The occasional thought about finding her birth mother had also started to disturb her but she pushed that away. No point in making life unnecessarily complicated.
*
Karen was working in the garden when she heard the side gate open. Turning, she saw Guy standing there, holding two tennis racquets.
‘The court is free. Fancy a game?’
The question transported her straight back to that long-ago summer, when playing, and beating, Guy in a game of tennis had been one of her daily ambitions. Her tennis had improved fiftyfold over that summer but she’d only ever managed to take a couple of games off him – never a complete set, let alone a match.
‘You still got that killer serve?’ she said.
‘Come and find out.’
‘OK. Give me five minutes and I’ll join you on court,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring my own racquet. Charlie’s will be too heavy for me.’
She’d been wondering ever since she and Guy had come face to face at Bruce’s if he would seek her out. She’d debated about knocking on the door of No. 3 but resisted. Guy had taken so long to make contact with anyone in the cottages, she decided he was obviously enjoying the solitude.
Now, as she changed into her tennis shorts and sports top, she remembered how he’d always been one to hang back from joining in everything, frequently preferring his own company to that summer’s noisy gang. Something he hadn’t grown out of, it seemed.
Guy was practising his serve as she arrived on court and began to collect the balls. He won the toss to serve first but said she could choose which end she wanted to start from.
‘D’you play much tennis these days?’ she asked as she did a couple of practice shots over the net.
‘Haven’t played in months. You ready?’
As the first ace of the game whizzed past her, Karen laughed. ‘Yep. You’ve still got that killer serve.’
The first few games were fairly evenly matched. Karen’s serve didn’t ace it past Guy, try as she might, but in the rallies her forehand was well up to returning and placing the ball on the court out of reach of Guy. He did win the set, though, 6–4.
‘Another set?’ Guy asked, walking towards the net, ready to change ends.
Karen hesitated. What she really wanted to do was talk to him, learn about how life had been for him, get to know him again. Shouting breathless questions at him while they played had never been an option.
Guy picked up on her hesitation. ‘Or you could just accept defeat graciously and we could sit in your garden and talk.’
‘Let’s do that,’ Karen said. ‘I’ll even make you a sandwich for lunch if you like.’
Ten minutes later they were both sitting on the terrace of The Captain’s House, a bottle of wine and a plate of ham and cucumber sandwiches on the table in front of them.
‘So your parents left you and Chris this house?’ Guy said.
‘No. Just me. Chris got their main house where he now lives. He’s a university lecturer these days. He and his wife will be here for a holiday soon. He’ll be thrilled to see you again.’
‘Did you go to uni like you planned?’
‘Bristol,’ Karen said. ‘But the less said about that the better. I left during my first year, changed to a cordon bleu course. Then I met Derek and got married. You’ve met Wills, my son. My daughter will arrive sometime in August for a break with a friend.’ She glanced at Guy. ‘You? What did you end up doing? Journalism? Are you married? Kids?’
‘Photo-journalism in the end, though I’m ready for a change of direction now. As for being married – yes, but that’s up in the air too at the moment for various reasons I’ll tell you about some day. No kids – none that I know about anyway.’ He gave her a wicked grin, which faded as he registered the look on her face.
‘That was meant to be a jokey, blokey throwaway comment – not to be taken seriously,’ he said.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be judgemental,’ Karen said. ‘It’s just… a friend of mine was badly let down by the man she thought was her soulmate. And certain men these days do seem to think they can just walk away from commitment.’
‘I’m not one of them,’ Guy said quietly. ‘I always take full responsibility for all my actions and face the consequences. Although just lately I seem to have lost my ability to bounce back from life’s knocks.’
‘Is that why you’re hiding away in Charlie’s cottage this summer?’
Guy nodded. ‘I needed somewhere and it seemed a good idea. It wasn’t until after I’d accepted that I realised exactly where the cottage was.’
‘Would it have made a difference if you’d known before?’
‘No. I was desperate. And I have good memories of this place.’
Karen took a sip of her wine. ‘Are you going to tell me why you were so desperate?’
‘Not today.’ Guy looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Are you happy? Only I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation with Bruce and...’
Karen held up her hand. ‘Stop. I don’t want to talk about it until I’ve sorted things out in my own head.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll tell you what – let’s ignore all the years that have passed, forget all our current personal troubles and pretend we’re still those two young people who just last summer met for the first time, and that, this year, we’re on holiday again, and hoping our special friendship will be intact.’ Guy paused before adding quietly, ’Because we were special friends back then, weren’t we?’
Karen smiled. ‘I like to think we were. Not quite sure how the presence of my children and husband will affect this unique plan of yours, but trying to recapture our lost youth could be fun. Or the beginning of a midlife crisis for both of us.’
Guy waved a hand in a throwaway gesture. ‘Nonsense. Nostalgia is all the rage these days. Besides, living in the past is a darn sight better than living in the present.’ He looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Sorry, I have to go. I need to make a phone call. I’ll see you later. Thanks for the tennis and lunch.’
And then he was gone, leaving a puzzled Karen staring after him. Just what had happened in his life to make Guy so bitter about the present?
*
That first afternoon and evening in Devon, Carrie couldn’t settle. It was a weird feeling wandering around a house full of a stranger’s possessions, knowing it was all hers to deal with as she wished. The easiest thing to do would be to engage a firm of house clearance people and get them to empty the house from top to bottom. She didn’t need to go through a dead man’s personal belongings before putting an empty house on the market. Always supposing she kept to her original plan of selling it, of course.
Being here in Robert Trumble’s house was unsettling in more ways than one. Driving down she’d been positive it was a simple case of seeing the house before putting it on the market, but now... Now she wasn’t so sure. Either about selling the house or not wanting to learn more about the man who had been her father. Curiosity about him was beginning to get to her.
The legacy had unsettled her so much she didn’t know how she felt about anything any more. Maybe knowing more about him would help, and in the future, when everything had settled down, she would become grateful for, and even appreciate, the changes he had made to her life.
In the sitting room she took a closer look at the photos on top of the piano, wondering if any were of Robert himself. Young men and women in their graduation gowns, young people on a picnic by a river, a group of older people enjoying themselves in a marquee. Impossible to know whether her father was one of them.
Impossible to know either whether any of the antique furniture in the room had been inherited from his parents – her grandparents – or purchased by him. How was she expected to know which were family heirlooms and Robert Trumble’s treasured possessions – and did it matter? Somehow it did. She couldn’t simply throw away someone’s possessions without any regard for what they had meant to that person.
Upstairs she pushed open the door of th
e study and crossed over to the chair by the window. Minimalistic and businesslike, would it be in here she learnt about Robert Trumble? The dog basket told her one thing about him – he’d liked dogs. She wondered what sort of dog had curled up in that basket. And what had happened to it?
Sitting at Robert Trumble’s desk she thought about her unknown biological parents. She should have felt hurt neither of them had wanted to keep her, that they’d given her away, but she didn’t feel anything at all for them. And that made her worry she was being hypocritical in accepting the legacy. Had Robert expected her to feel grateful for his largesse at the end of his life?
Her mobile rang. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Everything all right? Have you met any neighbours yet?’
Carrie laughed. ‘Everything is fine – and as there aren’t any near neighbours, I haven’t met any.’ Fleetingly she remembered Anthony Trumble but he definitely wasn’t a neighbour, so didn’t count. ‘Did you get the photos I sent earlier?’
‘It’s a beautiful house,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Looks big.’
‘‘It is and full of furniture and personal stuff I have no real idea what to do with.’ Carrie sighed. ‘I do wish you could have come down with me. You’d love it here. Not just the house, but the countryside. And you could help me decide what to do about everything.’
‘Only you can do that,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Get a good night’s sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning. Oh, you will make sure the bed is aired, won’t you?’ she added.
Before she went to bed, Carrie started to make a list on her phone of a few things she wanted to do the next day: explore the village; phone Dom; go through some of the paperwork in the study in the hope of learning something about Robert Trumble.
She’d decided to sleep in the master bedroom overlooking the front garden and lane. The bed was comfortable enough but she tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Growing up and living in the countryside she was used to the quiet, the darkness with only the moon illuminating things, and the nighttime noises of the wild animals. But she wasn’t yet used to the strange noises this house made. Water gurgling through the pipes for ages after she’d been to the bathroom, wooden floors contracting, the sound of the wind rattling a loose windowpane.
Her thoughts were chasing through her brain too, playing their part in keeping her awake. She’d hoped, being in his house, that she’d sense the kind of person her father had been. As if his spirit was still hovering in the air waiting for her. Maybe she was being silly expecting some sort of connection just because she was in his home. It hadn’t worked so far as she’d failed to find anything that connected her to the man or his family.
Why did she keep putting off opening the letter? The letter that could possibly explain things. It had nothing to do with the fact that she didn’t want to read excuses about why neither of her biological parents had wanted to keep her twenty-eight years earlier.
*
Guy hadn’t lied to Karen when he said he had to make a phone call, but it wasn’t as urgent as he’d implied. When Karen had told him she didn’t want to talk until she’d sorted things out in her head, he’d known exactly what she meant. He too had certain things he needed to sort out before he could move forward with his life. Things he’d allowed to drift. But it hadn’t seemed the right moment to tell her that.
Back in No. 3 he stood for a few moments in front of the French doors watching the dozen or so sailing yachts taking advantage of the wind out in the Channel, before pressing Charlie’s number on his mobile.
‘How you doing, mate?’ Charlie’s voice boomed down the line. ‘Hope the Devon air is doing you good.’
‘Definitely,’ Guy said. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any post for me at your place?’
‘There’s a couple here.’
‘Anything look urgent? French postmarks for instance?’
‘Nope, nothing like that. Think they’ll all keep for another ten days until I arrive down there.’
There was a pause before Charlie said, ‘Melissa rang a couple of days ago. Asked how you were. Wanted to know an address so she could write to you. Claims you’ve blocked her on your phone.’
‘Did you tell her where I was? How did she sound?’
‘She sounded better than she did six months ago – definite traces of the old Melissa in her voice. No, I didn’t tell her. Said I’d pass on any message she wanted to give me. She asked me to tell you – again – how sorry she was and how she wished she could turn the clock back.’
‘She’s not alone in wishing that,’ Guy said. ‘But our clocks were clearly running in different time zones.’
‘You don’t feel you could…?’
‘No.’ Guy sighed. ‘With all that’s happened, I can’t go back, Charlie. I’ll wait a bit longer until I’m sure Melissa is up to facing the truth and talk to her. Don’t want to set her back when she isn’t strong enough to cope.’
‘Fair enough. How are the neighbours down there?’ Charlie said, changing the subject, to Guy’s relief.
‘Have to admit I’m only just getting to meet them but they’re a friendly lot. Went to my first sundowner recently.’
When the conversation finished a moment later, Guy sighed as he turned his back on the view from the French doors. He’d known recovering from the car crash of events that had piled up on him was going to be difficult enough without Melissa complicating things. He’d hoped the message his leaving France so abruptly had been intended to convey would have got through. That she’d realise their life together was over – something she was totally responsible for. So why was he still treading carefully, not wanting to hurt her because of all she’d been through? He’d lost count of how many times she’d told him she was sorry. Why couldn’t she realise, however sorry she was, that it was too bloody late.
Out in the kitchen he reached for the whisky bottle, but it was empty. How the hell had that happened? He’d only bought it two days ago.
Week Three
‘Stop it, you daft dog,’ Bruce said as he tried to towel Girly dry after their midday walk and she insisted on trying to reward him with face kisses. It hadn’t been raining hard when they set out, just a gentle Devonshire mizzle that Bruce always found rather refreshing. But because Girly was still a bit weak and wobbly on her legs, they hadn’t gone too far along the coastal path and thankfully were already on their way home when the wind got up and the rain increased.
He’d spent a lot of time over the last few days giving Girly cuddles and tummy rubs, wanting her to feel safe and loved. In the few days since he’d brought her home, her presence had made a huge difference to his own life. Thinking through and talking about his future plans as he’d petted her had been a form of therapy. She was undemanding company and a good listener. The first night he’d left her downstairs in her basket when he went to bed. Waking in the early hours and trying to turn over, he’d found the duvet held in place around his legs. For half a heartbeat he’d dreamt it was Gabby, before realising it was the dog.
‘Oh, Girly,’ he’d said. ‘You really shouldn’t be here.’ She’d licked his hand and snuggled in even closer. He didn’t have the heart to take her back downstairs. Besides, it was strangely comforting to feel the weight of her presence on the bed, and now it was a matter of routine. When he came upstairs to go to bed, she came too.
After giving the dog a final rub, Bruce held out a biscuit. ‘Here you go, Girly.’ The dog took it from him gently before going over to her basket, curling up and following his every movement with her sorrowful-looking big brown eyes.
Out in the kitchen, Bruce put some cheese, a tomato, a few leaves of salad, some pickle and a couple of slices of bread on a plate, before pouring himself a glass of red wine. The dining-room table was full of estate-agent details, papers and his laptop, which he’d been working on earlier, so he took everything through to the small table in the sitting room.
Girly immediately left her basket and came and sat at his side attentively. Bruce laughed.
‘You’re a quick learner, Girly.’ He broke off a piece of his bread and gave it to her. ‘That’s it. I might spoil you rotten by letting you sleep on the bed but I’m not silly enough to encourage you to beg at the table.’
Sitting there eating his lunch, Bruce glanced across at the paperwork on the table in the other room. One or two of the properties looked interesting and he needed to make appointments to view them, but despite the initial euphoria he’d felt on telling Karen his plans, the doubts had crept in. It was a big step to take, especially if he was less than one hundred per cent sure it was the right thing for him to do. He had to do something, but maybe a complete break with his past life would be better? Sell both the flat and The Bosun’s Locker; move somewhere unknown. With no memories of Gabby about the place.
Deep down he knew he didn’t want or need a complete break from the past. His life with Gabby had been a good one, not something he wanted to forget. In truth, for the past six months his memories of their life together had been what kept him going.
Gabby had always been one who loved change and accepted any challenge at full-pelt. He could hear her voice urging him to ‘Come on, Brucie darling, it’ll be fun. You know you always overanalyse things.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I just like to be prepared.’
Sipping his wine, and thinking about Gabby, Bruce sensed his doubts were diminishing, overtaken again by optimism about starting a new life based down here. Girly hadn’t moved from his side and absently he began to fondle her ear. ‘Shall we make some appointments then, Girly? Go look at some houses?’
*
After breakfast on her first morning in the house, Carrie decided to walk into the village, get some air and explore a bit. See if she could buy some basic supplies at the village shop or if it would be a case of driving into the nearest town and finding a supermarket later in the week.
Using the tall church spire as her guide, Carrie began to make her way towards the centre of the village. She passed two villagers who both smiled and said ‘Hello’ and stood to one side as a trio of horses trotted briskly down the main street, their riders raising a hand to her in acknowledgement. Outside the pub a woman was positioning a board with the day’s special menu written up on it. Crab salad – one of Carrie’s favourites.
Summer at Coastguard Cottages Page 7