permanent relationship. Too clear, and now I can see that wasn’t true, it was only ever about protecting himself. And I had been doing exactly the same thing.

  But this? I pick up the piece of paper he threw on the table and glance over the proforma invoice letter above the cheque. It’s standard stuff but he’s right, her name is at the bottom beneath the printed signature.