Summer at Blue Sands Cove

by Chris Ward

  ‘And raincoats?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?’

  Paul grinned. ‘I know a good spot.’

  ‘Joan knows I’m on a date with you,’ Grace said. ‘So don’t think about turning into a werewolf or anything like that.’

  Paul nodded at the bag. ‘You’d better bring that cactus just in case you need to fight me off. Ah—’ He looked at his watch as the world outside suddenly brightened, the evening sun breaking through the clouds, banishing them away to stand proudly above the horizon in all its evening splendour. ‘Right on time.’

  They got out of the car. Grace looked up, stunned. The gloom that had hung over Blue Sands all day had gone. Low above the village, a full moon had just appeared in the sky.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Paul asked. ‘We’d better hurry or the curry will get cold.’

  ‘The curry?’

  ‘Yeah. I like a bit of spice.’

  Paul lifted the straps of two heavy coolers over his shoulders, despite Grace’s offer to help. She was quietly impressed by his obvious strength, even if she insisted on carrying a light bag filled with plastic cutlery. With Paul leading, they headed off down the path. From the car park it followed the line of a field downhill in the direction of Sharker’s Rock, but halfway there, Paul stopped by a gateway leading to a higher field and put the coolers down. With a conspiratorial grin, he turned to Grace.

  ‘This is the bit you have to promise not to tell about,’ he said, nodding at the field beyond the gateway. ‘This is private property, and the farmer gets a bit salty about people on his land. Absolutely no litter and ideally no footprints, otherwise there’ll be a moaning article in the village rag next month.’

  Grace smiled. ‘I’ll do my best. Where are we heading?’

  ‘Up the hill. To the old lighthouse.’

  ‘The lighthouse? We’re on the wrong side of the bay.’

  ‘Not that lighthouse. The other one.’

  ‘There’s another one?’

  Paul grinned. ‘It’s not so well known, but I suppose that’s one of the quirks of working in the village museum. You have to know these things for when some old guy comes in armed with printouts from the internet.’

  ‘I had no idea there was another lighthouse in Blue Sands.’

  ‘Well, there’s not a lot left of it.’

  He helped her over the gate, then passed over the coolers. Together, they started up the hill. The field was the highest point near the village, with a stand of rugged, wind-hassled trees at the top. Paul, though, led them past the trees and through a side gate into another field which sloped down towards Sharker’s Rock, giving her a view of Blue Sands she had never seen before, the whole bay curving out below her, lights flicking on as the last rays of sunlight outlined the horizon. And from here, they were high enough just to see the lights of village on the top of the hill.

  ‘Can you see that light right on the edge there?’ Paul said, pointing. ‘The green one? That’s where I work. I put a filter over it just to see if I could see it or not. I’m not actually supposed to leave it on.’

  ‘The whole village looks amazing,’ Grace said. ‘I had no idea you could see it from this angle.’

  Paul touched her arm, and nodded to a concrete square below them. A stone plaque stood nearby, and there was a wooden bench set back on a little gravel area, sheltered by the hedge from the breeze drifting up the hill from the sea.

  ‘Our restaurant,’ Paul said, somehow managing to pick up both coolers with one arm while offering Grace his other. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Grace said, taking his arm, glad it wasn’t too far. ‘Is this it? The old lighthouse?’

  As they reached the patch of concrete, Grace shone her torch on the plaque, illuminating a carved picture of a pretty lighthouse and a few paragraphs of information.

  ‘This is all that’s left,’ Paul said. ‘It ceased operation around nineteen fifty and was abandoned. There wasn’t considered a need for two lighthouses so close together, and this one cost more to run and maintain. Much of the stone was removed and used in local buildings. We’re actually on National Trust land—hence the plaque and the bench—but old Mr. Webber who owns the neighbouring field is in a dispute with the council over access. His argument is that too many people leave the gate open, which is why he’s put up NO ENTRY signs everywhere and shouts at people trying to visit the site.’

  ‘That’s not very nice.’

  ‘I offered him a free lifetime pass to the museum and library,’ Paul said. ‘But he wasn’t interested.’

  ‘Um, isn’t entry free?’

  Paul grinned. ‘Yeah, it was kind of a joke. He didn’t laugh.’

  ‘I bet he didn’t.’

  ‘I offered him a free parking space if he didn’t want to pay for parking down at the beach.’

  ‘I bet that didn’t go down well either.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘How was I supposed to know his farm was actually closer?’

  They began to set out the picnic. Paul produced a battery-powered electric blanket out of a rucksack and laid it down over the concrete. At Grace’s quizzical expression, he just shrugged and said, ‘Got it on the internet.’

  It turned out that Paul was an excellent cook, and had clearly spent some hours preparing the food. Everything was home-cooked, from sandwiches to curry-filled pastries, even a cheesecake which he grumbled had ‘sunk a bit in the middle,’ but tasted amazing. There was enough food for about six people, and even though Paul muttered about how he’d put too much salt in this or not enough mayonnaise on that, Grace eventually got him to confess that he’d studied catering at college and that cooking was still his main hobby, even if he only really cooked at home.

  That Paul hadn’t ballooned into some beach ball with such skill at his fingertips defied belief, but Grace figured that was why he hit the waves at secretive times of the day and night. However, she still couldn’t figure out why.

  All the food gave her another idea, though.

  ‘I don’t suppose—if Joan was interested—you’d work in the café a couple of days a week? Specifically doing food?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

  ‘We’re in a bit of a competition with a certain other café.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, I’ll think about it. I prefer to cook for my friends and family, though. It takes the pressure off.’

  ‘Well, if….’

  She trailed off. Paul was staring over her shoulder, shaking his head. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘He’s out of his mind. It must be nearly ten o’clock. It’ll be dark soon.’

  Grace turned to look down at the bay, and her heart sank. A man was paddling out across the water on a surfboard, heading for Sharker’s Rock. She had no doubt it was the Masked Surfer, even though at this distance and in the failing light he was just a blur of movement against the water.

  ‘Is that the secret guy?’ Grace said, her throat suddenly dry, every word feeling like an awkward challenge just to flip it off her tongue.

  Paul chuckled. ‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There must have been something in the way she spoke, because Paul suddenly turned towards her, a frown on his face. ‘Grace? You didn’t … think it was me, did you?’

  ‘Ah….’

  Paul looked momentarily crestfallen. ‘I don’t know how to surf,’ he said quietly, turning away.

  ‘It’s okay, I just—’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Is that the only reason you agreed to come on a date with me?’

  Grace gave a frantic shake of her head. ‘No, I mean, yes, I did think it was you, but that’s not the only reason I—’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘No, really, I’m actually glad he’s not you, because I kind of like you the way you are, and—’

  ‘It’s fine. I mean it.’

  Paul still couldn’t meet her eyes. She was certain that s
he had blown it, and only in the moment of utter failure did she realise that she actually really liked Paul, that she had been having a great time, and it didn’t really matter whether he was the Masked Surfer or not. In fact, she liked that he was who he was without hiding behind a secret identity, because if he was the person who had prepared such a wonderful picnic and taken her to such a beautiful spot, then really everything was already right about him—

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ Paul said, looking up, a little twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Out of interest, why did you think it was me?’

  ‘Ah, well, he has your kind of build, and the same jaw, and you both like honeycomb ice-cream.’

  Paul laughed. ‘Everyone likes honeycomb ice-cream,’ he said. ‘It’s the best flavour.’

  ‘We sell more vanilla.’

  ‘Ah, that’s your stock ice-cream, though. That’s for all the people too scared to be exotic. The type of people who’ve only ever had ice-cream out of the freezer at Morrison’s. Once they’ve tasted honeycomb, there’s no going back. Even butterscotch can’t hold a candle.’

  ‘It’s still pretty good.’

  ‘If you’re going for a double-scoop, then it would be right to pair honeycomb and butterscotch, but you’d probably want the honeycomb on first, so that you eat the butterscotch first. Do you do doubles in the shop?’

  ‘Not unless someone asks.’

  ‘You totally should.’

  ‘I’ll mention it to Joan.’

  The whole thread of their conversation had twisted. Down near Sharker’s Rock, the Masked Surfer paddled into a roller and came bursting out of the spray to execute a slick turn.

  ‘He’s pretty good, isn’t he?’ Paul said with a hint of respect. ‘I was always such a letdown. I mean, I can’t even swim.’

  ‘You can’t … what do you mean you were a letdown? You know who that is?’

  Paul smiled. ‘You were right on the jaw and the build, even the ice-cream. You were just wrong on the generation. That guy down there … that’s my dad.’

  32

  Influence

  ‘What do you mean you’re not coming back down?’ Joan said, frowning. ‘Coach needs to give you a good bollocking for not trying hard enough, before we get stuck into a couple of yesterday’s leftover pasties.’

  Grace smiled. ‘I’m going to ride on up to the library and have morning coffee with Paul.’

  ‘Dressed like that?’ Jason asked.

  ‘I have a change of clothes in my bag.’

  ‘But you’ll be all sweaty,’ Jason said. ‘Is he into his sportswomen?’

  ‘I have a towel.’

  Joan looked at Jason and grinned. ‘Look at her. She’s completely smitten. That must have been one hell of a date. I mean, judging on what was in that doggy bag you gave me, he can really cook.’

  ‘Tell him if he bakes up a few of those cheesecakes I’ll flog them in the Shack,’ Jason said. ‘Half price with a lump of board wax.’

  Grace laughed. ‘I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that.’

  ‘Just don’t be late for work,’ Joan said. ‘I’ve had fourteen people ring up this morning to make a booking for lunch. Fourteen different people. I have no idea what’s going on.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Jason leaned on the handlebars of his bike. ‘Right. One more time. Are you ready? Let’s train.’

  Grace had forced herself to wait the traditional three days between their date and seeing Paul again. When she had jokingly told him what she planned, he had shrugged and told her he would be waiting. Last night, when she had finally cracked and stood outside the Low Anchor to pick up a Wi-Fi signal, he had replied almost straight away that he would be waiting with breakfast.

  The museum and library didn’t officially open until ten o’clock, but when Grace arrived at seven-forty-five, parking her pink BMX against the wall outside, she found an arrow taped to the glass doors bidding her to go up the stairs. On the second floor, more arrows led her through the modest exhibits to the balcony terrace that had a view over the valley below.

  Paul was standing beside the glass doors that opened onto the terrace.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘You look … energised.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How was your time?’

  Grace shrugged. ‘Three seconds better than yesterday, but still fifteen seconds slower than Jason, and a whole minute slower than Mike Anderson. As long as someone beats him, I’ll be happy.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me you liked Mike Anderson? He was your spinning teacher or something?’

  Grace scowled. ‘I used to. He came in the shop the other day while I was out, then complained on social media about the size of the ice-creams.’

  ‘Ooh, catty.’

  ‘It’s become something of a grudge match. The current plan is for me to get just enough ahead of him to put him off while Jason powers through for the win.’

  ‘Isn’t that cheating?’

  ‘I prefer to consider it aggressive competing. However, the likelihood of either of us getting anywhere near him is remote. He was a spinning teacher for a reason.’

  Paul smiled. ‘I think you’re amazing just for trying it. That bench halfway up Melrose Hill was put there just for people like me who can’t even walk it in one go.’

  All the tables on the terrace, bar one, had been moved aside. Paul had moved the last table to the edge of the balcony with one chair on either side. An elaborate breakfast setup had been arranged, with muffins sliced and placed in a silver holder, coffee in a filter jug, orange juice that looked freshly squeezed.

  ‘This looks wonderful,’ Grace said.

  Paul smiled. ‘Take a seat,’ he said, pulling out a chair for Grace to sit down. ‘Help yourself to everything while I get the main dish.’

  ‘The main dish?’

  ‘You have a choice of two. Would you like to know your options?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Beans on toast, or beans to the side, in a bowl, with toast on the plate. All served with various bits and bobs, mushrooms, egg, sausage, all the usual.’

  ‘Fantastic. I’ll have the beans on the toast.’

  ‘The best way, so that they mingle with the butter. Coming right up.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a kitchen here.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘There’s one hob and a microwave. You learn to make do. I’ll be back in two minutes.’

  ‘You’re versatile, that’s for sure.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Still can’t swim, though. Or surf.’ He gave her a little smile that hinted at regret. ‘Are you sure you’re not disappointed?’

  After Paul’s revelation, which even a few days later left her stunned, she had expected to be. But it was shock more than anything else.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m not.’

  She waited for him to bring the beans on toast, which came with all the English breakfast trimmings and a sprig of parsley on the side which Paul said added a professional touch.

  ‘So,’ she said, when she had stopped laughing, ‘the Masked Surfer is really your dad?’

  Paul rolled his eyes. ‘He was a junior regional champion,’ he said. ‘He ended up scaling it back as a hobby when he went into teaching, but since he landed the film role last year, he’s taken it up again. Getting into character, he calls it, even though he doesn’t actually have to do any surfing in the movie. He just wants to look the part but keep it all a big secret from his pupils until the movie comes out. That’s Dad down to a T. He always was a poser.’

  The story had seemed fanciful, but Grace had looked online for it and found Paul was right. A Cornish surfing movie titled Way of the Waves was set to begin filming in September. Paul’s dad had landed the role of Ark, a grizzled loner who befriends a bullied kid. Together they bond over surfing, with Ark coaching the kid into an Olympic hopeful while dealing with his own issues at the same time.

  ‘Ark isn’t a very Co
rnish name,’ Grace said.

  ‘Apparently it’s short for Arkansas. The production company is Canadian. I think technically it’s a black comedy, but Dad’s treating it like a war movie. And the level of secrecy he’s going to is hilarious. Mum had a fit when she found out he was renting a van just to go surfing, but he does it under an assumed name and everything.’

  ‘I feel kind of weird. I sort of hit on him.’

  Paul laughed. ‘He mentioned that there was a beautiful surfer girl who had fluttered her eyelashes at him. He was made up about it. And then he said he recognised you, and remembered a time when you had been sick in drama class. He said it was a real test of his acting to keep a straight face.’

  ‘He remembers that? Oh my god.’

  ‘He brings it up every time I mention you.’

  Grace wasn’t sure whether to be more surprised about Paul talking about her to his parents or that his dad remembered the one time she had been sick in class, when the day’s assignment had been to express shock at the tragic passing of a beloved pet. Grace had gone a bit over the top, if she remembered rightly.

  ‘It was only a bit of bile.’

  ‘It stained the carpet.’

  ‘It did not.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘He said it did. He’s a teacher. Aren’t we supposed to believe them?’

  Grace was about to reply when her phone buzzed. She looked up at Paul, who just nodded. ‘Enjoy your signal while you can,’ he said.

  It was Joan. Grace put the call onto speakerphone. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Are you still having breakfast with cookery boy? Can you hurry up? I’ve had nineteen people ring up this morning wanting a booking. I have no idea what’s going on, but I think we’re going to be busy. I managed to get hold of Hedges in time to double the pasty order, but is there any chance master chef can come down and help out?’

  Grace cringed, but Paul just smiled. ‘Hi, Joan,’ he said. ‘I’ll close the library for lunch at eleven and come down to help.’

  ‘Oh, you’re still there? Um, hi, Paul. Thanks.’

  As Grace ended the call, Paul frowned. ‘Why so busy?’ he asked. ‘Is there some kind of special event on?’