Summer at Blue Sands Cove

by Chris Ward

  Outside, the rain was getting even harder, the wind picking up with it, like a January storm which had lost its way.

  ‘Gotta love August,’ Paul said. ‘Listen, if you don’t want to brave it, I can drop you home. I usually walk but I drove in today, just in case. You learn to predict the weather after a while.’

  Grace shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I just need to check the windows and lock up. Can you give me a couple of minutes? There’s a little coffee left in the staff filter if you’d like some.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Paul brought her a cup of coffee from the back room which was just warm enough to be enjoyable. She waited in the lobby while he shut down the museum and library. A few minutes later, he returned, pulling a jacket over his shoulders.

  ‘You’re wearing a coat?’ she said, smiling.

  He shrugged. ‘Cornish weather. It could be snowing by midnight. Hang on a minute. I’ll bring my car around.’

  Grace waited while Paul went out into the rain and hurried around to the car park at the building’s rear. A couple of minutes later an old Ford Fiesta pulled up outside.

  ‘My wheels,’ he said, after climbing out and returning to the lobby. ‘It can get sixty on a decent downhill straight, sixty-five if I really push it.’

  ‘Always best to travel in style,’ Grace said.

  Paul locked up the library and they got into the car. ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

  ‘Down in the cove, in one of the chalets,’ Grace said.

  ‘I know the ones. Down that little narrow street past the chip shop?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Got it. Hang on a minute while we power up.’

  He gave the engine a little rev, then pulled away. The rain was so heavy they could barely see through the windscreen.

  ‘It must be a little strange coming back,’ Paul said. ‘I mean, you could travel half the world but Blue Sands would be just the same. The people a little older, but that’s about it.’

  Grace smiled. ‘It’s like seeing an old friend. And it’s peaceful. The city was starting to drag me down.’ Then, thinking back over her own words, she started to laugh. ‘Listen to me. You’d think I was an investment banker or a pop star or something. I was working in a café, just letting the years drift by. It’s not like I was changing the world or anything.’

  ‘Changing the world is overrated,’ Paul said. ‘As long as you’re happy in your part of it, that’s what matters. Blue Sands is all about the history, the people, the sea. You don’t need to complicate things.’

  ‘Do you go down to the cove much? I’ve never seen you down there.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘From time to time. I live up in the village, but I go down once in a while.’

  They were heading down Melrose Hill now. It felt like they were driving down a waterfall. Paul steered out into the road to give a wide berth to Mrs. Oldfield, who was holding an enormous golfing umbrella over Daisy.

  ‘That poor dog looks soaked.’

  ‘She’s always out, rain or shine,’ Paul said. ‘I’ll offer her a lift back up after I’ve dropped you off. I keep a tarpaulin in the back just in case. That dog is like a giant sponge.’

  The promenade was deserted, the rain keeping most people inside. Most of the shops had shut for the day, although there were lights on in the Low Anchor. Grace squinted, trying to spot Daniel through the windows, but the rain was too heavy.

  ‘Here you go,’ Paul said, turning down the narrow street and pulling up outside the chalets. ‘Yours is not the one with the pink BMX, I take it?’

  Grace winced. ‘I’m afraid so. It’s a relic from my past. I can’t seem to let go.’

  ‘If it still works, why replace it?’ Paul said. ‘Take care getting up the path. You’re liable to wash away. Keep the umbrella.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She climbed out, opening the umbrella as she did so.

  ‘Have a good night. Take care, Grace.’

  She gave Paul a wave as he drove off, watching the car’s taillights meander away into the rain. A moment later he reached the junction with the main road, paused for a moment, then turned left, in the direction of Melrose Hill.

  With the rain pouring around her, Grace stood still for a few seconds, watching the road where the car had gone, a strange feeling coming over her, one she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  26

  Heartstrings

  The surf was always great for a couple of days after a storm had rolled out to sea. After a busy day in the café, it felt wonderful to be paddling out on a board as set after set of clean, glassy waves came rolling in. Proudly wearing her Rented from J’s Surf Shack wetsuit, Grace sat out the back with the other local surfers, with the sun hanging low in the sky above them.

  The strength was beginning to return to her shoulders and back. Waking up the morning after the first couple of decent surfs, she had felt like a steamroller had rumbled over her during the night, but now the muscle ache was reduced to an almost pleasant feeling, the same way she felt after a good spinning session. The first time, it had taken her twenty minutes to paddle back out after the first wave, but now as she dropped out of a ride and pulled her arms through the water, she glided back out through the incoming set as easily as she had done as a teenager.

  The sun was starting to set behind her, the light glittering off the wave crests as their faces became shadows. Most of the surfers had gone in now, but Grace hung around, waiting for one last decent ride. Surfing wasn’t quite like riding a bike, because the decade that had passed since her surfing days ended had changed her balance, slowed her movements. They were coming back, but she still needed to practice if she had any chance to avoid embarrassment in the surfing competition. Just one more wave—

  ‘Hey.’

  She had been sitting facing out to sea, so the voice caught her by surprise. She turned, her heart racing, to see Daniel pulling through the water behind her. He came to within a couple of metres, then sat up on his board.

  ‘I thought I saw you out here. That’s a great wetsuit, by the way.’

  Grace just shrugged. ‘Shouldn’t you be working in the pub by now?’

  ‘Isabella’s got it, and we have staff on tonight. I couldn’t resist the swell.’

  ‘It’s good this evening.’

  ‘Yeah. I saw you ride that last wave. Nice turn.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’ve still got it.’

  From the way he was looking at her, she briefly misunderstood what she meant. Then he nodded at the board and said, ‘You probably need an upgrade. It’s a shame about your old board.’

  ‘My dad sold it before they moved. I mean, I said it was okay.’

  Daniel looked about to say something else, but a swell was building behind them. ‘Here’s mine for the evening. Come up to the pub sometime for a chat. We haven’t really caught up since you came back.’

  ‘Sure—’

  She wasn’t sure he heard her before he dropped to his board and began paddling into the wave. Grace let it pass under her, then briefly saw the back of his head appear as he stood on his board, riding it into the beach. She hoped he might paddle back out, but instead she saw him ride right into the shore before dropping off his board and carrying it out through the shallows. He turned and gave her a brief wave before heading up the beach.

  Grace felt a knot building in her stomach as she watched him walking away. So much had been left unsaid, but she remembered he was married now. He had a family.

  She had drifted in a little too far. She pulled her board back and ducked just as a wave broke over her. Paddling quickly back out, she sat on her board again in the dusk as the sun dropped below the horizon. A short distance away, a grey head popped out of the water, watching her.

  Grace couldn’t help but smile. ‘Just you and me, now,’ she said to the seal.

  She caught a couple more waves, then headed back into the beach before it got too dark to see. As she walked up
the foreshore to the access ramp, a figure waved at her from the promenade.

  ‘Hey!’

  Joan was sitting by the wall, a bag at her feet. Grace walked over and leaned the board against the wall.

  ‘What are you doing out here alone?’ Grace said. ‘Where’s Jason?’

  Joan smiled. ‘Doing his accounts. He told me you were out there surfing, and I thought it might be nice for us to have a drink together. We’ve not had much one-on-one time recently since I got together with Jason. I’m sorry, Grace.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You’re my best friend, and I feel like I’ve been neglecting you.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘I saw Daniel out there. Is everything all right?’

  Grace started to speak, but suddenly a wave of emotions hit her in a sudden rush. She tried to say it was okay, that everything was fine, but instead she found herself blubbering, shaking her head.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ she gasped through sobs she thought loud enough to be heard up in the village. ‘I thought I was over him, and I think I would have been if he wasn’t still here. I can’t stand it, Joan. Every time I see him with her or his kids, I feel like that should be me, like I missed out.’

  ‘Grace, it’s all right,’ Joan said, starting to pull her into a hug, before grimacing at her dripping wetsuit. ‘It’ll be okay.’

  Grace pulled away. ‘I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I mean, you’ve had so much to deal with, and I’m making a fuss over this.’

  ‘You have to get him out of your system. Come on, there’s only one way to do that. Go and get changed and meet me in the pub in half an hour.’

  Grace looked at the bag at Joan’s feet. ‘Didn’t you buy some drinks in?’

  Joan smiled. ‘Oh, I’ll drink these while I’m waiting. Go on, hurry up. There might be half a can of Dutch courage left when you get back.’

  By the time Grace got back to the promenade, it was nearly half past ten. Joan, shivering in a jacket now the sun was long set, handed Grace a can of beer and looked her up and down.

  ‘How many times did you change outfits? And you only needed to wear a hat. No need to brush your hair. We’re going to exorcise demons, not pick up.’

  Grace felt herself blushing. I can’t go into a full pub without a bit of makeup.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, you’re in a relationship.’

  Joan lifted an eyebrow. ‘You think I don’t try for my man?’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  Joan laughed. ‘Come on, Graceful. Drink up. Let’s get inside before my wheels ice up.’

  It felt weird to go through the creaking double doors of the Low Anchor for the first time in ten years. Even though Grace was pushing Joan ahead of her like a battering ram, the conspicuousness she felt was almost overwhelming. Through the frosted glass of the inner door she saw groups of people standing around the bar, others sitting at tables, some walking around the pool table or back and forth from the darts board.

  ‘Deep breath, Graceful,’ Joan said, then propelled herself forward, pushing the door open with the foot braces on her chair.

  A cacophony of sound engulfed them. Grace followed Joan inside, feeling like she was stepping through a time warp. The stools were new, but otherwise the bar looked the same as it always had. The same pictures on the wall of local club teams, the same memorabilia on a shelf above the bar, the same scratched sea buoys hanging from a hook in a corner. And many of the faces were the same too: old Jimmy Trebarwith, a local farmer, sat in the middle of the bar where he always had, his garrulous words as difficult to understand as ever, the Compton couple—Mavis and Don—sat at the far end, drinking the same drinks—a wine spritzer and a Worthington—as they’d always drunk. Crowding around the pool table was the Beattie family, a group of tourists from somewhere up north who came every year, and always wore the same matching t-shirts. Big Lawrence Beattie—the father—had shorter hair than Grace remembered, and Kelly Beattie had filled out a little, her hair showing signs of grey. The three kids were there, too, but the two oldest—a couple of years younger than Grace—were now adults, and the youngest, who had waddled around in the others’ wake, now a strutting teenager.

  As Joan wheeled herself to the bar, several people turned to greet her. Grace trailed along behind, feeling like a stranger until old Jimmy noticed her and clapped his hands together, expelling a loud guffaw at the same time.

  ‘Well, I never,’ he growled. ‘Grace Clelland! Is that you, lass?’

  ‘Hey Jimmy,’ Grace said, as other faces turned towards her. Within a few minutes she was picking up greetings from old acquaintances, school and family friends. Joan passed her a drink as she fielded questions on her parents’ health and what she’d been doing since she went away.

  Everything seemed to be going well until she looked up and noticed Daniel behind the bar. He was standing at the end, talking to the Comptons. And beside him stood Isabella, a picture of beauty in a long summer dress, one hand on Daniel’s arm as she laughed at something Don Compton had said.

  Some things had changed, and suddenly Grace couldn’t handle it anymore. She made an excuse to the old school friend she was talking to and hurried out, ostensibly to the toilet, which she bypassed as she ran down the steps and out onto the promenade.

  A few people were sitting outside with drinks carried out from the Low Anchor or other pubs further along the strip. Grace wandered along the promenade until she reached the first steps leading onto the beach.

  The tide was up now, the storm swell died down, little waves rushing up the sand to lap at the shingle on the foreshore. Grace stood just back from the waterline, letting the chill sea breeze wrap around her.

  Far out to sea, the lights of a fishing boat moved across the horizon. Grace watched as it passed behind the outcrop of the Mourning Lady, and briefly made the rock stack visible against the night.

  Was this how Lucy Pearce had felt after Peter Trevellian had left for the Napoleonic Wars? Deserted and alone? Heartbroken? Was it worse that her lost love was still alive and well, and as happy as could be with his beautiful wife?

  Grace sat down on the sand. She felt utterly miserable, but pathetic at the same time. She was twenty-eight. She should have got over him by now. She needed to stop acting like a scorned teenager, particularly when the whole situation had been her fault in the first place. After a wonderful summer together, she had dumped Daniel. He wasn’t ambitious enough for her, and living in Blue Sands for the rest of her life was the worst thing in the world.

  As she stared out at the rippling water, she remembered something her old grandmother had once said to her long ago. Her grandmother, God rest her soul, who had spent her youth working overseas as a nanny for diplomats’ children in places as exotic as India, New Zealand, Egypt, and the Philippines, had once smiled when an eight-year-old Grace asked her, ‘Granny, what’s the most beautiful place in the world?’

  With a soft chuckle, her grandmother had answered, ‘It’s right here, at home. But you won’t know that for yourself until you’ve been away and come back again.’

  27

  Resolutions

  Joan, sitting in her chair with a cup of takeaway coffee balanced on her knees, was clearly tired and hungover, but Jason, in a skin-hugging singlet looked almost homo-erotic as he leaned on his bike. Grace, giving them a wave as she approached, pushing the pink bike in front of her, shook her own drowsiness away.

  ‘Good morning, Graceful,’ Joan said, yawning. ‘Thanks for calling my parents in the dead of night. Are you really sure this is necessary?’

  Grace looked at Jason. ‘One of us has to win,’ she said. ‘We can’t let Mike Anderson come swooping in here and win a locals’ trophy.. This needs to stay in the village. And if training together is the only way to do it, then so be it.’

  Jason grinned, then lifted an arm and flexed his muscles. ‘Nothing like a bit of healthy competition.’

  ‘You two are mental.’ J
oan turned to Grace and cocked a thumb at Jason. ‘How’d you know he’d be up for it?’

  Grace glanced at Jason and smiled. ‘Because he won’t want to lose to a woman, will you, Jason?’

  ‘Are you calling me sexist? I’m quite happy for you to win the woman’s race.’

  ‘There isn’t a woman’s race.’

  ‘Well, come second, then.’

  Grace looked at Joan. ‘See? If he thinks I’m going to beat him, he’ll try his butt off. Much as it pains me to admit, I have no chance of winning, but if I can help Jason win, that’s all right. But being satisfied with some stumpy little award for being the fastest local isn’t good enough. You have to beat the pro to win the tro.’

  ‘The what?’

  Grace blushed at the awkwardness of her attempted joke. ‘I meant the trophy.’

  ‘Ah, the tro.’ Joan looked at Jason. ‘Go, um, Jo. To win the tro.’

  Laughing, Jason jumped off his bike and ran around behind Joan, leaning her chair back and running a few feet up the hill with her. ‘You’re Jo,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the tro!’

  ‘Will you two just pack it in?’ Grace said. ‘I’m trying to be serious here.’ She glanced over her shoulder at the Gourmet Kitchen a little way down the street. A teenage boy was outside, sweeping up around the tables on the street level patio, but standing in the doorway, watching him with an almost witchlike intensity, was the black-clad Sophie Baker. One finger rubbed her chin, her talon-like fingernail glinting in the dawn sunlight.

  ‘There’s something else I need to tell you,’ Grace said, pulling a flyer out of her pocket. It had ripped corners and was torn halfway across. ‘I saw this on a lamp post on the way back from the beach last night.’

  It was an advert for the Melrose Hill Bicycle Race, the final event of the Bank Holiday Weekend Blue Sands Beach Gala. It had a feature on Mike Anderson, the special guest competitor, and there on the first line was the damning proclamation, Sponsored by Blue Sands Gourmet Garden Restaurant.