Meet Me at Beachcomber Bay

by Jill Mansell

  This was the thing about very old people: they quite often liked to blurt out whatever happened to be on their mind, regardless of whether or not it was appropriate. Ronan saw Kate’s flush deepen and felt the back of his own neck grow a bit hot. Before he could reply, Kate said hurriedly, ‘Ronan has a girlfriend.’

  ‘He does?’ Nevil brightened. ‘How delightful! Who’s Ronan?’

  ‘I’m Ronan, Mr Burrows. Now, this is the living room,’ Ronan said firmly, because someone had to get this viewing started.

  ‘Oh now look at that.’ Nevil tut-tutted. ‘I wonder who left that there?’

  That was a frying pan containing an overcooked fried egg, balanced on top of the bookcase.

  ‘Let me take it into the kitchen,’ Ronan offered. When he returned to the living room twenty seconds later, Nevil was pointing things out to Kate at the window.

  ‘Oh hello,’ he said. ‘I was just showing your wife the rose bushes. You both enjoy gardening, do you?’

  ‘Um … yes,’ said Kate. ‘I do.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. And we’ve got a fair-sized lawn here too, plenty of room for the kiddies to run around and play. How many do you have?’

  Nevil was looking eagerly at them both. Briefly tempted to invent a couple of children, Ronan told himself he mustn’t do that, it would be unethical. He shook his head and said, ‘No children,’ then saw Nevil’s face fall and hastily added, ‘yet.’

  ‘Ah, that’s the spirit.’ Nodding vigorously, Nevil gave him a saucy nudge. ‘Getting plenty of practice in, eh?’ He winked at Kate. ‘Nothing like a bit of practice to keep things interesting. Need to make the most of it before those kiddies turn up!’

  Fifteen minutes later, having viewed the rest of the house, they said their goodbyes. As he waved to them from the front doorstep, Nevil beamed and called out, ‘Don’t forget now, lots of practice!’ Which rather suggested that not all his short-term memory was lost.

  Ronan glanced at Kate, whose mouth had begun to twitch uncontrollably. Somehow they made it down the garden path and back to the safety of the car before bursting out laughing. Suppressed for so long, the laughter refused to die down; each time it almost happened, a glance from one of them would set the other off again, until they’d succumbed to full-blown hysteria and Ronan had a stitch in his side.

  After several minutes, they finally managed to regain some semblance of control.

  ‘Oh God,’ Kate gasped, clutching her stomach. ‘My muscles ache. That was like doing three hundred sit-ups.’

  Ronan shook his head. ‘I can’t believe we managed to hold out as long as we did.’

  ‘What do I look like? Has my mascara run?’ Kate wiped her index fingers beneath her eyes. ‘Trust me to be wearing it on the one day this has to happen. It’s the first time I’ve bothered with make-up in weeks.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ There was a mirror on the other side of the sun visor, but it evidently hadn’t occurred to Kate to look for it. Ronan took a tissue out of the packet he kept in the glove compartment and turned sideways in his seat so he could carefully wipe away the smudges of mascara on her cheeks.

  The last time he’d sat in this car facing a female, it had been Belle, and he’d asked if he could kiss her, despite not really wanting to.

  And now it was the other way around; this time he couldn’t ask the question, despite it being what he wanted to do more than anything in the world.

  Presumably, this was him getting his comeuppance. They were so close … so close … but Kate was avoiding his gaze, keeping very still whilst looking upwards.

  At least it meant she couldn’t see the vein pulsing away in his neck, betraying his accelerated heartbeat.

  Slowly and meticulously, Ronan wiped away every last trace of mascara. When it was done, he felt Kate’s warm breath on his cheek as she said, ‘Thanks.’

  God, this feels good. ‘No problem.’

  Lifting herself up from her seat, she twisted her neck so she could check her reflection in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’ve done an excellent job there.’

  Ronan shrugged and said flippantly, ‘I’ve made a lot of girls cry.’ Oh hell, why did I say that? Hastily he added, ‘OK, that’s not true. It just came out. I haven’t made lots of girls cry.’

  ‘Apart from the ones who stand outside your flat reading poems to you at midnight.’

  Damn, he was just digging himself deeper. ‘That was a one-off. It hasn’t happened since, I promise.’

  ‘Well that has to be a good thing. And you’re with Clemency now,’ Kate added lightly, ‘so let’s hope it doesn’t happen again.’

  At least he knew he wouldn’t be making Clem cry. Ronan smiled at the very idea that he could.

  ‘And it’s going really well between the two of you, from what I hear.’ Kate was watching him, had evidently noted the smile.

  ‘Oh? And what is it you’ve been hearing?’

  ‘Nothing but good things. People enjoy a happy ending, don’t they? They love it that the two of you finally got together. And Clemency’s lovely,’ said Kate.

  ‘So am I,’ Ronan prompted.

  ‘Well of course. Goes without saying.’ The colour was back in her cheeks. ‘But I’m glad everything’s good. You’re so well matched. Everyone says it, and I think so too. You and Clemency are perfect together.’

  It wasn’t the first time Ronan had been told this. It wasn’t even the twentieth. And he could see why people would think it: on paper, all the boxes were ticked. He and Clemency had always got along like a house on fire; they were both hard-working extroverts with a shared sense of humour … let’s face it, they did seem like the perfect match.

  And they were, but only as friends. Good friends who loved each other’s company, never grew bored with teasing each other and knew perfectly well that they were both physically attractive. But they also knew, deep down, that that was as far as it went. If anything, the problem was that they were too alike. He and Clemency, Ronan was sure, would be friends for the rest of their lives. But the magical, indescribable chemistry that had sprung up out of nowhere during the one unexpected evening he’d spent with Kate … well, that had been something else altogether. It had also been the kind of chemistry he knew he’d never experience with Clem.

  For a second he was tempted to tell Kate the truth, to confide that there was actually nothing at all going on between him and Clem; he’d simply been doing her a favour, helping her out.

  But no, he mustn’t. It wouldn’t be fair on Clem, for a start. And what would be the point, anyway? There was no reason to tell Kate and nothing would change if he did.

  He’d blown his chances with her and that was that. Time to accept it once and for all and move on.

  ‘We’re doing OK.’ Ronan smiled and changed the subject. ‘How about you and Nevil’s cottage? Could you two be a match made in heaven?’

  He already knew they weren’t. Years of experience had taught him the signs. When clients viewed a property, he was always able to sense when he was witnessing that irrevocable falling-in-love, have-to-have-it moment. Some people became effusive and blurted it out; others went quiet and said barely anything at all, but their body language always gave them away. Ronan loved it when he saw it happen and took it in his stride when it didn’t, which was far more often than not.

  Like now.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Kate was looking apologetic. ‘It just didn’t feel … you know, right. Sorry.’

  Every time, she apologised. ‘Don’t be sorry.’ He started the car and said good-naturedly, ‘We’ll keep on going. I’m not giving up. We’ll find you your perfect place in the end.’

  Chapter 24

  It was hard to concentrate on llamas when your brain kept bounding off in a different direction altogether, like an out-of-control puppy.

  ‘Clem, are you even listening? Concentrate,’ Ronan ordered, rapping her on the knuckles with his pen.

  ‘Sorry.’ Clemency forced herself back to the situation at hand. She nee
ded to pay attention; it was the final round and they were neck and neck with Rossiter’s, their fellow estate agents and deadliest rivals in St Carys. ‘What was the question again?’

  Ronan shook his head in an I-don’t-believe-this fashion. ‘The llama belongs to which family of animals?’

  Oh God, no clue. Clemency pictured a llama, all elegant and bright-eyed, with fabulous lashes like a supermodel. ‘Sheep?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s sheep.’

  ‘Giraffe, then?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘It’s an educated guess! They both have long necks.’

  ‘But you don’t know the answer,’ said Ronan.

  ‘No I don’t. And neither do you.’

  ‘Listen to them bickering,’ a member of the Rossiter’s team commented. ‘And not even married yet.’

  ‘Five seconds,’ warned the quizmaster, causing Ronan to hastily scribble an answer on the square of paper.

  Clemency took a glug of red wine. ‘What did you put?’

  ‘Sheep.’

  ‘OK, pens down,’ ordered the quizmaster. ‘And the answer is … “camel”.’

  ‘Bum.’ Clemency sighed and took another swig of wine, because that put them out of the running. Then she saw that Ronan was grinning and waving the square of paper with his answer on it.

  He’d written CAMEL.

  ‘You knew all the time.’ Clemency narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You lied to me.’

  He looked smug. ‘You weren’t paying attention.’

  She’d been thinking about Marina. For the last couple of days it had been pretty much impossible to think about anything but Marina.

  ‘So that’s a point each for table six, table eight and table three,’ the quizmaster announced, ‘which means we come to the last question of the night and it’s as close as it gets between tables six and three. Ooh, I say, the battle of the estate agents. Rossiter’s versus Barton and Byrne. Who do we think will win, hmm? OK, stand by for the final question. Here we go …’

  This time Clemency paid attention.

  ‘What is the name given to a locked case in which decanters can be seen but not used?’

  A chorus of groans went up around the room. Ronan said, ‘A really bloody annoying case.’ He gave Clemency a look to signal he had no clue and murmured, ‘Any idea?’

  Clemency took the pen from him and wrote TARANTULA on the last square of paper. It wasn’t right but it was something like that. Her memory scrabbled around for the word she couldn’t quite remember. Talent. No. Tarantella. No. Oh come on, come on … She took another glug of wine and drummed her feet against the leg of Ronan’s chair.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ronan. ‘That’s not annoying at all.’

  ‘Sshh, you’re annoying.’ Clemency tapped her fingers on the table. ‘I’m trying to think.’

  ‘Try harder.’

  ‘Tarantula. Tarantella. Talent. Tantalise.’ Nearly, nearly.

  The quizmaster called out, ‘Five seconds left. If no one has the correct answer, we’ll move on to another question—’

  ‘Got it,’ Clemency yelped, scribbling on the paper. She waved it in the air and saw the team from Rossiter’s throw down their own pens in disgust.

  The quizmaster said, ‘The correct answer is “tantalus”.’

  ‘Yay! We did it!’ Ronan was on his feet, pulling her up out of her chair. Clemency found herself being swung around until she was dizzy. The losing contestants applauded; the team from Rossiter’s assured them that the prize was rubbish anyway, and added that people who won pub quizzes were geeks.

  Unscrewing the top of the bottle of red wine and taking an experimental glug, Clemency sat back down and said with relish, ‘Well it tastes all right to me.’

  Twenty minutes later, with the re-capped bottle sticking out of her shoulder bag, they left the pub.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Ronan as she steered him left, heading down the narrow cobbled street, rather than right, which would take them back up the hill.

  ‘You’re not tired, are you? It’s still so warm. Come on, let’s visit the beach.’ Clemency tucked her arm through his and breathed in the clean, ozoney night-time air.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Once they’d reached the dry sand, Ronan steadied her as she kicked off her shoes and bent down to pick them up. ‘Are you planning to seduce me? Because I’m warning you now, sex on the beach is seriously overrated.’

  ‘It wasn’t what I was thinking of doing, but I’ll take your word for it. Let’s sit down.’ Having located a comfortable spot, Clemency sank down on to the warm, powdery sand. ‘We can talk. Want a drink?’

  ‘You mean take it in turns to swig wine straight from the bottle? Glamorous.’

  ‘Hello? What am I, some kind of amateur?’ Reaching deeper into her bag, Clemency produced two plastic wine glasses wrapped in kitchen paper. ‘Ta-daaa!’

  Ronan gave her a nudge. ‘I always said you were a classy bird. Did you steal those from the pub?’

  ‘Borrowed,’ Clemency corrected him. ‘Borrowed them from the pub. I’ll take them back tomorrow. Here you go, I’ll hold them and you pour.’

  When the task had been completed, she clinked her plastic glass against Ronan’s. ‘Cheers. Here’s to us, the world-beating, quiz-winning nerds.’

  Ronan looked amused. ‘Can I just say a couple of things? One, I have no idea what we’re doing here. And two, I do believe you’re a wee bit pissed.’

  OK, this was true. She had accidentally not eaten anything before leaving home this evening, and all the thoughts slithering like mercury around her brain had managed to distract her from the fact that the red wine had gone down rather more easily than usual. But it was a good feeling, a cosy feeling, and it wasn’t as if she was so far gone she’d be in danger of blurting out anything untoward.

  That definitely wouldn’t happen, so it was fine.

  ‘We’re just relaxing.’ Clemency gestured expansively at the inky sky. ‘Look, it’s a full moon tonight. Isn’t it beautiful?’

  Ronan looked. ‘Well, it’s a moon. It’s round. It’s about as beautiful as any plain white round thing can get.’

  She gave him a push. ‘Don’t be like that. What about the sea? Listen to it, listen to those waves …’

  ‘Did I say you were a little bit drunk?’

  ‘I’m not drunk. I’m just trying to point out how lucky we are. We have all this and we take it for granted. Don’t we? We have our homes and our jobs and our families … and of course we love our families …’

  He laughed. ‘Are you including Belle in that statement?’

  ‘Don’t make fun of me, I’m being serious.’ Clemency tipped her head back and took another glug of wine, careful not to spill any down her chin. ‘But we don’t know what’s going to happen, do we? There’s no crystal ball to tell us how long we’ll have them for. Like your mum’s friend Margo. I mean, can you imagine what she’s going through? Isn’t it just unbearable? Poor woman, she and her husband had years ahead of them, and now she’s on her own. He’s gone and he’s never coming back. All the things she wanted to say to him … she can’t say them now.’ Clemency shook her head; her own words were starting to get to her. This was so sad it was choking her up.

  ‘I know, but it happens. You can’t get upset about it.’ Ronan gave her shoulder a consoling squeeze. ‘Any two people who get together, one of them nearly always has to die first.’

  The dry sand beneath the surface was cooler as she sifted it through her fingers. The gentle swoosh of the tiny waves lapping at the shoreline merged with the sound of Taylor Swift singing about trouble walking in. The music grew louder through an open window somewhere behind them, then a voice yelled, ‘Turn that bloody racket off,’ and it stopped abruptly.

  Clemency said, ‘What about two people who don’t get together?’

  Next to her, Ronan tilted his head. ‘Meaning?’

  OK, she was getting herself into a muddle now. The words weren’t coming out quite as she�
�d planned. She smoothed out the sand at her side and planted the plastic wine glass on it. ‘I suppose I’m just wondering about your biological mother. I mean, I know you don’t want to upset Josephine, but what if you wait and wait until Josephine isn’t around any more, then you look for your other mother and discover it’s too late? What if you’ve left it too long and missed your chance? What if that happens and then you really really wish you hadn’t waited, because getting to know her would have been so brilliant?’

  ‘Clem, you’re assuming my biological mother is someone fantastic and amazing and we’d both be glad we met up. But that’s the fairy-tale ending, because that’s the kind of person you are. Except what if she isn’t like that? She might not be a nice person at all. She could be horrendous.’

  ‘But … you can’t think like that!’

  ‘Why can’t I? These meetings don’t always work out. Sometimes there’s no connection. By putting it off, I could be saving myself from a world of disappointment.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t—’ Hastily Clemency caught herself. ‘I mean, I’m sure you wouldn’t. I just think you’d regret it if you didn’t find out for yourself before it’s too late. For your sake and for hers too. I swear to you, you’d be so glad you’d done it, I know you would …’

  Whoops, too far, time to stop now.

  ‘What’s going on? Why are you saying it like that? Clem, do you know something you’re not telling me?’ Ronan had gone very still. The tone of his voice had changed. Belatedly she realised she’d got carried away.

  I made a promise, I made a promise. Not another word.

  ‘Of course I don’t know anything. How could I?’ Fuelled by panic, a surge of adrenalin coursed through her body. Four glasses of wine on an empty stomach, it turned out, was at least two glasses too many. And the way he was looking at her was making her tremble. Oh God, she’d gone too far.

  ‘Why are you saying this now?’ In the light of the moon, Ronan’s gaze was unwavering.

  ‘Oh come on, we’ve talked about it before, haven’t we? It’s what I’ve always thought! I’m just babbling on about it because your mum’s friend lost her husband. Because he was too young to die, but it still happened. And because, like you said, I’m a little bit drunk.’ As she said it, Clemency deliberately tipped the contents of her glass into the sand, collected up her shoes and struggled to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s go. I need my bed.’