Do Not Disturb

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Not as soft as them cats,’ Len said. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Does Campion Bay have any gin bars?’ Kim asked, turning away from her husband. ‘Looks like I’ll need one if he’s going to keep this up all weekend.’ She winked again, and Robin returned with the local Eating Out guide, berating her lack of knowledge about the bars of Campion Bay and with a pang of longing for Will’s dry humour, the way he’d teased her at the golf course. Feeling subdued, she left Len and Kim to plan their evening, and went to seek out a hug from Eclipse.

  As well as Will, she was missing Darcy. Eclipse was more affectionate than a lot of cats, but he wasn’t as soft-centred as the adorable Cavapoo. It had been almost a week since she’d spent the day with Will and Darcy, convinced their relationship was taking a new, wonderful turn – until she’d managed to ruin it all. She had turned her mind to the guesthouse, but she hadn’t forgotten about him, and spent more time than she could spare getting her hampers for him just right. The memory of the golf course tormented her. She wanted to hold on to it, to replay it, but it always ran on to what had happened afterwards, the way Will’s voice and expression had changed as he’d read out Molly’s text.

  Robin stared out of the window as the rain got heavier, Eclipse’s buzzy purring in her ear, his dry nose against her cheek. Headlights lit up the gloom, and Robin watched as a black Audi pulled up to the kerb, and Tim got out. He was wearing a navy suit and pale-green tie, and hurried past her front door with his suit jacket held above his head. Her heart sank as she watched him bounce up the stairs of Tabitha’s house, his blond curls disappearing inside as the front door opened. Had Tim got wind of everything that had happened between her and Will, or had Will invited him to the house? Either way, it couldn’t be good. Robin looked at the table where, until a couple of days ago, Tim’s extravagant bouquet of flowers had sat.

  The plan to keep Tim away from number four Goldcrest Road – which, Robin now knew to her cost had never been a plan at all – was backfiring spectacularly, and it was all her fault.

  Robin was looking forward to spending Saturday evening catching up on New Girl and writing a post for her Facebook page about the first few weeks of running the guesthouse. There was no television in Sea Shanty, so she was on her bed, wearing a thin fleece top over tartan pyjama bottoms, her laptop on the duvet next to a bowl of popcorn. It was close to the end of May, but the weather was more like early April. She had watched three episodes of the sitcom and written one and a half sentences of her blog post when the doorbell rang.

  She scooted off the bed, wondering if one of the guests had forgotten their key, and found Tim standing in front of her. The top button of his shirt was undone, the green tie at a wonky angle. The air smelled of sea and damp pavements, though it had stopped raining, for the moment at least. Tim grinned at her and blinked.

  ‘Tim?’

  ‘Hey, Robs. How are you? Long time no see.’

  ‘You sent me flowers,’ she said, as if this was the equivalent of spending time with him. ‘Are you drunk?’

  Tim gave her an elaborate shrug and stepped into the hall.

  Sighing, Robin closed the front door and followed him into Sea Shanty.

  ‘It looks great in here,’ he said. ‘Really great.’

  ‘It’s no different to the last time you saw it. Your flowers have not long faded. Why did you send them to me, by the way?’

  ‘Because I missed you, Robs. I still do. I miss you.’ He sat heavily on one of the sofas, his elbows on his knees, and looked up at her.

  ‘This isn’t the best time to have this conversation,’ she said slowly, sitting on the other sofa, keeping a good distance between them. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I spent the evening with your neighbour, William Nightingale.’ He rolled the words around in his mouth, as if the name was distasteful. ‘Took him to the Artichoke, because it seemed like he needed a drink. Turns out he did. God, Robs! What did you do to him? What happens when you stay under this roof?’

  Robin sat back, wary. ‘Why, what did he tell you?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Tim admitted. ‘He got more sullen the more he had to drink, but he’s not a happy bunny. Not. At. All. And, when I mentioned you, he grimaced and clammed up. Ergo’ – Tim swept his arm wide – ‘you are the cause. I want all the details.’

  ‘You can have precisely none.’ She breathed a sigh of relief that Will hadn’t confided in Tim. She wasn’t sure how he would have used that information, but she knew he’d find some way to exploit it. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Did you two have a thing? Is that what happened? Blurring the boundary between business and pleasure?’ He tutted at her. ‘Bad idea, Robs. Schoolgirl error.’

  Robin gritted her teeth. Drunk, smug Tim was not someone she was enjoying spending time with. ‘Know that from experience, do you?’

  Tim pulled out his phone. ‘Can I get a taxi to pick me up from here? I can’t drive back: too much whisky.’ He rubbed his forehead.

  ‘Why couldn’t you have got it to pick you up from next door?’

  ‘I wanted to see you. Hello, can I order a taxi, please?’ He spoke into his phone, and Robin went to the kitchen and made him an instant coffee. She hoped the taxi would be quick. When she returned to Sea Shanty, Eclipse had taken advantage of the unexpected warm lap and Tim, in his drunken state, hadn’t ejected him. They looked quite sweet, sitting together on the sofa, she thought, and then berated herself. Tim did not belong on her sofa, making friends with her cat. She handed him the mug of coffee.

  ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Did you have a nice evening, then, with Will?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a good bloke. Solid.’

  ‘As opposed to what, being made of cotton wool?’

  Tim grinned at her. ‘You’re brilliant, Robs. You know that? Smart and funny and sexy and sassy.’ His blue eyes flashed at her, and she realised she’d sat next to him, unintentionally closing the gap between them.

  ‘Give me a break.’ Robin rolled her eyes. ‘Did you … chat about the house at all? Tabitha’s house?’

  ‘Yup. As you know, I’ve got lots of knowledge and experience, and Will was very keen to hear my views.’

  She swore under her breath. ‘He was?’

  ‘He’s a good bloke,’ Tim said again. ‘He’d be a sound guy to hang out with, if he was sticking around.’

  Robin stared at him, wondering if he was being manipulative, if the drunkenness was partly an act, or if Will had made plans with Tim, made a deal even, and was already arranging to leave Campion Bay. ‘He’s not sticking around?’

  Tim frowned at her. ‘He isn’t?’

  ‘You said he’d be good to hang out with, if he was sticking around. Does that mean he’s not?’

  ‘He doesn’t live here, does he? This is temporary. Campion Bay, his aunt’s house, all the … stuff. It’s not an easy decision.’

  ‘Why isn’t it easy? What decision? What is he going to do with the house?’ Robin forced herself to keep calm, fighting the urge to grab Tim and shake him into talking sense, or make him recount every last detail of his evening in the pub with Will. She had begun to think that it would be a very easy decision for Will, now that he couldn’t trust her. He could finish going through his aunt’s possessions, and then return to his old life – or some semblance of it. But maybe the charms of Campion Bay had begun to work on him after all.

  ‘Ah.’ Tim tapped the side of his nose. ‘Can’t talk about that. Client confidentiality.’

  Robin nodded. ‘We’ll find out soon enough anyway, if you – if Will’s made a decision.’

  ‘There you go, then.’ Tim stroked Eclipse, who was purring loudly and looking up at him with adoration. ‘You don’t need me to tell you.’

  Robin’s shoulders sagged. Tim’s discretion was clearly going to remain intact despite too much whisky, which, she considered, was admirable, even if it wasn’t helping her at that moment.

  ‘Are
you OK, Robs? I know I turned up unannounced, but – hey!’ He stopped stroking Eclipse and took her hand. ‘I haven’t asked how you’re getting on. I’m sorry.’ He put on an exaggerated, drunken-solemn expression, his blue eyes cartoon wide.

  She laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

  ‘You. I haven’t seen you like this.’

  ‘Like what?’ He frowned.

  ‘Drunk. I can’t remember if we ever … I mean, we must have got drunk together, but you’re always so in control, so on top of everything.’

  ‘I am in control,’ he said calmly. He took a sip of his coffee, then bent forward and put the mug on the floor.

  ‘You’re three sheets to the wind.’

  He gave a gentle chuckle. ‘One sheet, maybe.’

  He met her gaze, and suddenly he didn’t seem drunk at all. He was proving a point, she knew, showing her that he was in full possession of his senses. Robin felt a flutter of the old attraction, despite herself. Even drunk, even calculating and ruthless, he had a charm that she found hard to ignore.

  ‘Tim.’ She said it loudly, wanting to put a barrier between them.

  ‘Robs,’ he whispered, leaning towards her.

  She was frozen. Part of her believed that he wasn’t about to do this, but part of her was too curious to stop him. His face was inches from hers. He smelled of whisky and coffee, sweet and bitter both at once.

  ‘Neither of us wants this,’ she said. ‘This shouldn’t be happening.’

  ‘So stop it, then.’ Tim put his hand on the back of her head, his fingers in her hair, and brought her face gently towards his.

  Robin’s heart was thumping, her eyes focused on his mouth, and then a vision of Will’s face close to hers, his lips pressing against hers as the rain started to fall, flashed into her head and she pulled back, slipping her head out of Tim’s grip, scooting as far back on the sofa as she could.

  ‘I’m not doing this.’

  Tim sat up straight, giving her his usual grin, but not before Robin had seen the look of annoyance, as fleeting as a flash of lightning. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Not ever, Tim. We can’t go back.’

  ‘That’s not a rule. Not one I’m planning on sticking to.’

  ‘It’s not entirely up to you, though, is it?’ She stood, annoyed with herself, and took his empty mug to the kitchen. Her pulse was slowly returning to normal, and the deliriousness that had overtaken her for a second was replaced with cold, hard anger: at Tim for coming round, for drunkenly trying his chances, but mostly with herself for letting him get so close. Things were difficult with Will, stalling before they’d got started, so she had considered going back to what was easy and familiar, even though she knew it wasn’t what she wanted. It was lazy and cowardly, and she was in danger of proving Will right. She wasn’t playing them off against each other, but if she let Tim get this close, then how could she blame him for thinking that? She needed to fight for Will; she couldn’t jump at the first offer of intimacy, just because she was feeling hopeless.

  ‘Taxi’s here,’ Tim called, one hand on the front door. He opened it, his eyes narrowing as he peered out through a fresh rain shower. ‘Thanks for letting me take refuge. We must do this again, catch up properly.’

  ‘As opposed to you using me as a taxi shelter, you mean?’ She leaned against the wall and folded her arms. ‘And there are some aspects of this visit that we won’t be repeating.’

  Tim grinned, entirely unruffled. He didn’t kiss her cheek this time, but squeezed her arm instead. ‘See you soon, Robs.’

  She watched him slide into the back seat of the taxi, and then it pulled away and Goldcrest Road was quiet once more. She thought of Will in the house next door. Did he get into a sleeping bag every night, or was one of the bedrooms now clean enough to sleep in? And what about Darcy? Where did she sleep? She felt a pang of guilt at what had almost happened with Tim, even though she and Will were as far from being reconciled as it was possible to be.

  She wondered if he was as drunk as Tim had been, whether he’d been drowning his sorrows because of her. She went back to the kitchen, to the hamper that stood on the table, and packed it with homemade chocolate cookies, dog treats, a couple of bananas, a packet of fresh coffee and some Alka-Seltzer. She slipped the whole thing inside a large plastic bag to shelter it from the rain.

  Pondering what Tim had meant when he’d said it wasn’t an easy decision, and that he’d like to get to know Will if he was hanging around, she padded quietly down the front steps. She breathed in the damp nighttime air and, closing her eyes for a moment and angling her face up, felt the raindrops against her skin. She left the hamper on the doorstep in the usual place, and as she turned away, she thought she saw a flicker of movement at the edge of the curtain.

  She made her way back to her room, to New Girl and her blog post, her head now full of Will and Tim and the decisions they’d been making in her absence, of how kissing Will had made her feel, of Tim’s ability to break down her barriers after all this time. She had no idea what to write.

  All the progress she’d made in the last few weeks with the guesthouse, all her achievements, somehow seemed insignificant compared with the mess she was making of her personal life. Was she destined to be a great businesswoman, running a successful, admired seaside guesthouse, but an eternal spinster, terrible at relationships, leaving parcels in the desperate hope she could win back the hearts that she’d damaged? Somehow, that didn’t seem like a good trade-off.

  ‘Thanks a bloody lot, Tim,’ she whispered, and pressed PLAY on the remote.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning Robin woke with an unsettling feeling, but for a few moments was unable to place the cause. And then she remembered Tim’s breath on her face, his blue eyes looking into hers, and felt awash with guilt. Nothing had happened – she had come to her senses early enough – but how could she claim to be pining for Will when she was letting her old boyfriend get so close? It was because she was upset about Will, she decided. She was feeling untethered, unsure of herself.

  She had to do something about it. Cookies and coffee on the doorstep weren’t going to be enough.

  With determination firing through her, and with a host of breakfasts to cook, she jumped out of bed and straight into the shower. Her guests were all on good form, and Paige was adding to the atmosphere, breaking into a loud and somewhat startling rendition of ‘Cry Me a River’ while she flipped the pancakes. Len and Kim, the couple in Andalusia, and Nina and Ben who were staying in Wilderness, had asked for her new Sunday special, and Paige had declared that making pancakes was one of her favourite things. Lorna, sitting alone at the Rockpool table, had come out of her shell a little and was chatting and joking with the other guests as she dug into pancakes, blueberries and maple syrup, minus the bacon. Robin was buoyed by everyone’s good mood, and even the weather felt like it was taking a turn for the better.

  She spent the morning kneading and proving a walnut cob and a sourdough bloomer, trying to expel all her nervous energy. She had the radio on in the background, the local station starting to wheel out summer classics at the first sign of late-May sunshine. ‘Boys of Summer’ by Don Henley, ‘Summertime’ by Will Smith, ‘Summer of 69’ by Bryan Adams. She felt like she was stuck in a time warp, singing along to the music she had loved as a teenager, and that reminded her of what had happened with Tim the night before.

  She had made the right decision.

  Robin didn’t tend to wear a lot of make-up, but she found herself applying mascara and trying to negotiate her curls, which she’d had tied back while she was working in the kitchen, into something approaching organised. She was giving herself a final appraisal in the rectangular mirror next to the front door when she heard light footfalls on the stairs. Lorna appeared, carrying her guitar case.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, a smile breaking out. ‘Which way is the town centre? I had a quick look on Google Maps, but I don’t want to start out in the wrong direction.�
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  ‘Turn left as you walk out of the door, and it’s about ten minutes along the promenade before you head inland. There’s a sign to Seagull Street, and once you’re on that you can’t go wrong. Got any particular plans?’ Robin was intrigued as to why she had her guitar case if she was exploring Campion Bay. She had sudden visions of the case hiding a machine gun, ready to accompany the young woman to a bank, or fifty-pound notes wadded together, the payment in some unsavoury deal. She gave Lorna what she hoped was her most encouraging smile.

  ‘Not really,’ Lorna said. ‘I want to see what the lay of the land is, do a bit of exploring, that’s all.’

  ‘We have a lovely arts centre close to Sainsbury’s. They do open-mic nights and a few gigs. They’re mostly local talent – we can’t attract the likes of Frank Turner or One Direction.’ She felt like an old woman, trying to guess the musical tastes of someone younger. She wanted to add that she wouldn’t go and watch One Direction even if they did decide to perform in Campion Bay, and then realised that might not be strictly true.

  ‘Is that close, then? I got here with a long combination of trains and buses and taxis. I don’t have a car with me.’

  ‘Sainsbury’s is at the end of Seagull Street, so it’s within walking distance. But if you do need a car for anything while you’re here, I’d be more than happy to drive you. I pop into Bridport a couple of times a week. Where have you come from?’

  ‘Near Luton,’ Lorna admitted, but didn’t elaborate. ‘That’s very kind, thank you. I’ll definitely check out the arts centre. I love the sound of an open-mic night; I’ve never performed entirely on my own before, always as part of a band.’

  ‘I guess it’s a middle ground,’ Robin said, relieved. Surely she wouldn’t want to take a machine gun into the arts centre? ‘You get the chance to perform on your own, to see what it feels like, but you’re not responsible for the whole evening. You’re one important part of a much bigger thing.’