The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea

by Jennifer Joyce

  Hugo leaned against the van, tilting his head as he waited for further information. Melody squirmed, not sure she was ready to reveal more, to open up the wound she was trying her best to squeeze shut.

  ‘Someone believed in me and my photos.’ She frowned, trying to say the words that had been trapped inside for the past year. She found she couldn’t, no matter how much she pushed, so she gave the simplified version she could manage. ‘They thought it was something I should pursue. Professionally. This is my way of putting it out there, testing the water. If I’m laughed out of the festival, I’ll know I’m not good enough.’

  ‘And if you win?’ Hugo asked.

  Melody grinned. ‘Then it’s a huge fluke, obviously. Or a mistake.’

  Hugo reached out and rested a hand on her arm. ‘You need to have more faith in yourself.’

  ‘That’s what Ollie used to say.’ Melody dropped her gaze to her camera, switching it off. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going. It’s been fun, these last couple of days. I wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘You weren’t expecting to have fun at the seaside?’

  Melody shook her head and raised her camera. ‘I thought I’d be too busy concentrating on this. Thanks for distracting me.’

  Hugo smiled, but it was tinged with sadness or regret and he couldn’t quite pull it off. ‘Any time. Good luck with the festival.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Melody said, already backing away. ‘Good luck with the ice-cream parlour. You should definitely go for it.’

  She turned then, and made her way back to the bed and breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mae

  Why was she always in a rush in the mornings? She was always up early to arrange breakfast for her guests, and it wasn’t as though mornings and the tasks they required were a new thing, yet here she was, hurrying Hannah along while multitasking the brushing of teeth, selecting an outfit and hunting for the cat. He’d slipped in when she’d foolishly opened the back door that morning and, other than the flash of fur as he propelled himself into the kitchen, hadn’t been seen since. She’d checked all the rooms downstairs, had searched every nook and cranny, but the little bugger must have sneaked upstairs. She was up there now, toothbrush in mouth, a pair of three-quarter-length jeans trailing over an arm, making silly come-here-kitty sounds as she moved from room to room.

  ‘Hannah,’ she said, her voice distorted by the toothbrush. ‘Can you put that toy away and look for the cat?’

  Hannah gasped and dropped the remote control for her new Minion toy on her bedroom floor. ‘Chilly’s here?’ Obviously, when Mae asked Hannah to ‘put that toy away’ her daughter had heard ‘leave it dumped on the floor’, but Mae didn’t have time to argue.

  ‘Yesh. But he neesh to go outshide.’ Mae’s voice was becoming more and more distorted by the teeth-brushing, so she moved through to the bathroom to spit. She turned around to check the bath, the cabinet, even shoving her hands in between the towels in the airing cupboard, just in case. ‘Hannah? Did you find him?’ She’d rinsed her brush and plopped it into the holder before returning to Hannah’s room. Hannah was lying on the edge of her bed, her hair trailing down to the carpet as she hung over to peer underneath. ‘Is he there?’ Sidestepping the Minion, she crouched to have a look herself.

  ‘Nope.’ Hannah righted herself and shook her head. ‘Shall I go and get him some Frosties?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’ Mae crossed the room, calling over her shoulder, ‘Keep checking, please.’

  Mae had already searched her own bedroom, plus the bathroom twice, and as the guests’ rooms were closed and presumably locked, Hannah’s bedroom was the only other option. She’d have searched the room herself but she was already running late and not even dressed yet.

  ‘Any luck?’ she asked once she’d dressed and applied her trademark make-up: striking red lipstick, an expert-standard eyeliner flick, and a well-defined eyebrow.

  ‘He’s not here.’ Hannah’s bottom lip started to protrude ever so slightly as she thumped her arms across her chest. ‘I wanted to play with him.’

  ‘He’s not our cat, darling,’ Mae said as she started a search of her own. She knew her daughter well enough to know her efforts would have been less than thorough. In fact, the under-the-bed search was probably the limit. ‘Once we find him, he has to go back outside.’ If they ever found him. This cat had taken hide and seek to a whole new level.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Hannah grumbled. ‘I want him to be mine.’

  ‘Life doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid.’ Mae checked the time. Damn! ‘Right, little lady, time to get you dressed. What do you want to wear…?’ Mae was cut off as Hannah shot in front of her, arms stretched out wide as she pushed herself against the wardrobe.

  ‘No, Mummy! I don’t want to get dressed.’

  ‘You have to. Mummy has to work, so you’re going to spend the day with Nanny.’

  ‘But I always spend the day with Nanny.’

  Parental guilt gnawed at Mae’s gut, but she pushed it away. She had no other choice. ‘You love spending the day with Nanny. Maybe she’ll take you down to the beach for a bit? Shall we put your new sandals on, just in case?’

  Hannah shook her head, eyes wide as Mae neared. ‘I want to stay in my pyjamas.’

  ‘Nope.’ Mae shook her head. ‘Not happening. That’s a slippery slope we’re not starting on. You need clothes and shoes and your hair brushing.’

  ‘My brush is over there.’ Hannah pointed across the room, to her chest of drawers. ‘I want you to brush my hair first.’

  Mae followed the direction of Hannah’s finger, her eyes narrowing as they returned to her daughter. ‘What’s going on? You hate me brushing your hair.’

  Hannah’s eyes were stretched wide, her lips pressed together, arms still outstretched.

  ‘Hannah?’ Mae raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s going on?’

  Hannah shook her head, eyes still stretched wide, lips still pressed together, arms still outstretched.

  ‘You don’t want me to go in the wardrobe, do you?’

  Mae stepped forward. Hannah whimpered.

  ‘No,’ she cried as Mae prised her away from the wardrobe. The door had opened just a crack before the cat pelted out, feet scrabbling on the carpet before it lunged for the open bedroom door. Mae followed it down the stairs, hobbling down the steps in her platform heels. The cat made straight for the kitchen, mewling as it waited for Mae to open the back door. Once she did, the cat scuttled out into the garden and leapt up onto the wall before disappearing onto the shed roof in the neighbouring property. Mae closed the door firmly before heading back up the stairs. She was still running late, but at least she now had a chance of getting back on track.

  Mae helped Hannah change into a pair of shorts, a flowery T-shirt and her new sandals without any further mishaps. She even managed to brush Hannah’s tangled hair without too much fuss.

  ‘There,’ Mae said as she secured Hannah’s hair into a ponytail. ‘You’re done. Now we can get going.’ But Mae’s progress was halted when the doorbell rang. Suppressing a sigh, she hurried down the stairs, her heart sinking when she caught sight of the familiar shape of Mrs Hornchurch through the frosted glass. She’d heard what her mum had said about her neighbour’s loneliness, and Mae felt for the woman, she really did, but she was running late, yet again. If she was lucky, she could get away with a ten-minute chat. If she was unlucky…

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Hornchurch.’ Mae had plastered a smile on her face milliseconds before she swung the door open and now she filled her voice with an enthusiasm she didn’t actually feel.

  ‘Good morning, dear.’ Mrs Hornchurch smiled up at Mae, her already creased features crinkling further with the movement. ‘I know you’re busy so I won’t keep you.’ If Mae had a pound for every time she’d heard her neighbour utter those words, she wouldn’t have to pull pints at the Fisherman to make ends meet. ‘I was just wondering if…’ Mae didn�
�t get to hear Mrs Hornchurch’s musing as a crash behind her interrupted her neighbour’s train of thought. ‘Oh my goodness, what was that?’

  Mae didn’t hang around long enough to discuss the possibilities. The crash sounded like it had come from up above, so she turned and scurried up the stairs, calling out her daughter’s name as she went. Hannah was standing at the top of the stairs, eyes even wider than they’d been earlier while hiding the cat in the wardrobe, the remote control for her Minion toy in her hands, thumbs still hovering over the controls. As soon as she saw her mother, she burst into tears, the remote control tumbling to the ground.

  ‘What happened?’ Mae asked, torn between comforting her daughter and rushing to Melody, who was slumped on the carpet. Killing two birds with one stone, she held out a hand for Hannah to take and crouched in front of Melody. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Ow!’ Melody had attempted to stand, but she dropped back down onto carpet, wincing and hissing through her teeth.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mummy,’ Hannah wailed, pushing her face into Mae’s shoulder. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘What happened?’ Mae asked again, and Melody pointed at the Minion toy, upturned on the hallway carpet.

  ‘I tripped over it as I came down the stairs from my room,’ she explained, attempting to stand again. Mae jumped up, offering a supporting hand. ‘I think I twisted my ankle as I landed.’ Melody attempted to put her foot down and hissed again.

  ‘You should get that seen to,’ Mrs Hornchurch said, suddenly behind them. Mae hadn’t realised the woman had followed her up the stairs.

  Mae looked down at the injured ankle, which was already starting to look a bit red and puffy. ‘I’ll take you to the walk-in centre – excuse the pun – and get you seen to.’ She placed an arm around Melody’s waist. ‘Do you think you can make it down the stairs and to the car?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Melody winced as her foot made contact with the ground again, but she persevered with a half-hop, half-hobble mash-up, pressing her lips together against the pain.

  ‘I can look after Hannah,’ Mrs Hornchurch said as Mae helped Melody into the passenger seat of her car. ‘It’d be no trouble.’

  Mae smiled gratefully at her neighbour. Mrs Hornchurch could be a pain in the arse sometimes, but she had a heart of gold. ‘Could you sit in with her until my mum gets here? I was supposed to drop her off, but I’ll ask her to pick her up instead.’ Mae would also need to get in touch with Frank and Corinne to let them know she’d be late for her shift. Again.

  ‘Of course, dear.’ Mrs Hornchurch popped her head into the car. ‘I do hope it isn’t broken. I have a walking stick gathering dust if you need it. It belonged to my husband but, well, it’s no use to him now.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Melody pushed a smile through the grimace of pain she’d adopted. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Mae scooped Hannah into a hug, promising her that Melody would be okay, before climbing into the car. The walk-in centre was only a short drive away, so Mae made sure Melody was booked in and settled as well as she could be in one of the plastic chairs before she nipped outside to make her phone calls. It was Frank who answered when she called the Fisherman, and he told Mae not to worry about her shift as Corinne was there and they’d manage between them.

  ‘Thanks, Frank. I’ll be there as soon as I can and I’ll make it up to you,’ she said before saying goodbye and moving on to the next call. Mae hadn’t spoken to her mum since her outburst outside the café, but both were happy enough to brush it under the carpet.

  ‘Mrs Hornchurch said she’s happy to sit with Hannah until you get there,’ Mae said after explaining the situation.

  ‘I’ll pop over now,’ Eloise said. ‘I haven’t seen Mrs Hornchurch for a while so I’ll stop and have a natter before we head off.’

  ‘I think she’d like that,’ Mae said, feeling guilty she’d felt a flash of annoyance towards her kind-hearted neighbour earlier.

  She returned to the waiting room, stopping at the water dispenser and filling a couple of plastic cups. She sat down and handed one to Melody.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not too bad now I’m sitting.’ She lifted her foot. The ankle was definitely swollen now. ‘It’s throbbing, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t broken or anything.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Mae said. ‘Hannah shouldn’t have been playing out in the hallway.’

  Melody shrugged. ‘It was an accident, and I wasn’t paying attention. I was messing with my camera so didn’t see it in front of me.’ Her camera, as ever, was looped around her neck. ‘It looks like my hobby is out to get me.’

  ‘I still feel so incredibly guilty.’

  Melody reached out and gave Mae’s hand a squeeze. ‘Don’t. Like I said, it was an accident. If anything, I should have been looking where I was going.’

  Mae nodded, though she couldn’t shift the niggling feeling that she was responsible for whatever injury Melody had sustained. What if her ankle was broken and she couldn’t continue with her project? Mae couldn’t stand the thought she’d trampled over somebody’s dream. Whatever happened, Mae would have to make it up to Melody, somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Melody

  The waiting room at the walk-in centre was pretty busy, with patients ranging from the very young (a baby, only a few months old, with a disgruntled disposition, which may or may not have had something to do with the rash blooming across her left cheek) to the elderly, hunched over in their not-very-comfortable seats (Melody had only been waiting for around twenty minutes and she could no longer feel her arse cheeks, though she was sure they were still attached). In between, there were toddlers, happily scattering the contents of a plastic toy box across the floor while their parents looked on in dismay, most likely thinking they were poorly before we got here. They’d better bloody show signs of illness when we finally get in to the see the doctor, school-aged children, bored of looking at the same torn and drawn-on books from the small pile on a table, and adults with varying degrees of illness or injury.

  Despite the number of patients waiting their turn, the seat next to Melody was empty so she was able to rest her foot on it, the ankle elevated slightly as it lay on top of Mae’s handbag. It was a gorgeous vintage handbag, black leather with rounded handles and gold clasps, and epitomised Mae’s glamour. She hadn’t been particularly keen on using the beautiful bag as a cushion for her foot, but her ankle was throbbing painfully and Mae had insisted.

  ‘Are you sure I’m not going to ruin it?’ Melody asked, again. The handbag was an actual vintage piece from the fifties, rather than a retro-style, mass-produced product that could be easily replaced, and Melody felt terrible that her foot was plonked on top of it.

  ‘It’s survived this long.’ Mae shrugged. ‘And it’s only a handbag. Not all that important in the grand scheme of things.’

  ‘But it’s important to you. It’s part of your identity.’

  Melody had never met anybody with such a strong sense of style as Mae in real life. Even now, on an ordinary Wednesday morning and wearing a pair of three-quarter-length jeans and a checked, sleeveless blouse, Mae looked as though she’d stepped out of a vintage copy of Vogue. Her make-up was flawless and striking, her hair pinned and secured with a cerise rose to one side, while soft waves rested on her shoulders, not one strand out of place. Melody, in contrast, had simply pulled her hair, still damp from the shower, into a ponytail and slicked on a layer of strawberry lip balm that morning.

  ‘You always look so immaculate,’ Melody said, her voice full of admiration. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered with make-up, but she suspected it was before Ollie, back when she cared about her appearance. She only wore the lip balm now because it had added SPF.

  ‘My appearance doesn’t match the inside,’ Mae said. ‘Believe me. I find I’m winging it more and more with every passing day. I only wish my life was as organised as my wardrobe.’
r />   ‘Have you always dressed like this?’ Melody asked and Mae shook her head.

  ‘Only for the past three years. It’s the image I like to present to the world. The image of having my shit together.’ She caught Melody’s eye and grinned. ‘But that’s our little secret, okay?’

  Melody nodded. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’ She took a sip of her water. ‘How did it happen, though? How did you go from normal Mae to Ms 1950s Glamour? What made you decide this is the person I want to be, at least on the surface?’

  ‘It was my granny, really. We used to play around when I went to her house when I was little, rolling our hair and trying on her make-up. She showed me all kinds of hairstyles she wore as a young woman, so on the day of her funeral, I decided to pay tribute to that, to remember the fun times we’d had. I did my hair and make-up and, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see me. I saw this other woman. This strong, independent woman who hadn’t been abandoned by the father of her child – and her own father, if we’re digging a little deeper. She didn’t need a man to prop her up. She was made of stern stuff, this woman in the mirror. She was capable. I wanted to be her more than anything, so I’ve kept the mask on ever since.’

  ‘I wish I could do that,’ Melody said. She thought about the photo in the back pocket of her shorts, the photo she slipped onto the bedside table at the B&B each night and returned to her pocket in the morning so it was always with her. ‘I wish I could be somebody else.’

  Mae tilted her head. ‘What’s wrong with the person you are?’

  ‘I could ask that about you,’ Melody pointed out.

  ‘That’s true,’ Mae said. ‘Shall we not go there?’

  Melody laughed. ‘It’s starting to feel like we’re sitting on a psych’s couch rather than these awful plastic chairs.’

  Mae shifted on her seat. ‘Not terribly comfortable, are they? Hopefully we won’t have to wait too much longer.’