Sunny Days and Sea Breezes

by Carole Matthews

  Chapter Forty-One

  As I reach the houseboat, Ned appears from the beach path and heads to Sea Breezes and, out of nowhere, my heart does a little flip. He holds up a hand in greeting and I wave back, then wait while he walks up to me. He’s wearing board shorts and a white vest top. His feet are bare and covered in sand.

  ‘Hey.’ His ready smile brightens. ‘How are you doing today?’

  ‘Good,’ I answer. And I think I might well mean it.

  He flicks a thumb towards the ocean. ‘I thought you were going to come and join me on the beach.’

  I don’t like to tell him that was exactly my plan and that I changed my mind when I saw him emerging with Ida.

  ‘Look at this!’ Ned holds his hands towards the sky. ‘You missed a lovely morning.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I promise. And I think I might well mean that, too. I’m going to have to give those glittery leggings an airing or Marilyn will give me grief. ‘If it’s not bucketing down. Or blowing a gale.’

  He takes in my coat and trainers. ‘Looks like you’ve been on a mission.’

  ‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘I walked along the seafront and bumped into George. We went down to the café and chatted for a bit.’

  ‘He seems unsuited to the work of a statue,’ Ned observes.

  ‘Yeah.’ Can’t help but agree. ‘He’s sending off his novel today. Perhaps he’ll have better luck with that.’

  ‘Was Ida OK? She had a skinful last night.’

  ‘She seemed a little delicate.’

  ‘I should text her. She was in a bad way. That woman can drink me under the table.’ Ned checks his watch. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘I’ve got a meeting on the other side of the island. I’ve just got time to run round the shower and throw on some clean clothes, then I’m off. You could come along for the ride if you want to. It’d be a chance to see a different area, do a bit of touristy sightseeing. We could grab a bite of lunch.’ I must look hesitant as he adds, ‘I’d be glad of the company.’

  ‘If you’re sure I won’t be in the way.’

  ‘I’ll have to leave you in a café with a coffee for half an hour while I meet the Powers That Be, but if you’re OK with that, then I think we’re good to go.’

  I must confess that I like the idea of spending the rest of the day with Ned. I’m in a good frame of mind today and an outing sounds like fun. ‘I’d very much like to join you.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes,’ he says. ‘Come in and wait.’

  So I follow him onto Sea Breezes and, while he goes through to the bedroom and bathroom, I mooch about in his living room and check out some more of the treasures from his travels. There’s a wicker stand with a collection of marionettes heaped on one shelf, below them is a storm lamp and a reclining Buddha. On the top shelf there are copper singing bowls stacked together and an enamelled pineapple that says Aloha Hawaii!. What I don’t do is glance anywhere towards where Ned might be changing. The last thing I need is another glimpse of that honed torso.

  I hear the pump of the shower turn off and, true to his word, he emerges just a few moments later. As he comes into the living room, he’s pulling a white T-shirt over his damp hair and I make myself look away. That body is a sight to behold. I feel a pull deep inside me and think my reaction shows that my hormones are still completely scrambled.

  He claps his hands then grabs a portfolio case and his car keys. ‘Ready to rock?’

  I nod that I am.

  ‘Let me show what the Isle of Wight has to offer!’

  So I follow him out the car and he opens the door for me. Ned throws the portfolio on the back seat and it lands amid the plethora of clothes and empty sandwich packets that are still there from my last trip. He slides into the driver’s seat. ‘Sorry about the state of the car. I keep my Lamborghini for best.’

  I laugh at that. ‘Last time you said it was a Porsche.’

  ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Did I? Time to fess up that I don’t have a garage full of high-end performance sports cars?’

  ‘I’d kind of gathered that.’ I turn to him and smile. ‘I can’t see you in a Porsche. Or a Lamborghini.’ We have many clients who do drive such cars and they are definitely a certain breed. Ned isn’t one of them. ‘You seem more of a low-key sort of person.’

  ‘That’s me,’ he agrees. ‘What you see is what you get.’

  But is it, I wonder? Does he realise that I saw Ida leaving his place first thing this morning? Is that an indication that Ned’s life isn’t as straightforward as he likes to make out? I notice that he hasn’t yet texted her. Still, it’s none of my business. I have no hold on him. He’s a free spirit.

  ‘I’m just grateful for the chance to explore,’ I tell him. ‘This is very kind of you.’

  He starts the engine and slams the car into gear – not without some effort and grinding noises – and we set off.

  ‘We’re heading for Alum Bay,’ he tells me. ‘I might have a commission there, if I’m lucky. I’ve got some sketches in my bag and photographs of similar things I’ve done over the years. It would be a big one if I can get it.’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Then Ned switches on the radio and I settle back in my seat. The DJ’s chatter and the pretty scenery wash over me. It takes an hour of relaxed driving to get to our destination. The Isle of Wight might be small, but the roads are too and there aren’t that many of them. We go right across the middle of the island, mostly through pretty, unspoilt countryside and cutesy villages.

  The car is warm and cosy. The sun coming through the window makes me feel sleepy and I’m relaxed in Ned’s company. There’s not the need for constant chatter and, without even realising it, I doze off.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The car stops and I open my eyes, blinking against the sudden blaze of sunlight. Ahead of me the sea is shimmering and we’re parked by a small theme park – The Needles Landmark Attraction.

  ‘We’re here,’ Ned says. ‘Welcome to the Needles.’

  I rouse myself and we get out of the car. Even this looks like it’s from the sixties, but not in a bad way.

  ‘Want a coffee to wake you up?’

  ‘That sounds like an excellent plan.’

  ‘I’m going to take it personally if you keep falling asleep on me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t know why I do.’ Perhaps it’s part of the healing process that my brain grabs every opportunity it can to shut down for a few minutes. ‘Take it as a compliment about how relaxing I find your company.’

  ‘I’m glad that you do,’ he says and that makes me flush.

  Ned steers me to the nearest café – possibly the only one – and gives me his portfolio to hold while he queues to buy me a cappuccino. I sit in a window seat looking over the main thoroughfare. There’s an old-fashioned sweet shop, the obligatory arcade of slot machines, a carousel and a few other shops selling seaside paraphernalia. None of them are busy today, but I bet you can’t move here in the summer.

  He delivers my drink. ‘I got you a double shot of coffee,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t be long. I’ll ping you my phone number in case you decide to go for a wander. When I come back I’ll show you the sights properly.’

  ‘I hope it goes well for you,’ I manage to say, still feeling a little dazed.

  ‘Thanks.’

  So Ned dashes off, portfolio under his arm and I sip the scalding, double-strength coffee which does, indeed, start to restore me to full wakefulness. I stare into space, enjoying being still. The tang of sea air is mixed with the smell of fresh coffee and the seagulls here look like bullies, swaggering along the pavement looking for scraps of food.

  I check my phone and Chris has called a dozen times again. The frequency is tailing off, but the messages are no less heart-rending. I can’t listen to them. Not today when I’m feeling so much stronger.

  For the first time, I wonder what he’s doing, what he’s t
hinking. Has he told Meg that I’ve left? Does he really miss me? Or is it simply shock at my abrupt and unexpected departure? I thought we had a good marriage – strong and steady. We were never lovey-dovey, always draped over each other, or joined at the hip – but it worked, or so I thought. It is a blow to see how quickly that has crumbled away.

  Half an hour later, I’m still sitting deep in vacant contemplation, and no nearer to an answer, when Ned returns and slides into the seat opposite me. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Well,’ he says, with a degree of conviction. ‘I think they liked my idea. In fact, they were quite enthusiastic. I’m ninety percent certain that they’ll go for it.’

  ‘That’s great. Can I have a sneaky peek at your proposal?’

  ‘It’s for a series of leaping dolphins on the beach.’ He whips a piece of paper out of his case and scoots it across the table to me. ‘Ta-dah.’

  I take in the skilled pencil drawing. ‘It’s fantastic.’

  ‘They seemed to think so to. I’ve got a verbal commitment. I just need to wait for the final confirmation and, of course, the contract.’ Ned gives a sigh of what might be relief. ‘I hate this bit of the job.’

  ‘Perhaps you need an agent to do it for you.’

  ‘When I earn enough to warrant one that would be a great idea. I’m gradually increasing my earnings so that they meet my living costs and this one will really help. It’s a generous sum. Which means, on the strength of me landing this, I’m going to show you a good time. No expense spared.’

  ‘What does that involve?’

  ‘I don’t want you to burst with excitement, so you’ll have to wait and see.’

  I drain the dregs of my coffee. ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘Prepare to be amazed and astounded,’ he says and I follow him outside.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  ‘This was my favourite place when I was a kid,’ Ned says, talking animatedly. ‘I thought the Skyride was the most exciting thing I’d ever done in my life. It probably was.’

  He takes my elbow and steers me towards a chairlift that could best be described as vintage. A rainbow-coloured string of seats and accompanying dangling legs go by above our heads. There’s none of your high-tech stuff here. This is straight out of the 1970s and looks fairly basic.

  ‘My plan is go down to the beach and I can show you where the sculpture will eventually go. Does that sound OK? You’re not scared of heights?’

  Right now, I don’t feel scared of anything. ‘No. Let’s do it.’

  Ned pays for our tickets and we go through the barrier. I can feel excitement building as we wait patiently for our turn to hop on board. When one of the chairs comes round we jump on and he pulls down the safety bar. We’re close together and Ned puts his arm across the back of the chair, protectively. And I’m glad that he does as, with a certain amount of juddering, we’re whisked away from the café and the arcades and out through the treetops. It’s lovely to be so high in the canopy and I feel that I could reach out and touch the leaves. Then we come out of the trees and over the edge of the cliffs, the wind whipping around us as our legs hang high above the beach.

  ‘Alum Bay is famous for its coloured sands,’ Ned tells me as we shudder and chug our way down.

  All around the bay I can see the cliffs made up of multi-coloured layers of sand – crimson, tan, graphite, saffron and lemon – and it’s so beautiful. I can see why this is such a popular destination.

  ‘I think it’s one of the prettiest places on the island. Plus you get a great view of the Needles.’ He points across the bay and there’s the familiar row of the striking bright white stacks of chalk, eroded into pillars by years of wind and sea. They jut out into the milky, turquoise sea and finish at a jaunty red and white striped lighthouse.

  When the chairlift reaches the bottom, Ned helps me as we step off. Then, side by side, we walk along the beach, dwarfed by the bright, multi-hued cliffs. His arm brushes mine as we go.

  ‘As long as I get the go-ahead, the sculpture will go here,’ Ned says, showing me the allocated spot. I can tell that he’s really proud to be doing this, and why shouldn’t he be? He has a real talent and the more people who can see his work the better.

  ‘If we go out on the boat we’ll get a better view of the bay and a close up of the Needles. Up for that?’

  ‘Yes.’ It’s a sunny, sparkling day, I’m at the seaside and I feel as if I’m ready to take on the world.

  At the jetty, we have a choice of two boats: a high-speed rib or a more sedate cruiser.

  ‘Want to go fast?’ Ned asks.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Today is a day for excitement, trying new things. So we climb onto the rib, don lifejackets and strap ourselves in. As it’s still a long way from peak season, there are only a couple of other customers and it feels like a private trip. When we’re all settled, the rib roars into life and I cling on as it bounces out into the waves. The taste of the salty breeze is on my lips and the sea spray on my face sends my spirits soaring. We speed across the water at an exhilarating rate and my stomach lurches as we crest the waves.

  Ned looks over at me. ‘OK?’

  ‘Great!’ I shout back.

  Soon the engine throttles back and we’re bobbing beneath the towering cliffs, the tops dotted with sea birds standing like statues. More sedately, we tour the Needles and the lighthouse and the guide points out sites of historical shipwrecks in this treacherous area before we head back to the beach.

  Ned lifts me down from the rib and I’m aware of his warm hands on my waist. I feel flushed and slightly hyper when my feet touch the sand once more. And when the chairlift whisks us back up to the top of the cliff, I’m conscious of sitting so close to Ned, the length of his thigh against mine. His arm rests casually along the back of the chair again, brushing my shoulders. If I relaxed back just a little bit, I’d be leaning against him. I try to keep upright.

  We skim the trees once more as we return to the station at the top of the cliffs. Ned takes my hand to help me off the chair as it slows for us to step off.

  ‘That was brilliant,’ I say.

  ‘Can you bear any more excitement?’

  ‘Of course.’ I think we’re both feeling slightly giddy.

  We head to the arcade and play the slot machines, spending an age waiting for pennies to drop on the Penny Waterfall with no luck. After too many attempts, Ned manages to hook me a pink teddy bear from the Crazy Claw toy grabber. I’m pretty sure he’d been aiming for the purple dinosaur but it evaded his grasp at the last minute.

  The bear shoots out of the dispenser and Ned hands it to me, proudly. ‘Not everyone has the skill and dexterity to do this.’

  I hold the tiny pink bear to my chest and stroke it. It’s unbearably tacky, but still manages to make my heart ache. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ I give the bear a kiss on the head. ‘I am in awe of your prowess.’

  He laughs. ‘That was my intention.’

  Then Ned takes me to the sand shop where there are rows of wooden boxes offering all the different coloured sands from the cliffs. We choose glass bottles to fill with all the shades we can.

  ‘They started doing this in Victorian times so we’re carrying on an ancient tradition of our forefathers,’ he says with mock solemnity which makes me giggle. ‘Apparently, Queen Victoria has one on her mantelpiece.’

  ‘I bet she did the mermaid-shaped bottle.’ I kind of wish I’d done that one too.

  I like the way Ned is making his creation in a haphazard manner. The sand is going everywhere and is all mixed up in the bottle.

  ‘Why don’t we swap?’ I say to Ned. ‘I’ll do this one for your treasure trove and yours can be for me to keep on Bill’s boat. That way we’ll remember this day for ever.’

  He looks up at me and I can’t read the expression on his face but his eyes soften and he smiles back at me. I turn from his gaze and refocus on my sandy stripes, even though I’m doing mine in a much more controlled manner. Unlike Ned, I frown as I concentrate on spoon
ing sand into my bottle, intent on not spilling a grain and then carefully shaking the bottle to make sure that it’s all level before starting on the next row. I like to think that I’m creating classical art rather than modern.

  When we’ve finished and paid, we exchange bottles – Ned’s with his wonky stripes, mine that are millimetre perfect. ‘I’ll treasure it,’ I say. ‘This has been a lovely day.’

  ‘I have yet to reveal my pièce de résistance,’ he informs me. ‘Come this way.’

  I follow Ned to the fish and chip shop, where he orders for us both and they wrap our meals in paper for us to take away. Clutching them, we head back to the cliff and find a suitable bench to sit on that overlooks the sea. The chips are hot and burn my fingers. The fish is fresh with crisp, golden batter and smells of the sea.

  I don’t really want to think about my husband – not while I’m having such a great time – but I can’t help but wonder why Chris and I didn’t do days like this? We very rarely had time to be free and easy, as each minute of our day was accounted for. The only real quality time we spent together was on our holidays and then we went to exclusive resorts in exotic locations where we laid on sunbeds all day and let waiters bring drinks to us. Would he have even enjoyed sitting on a bench on a windy clifftop eating fish and chips from paper? I don’t think he would have. In fairness, I’m not sure it would have been high on my list of ‘must-dos’, but I’ve loved every minute.

  We finish our al fresco meal in silence – not awkward silence, but quiet, companiable silence. Then, as we’ve exhausted all the delights of the Needles attraction, we head to the car. I sleep all the way home and only wake up as Ned pulls up outside Sunny Days.

  ‘Home again,’ he says.

  Yawning, I say, ‘You must be a very smooth driver.’

  ‘Or you’re a very tired lady.’

  ‘Relaxed, I think. Plus I’m not accustomed to all this fresh air.’ Or the delicious carb-loading from the fish and chips. ‘I need to get an early night.’