The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘Aren’t you joining us?’ Willow asked as they moved through the hallway. Mae had stopped at the family room and was about to push the door open.

  ‘Me?’ A smile flickered on Mae’s face. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be through in a minute.’

  Willow followed Melody into the living room, holding in a dreamy sigh as she lowered herself down onto the sofa. At the new house, the airbed she and Ethan slept in also doubled up as a not-very-comfortable sofa, so the luxuries of the B&B kept adding up.

  ‘Who fancies a drink?’ Mae asked, stepping into the room and brandishing a bottle of wine.

  ‘That’d be lovely,’ Melody said, but Willow was already shaking her head, her mouth gaping into another yawn.

  ‘Not for me, thanks. I really need my beauty sleep.’ She forced herself from the sofa and stretched. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  ‘Have a good sleep,’ Mae said. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Willow felt weighed down as she climbed the stairs, so she was grateful to finally collapse into bed, barely having the energy to pull the covers over her body before she dropped off.

  It took a moment for Willow to get her bearings when she woke just after seven the following morning, to work out why she was alone and why she appeared to be sleeping in a bed, with an actual mattress, rather than on the inflatable bed she’d become accustomed to over the past few weeks. As she stretched out, the events of the previous day seeped back into her brain. It was a pretty depressing chain of thoughts, but Willow wouldn’t allow herself to succumb to the anxiety that was threatening to tie her stomach in knots. Ethan would be back soon and they would fix everything.

  Peeling back the covers, Willow swung her legs out of bed and placed them on the floor, rather than carrying out the ungraceful roll from the inflatable mattress she was used to. The plush carpet, plus the lack of dust underfoot, was also a novelty as, back home, no matter how many times they swept the bare floorboards, there was always a layer of grit and grime wherever they went.

  She wasn’t the only occupant of the house awake as she could hear the faint sounds of a television downstairs as she padded her way to the bathroom with her washbag. She was so busy trying not to make too much noise as she tiptoed along the hallway, she almost didn’t see a plastic dog slumped on its side in the middle of the floor. She sidestepped it just in time to stop herself from flying over it, the noise of which would no doubt have woken anybody who still happened to be sleeping. She righted the dog and moved it to one side, standing it against the skirting board where it would be less likely to cause an injury.

  Once she was washed and dressed, Willow headed down to the kitchen where she found a selection of pastries and cereals laid out for her to choose from. She usually ate breakfast on the go, but she made herself a coffee and sat at the table with a buttery croissant smothered in strawberry jam. She’d just taken her first bite when she heard a scrabbling at the back door. Curious, she put her breakfast down, licking the sticky jam residue from her fingers as she made her way to the door. As soon as the door was open a crack, a black ball of fur catapulted itself into the kitchen, springing up onto the breakfast bar where it made a beeline for the pastries.

  ‘No, no, no.’ Willow quickly scooped up the cat, who gave a disgruntled mew at being thwarted. ‘This isn’t your breakfast. Shall we go and find Mae? See if she’ll give you your breakfast? Because I have no idea where your things are.’ She scanned the kitchen floor, but there wasn’t a food or water bowl in sight. Willow, however, wasn’t surprised. Mae’s house was so immaculate, the cat’s things were probably tidied away somewhere so they didn’t clutter the kitchen.

  With the cat tucked under her arm, purring as she stroked his head, Willow moved through to the living room, but Mae wasn’t in there. She could hear the television sounds coming from the family room, but as that room was private, she didn’t venture inside.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for your breakfast,’ she told the cat as they returned to the kitchen. She set him on the floor and he wound around her legs as she made her way back to the table and her breakfast, making her giggle as his fur tickled her bare legs. He continued to rub himself against her as she sat at the table, constantly reminding her of his presence as she ate.

  ‘Chilly!’ Mae’s daughter appeared in the kitchen doorway, her eyes lighting up when she spotted the cat pacing under the table. She scuttled into the kitchen, dropping to her knees so she could bundle his little furry body into her arms.

  ‘I think he’s hungry,’ Willow said as Hannah planted kisses on the cat’s head and neck. ‘But I wasn’t sure where you kept his bowl and food.’

  ‘He has Frosties for breakfast,’ Hannah said, marching over to the breakfast bar with the cat still dangling in her arms. His face was rather gloomy, but he didn’t wriggle from Hannah’s grasp. ‘He sometimes has Coco Pops, but Frosties are his favourite.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Willow didn’t currently have a cat – she couldn’t as the mere sight of a furry feline made Ethan’s asthma flare up – but she’d had a couple at home growing up and they’d never fed them sugary cereal.

  ‘Yup.’ Hannah placed the cat on the floor and he started to wind his way round and round her little calves. ‘He likes them.’

  ‘Perhaps we should wait and see what your mum says,’ Willow said as Hannah reached up on her tiptoes for the box of cereal. Whether the cat liked cereal or not, it didn’t seem like a good idea at all.

  ‘Mum feeds them to him all the time.’ Hannah reached into the box and pulled a handful out.

  ‘I really think we should wait,’ Willow said, but it was too late. Hannah tipped her hand over and the cereal rained down onto the floor. The cat wasted no time pouncing on them, wolfing down the flakes at an impressive rate.

  ‘See?’ Hannah pointed down at the cat as he attacked the final flake. ‘He loves them.’

  Willow’s attention was drawn to her handbag under the table as it started to vibrate, her ringtone filling the kitchen with a cheery tune. The cat, having finished his unconventional breakfast, had slumped down on the floor, legs wide so he could lick himself, so Willow left him to it and went to answer the phone. Her stomach performed a happy little flip when she saw her husband’s name on the screen.

  ‘Good morning,’ she sang, immediately forgetting about the kitty drama. She wriggled her fingers at Hannah in a wave before looping her handbag over her shoulder and grabbing her croissant. She’d have to eat on the go after all. ‘It was so weird sleeping on my own last night, but I’d forgotten how comfortable a normal bed is.’ She made her way along the hallway to the front door, shielding her eyes from the sudden sunshine as she opened it. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. ‘When the house is finished, we’ll buy the biggest bed with the comfiest mattress. I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to wake up without a twisted spine from that stupid inflatable bed.’ She headed down the path, well aware Ethan had yet to say a word, that she was waffling on and on. But she was afraid to stop, afraid of what Ethan would say when he finally did speak. ‘We also need a bath. A big bath. In fact, that should be first thing on our list.’

  ‘Willow…’ Her body tensed at her husband’s ominous tone. ‘I’ve been doing a bit of research, and the work on the foundations is going to cost a small fortune, which you know we don’t have.’

  ‘But the work needs doing.’ She’d reached the gate, which she swung open before stepping out onto the pavement and heading towards the van. ‘The house won’t be safe until it’s done. We’ll just have to cut back on other things.’

  ‘Like a bed and a bath?’ Ethan suggested. ‘Or a new kitchen sink? Central heating? Any kind of flooring?’

  ‘All right, all right, I get it.’ Willow, having reached the van, yanked the door open.

  ‘I don’t think you do, Willow. We can’t afford to do this work.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ Willow threw
herself into her seat and slammed the door shut. She waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was to come. ‘You want us to sell, don’t you?’

  They’d argued about the house before – and not just the other night. Ethan had been as enthusiastic as she was about refurbishing the property to begin with, but lately he’d grown less passionate about the project, and it had nothing at all to do with the work involved.

  ‘That would have been a solution a few months ago,’ Ethan said. ‘But at the moment, the house is in a far worse state than when we bought it. If we sell now, we’ll make a loss.’

  ‘So what else are we going to do?’

  Ethan sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know. We’re stuck.’

  ‘There has to be a way,’ Willow said, and Ethan sighed again, but the sound was angrier this time, more of a growl.

  ‘Do you have to be so optimistic all the bloody time?’

  Willow’s eyes started to sting, tears threatening to spill at any moment. She wasn’t usually prone to tears, but she hated fighting with Ethan.

  ‘Would you rather I was negative and ready to give up?’ she asked. ‘Do you want me to cry and moan about our situation? To sink into depression because it isn’t working out how we planned?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Ethan’s tone was softer now, but still the tears threatened to spill. ‘I just wish you’d admit when we need help. We need to stop and think about the future instead of burying our heads in the sand.’

  They were no longer talking about the house. Willow wasn’t sure when the conversation had migrated from bricks and mortar to the problems in their relationship.

  ‘My head isn’t in the sand,’ Willow said. ‘I’m well aware things aren’t working out. I’m simply not willing to give up as easily as you are.’

  ‘I’m not giving up,’ Ethan said. ‘Far from it.’

  ‘We need more time, that’s all.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Ethan said, but he didn’t sound convinced. ‘I have to go now. I’ll call you later when I get the chance.’

  After saying goodbye, Willow ended the call and slipped her phone into her handbag. She took a bite of her croissant, but found she’d completely lost her appetite. How had it all gone so wrong, so quickly?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Melody

  With her camera looped around her neck, and a bottle of water and the tourist pamphlet she’d picked up at the train station yesterday in her rucksack, Melody set off in search of more British seaside moments. She was still curious about Chapel Cove, but as she couldn’t find any information about it in the pamphlet and it didn’t seem to be on any of the bus routes, she’d had to shelve the idea. Instead, she made her way along the promenade, the sun already warming her skin even though it was still quite early in the day. The shops on the front were starting to open, their shutters revealing windows full of the usual seaside fare: sticks of rock, buckets and spades, inflatable crocodiles, candyfloss, and cones of sweets tied with shiny, curling ribbon. Displays of postcards, magnets and keyrings were dragged onto the pavement, and you could already hear music blaring from the arcades and pier, with the occasional cry overhead from the seagulls as they searched for breakfast scraps, joining in the soundtrack of the seaside.

  Melody raised her camera towards the pier, capturing the looming red-and-white-striped helter-skelter perched on top in the morning light. The town wasn’t quite fully awake yet as the Ferris wheel had yet to commence its almost continuous turning, but the beach was already starting to collect families as they claimed early spots on the sand, setting out towels, books and sun cream, and baskets stuffed with picnic food. A couple of children were already braving the water, splashing and jumping over the sloshing waves as their skin took on a bluish hue. In the distance, strolling close to the shallows on a quiet part of the beach, Melody caught sight of a lone dog-walker. Though they were little more than blurred specks, she knew immediately it was Hugo and Scoop. Raising her camera again, she zoomed in to take a couple of shots as Hugo launched a ball into the water and Scoop bounded after it. She giggled as the dog trotted out of the water, dropping the ball by Hugo’s feet before shaking himself dry. She clicked the shutter again, managing to catch the moment, smiling to herself as Hugo raised his hands in an attempt to protect himself from the spray.

  Lowering the camera, she continued along the promenade, taking the odd photo whenever something caught her eye: a seagull snacking on an abandoned cone of chips, a display of shiny metallic pinwheels spinning in the breeze, a row of beach huts in a rainbow of colours. By the time she made it to the pier, the Ferris wheel was in motion, raising people up towards the sky before bringing them gently back down to earth. She purchased a ticket for herself, her camera at the ready as she climbed inside her designated compartment. From up high, she was able to snap a few decent photos of the beach and surrounding area.

  Back on solid ground again, Melody explored the rest of the pier, documenting the other rides, fairground games and food stalls. It was still quite early, yet the smell of doughnuts frying in hot oil filled the air and, although Melody had eaten breakfast before she’d left that morning, her stomach rumbled. Resisting temptation, she moved away from the pier, crossing the street and heading into one of the arcades. The noise was almost overwhelming: the music, blasting so loudly it was on the brink of becoming uncomfortable, the chink, chink, chink of coins being spat from slot machines into the troughs beneath, and the general hum of numerous conversations and excited chatter. Melody allowed herself to be swept up by it all, stepping further into the darkened room illuminated by flashing screens and multicoloured lights. She snapped away, adding to the collection of childhood fun already stored on her camera. There were victories as two-pence pieces were shoved from their sliding trays, clattering into the troughs before being transferred into paper cups, their new owners grinning and cheering over their wins, which couldn’t actually equate to more than twenty pence. And there were misfortunes as final coins were slotted into machines without payouts and tears as claws grabbed uselessly at stuffed toys with the promised prize failing to appear.

  Melody moved on from the arcades, making her way along the parade of shops, picking out a postcard to add to the collection she had in her rucksack back at the bed and breakfast. She spotted Hugo’s ice-cream van on the promenade and made her way over, but it wasn’t Hugo’s face she spotted in the hatch. He looked so similar with his dirty blond hair that Melody guessed it must be Hugo’s brother, but the hair was closely cropped in place of the dishevelled curls Melody had seen the previous day on the cliffs. She bought an ice cream anyway, opting for a chocolate-orange cone and eating it as she made her way to the bed and breakfast. The memory card on her camera was filling up, so she’d transfer the images to her laptop before heading out again.

  The bed and breakfast was empty, the house completely silent as she stepped into the hallway, and it felt strange as she made her way up the stairs of a stranger’s home without any kind of supervision. She found herself creeping, as though she was about to burgle the place rather than heading up to a room she’d paid for. She made her way slowly and quietly up to her little attic room, easing the door open and wincing at the tiniest of sounds. As beautiful and homely as the house was, Melody didn’t feel entirely at ease, but then she hadn’t at any of the bed and breakfasts she’d stayed in during her travels. She hadn’t felt at ease since she’d left her flat three weeks ago, closing the door on her possessions, her comforts, her life. Back home, everything had carried on as normal after Ollie: her mum and dad went out to work, her brother lounged around the house in his pants under the pretence of studying, her colleagues sat at their desks, her friends met up at the pub after a long day. The only place that had changed was her flat, which was sad and empty without Ollie, but at least it was reflecting Melody’s own mood and she didn’t have to try to pretend to be okay with what had happened.
Pretending was exhausting, so Melody had plucked herself from the game, had taken herself off on this project, had escaped from it all, just for a little while.

  She sat on the bed in her latest temporary room and pulled her laptop out of her rucksack, tearing into the cellophane-wrapped biscuits Mae had left in her welcome basket while she waited for it to load. She watched the screen, waiting for the punch in the gut as the desktop wallpaper appeared, unable to look away even though she knew it would ache. It would be easy to remove the photo, to select a different image to greet her every time she used her laptop, but she couldn’t bring herself to remove any of the images of Ollie, no matter how much the reminders pained her. Removing the images would be like erasing Ollie from her everyday life, and she couldn’t do that.

  And then there they were: Melody and Ollie, arms thrown around one another as they grinned at the camera. They were at the top of the Empire State Building, but you couldn’t really tell as their faces filled most of the screen for the selfie. It had been Ollie’s dream to visit New York, to cram in the sights they saw regularly on TV and the big screen, and they’d done it together during a mad weekend filled with landmarks, subway rides, crazy cab drivers and stomach-clutching laughter. The days had passed in a blur. They hadn’t been able to tick off everything on their list, and had never got chance for a second go. But still, Melody would cherish the memories of that weekend. There was no way she could erase it.

  Melody had transferred the photos and checked her emails when she heard the distant ringing of the doorbell downstairs. She froze, finger hovering over the trackpad, wondering what to do. Did she pop downstairs to answer a stranger’s door? Or stay put until they went away? There was another ring, louder now she was listening out for it, and, decision made, she hurried down the two flights of stairs. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with answering the door, but what if it was the postman with a parcel and she saved Mae from having to arrange redelivery or – worse – having to schlep over to the sorting office to pick it up?