by Liz Eeles
‘Hhmm, I don’t know much about this Emily person but my friend’s sister’s cousin says she’s weird.’ She pouts and starts picking at a loose cuticle on her thumb. ‘Mrs Gowan said she’ll still keep me on, to do the bits round the house that I do now, but I s’pose that might change.’
‘Not necessarily. I know Alice likes having you around.’ I close the cover on my Kindle; the psychopath will have to wait. ‘So how are your family?’
‘Mum’s annoying but everyone else is all right, I s’pose.’ Serena’s eyes narrow. ‘Did you know that Josh is getting back together with Felicity? Mum’s pleased because she felt guilty that she’d split them up, with her illness and everything.’
It’s what I expected and my disappointment is purely because I can’t shake the feeling that Felicity isn’t good enough for him. But what do I know?
‘Felicity seemed nice when I met her at the beach.’
‘She’s not too bad,’ says Serena, condemning with faint praise as only a fifteen-year-old can.
There’s a sharp rap on the back door, and my heart sinks when it swings open to reveal Josh. Standing there, with thick mist swirling behind him, he looks like the handsome hero of a Gothic novel, or a mass murderer. It’s hard to tell which. My stomach does a weird flip.
‘Are you ready, Ree?’ he asks in his soft Cornish burr. ‘Oh, hello Annie.’ Stepping into the bright kitchen, he shakes out his damp fringe and closes the door behind him.
‘Annie was just talking about you and Felicity,’ says Serena, glancing at both of us.
‘No, not really,’ I stutter. ‘Serena mentioned Felicity and I just said I’d met her at the beach and she seemed nice. As, indeed, was everyone at the beach that day. Chloe’s a nice girl, and Ben seems a nice lad, and Kayla and Ollie are obviously nice people, we know that. And Dodger’s a nice dog too. Though the cliffs certainly weren’t’ – how many feckin’ times can I say ‘nice’ in five seconds? – ‘pleasant that day.’ I peter out and pat my face, which feels on fire.
‘The cliffs are quite steep,’ says Josh slowly.
‘They are, and thanks again for your help with the, um, cliff thing.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ His dark eyes lock on to mine and I can’t look away. Blimey, I don’t think I’m blinking, which isn’t a good look. I once saw a woman being interviewed on TV who didn’t blink and she looked bat-shit crazy.
Fortunately, Serena moves between us, breaking the spell.
‘Annie’s leaving Salt Bay for good in a fortnight,’ she says. ‘What do you think about that, Josh?’ She half-smiles, like there’s an in-joke and she’s the only one who’s in on it.
‘I think if that’s what Annie wants, it’s the best thing,’ answers Josh smoothly, without missing a beat. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and clears his throat. ‘Come on, Serena, we need to keep an eye on Freya while Mum’s out for a while. I presume you’ll still be running the choir until you leave, Annie?’
‘Absolutely, and we’ll need to have a chat about that before I go.’ Pushing my chair back, I get to my feet though I’m not sure why because now we’re all standing in the kitchen, looking at one another and not moving. A melancholy blast from the foghorn fills the silence and then dies away to nothing. This is awkward.
‘Oh, for f—’ Serena stoops down as loose change tumbles out of her hand and clatters across the floor tiles. A fifty pence piece rolls under the table and I kneel down to chase after it. While I’m on my knees, a draught swirls round my shoulders and by the time I’ve given Serena her money back, Josh has disappeared into the fog as though he was never there.
‘Thanks. I’d better hurry or Josh will go mental.’ Serena pauses at the back door and nods towards my Kindle. ‘Enjoy your e-book. It’s good when middle-aged people embrace new technology.’
Middle-aged? Cheeky cow. I might be twice her age but I’m au fait with Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, and I’d use Pinterest if I could be arsed. Maybe the choir could have its own Facebook page to attract new singers. I really couldn’t bear it if the choir folds when I leave.
Wrenching the back door wide, I run into the garden in my socks. Jeez, this fog is a real Jack the Ripper pea-souper. Maybe reading about psychopaths wasn’t such a good idea on a night like this. I can hardly see my hands in front of my face and, though it’s high tide around now, there’s no familiar crash of waves against the harbour wall. The fog is soaking up the sound like litmus paper.
‘Josh, can I have a word with you?’ My voice bounces back at me as I edge towards the garden gate, my foot occasionally missing the garden path and landing on soft earth. Suddenly two shapes loom out at me from the mist.
‘Is that you, Annie? You scared the holy shit out of me!’ squeals Serena.
‘Language, Serena,’ says Josh close to my ear. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, but I need to get something important sorted out with you right now.’ Damp has seeped into the soles of my socks and is working its way up through the thick wool. I rub my hands briskly up and down my arms to generate some warmth.
‘Get in the car, Serena, and I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘Why can’t I stay here with you two?’ whines Serena.
‘Because I’ve asked you to wait in the car and it’s a long walk home.’
‘That is so unfair. I wish I was an only child,’ she splutters, disappearing into the fog.
‘What did you want to sort out?’ asks Josh, moving really close so I can see him better. Beads of moisture are sticking to his hair and I imagine him coming out of the shower, a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist and drops of water glistening on his smooth, muscular chest. What the hell is wrong with me? Josh Pasco is back with Felicity and not my type anyway. Yes, he’s good-looking in a tall, dark and grumpy way but he’s far too complex to fit into my complication-free life. Plus he lives in Cornwall with his family. And I don’t do Cornwall or family; not my own and certainly not someone else’s.
The dull beep of a car horn jolts me back to my senses. The horn beeps again – Serena is really going for it.
‘I’m leaving Salt Bay soon, as you know, and it’s important to me that the choral society carries on. Important for the village, I think. You have doubts about it and I understand that, but it’s good for the singers – people like Cyril who’s all on his own and Florence whose husband has piles.’
‘O-K,’ says Josh, his face lost in the swirling mist.
‘It struck me that the best person to take over leading the choir after I’ve gone would be you. You’re a teacher and a natural at conducting, and it would be continuing your dad’s legacy in a way. I – I hope you don’t mind me asking. But you must have thought about it… you knew I was leaving.’
The car horn starts beeping continuously as if Serena is headbutting it.
‘I’ve known from the start that you were leaving soon. You made that very clear. But you’ve seemed more settled recently so I thought you were staying for longer. My mistake.’ He hesitates. ‘I’m not sure about the choir.’
‘But will you consider it? Please.’
I hold my breath while the foghorn and car horn honk in unison. If Josh says no and the choir folds, Cyril will die alone and be eaten by rats. And it will all be my fault for leaving.
‘All right. No promises but I’ll consider it.’
Phew! Maybe it’s the relief but, without thinking, I lean forward and kiss Josh goodbye on the cheek. That’s what we do in London and there’s nothing sexual in it. I’ve cheek-kissed everyone from friends and business acquaintances to Maura’s brother James who’s fiercely, fabulously gay.
As my lips graze the faint stubble on Josh’s cheek, the damp air is suffused with a warm tang of sandalwood and lime which smells gorgeous; a potent blend of masculinity and machismo with just a hint of metrosexuality. Blimey, I’m coming over all poetic about aftershave. I’m about to pull away when Josh turns his head and his lips touch mine. At first I think it'
s a mistake; something else to feel hot with embarrassment about later. But his warm lips press harder onto mine and he puts his arm round my waist and pulls me against him.
Wowzers, it’s no mistake then. I start to kiss him back, partly because it would be rude not to, but mainly because it feels rather nice. His fingers slide through my hair when I put my arms round his neck and press my body tight against his. Tiny fireworks are going off all over my body because it quickly becomes apparent that Josh Pasco scores a ten when it comes to kissing. His kisses are surprisingly tender with just the right hint of urgency and when his hand moves down to the small of my back, I forget families and my wet socks and Cornwall and London, and I sink into the moment.
‘Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting for ages.’
Josh and I jump apart as Serena bursts out of the mist.
‘What have you two been doing?’ She peers at me while I adopt my best poker face and run a finger along my warm lips. ‘I’ve been sitting in that car on my own for ages. I could have been abducted. Just wait ’til I tell Mum.’
‘Stop making a fuss about nothing. I’m coming now.’ Josh’s voice sounds wobbly, though I might be imagining it because I’m feeling rather wobbly myself. What the hell just happened? When Serena stomps off, he whispers in my ear, ‘That should never have happened. I apologise,’ before he’s engulfed by the fog.
The kitchen is just the same as when I left it: bright and cheery with cactus plants lined up on the windowsill and a pie for Alice’s tea defrosting on the worktop. But something important has shifted. I sit down heavily at the table and put my head in my hands. I just snogged Josh Pasco and enjoyed it. A lot.
I’m no prude when it comes to snogging. Passionate kissing is fabulous, though my snog-a-thon with Seamus at the college disco gave me glandular fever, which was vile. But snogging in the past meant fun, anticipated kisses in dark corners while I was dressed up to the nines. Not being taken by surprise by a grumpy bastard while standing in a pea-souper in my socks.
Stuart floats into my mind and I realise that I haven’t thought about him in ages. He’s an adequate kisser, though rather self-obsessed. I caught him looking at himself in the mirror once while we were in a clinch, though he hotly denied it.
But snogging Josh wasn’t ‘snogging’ at all. It was proper kissing with a sexy, grown-up man. And I want to do it again – which is a huge complication because I’m about to leave Salt Bay and Josh is obviously not keen on a re-match.
What does ‘That shouldn’t have happened, I apologise,’ really mean anyway? Three possibilities spring to mind:
I’m back with Felicity, the love of my life, who’s way out of your league.
I only kissed you because it was so foggy I couldn’t see your face.
It was a reflex action when your lips brushed my cheek.
Numbers one and two make me feel sad as well as hideously unattractive so I plump for number three as my favourite. Maybe no one cheek-kisses goodbye round here so my sudden lunge caught him off guard. That’s probably it, though it doesn’t explain why the kiss lasted for ages or his tongue gently – crikey, I’d better pull myself together. Jumping up, I pull off my socks and head for the sink because nothing kills a sexy mood quicker than wringing out soggy wool over a pile of dirty plates.
‘Has my fish pie defrosted enough to go into the oven?’ Alice pops her head round the door and does a double-take when she sees what I’m doing. She shuffles into the room, shoulders slightly hunched, and roots through a drawer to find a baking tray. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine, except my socks got wet and I have a bit of a headache.’
‘That’s a shame. There are painkillers in the bathroom cabinet.’ A wave of heat spreads through the kitchen when she puts the baking tray and pie into the oven. Then she straightens up and looks at me more closely. ‘Did Serena get off OK in this weather? She told me Josh was collecting her.’
‘He did but he’s gone.’ And soon he’ll be gone for good which is what I wanted, though now I’m not so sure. Sadness floods over me and I make a big thing of hanging my socks on the back of a chair so Alice won’t notice. She doesn’t ask why they’re wet but squeezes my shoulder when she passes me on her way to the cutlery drawer.
‘It must be hard being on your own all the time, Annabella,’ she says softly, placing a knife and fork on her tray.
That’s exactly the kind of remark that can get you embroiled in a heavy discussion before you know it. Avoid, deny or deflect? I plump for deflection and start frantically chopping carrots on the wooden board next to the sink.
‘Would you like some vegetables with your pie?’ A chunk of carrot falls off the board and lands squarely between my toes. It feels cold and slimy.
‘That would be lovely, thank you. I seem to remember that your mother hated carrots.’
‘With a passion. When I gave them to her she’d hide them under her mashed potato.’ Not for the first time since arriving in Salt Bay, it strikes me that my relationship with Mum was often the wrong way round.
‘That sounds like the Joanna I knew.’ Alice puts the salt and pepper pots next to the cutlery on her tray. ‘I wish I’d known your mother as a grown-up and you as a child.’
Just for a moment, I let myself dwell on how life might have been with a family. With a feisty great-aunt on my side, supporting me through Mum’s more difficult times. With happy summer holidays on Salt Bay beach, rather than the occasional afternoon at a city swimming pool.
‘Me too, Alice. Me too.’
Chapter 24
All trace of fog has disappeared when I pull back my bedroom curtains the next morning. It’s early but the sun is rising in a china-blue sky and two fishing boats are motoring into harbour, leaving a foamy trail in their wake. All is right with the world – but I feel like crap.
I tossed and turned all night thanks to weird dreams featuring Josh with a huge trout pout. And now every time I think of Josh – and I’m thinking about him a lot – my lips feel tingly. The last time they felt this way was when I kissed a friend’s kitten – well, it was really cute – and had to mainline antihistamine to halt an allergic reaction.
Other bits of me feel tingly, too, when I think of Josh and The Kiss. But I can’t put everything down to lust because there’s something more. I can hardly believe my own stupidity but Josh Pasco, grumpy Cornish pirate, has got under my skin. And so has Alice and the Salt Bay Choral Society. I haven’t even been looking for another job recently. Bugger. Toby was right all along.
Sighing loudly, I open my window, grab my mobile phone and lean out as far as I can without falling into the garden. Tregavara House might be a black hole but I’ve discovered that waving my arm out of the window gives me an intermittent mobile phone signal. It’s not strong enough to call anyone; I tried with Maura until being constantly cut off almost drove us demented. But the signal is strong enough for texts and emails to come piling in, and maybe Josh has been in touch.
My phone beeps several times while I’m at full stretch, my pyjama sleeve flapping in the breeze, and I wave at a couple of fishermen who are pointing at me. They appear to be laughing, which is harsh when I could be about to fling myself onto the garden path for all they know.
Once the beeping stops, I sit on the splintery floorboards and scan through my text messages. There are none from Josh but one from Toby says ‘check your email’.
Toby’s email was sent late last night and reads:
Dear Annie,
I’ve come up trumps and have a job for you. Our administrator Abigail has decided that she’s depressed and urgently needs to ‘find herself’. Personally, this is why I would never hire women because they’re far too emotional. But anyway, she’s taking a six-month sabbatical and we’re looking for a temp to take her place. I’ve talked you up to the CEO and the job is yours if you can be here to start on Monday morning. It’s an excellent opportunity and I’m sure you’ll be up to the job if you can type and
do filing.
Alice will be perfectly fine on her own for a few days until that other girl starts. Please confirm by return and get yourself out of Salt Bay a.s.a.p.
Toby
I reread the email several times. My savings are dwindling and I could do with a guaranteed job, but how can I start in just three days’ time? Throwing on some clothes, I slip out of the quiet house and walk away from the sea. It’s not long past dawn and, away from the harbour, the village is still largely sleeping.
Maura won’t be sleeping, not with alarm-clock Harry permanently set to go off at stupid o’clock. She describes it as uncanny – and a few other choice words – how his little head pops up and he starts wailing every morning on the dot of half past five. She’ll have been awake with him for ages.
As I expected, Maura’s mobile only rings a few times before it’s answered.
‘Gghmmfff.’
‘Maura, is that you? God, I didn’t wake you up did I?’
‘Annie? Of course not. I’ve been awake since the dawn of time, thanks to my darling son, but you’re the first person I’ve spoken to this morning.’ She yawns loudly. ‘Where are you and why are you calling me when you could be sleeping? Are you mad?’
‘I’m in the only phone box for miles around and I need to talk. Is now a good time?’
‘Harry’s fed, I’ve changed his disgusting nappy and he’s in his rocker chair dozing, so shoot. What’s happening in Cornwall, you lucky cow.’
‘I’ve been offered a new job, starting in Islington next week.’
‘Woo-hoo. The wanderer returns. That’s great news and Islington is very right on, don’t you know.’
‘I guess so.’ I trace a capital ‘A’ with my finger in the condensation on the phone box glass.
‘You guess so? What’s really going on?’
‘I don’t know. I feel weird about leaving Alice.’
‘I thought you said you’d found a carer for her. Someone to live in.’