Coming Home to Wishington Bay. Maxine Morrey

their red and white contrasting with the pale blue of their containers.

      ‘I’m very sure you did, if this display is anything to go by.’

      ‘That’s most kind of you. Thank you.’

      ‘You’re very welcome.’

      ‘Are you on holiday here or just visiting us for the day?’

      ‘Actually I’m staying for a little while. In Betty Gardner’s house. I’m her granddaughter.’

      ‘Oh well then, welcome, welcome! There’s a drink here waiting for you whenever you’re ready. Betty was a wonderful woman.’

      ‘She was. And thank you.’

      ‘Anytime. It’s nice to know there’s someone breathing life into that place again. Gabe’s done what he can from the outside, of course, but a house needs love from the inside too. Kind of like people.’

      ‘You’re quite the philosopher.’ I smiled.

      He did the boomy laugh again, making me smile more. ‘My wife says the same thing. Usually before she gives me another chore to get on with.’

      ‘Perhaps she thinks it’s best to keep you busy?’

      ‘Have you been talking to her?’ He grinned.

      ‘No, but maybe I will when I come for that drink.’

      ‘Excellent! Excellent! Then we’ll look forward to seeing you …’

      ‘Holly.’

      ‘Holly. I’m Edward. My wife is Philomena, and we shall very much look forward to seeing you at The Lighthouse.’

      I shook the hand he offered, smiling as he laid his other on top and then waved as I left.

      Making my way through the small streets, I stopped at the butcher’s, bakery and greengrocer’s, filling my basket with fresh, fragrant produce and not a hint of a plastic bag in sight.

      ‘Mind those sausages,’ the butcher had cautioned once he realised I lived next door to Gabe – or more specifically Bryan. ‘He’s a fiend for sausages, that one. Certainly lives up to his breed name!’ I thanked him, assuring him that I would keep them somewhere the little dog wouldn’t be able to snaffle them before heading back out into the street and nipping through one of the tiny alleys that led through to the beachfront side of the village.

      It was this side that Ned’s restaurant sat but I knew he’d be busy getting ready for lunchtime now and Carrie was at the surgery today so I walked down onto the beach, pulled my sandals off, hooked the straps over my fingers and pointed myself towards home.

       Chapter 5

      Several days later I’d been around the whole house with a notebook and made a list of what I needed to do and the jobs that I might need more of a hand with, as well as an estimate, as far as I could guess, of how long it might all take. As Gabe had pointed out on our first rather inauspicious meeting, one of those jobs was painting the windowsills. Having now taken a proper look, I could see that he’d done all of his side of the property and about half of Gigi’s. But, since I’d told him in no uncertain terms not to touch the rest of them, he’d taken me at my word. In fact, I’d hardly seen him at all since our walk back together along the beach from Ned’s. I ran my finger along one of the freshly painted sills. The gloss was smooth under my fingertip and the edges were crisp and clean, with not a hint of splatter or overpaint on the glass.

      ‘Inspecting my work?’

      I was so startled, I took a step or two back and bumped into the deck’s railing.

      ‘Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you jump.’

      I shook my head as I gave him a smile and tried to fight the tightness in my chest that had suddenly gripped me at the jolt. Gabe took a step closer.

      ‘Holly? Are you OK? You’ve gone really pale.’

      ‘Yep!’ I huffed out, struggling to catch my breath at the same time as trying to appear unconcerned and nonchalant.

      Clearly I was nowhere near as good an actress as my grandmother had been.

      ‘Well, that’s obviously a lie. Sit down here a minute.’ His hand was at my elbow, gently steering me towards one of the loungers. ‘Is this what happened at work?’

      My mind flew back to that day and the world began to spin faster as all the panic I’d felt flooded back. I’d been doing my best to pretend none of this was happening and that I was totally fine but there was a little part of me that wanted to stop denying it all. To actually cry out and tell him that yes, this was exactly it, and that I wished for him, anyone really, to just please make it stop because as much as I was an independent, free-thinking woman who took charge of her life, the fact that this happened was scaring the crap out of me. But as I was still struggling for breath and my head was swimming, all I could really do was nod. And even that took some effort.