Ottercombe Bay – Part One: Where There’s a Will.... Bella Osborne

eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.

      ‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.

      ‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.

      Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’

      At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.

      Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.

      ‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.

      ‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.

      Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.

      ‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.

      ‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’

      ‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily and her mood lifted. She dropped her rucksack and sat down at the small kitchen table with its pristine white tablecloth. She looked about her whilst Aunt Coral busied herself with the tea. It was as though time had stood still. The kitchen was just as it had been when she was a child; the only changes she could spot were that the walls had been painted yellow, when they used to be blue, and there appeared to be the addition of a corkboard with a variety of pieces of paper and notes pinned to it. She spotted the last postcard she had sent from France and her good mood quickly faded when she remembered the disaster of her French boyfriend Guillaume.

      Daisy looked down at her rucksack. Everything she owned was in it, apart from the motorbike. That was it. All her worldly goods in one package. She pulled back her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. This was the way she liked it. No ties, nothing to keep her in one place or hold her back. She was as free as a bird and that suited her just fine. Aunt Coral ferried a large tray with a teapot and a pair of fragile-looking cups and saucers to the table and sat down opposite Daisy. She pointed at the rucksack. ‘You’re not planning on staying long, then?’ There was a sadness in her eyes as she poured their tea.

      ‘No, sorry. I need to leave straight after the funeral.’ Daisy broke eye contact and picked up the delicate teacup. She didn’t know where she was heading next. She had been staying in a hostel in Canterbury, hopping from one job to the next, when Aunt Coral had telephoned. It had seemed like an ideal opportunity to make it a permanent departure from Kent. As to where she was going next, she had no idea, but she wouldn’t be staying in the small Devon town any longer than was absolutely necessary.

      ‘Well, you can’t leave directly after the funeral, I’m afraid, because there’s the will and—’

      A knock at the door was simultaneously accompanied by frantic barking from the garden making Daisy feel she was under attack from two different directions. Aunt Coral calmly got up and headed for the front door. As soon as Daisy heard the high-pitched voice a bell started to ring in the deepest recesses of her mind.

      The visitor’s Devonshire accent was strong and her voice got louder and faster as she approached. ‘OhMyGod. I can’t believe it’s actually you. I mean I hoped it was when I saw the bike because I don’t know anyone with a bike like that. Not round here. And it is you, you’re here!’ A young woman with long straight dark hair flung herself at Daisy and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off Daisy, which was quite disconcerting.

      ‘Tamsyn,’ said Daisy, recognising her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do you still live next door?’

      ‘Yeah, with Mum and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you too.’

      ‘Tamsyn has been a wonderful help keeping an eye on Reg while I’ve been at work. Reg has kept every card or letter you have ever sent from all your travels and I think he’s read them all to Tamsyn a few times over. And you know how he always liked to tell stories and you featured in quite a few of those too.’

      ‘Not the fantasy ones with dwarves. You weren’t in those,’ said Tamsyn, her face deadpan.

      Daisy wasn’t sure how to respond, but thankfully Aunt Coral started speaking again. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Tamsyn these last few months. She’s virtually one of the family now. Aren’t you, Tamsyn?’

      ‘OhMyGod. Does that make us sisters?’ said Tamsyn, jigging about excitedly in her chair – the same action being mirrored at the back door by the dog.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ said Daisy with a chuckle. Tamsyn was joking, wasn’t she? Here was a prime example why people should leave home and explore the world, thought Daisy. Staying here had turned Tamsyn into Ottercombe Bay’s answer to Phoebe Buffay from Friends, blurring the line between adorable and certifiable.

      ‘Where are you going next?’ asked Tamsyn, wide-eyed, cupping her tea with both hands. Daisy wished Tamsyn would blink more often – it couldn’t be good for her eyes. Daisy spotted Aunt Coral also looking at her intently; she felt under pressure to say something and oddly the need to impress.

      ‘Um, I’m not sure. Abroad again probably …’ She didn’t have the money right now but her long-term plan was definitely to travel more extensively. ‘South America,’ she blurted out. It was somewhere she had always wanted to go but living hand to mouth meant it was only ever going to be a pipedream.

      Tamsyn’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow, you are my absolute hero.’ She turned to Aunt Coral who gave a proud nod.

      Daisy felt awkward and it showed on her face. She dropped her gaze to her teacup. She began to recall more about Tamsyn as her brain rearranged her archived memories. She remembered the little girl who followed her everywhere, who went beachcombing with her and liked to collect shells but screamed if she found a crab. She remembered sitting on the edge of the pavement watching the carnival procession together. She remembered them as gawky teenagers swigging cider behind the beach huts. She remembered a friend.

      ‘You not going to the carnival