‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘But not for a long time. My services are no longer required.’ For a moment, his face slips and he looks terribly sad. I know how he feels. In every picture, every image I store of having my own family, building sandcastles is right there among them. Don’t all families want to do that at some point, be happy and carefree with their kids just messing about on the beach? I push the thoughts away. Now isn’t the time.
‘You are my sandcastle-building hero,’ I tell him.
‘It just needs a beautiful princess,’ he says. ‘Care to volunteer?’
‘Take a photo of me with it,’ I instruct. ‘How long will it last?’
‘It’ll probably be gone by morning.’
‘Oh. That’s too sad.’
‘It’s magical,’ he reminds me. ‘Nothing magical lasts for ever.’
I try to get to my feet, but it’s harder than I remember. There are wet patches on my knees and my bottom.
‘Let me give you a hand, sleeping beauty.’ Ned hauls me up and I’m still wobbly but a bit less so than before. He holds me while I regain my equilibrium and I suddenly feel a little less drunk and more aware of how close he is. He smells of sweet beer, wood resin and seaside. I have an overwhelming urge to lay my head against his chest. ‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘Steady.’
With some considerable help from Ned, I stagger to the sandcastle. It stands tall and proud in the moonlight and I can’t believe we’ve just made that. It’s so wonderful that I could cry. I think I might actually do so.
‘Give me your phone, I’ll take a photo.’ I do as I’m told and pin on a brave smile while Ned clicks away. Then he takes a selfie with us both in it. He hands my phone back. ‘They might be a bit dark.’
‘At least we have it captured for all time now.’ As Ned said, it will be gone tomorrow. No one will ever know that it was really here. All I have is a photograph that’s too dark to make out all of its ethereal beauty.
‘Time to go home,’ Ned says. ‘It won’t be long before the sun comes up.’
I think he’s joking, but maybe we have been here all night. Then I come over so weary that I can hardly move.
‘Come on, princess.’ I don’t protest when he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder with so little effort that I might be a feather. I guess he’s used to hauling heavy logs around.
‘I am a princess,’ I say as I dangle down Ned’s back. ‘With my very own castle.’
‘You certainly are.’
Albeit, I’m a slightly slurry, drinky, teary princess.
Then he shifts me until he’s comfortable and sets off across the beach. And I surrender to the pleasant indignity of being carried like a sack of potatoes, just glad that I don’t have to do walking. I let my weight rest on Ned’s back and my eyes close. I feel his strong arms holding tightly onto my legs as he carries me home to Sunny Days and I think that I might like it a little bit too much.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sun is starting to rise as Ned gently lowers me to the ground at the door of Sunny Days. The sky is blossoming with lemon and lilac to gently chase away the night.
‘Easy as you go,’ he says as he rights me on my feet.
I fumble in my pocket for the key and, as I nearly drop it, he takes it from me and opens the door. As I go to thank him for a great evening, I stumble slightly. I don’t know if I’m still drunk or just tired now. Ned catches me and his hands on my arms feel solid, capable. I want to reach round and hold him in an embrace. I want him to stroke my hair and tell me that everything will be OK. With Ned I could actually start to believe it.
While all this is still whirring through my mind, he says, ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Yes, yes. Of course.’ I step away from him. He makes sure that I’m able to stand unaided before he side-steps past me into the kitchen. I flick on the hall light and blink at the harshness.
Sitting on the bench under the coat hooks. I pull off my trainers. I’m so exhausted that I could lie down here and fall asleep, but I make myself go into the kitchen, eyes rolling.
‘Peppermint tea,’ Ned says. ‘I thought it would be for the best.’
‘Lovely.’ I take the mug from him and our fingers touch. Neither of us pull away.
Ned takes a deep breath. ‘I can tell that you’re working out some stuff,’ he says softly. ‘I can sense a sadness in your soul.’
That nearly has me undone. I’m tired, and emotional isn’t far behind. ‘I’m fine. Really,’ I assure him. But I can tell that he doesn’t buy it.
‘Will you be OK by yourself?’ he asks. ‘I can always put my head down on your sofa.’
‘No, no. There’s no need for that. I’m fine.’
He smiles sadly. ‘So you keep saying.’
‘Though I don’t think I’ve been this drunk since university,’ I admit. ‘I hope I haven’t made a fool of myself.’
Now it’s Ned’s turn to say, ‘No. Not at all. It’s been fun. It’s been too long since I built a sandcastle.’
‘You have an exceptional talent.’
That makes Ned smile again and I realise that I very much like to see him smile. He has unbearably cute dimples in his cheeks. He steps towards me and, just as I think he might kiss me, he gives me a barely there, tender peck on the cheek.
‘Goodnight,’ he says. ‘What’s left of it.’
‘Yes. Thank you again.’
I follow him to the door and turn the key in the lock behind him as he leaves. Then I switch off the lights and go back into the kitchen. I turn off the lights there too and sigh in the darkness, mind in turmoil. I don’t deserve to feel happy, so why do I?
Sitting at the kitchen table in the half-light before dawn, I watch as Ned flicks on a lamp in his kitchen and he potters about at the sink, probably making himself some tea, and I wish he would have stayed here a little longer. I like Ned. A lot. He seems open, dependable. Not the type to keep secrets. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would cheat on his wife. Do you?
Eventually, his boat is plunged into darkness and I decide it’s time for me to hit the sack too. The harbour looks mellow in the growing light and I stare out of the windows to the dark shadow of the sea fort for a while, my thoughts in free flow. They tumble slowly through my brain yet I can’t quite catch any of them.
I head downstairs and pull off my jeans and jumper, hopping round on the floor as I do. Then, feeling more than a bit swimmy, I fall gratefully onto the bed and pull the feather duvet over me for comfort. For a brief moment, before sleep finds me, I imagine that it’s Ned’s arms around me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I must have fallen into a deep sleep in a nano-second as the next thing I hear is Marilyn’s dulcet tones calling out ‘Coooooeeeeee!’
‘Oh, Lord,’ I mutter to myself.
Opening my eyes, the bright light burns into my pupils, making me wince. I think I overdid the vino collapso last night and I should know better by now. There’s a jackhammer in my head and a washing machine in my stomach. My eyeballs feel twice their normal size and I seem to have my face in a puddle of drool.
‘Are you still in bed, sweetheart?’ she shouts. ‘Shall I bring you tea? Coffee?’
I stagger out of bed and to the door. ‘I’ll be up in a few minutes,’ I manage to get out, even though my mouth seems to be filled with birdseed.
I’ll never get any peace now that Marilyn’s here, so I do more staggering until I find the shower. Leaning against the wall, I let the jets of hot water beat on my skin. It might make me feel better. I’m not sure.
The jeans I pulled off last night are covered in sand, as is the bedroom carpet. Marilyn will be delighted as she’ll have something to do today. I get a flashback of Ned and me building our sandcastle and smile to myself. For a precious moment I left my cares behind. I look at the photo of us he took on the beach and it makes me smile.
Finding my cleaner jeans, I put those on instead. Then I scoop last night’s clothes and half of the beach into th
e laundry basket. I brace myself to face Marilyn’s relentless cheeriness.
‘Hello, lovey,’ she says as I appear in the kitchen. Very loudly. She’s already doing something unnecessary with a duster. She stops and regards me critically. ‘Drunk as a squirrel, I’d say.’
‘I did have rather more than I should have,’ I admit.
‘My daughter said you were in the pub until late. With Ned.’ She nods knowingly at that.
It’s clear that good and bad news travels fast in a small community. I wonder if Ned and I were noticed heading onto the beach? Did anyone see that we were still there at dawn? Or was he spotted leaving Sunny Days as the sun rose? That would certainly set tongues wagging. I’ve already learned that everyone here knows everyone else’s business. Just wait until Marilyn sees the sand on the bedroom floor.
‘I forgot that your daughter works in the pub,’ I admit. ‘I would have said hello. It has a great atmosphere.’
‘I usually try to get down there myself for the music nights, but I was on babysitting duties for one of the grandkiddies.’
‘You missed a good night.’
‘Next time,’ Marilyn says. ‘I’ll be there. As sure as eggs are pigs. It does you good to let your heart down every now and again.’
‘Hair,’ I croak. ‘I let my hair down.’
‘That as well,’ Marilyn agrees. ‘A bit of breakfast for you?’
‘No. Nothing. Thanks.’ Then I add, ‘Could you maybe turn the volume down? Just a bit?’
‘Of course, love. Sorry.’ Marilyn rolls her eyes at me. ‘I’m such a noisy bucket. Everyone says so. Comes with having so many kids. You have to shout to make yourself heard.’ But she carries on, her voice still just as loud. ‘I came a bit later in case you needed a lie-in. Shall I put some coffee on?’
‘Yes. I need three cups. Black and strong.’ A few painkillers wouldn’t go amiss too. There’s a steady throbbing behind my eyes.
‘Hair of the cat,’ Marilyn says sagely.
‘Indeed.’
But before she can fix me any coffee, there’s a knock at the door.
‘I’ll get it,’ Marilyn says and bustles out. When she comes back, she’s all smiles and silliness. She announces, ‘Visitor.’
Behind her is Ned, looking as tousled and as tired as I probably do.
‘Rough night?’ I ask.
‘Probably had more to drink than I thought as well,’ he admits. ‘I brought you breakfast.’ He holds out a brown paper bag and a thermos flask. ‘A wholemeal fruit bagel and a Virgin Mary. I didn’t think the vodka would be a good plan.’
‘That’s very thoughtful.’
‘It’s my way of saying sorry for keeping you up late.’
‘No apology needed it. I enjoyed every minute.’ Then I realise that Marilyn is still listening to every word and bite my tongue.
‘I’m just heading to the beach to do some yoga and wondered if you’d like to come with me. It’s a beautiful day.’
The way I feel, I think I might spontaneously combust like a vampire if the sun hits me. ‘I’m not sure . . . ’
‘It will do you good,’ Marilyn chips in. ‘It’s a great idea. Get some fresh air to blow those spiders’ webs away.’
‘I think I’d rather just . . . ’
Marilyn ushers me to my feet. ‘Get your nice yellow jacket on then. You’ll need it. That sun’s deceitful.’
‘I . . . er . . . ’ I’m unceremoniously bundled out of the kitchen, coffee clearly off the menu. I can see that Ned’s trying not to laugh. He hands me my jacket and, realising that protesting is pointless, I slip it on.
‘See you later,’ Marilyn trills. ‘Don’t rush back for me.’ She pretends to return to her dusting while keeping an eye on us both.
I follow Ned out of the door. ‘You’re no help,’ I say to him when we’re out of earshot.
‘She has the right idea,’ he tells me. ‘The fresh air will do you good.’
‘Any sudden movement is making me feel queasy. I’m not sure yoga is going to be an option. Your constitution must be a good deal stronger than mine.’
He laughs. ‘I’ll find you a nice rock to sit on out of the breeze and you can watch me do all the hard work.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
When we hit the beach, Ned is true to his word. He finds me a flat, sheltered rock and, as it’s slightly damp from the tide, he strips off his hoodie which he lays down for me to sit on.
‘That’s very kind.’
‘Comfy?’ he asks.
‘Very.’ The sun sparkles on a sea that’s as blue as the sky, though the temperature is cool and I’m glad I put on my jacket. Marilyn was right. The sun, like so many things in life, is deceitful.
I try a tentative nibble of my fruit bagel and take an equally tentative sip of the fresh Virgin Mary. The sharp tang of tomatoes, tabasco and celery salt tingles on my tongue. That’s definitely waking me up.
Ahead of me, Ned kicks off his shoes, wiggles his feet into the sand and starts to stretch. Within seconds, he’s taken off his T-shirt too and is bare-chested on the beach. I’m not entirely sure where to look now. I know that I’m supposed to be watching him, but it does feel slightly voyeuristic. How can I watch him and not check out those abs? His shoulders are strong, his arms also impressively muscled though his limbs are long and slender. In fairness, there are very few other people on the sand to warrant my attention – the obligatory dog walkers by the water’s edge and a couple of optimistic joggers. So, trying not to feel too guilty for staring, I settle down on my rocky perch and concentrate on Ned as he goes through his routine. He has such a calm, chilled air about him that it’s relaxing even watching him. I’m sure this is as beneficial as actually doing yoga. It’s certainly making me feel quite warm inside.
Ida says that he’s a player but, again, I can’t fit my impression of him in with this. Obviously, she knows him considerably better than me, but he seems very caring and generous. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to class him as a ‘free-spirit’. Or maybe this is his seduction technique?
‘How are you feeling?’ Ned looks over his shoulder as he performs some kind of standing pose. I hope he can’t read my thoughts.
‘Better.’ I hold up the flask of Virgin Mary in a toast. A layer of coffee on top of it and I might just feel human again. ‘This was a very good idea.’
‘Fancy joining me in a few simple moves?’
‘Hmm. I don’t think so.’
He comes over to me and takes my hand. ‘There was enough hesitation in that for me to think I’d be in with a chance.’ He pulls me from my nice rock seat and, a bit half-heartedly, I pull against him. ‘Resistance is futile. Marilyn and I are grinding you down.’
‘Marilyn definitely is,’ I laugh. ‘That lady doesn’t take no for an answer.’
‘A woman after my own heart.’ He stands me on the sand in front of him. ‘Jacket off.’
‘It’s chilly.’
‘You’ll warm up in no time.’
I take off my jacket and toss it onto the rock. To make a point, I shiver theatrically.
Ned gives me a look. ‘Now the shoes.’
‘I’m very attached to my shoes.’
‘You want to feel your toes connected to the earth.’
‘I think I can manage without that,’ I assure him. ‘Isn’t the sand cold?’
‘Yes, but it feels amazing. Trust me.’
Still I dither. Who wouldn’t?
‘Shoes.’ He says sternly and points at them. ‘Might I remind you that last night it was
all about the sand.’
Ah, yes. I realise that I’m not going to get away with this, so I take off my shoes. The sand is cold, damp as I’d expected, but Ned’s right it does feel surprisingly good against my feet. Enlivening.
‘I’m not going to be able to move much in my jeans,’ I remind him.
‘We’ll do some very easy stuff,’ he assures me.
‘And no sudden movements.’
He
laughs at that and then composes himself. ‘Mountain pose,’ Ned says and looks as if he’s essentially standing still.
I copy. I can do standing still. Even after a night of much and many wines. It would be hard to mess this one up. I sway a bit. Standing still does, actually, appear to be a slight issue.
Before I fall over from the effort of staying upright, Ned takes me through a few gentle stretches. My head throbs a little and the breeze keeps throwing my hair in my face.
‘Feeling warmer?’
‘I am.’
‘OK, let’s try a sun salutation. I’ll run through it first.’
‘Have you taught yoga before?’
‘No,’ Ned tells me. ‘But I’ve been doing this for years and have taken enough classes myself to have some idea of what I’m doing.’ While I stand and watch he goes through a series of bends. ‘This is downward-facing dog.’
‘I’m not sticking my bottom in the air in public,’ I say, aghast.
‘There’s no one watching you,’ Ned assures me. ‘This is less inhibiting than a typical yoga class. All you’ve got is me, the sun and the sea. I’m not going to judge you and neither are they. Do it with me.’
He has a decidedly determined expression on his face, so I join him in a forward bend and I admit that all the blood rushing to my head feels fabulous.
‘Nice and slowly,’ he instructs. ‘Let your breath guide you.’
I think I’d been holding it.
‘Keep your body relaxed and light.’
Then I follow him in a lunge, as far as my jeans allow, and am glad that the sound of the waves is disguising my grunts. What comes next feels suspiciously like a plank and I try to avoid doing that as much as possible, but it soon ends and we lower ourselves to the sand for a back stretch. Then it’s sticking my bottom in the air for downward-facing dog and I do feel rather stupid doing this in public. Another forward bend finishes it off. I follow Ned through the moves a few more times and, as I do, I think my body does respond better. My breathing settles into the routine too. Thankfully, he doesn’t task me with doing anything more strenuous and soon stands to indicate that we’re finished. He puts his hands in a prayer position at this chest. ‘Namaste.’
Sunny Days and Sea Breezes Page 10