The wait was another hour. Mae helped Melody to hobble across the waiting room and into the designated room, where the doctor examined the ankle before proclaiming it was nothing more serious than a sprain.
‘You’ll need to rest it for a few days – definitely no running or walking long distances for the next week or two. I’ll give you a leaflet with some gentle exercises you can do at home to keep the joint moving without making the injury worse.’
A week or two? Melody thought as the doctor wheeled herself across the room on her chair. What about her project? She was due back at work in a few days!
‘I can also give you a tubular bandage to help with support and swelling.’ The doctor, having wheeled herself back to her desk, handed a leaflet to Melody. ‘You can take paracetamol for the pain if necessary, and if the swelling increases, you can wrap some ice in a damp towel and apply it to the ankle for fifteen to twenty minutes every two to three hours.’
Melody listened to the advice, allowed her ankle to be wrapped in the bandage, and hobbled out of the walk-in centre without saying a word.
‘What am I going to do?’ she finally asked once they were at the car. She leaned against the bonnet, catching her breath after the painful shuffle across the waiting room and car park. ‘I’m supposed to be on a train, in a new town. I’m going to have to go home and forget all about my project.’ Melody reached for the camera, still looped around her neck, feeling its familiar, comforting weight in her hands. ‘I don’t want to go home. Not yet. I’m not ready.’
‘You’re going to come home with me.’ Mae opened the passenger door and eased Melody into the seat. ‘And you’re going to rest for a few days, like the doctor said. The room you’re in isn’t booked for nearly two weeks, so we don’t need to worry about that. And I’m obviously not going to charge you, since it’s my fault you’re in this position in the first place.’
‘It was an accident,’ Melody said.
‘An accident that could have been prevented.’ Mae closed the door and moved round to the driver’s side, sliding into the seat next to Melody. ‘I’m not sure what we’ll do about your project, but let’s concentrate on letting that ankle heal first.’
Melody had little choice in the matter. She could hardly walk across to the car, even with Mae’s support, so there was no chance she could go off on her travels at the moment. The only other alternative was returning home early, and the idea alone made her feel queasy.
Mae went into full-on mum mode when they arrived back at the bed and breakfast, settling Melody on the sofa, leg propped up on cushions, blanket draped over her despite the heat, generally fussing over her.
‘Shouldn’t you be getting to work?’ Melody asked as Mae brought in a tray filled with sandwiches, cake and tea. ‘I’ll be fine here now, I promise.’
Mae chewed on her bottom lip, weighing up the possibility. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ve only sprained my ankle,’ Melody said. ‘It’s slowing me down, but I’ll be fine.’
‘I could give you Mrs Hornchurch’s number, just in case. And my number, obviously, but it’ll take me a while to get here. Mrs Hornchurch is just next door.’
‘Seriously, Mae, I’ll be okay.’ Melody lifted the remote, which Mae had pressed into her hand earlier. ‘I’ll have daytime TV to keep me company.’
Mae hesitated, still weighing up her options, before she nodded. ‘I will leave you those numbers, though, just to be on the safe side.’
The house was silent once Mae left, so Melody switched the TV on, turning the volume up to fill the room with noise. She didn’t like the quiet. The quiet gave you space to think, to remember. It brought your fears and weaknesses to the surface.
Melody turned the TV up a little bit more.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Willow
Willow was enjoying working on the dresser. It was hard work and the sanding had been particularly arduous, but she loved seeing items like this given a new lease of life, watching as they were transformed from something stuck in the corner of a room, largely forgotten, to a beautiful, useful piece that would take centre stage again. So far, she’d stripped the dresser, sanded it down, and primed the wood before Gary applied the first coat of duck-egg-blue paint. Once it was dry, she’d apply another coat or two, attach new hinges to the little cupboard doors and apply the vintage paper to the wall behind the shelves. The finishing touch would be the salvaged handles, which she’d paint the same shade as the dresser before screwing them onto the cupboard doors.
Gary had been busy keeping her topped up with coffee, nipping out to buy sandwiches for lunch, answering the phone, and serving the customers in the shop. Willow loved her shop, loved chatting with the customers, but it was the creative side of her business she truly adored, and taking on Gary had allowed her to lose herself in her projects while safe in the knowledge that the shop was in capable hands.
‘Good news,’ Gary said as she stepped into the shop, wiping her hands on an old towel. ‘We’ve sold the last of the planters. I said we’d deliver them when we close up this evening. I hope that’s okay? I checked the diary and there was nothing in there.’
‘Nope, that’s fabulous.’ Willow hopped up onto one of the stools behind the counter. She’d have a little break while she waited for the paint to dry on the dresser. ‘It’ll be nice not having to lug them in and out of the shop each morning. Speaking of which, would you be able to help out with the delivery? I don’t think I’d manage them on my own.’
The backache Willow had experienced the day before had eased off, but she didn’t want to push it too much, just in case.
‘Sure,’ Gary said. ‘It isn’t as though I haven’t had enough practice. You should start charging a gym subscription for this place.’ He grinned at Willow and she stuck her tongue out at him.
‘Go and stick the kettle on before I give you more heavy lifting to do.’
Gary saluted as, still grinning, he made his way to the little kitchen. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You’re learning,’ she called after him. ‘Now if we could just practise the bowing as I enter the room, that’d be grand.’ She chuckled to herself as Gary disappeared, but the joyful smile slipped from her face as the shop door opened and a practised, professional smile took its place.
‘Hello. Can I help you with anything, or are you just browsing?’ She was already sliding off the stool as the customer – a woman in her early thirties and clearly pregnant – made her way to the counter, leaning against it gratefully, almost gasping for breath. Full-on summer clearly wasn’t a good time to be heavily pregnant.
‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Willow asked, concerned about her laboured breathing. ‘Or a seat?’ She grabbed the stool, but the customer shook her head.
‘Oh, no. Thanks,’ she said between breaths. ‘I’ll be all right in a second. It’s these steep streets. And this, obviously.’ She shifted and rested a hand on her protruding bump. ‘I’ve got another three months to go and I already feel like a small elephant.’ She giggled and rolled her eyes. ‘I dread to think what I’m going to be like at the end. A blimp, probably.’
‘I think you look lovely,’ Willow said. ‘Blooming.’
‘Blooming fat and sweaty,’ the customer said with a grin. ‘Anyway, the reason I’m here…’ She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, tapping away before turning it to face Willow. ‘We’ve been given this furniture for when the baby’s born. It’s from my partner’s grandparents’ attic, and while it’s lovely…’ She swiped through the collection of donated furniture: a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a rocking chair and a cot. ‘It’s all a bit mish-mashed and not what I had in mind for the nursery.’
Willow could see the problem. The furniture looked sturdy enough with minimal damage over the years and would clean up quite easily, but each piece was made from a different type of wood.
‘My friend bought a sideboard from you a while ago and I loved it, so I was wondering if you could
do something with all this?’ The customer pressed her lips together, her eyes wide and hopeful.
‘Of course.’ Willow handed the phone back. ‘Do you have time to go through some ideas now, or shall we set up an appointment for you to come back?’
The customer checked the time on her phone. ‘I was on my way to a pregnancy yoga class, so it’s probably best if I come back.’
‘No problem.’ Willow grabbed her diary from the drawer. ‘When are you free?’
‘I could come over tomorrow lunchtime, if that’s okay with you?’
‘Perfect.’ Willow grabbed a pen to jot down the appointment. Lunchtime – nursery furniture consultation. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
With a wave, the customer waddled out of the shop. Willow waited until the door had closed behind her before she slumped onto her stool, suddenly weary. She emitted a long sigh as she slouched against the counter.
‘You look like you need this.’ Gary appeared with two cups of coffee, carrying them carefully across the shop and placing them on the counter.
‘I need something stronger, kid,’ Willow said.
‘It’s two for one between six and seven at the Fisherman tonight,’ Gary said and Willow laughed.
‘I’ll bear that in mind. For now, this coffee will have to do.’
Willow really was exhausted by the time she made it back to the bed and breakfast that evening, the planters safely delivered to their new owner. She’d dropped Gary off at home afterwards before driving on to the B&B. Driving to and from work was becoming a bit of a habit. She’d have to break it and get back to walking before it was too ingrained. The walk was good, gentle exercise and the fresh air didn’t hurt either.
Her phone was ringing as she stepped inside the house, so she headed straight up to her room to answer it. She hadn’t spoken to Ethan that day, so she was glad to see his name on her screen. Being apart from her husband wasn’t something she was used to and she couldn’t wait until he was home again.
‘Hey, you.’ She felt her throat tighten as she spoke, the threat of tears imminent. Ethan being away was clearly getting to her more than she’d realised. She needed to get a grip – it had only been a few days!
‘Have you heard anything more from Liam?’ Ethan asked.
‘Nope, we’re still waiting on the surveyor.’ Willow sat on the bed, stretching her legs out full-length as she chatted to her husband. She was starting to feel a bit better now she was hearing his voice. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like they were in the same room together. ‘I can’t wait for it to be sorted. Why do we seem to have all the bad luck?’
‘Will,’ Ethan said, and she heard him sigh softly. ‘This is just a blip. It’ll get sorted.’
‘I’m not just talking about the house.’
‘I know.’
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Willow lay down on the bed, tucking herself into the foetal position as she listened to the soft breathing of her husband. She wanted him to come home – or to the bed and breakfast, at least. She wanted to forget all about their recent quarrels and enjoy being together again, like it had been in the beginning.
‘Sorry,’ Willow said, breaking the silence. She sat up, running a hand over her eyes. ‘I’m just tired and stressed. Ignore me.’
‘Willow…’ She sat up straighter as she heard Ethan sigh again. ‘We need to have a serious think about what we do now. Where we go from here.’
‘You sound like you have something in mind.’
‘I do,’ Ethan said, and her stomach twisted painfully. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear.
Willow was reeling after the phone call. She should have seen it coming, really, after all the trouble they were in, but it simply wasn’t a possibility for her. She’d have thought Ethan would have fought more, for her sake at least, but it obviously meant more to Willow and she wasn’t as willing to throw years of love, passion and hard work away, just like that.
The urge to curl back up on the bed and weep was strong, but Willow wasn’t one for giving in to her emotions, so she made her way downstairs, finding Melody on the sofa in the living room. She hadn’t expected to see her fellow guest in the house as she was supposed to have moved on that morning, but she spotted Melody’s bandaged ankle propped up on cushions before she could voice her surprise.
‘Oh my God, what happened?’ she asked, striding over to the sofa and crouching in front of Melody. Melody pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing slightly.
‘I tripped this morning. Wasn’t looking where I was going.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Mae took me to the walk-in centre and it’s just a sprain. The painkillers are helping and the swelling’s stopped, but I’m not going anywhere for at least a day or two.’
‘So you’re putting your project on hold?’ Willow knew how much it meant to Melody by the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about it, and she knew how gutting it was to face the possibility of losing something precious to you.
‘It looks like it,’ Melody said with a shrug.
Willow reached out to rub Melody’s arm. ‘You’re okay, though. That’s the main thing, right?’
Willow couldn’t believe she was delivering platitudes. She hated being on the receiving end of platitudes, but she wasn’t sure what else to say, so out it popped.
‘You’re right.’ Melody nodded, a sad sort of smile on her face. ‘There are people far worse off. A sprained ankle is nothing in the grand scheme of things.’
Willow was well versed in looking at the grand scheme of things, though she hadn’t been very good at counting her blessings lately. And after speaking to her husband, it seemed she was about to have one less.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked Melody. ‘A cup of tea? More cushions?’
‘A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.’
Willow popped the kettle on and grabbed a couple of mugs, plopping a teabag in one and spooning coffee into the other. She heard a scratching at the door and, when she peered out of the window, saw the cat pacing up and down in front of the door. It stopped pacing for a moment, reaching out a black paw to scratch at the door before resuming the march.
Willow felt sorry for the poor thing. What if it wasn’t a chancer? What if it was desperate for food and shelter, for a loving home? But she couldn’t let it in. This wasn’t her home and Mae didn’t want the cat in her house, no matter how much it persisted.
The kettle clicked off, so she moved away from the window and turned her attention back to the drinks, pouring water into the cups and reaching for the milk. She froze, her fingers not quite grasping the fridge door handle, a short gasp muffled as she pressed her lips together.
This certificate is awarded to Hannah Wright for her fantastic effort and enthusiasm with shapes. Well done!
Willow’s gaze moved from the certificate, proudly displayed on the fridge, to the painting next to it. Willow wasn’t sure what the blobs of red, green and blue paint represented, but she knew how proud Mae must have been when her daughter produced it. No amount of looking at the grand scheme of things or counting her blessings could dull the ache as Willow stared at the fridge door, imagining her own fridge – when she eventually had one in her own kitchen – devoid of artwork and certificates or any signs of family life. She’d had such high hopes for her and Ethan, but it looked as though all her daydreaming and planning would be for nothing. There would be no babies with Ethan. No family to squeeze around the kitchen table. In fact, if things didn’t improve, there’d be no kitchen for a table to sit in at all.
Tearing her eyes away, Willow opened the fridge, grabbed the milk and finished making the drinks. She avoided looking directly at the displays as she returned the milk, and by the time she carried the drinks into the living room, any visible signs of a wobble had vanished. She’d become almost an expert at hiding the cracks lately.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mae
The Fisherman had bee
n enjoying a quiet period after the lunchtime madness. The only customers remaining were Tom, perched on his usual stool at the bar, and a couple decked out in walking gear who didn’t seem to be in any hurry to do any actual walking. Mae and Frank had set out the dominoes and were in the middle of a fierce battle; whoever lost the game had to hang the bunting and blow up the two dozen balloons for a party taking place that evening. It wasn’t a job either of them wanted to do.
‘Ooh, bad move,’ Frank said as Mae placed a tile down on the table. He rubbed his hands together while Mae rolled her eyes.
‘You’ve said that every time. Stop trying to psyche me out – it isn’t working.’
‘You should save all that hot air for blowing up those balloons,’ Tom piped up, chuckling to himself.
‘How long have you been sitting on that one?’ Frank asked and Tom shrugged his shoulders.
‘About twenty minutes.’
‘He’s right, though,’ Mae said. ‘Stop wasting your breath because you will need it later.’
‘Only for karaoke.’ Frank cracked his knuckles and placed his tile.
Mae groaned. ‘There’s going to be karaoke?’
‘Doreen insisted, apparently.’
Doreen, a local pensioner and loyal customer at the Fisherman, was the birthday girl.
‘I thought it was a surprise party? How can she insist on having karaoke at a party she doesn’t know is happening?’
Frank shrugged. ‘Who knows? I only do what I’m told.’
There was a hoot behind them and Corinne wandered over with cups of tea for Mae and Frank. ‘Since when?’
‘Since our wedding day. You’re a tyrant and you know it.’ Frank winked at his wife as he took the proffered cup.
‘If I’m such a tyrant, why haven’t you blown those balloons up yet? I asked you to do them two hours ago.’
‘Because the party doesn’t start until seven.’ Frank checked the time on the clock hanging on the beam above the bar. ‘And that’s nearly three hours away.’
‘It’s nearly two, actually.’ Corinne handed Mae her tea and plonked herself down on a stool. ‘I told you the clock was knackered.’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘That bloody Gary King.’
The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea Page 17