The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea Read online

  Thorpe Lane was short and narrow, with a row of little cottages on one side of the cobbled road and a row of shops on the opposite side. Just six houses and six shops made up the lane, but even if the lane had stretched further across the town, Willow and her shop wouldn’t have been too difficult to spot. You could hardly miss the rowing boat, which had been stripped and polished and now appeared to contain a custom-made mattress, being lugged from the shop to a waiting van squeezed between the two pavements. Willow was at one end, her head poking around the side to guide the boat towards the van, with a couple of blokes taking up the opposite end and the middle. Together, the trio staggered from the shop, with Willow calling out directions.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’ Mae asked as she climbed out of her car and scurried towards the rowing boat party.

  ‘From you?’ one of the blokes asked before snorting unattractively. ‘No offence, love, but we wouldn’t want you breaking a nail.’

  Mae looked down at her hands, fingers splayed and nails facing upwards. The pillar-box red was stark against her pale skin, but she wasn’t about to apologise for painting her nails. These nails never got in the way when she was changing barrels at the pub, and if one did happen to break or chip, it was no big deal. She liked to make an effort with her appearance, but she had no qualms about rolling up her sleeves and getting stuck into a task.

  ‘Take no notice of this plonker,’ Willow said between puffs and groans as she navigated the kerb. ‘We’d love a hand, thank you.’

  ‘Plonker?’ the bloke spluttered, either through indignation or the fact he was manoeuvring a rowing boat through the street. ‘That’s the last time I offer to help you.’

  ‘This is the first time you’ve offered to help me,’ Willowed huffed. ‘And, if I recall, you didn’t actually offer to help out at all. Your mam threatened to whack you with her rolling pin if you didn’t – and I quote – “get off your fat arse for one day in your life”.’

  ‘I could have said no,’ he muttered as Mae reached the middle of the boat and took some of the weight.

  ‘You bloody well try, lad,’ a voice, which Mae presumed belonged to the bloke’s mum, called out from one of the houses across the street. ‘This is the most work I’ve seen you do in the last thirty-six years. And no, playing on that Playstation-Cube-whatsit doesn’t count.’

  ‘What is this, anyway?’ Mae asked as they reached the van and jostled the tip of the boat inside.

  ‘It used to be a boat.’ Mae gave the boat a shove and it began to slide across the van’s floor. ‘But now it’s a bed. I upcycled it and Malcolm’s just bought it for his son.’

  The other bloke, who had yet to speak, gave a nod.

  ‘You made this into a bed?’ Mae stepped aside as the boat was completely swallowed by the van. ‘Wow.’

  Willow wiped her hands down the sides of her dungarees. ‘It’s what I do. I have a shop.’ She indicated the premises behind her. ‘You can go in and have a look if you’d like, though I’m not technically open at the moment.’

  Leaving Willow to talk business with Malcolm, Mae wandered into the shop, her eyes widening as she took in the assortment of products on offer. There were larger items of furniture, all given new and vibrant leases of life, smaller household objects transformed into beautiful, decorative items, and things that might have been thought useless given a new purpose. Old light bulbs had been filled with small, delicate flowers and hung from a chandelier, mismatched glass goblets and flutes had been turned into stylish candles with white, fragranced wax, and old jars had been scrubbed, their lids painted in pastel shades, ready to be filled with sweets, buttons, cotton buds – anything small that was looking for a new, chic home. Mae could picture the jars in her bathroom or the guest bedrooms, and the champagne-flute candles would look divine on top of the chests of drawers in the rooms.

  ‘This is all amazing,’ she told Willow when she returned a few minutes later. The van trundled past, its horn beeping, and Willow waved through the open door.

  ‘Thank you. It all started off as a hobby, but it’s really taken off.’ She looked around her shop, a contented smile on her lips. ‘I love it.’

  ‘I feel the same about my bed and breakfast,’ Mae said. ‘Which is what I’m here about. I’ve had a cancellation, so if you’re still looking for a room…’

  Willow threw her hand up to her mouth to catch a gasp. ‘Oh my God. Are you serious?’

  Mae nodded. ‘The call came through while I was on my break. By the time I came back through to the pub, you’d gone. The room’s only available for two weeks, but it’ll give you a bit of breathing space to find somewhere more permanent until the work on your house is done.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Willow launched herself at Mae, throwing her arms around the woman and squeezing hard before she got a grip of herself and let go. She giggled, her cheeks turning pink. ‘Sorry. I’m just so relieved.’

  Mae laughed. ‘I bet you are. I hope you haven’t bought a tent since I last saw you?’

  ‘Thankfully not.’ Mae giggled and did a little jig on the spot. ‘I should let my husband know I’ve found somewhere. He isn’t here at the moment. He’s working away, but should be back in a few days. Will it be a problem if I’m still at the B&B when he returns?’

  Mae shook her head. ‘No problem at all. The room’s a double.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Willow heaved a huge sigh of relief. ‘I could do with moving some things over to my room. Luckily most of our stuff is in storage, but I need clothes and my essentials. When would be okay to drop them off?’

  ‘Whenever you’re ready. If I’m not there, my neighbour can let you in and show you where everything is.’

  ‘Thanks again.’ Willow paused in thought before she shrugged and threw herself at Mae for another squeeze.

  Chapter Seven

  Melody

  Melody took her time as she wandered towards the seafront, her rucksack on her back, her laptop bag looped across her chest and her camera dangling from its strap around her neck. She’d been dipping into little cobbled side streets, taking photos of anything that caught her eye: a seagull perched on a garden wall with a pretty cottage and flower-filled hanging baskets in the background, a family loaded with buckets and spades and folded deckchairs on their way down to the beach, a little shop with its window full of quirky seaside treasures: tealights made from shells, driftwood wreaths to hang on doors, and a mirror beautifully surrounded by smooth pebbles in shades of blue and grey. Melody had been particularly taken with the seashell tealights, but the door had been locked and there didn’t appear to be anybody inside.

  Melody had continued on her way, the tang of salt and seaweed growing stronger as she made her way through the town, until she found herself on the promenade. The noise was incredible: waves sloshing, children playing, music blaring from the pier and the nearby arcade, seagulls crying out as they swooped along the beach in search of food. Melody closed her eyes and allowed the music of the seaside to wash over her. This was what she was searching for. The heart of the British seaside beating loud and clear. It was everywhere; the joyous sounds of nature and humankind combined, the smell of the sea and fried food mingling to create the distinct scent that took Melody back to her carefree childhood, the crunch of sand underfoot, swept up onto the promenade. Melody made her way to the railing and looked down at the beach, at the happiness sand and sunshine created. Families, couples, dog-walkers, all enjoying this bright, hot day on the stretch of beach. To her right and stretching out into the water was the wooden pier and its fairground-style amusements, and to the left, about half a mile away, were the cliffs that cut off the beach. She’d like to climb to the top of the cliffs and take a photo of the beach from there, but first she needed to find somewhere to stay. The straps of her rucksack were digging into her shoulders, the movement as she walked causing them to rub at the flesh. She’d find somewhere to stay, freshen up, and head back out to discover Clifton-on-Sea’s hidden delight
s.

  Her stomach rumbled as she pushed away from the railing, reminding her she had yet to eat lunch. She’d been so caught up in her new surroundings that she hadn’t thought about eating since she’d clapped eyes on the cakes at the train station’s tearoom.

  Food first, she decided, then accommodation.

  Turning, she could already see several options before her: a pub – the Red Lion – with a chalkboard outside, claiming great food and a family atmosphere; a restaurant with black paintwork and matching awning stark against its creamy rendering; a bakery with its window crammed with tempting sweet treats; and a fish and chip shop that made Melody’s stomach grumble even louder at the mere sight. That was settled then.

  The delicious smell wafting from the fish and chip shop made her stomach growl again as she crossed the road but, hungry as she clearly was, she didn’t step inside straight away and join the queue. There were a few things Melody couldn’t resist, and adorable dogs was one of them.

  ‘Hello, little guy.’ Crouching, Melody held out a hand for the dog to sniff. His lead was tied around a lamppost, but he stood, his tail swishing from side to side like windscreen wipers in heavy rainfall, and gave Melody’s palm a thorough investigation with his wet nose. Finding the hand disappointingly empty, he sat down again, his head on one side as he observed his new friend.

  ‘Aren’t you a cutie?’ Melody cooed, stroking the dog’s head. ‘Yes, you are. You are lovely.’

  The dog closed his eyes as Melody started to scratch his ears, enjoying the fuss. He was quite a small dog, with scraggly golden fur on his body, legs and head, with a darker, greyish shade on his muzzle and ears.

  ‘And smartly dressed too.’ The dog was wearing a red tartan bandana around his neck, which Melody reached out to touch. ‘So handsome. Who’s a handsome boy then?’

  ‘The ladies often tell me I am.’

  Melody twisted away from the dog, looking up as the owner of the voice swaggered out of the fish and chip shop. Perhaps ‘swaggered’ was too strong a word. Perhaps he’d simply exited the shop in a normal fashion, but Melody was annoyed and flustered he’d caught her baby-talking to a dog.

  ‘Is that so?’ She stood up, readjusting the rucksack on her back.

  He grinned at her, which only infuriated her further. Smug bastard. ‘Not as handsome as this fella, obviously.’ He indicated the dog and Melody felt her cheeks burn.

  ‘Obviously,’ she said, trying to subtly swish her blonde hair so it would cover her hot cheeks. ‘No contest.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of trying to compete against this little dude.’ The door behind him opened as another customer was exiting, so he stepped out of the way. Before the door could swing closed again, Melody stepped forward and reached out a hand to stop it. ‘See you around!’ he called as Melody stepped into the shop, but she didn’t turn around.

  The fish and chips had been as delicious as the enticing aroma had promised. Melody ate her lunch on the beach, her rucksack and laptop bag wedged into the sand next to her, as she people-watched. She took a couple of photos between bites of food, but there’d be plenty of time for more later. For now, she was happy soaking up the blissful atmosphere of this particular beach, absorbing the happy vibes and feeling the sun on her skin. British summers didn’t always deliver and she was usually stuck in a stuffy office even if they did, so she was determined to make the most of the sunshine.

  She’d visited lots of beaches over the past few weeks; some had been large expanses of sand sweeping along the perimeter of bustling towns, others tiny strips and coves, but they’d all had one thing in common for Melody: they were idyllic spaces offering a sense of freedom, of possibility. Clifton-on-Sea was no different. The beach was smaller than that of nearby Blackpool, and the town wasn’t as busy, but Melody felt a similar carefree atmosphere, the same sense of fun and adventure. She liked it here already, and she was sure she’d find exactly what she was looking for.

  Scrunching up the greasy paper, now devoid of fish and chips, Melody picked up her bags, brushed down her shorts, and headed up the sand-brushed steps towards the promenade. There was a bed and breakfast across the road from the pier and she headed towards it, popping her rubbish in a bin on the way. Unfortunately, before she’d even reached it, she saw the ‘No Vacancies’ sign propped up in one of the windows.

  Damn. It looked as though finding accommodation wasn’t going to be as easy as Melody had thought, but she wasn’t worried as there were no doubt several more B&Bs in town. Taking out her phone, she tapped on the Project: Planet app she’d been using during her travels, typing her location into the accommodation search bar and waiting for the results. As predicted, a list appeared, though it wasn’t quite as extensive as she’d hoped. The app provided phone numbers for each establishment, but Melody decided to walk to the nearest on the list as it was a good opportunity to explore the town.

  The nearest bed and breakfast was a couple of streets back from the beach, on a tree-lined street filled with a jumble of mismatched houses of varying sizes, colours and periods, which somehow gave it a charming feel. The bed and breakfast was a short walk away and was one of the larger properties, set back from the road with a sizeable drive. Melody couldn’t see a ‘No Vacancies’ sign as she made her way to the stone steps leading up to the entrance, which was promising. A couple of minutes later, however, after a short conversation with a bored teenager behind the reception desk, Melody trudged back down the steps, the Project: Planet app open on her phone again.

  There was a similar story at the next two B&Bs and Melody found herself back on the seafront, heading away from the pier in search of the next one on the app’s list. Her hope of finding accommodation in Clifton-on-Sea was dwindling. If she couldn’t find lodgings, she’d have to hop on a train and search elsewhere, which wasn’t too much of a problem, but not ideal when she was so keen to explore the town. Still, she could always return if she had time to spare before she returned home.

  Thinking of home, she took a quick selfie of herself in front of the red railings of the promenade, the gorgeous view of the beach and sea behind her, and sent it to her mum with a quick message to let her know she was safe and enjoying her trip.

  See you soon, she ended the text. Love to you, Dad and Brett xxx

  She slipped her phone back into her pocket and shrugged her rucksack off her shoulders for a minute’s reprieve. Rummaging inside, she found a hairband and pulled her hair off her neck, securing it in a high ponytail. The afternoon was growing hotter and the walk through town was proving to be more arduous than she’d thought it would be, with unexpectedly steep streets and an even more unexpected scorcher of a day. There was a bottle of water in her rucksack, which she drank from gratefully before fastening the bag and hitching it onto her back. There was another bed and breakfast just up the road, but if that was also full, she’d have to reconsider her plan of action as she was quickly running out of options.

  She set off again, sticking to the promenade so she could watch the action on the beach as she walked. There was a game of volleyball going on using an inflatable beachball, a couple of Frisbees were zipping through the air, and there were sandcastles galore. Melody stopped for a moment to take a couple of shots before moving on, but she hadn’t got very far when she stopped again, gasping as she spotted a couple of donkeys, a child on each of their backs, plodding along the sand towards her. She froze for a moment, just watching, as the donkeys placed careful hooves on the sand, the giggling children – a boy and a girl – jostling gently as they clung tightly to bright red reins. The donkeys had almost passed by the time she’d pulled herself together enough to grab her camera. Jogging back up the promenade, Melody leaned over the railing, lining up the perfect shot, clicking several times as the donkeys plodded on.

  Lowering her camera and taking a small step back from the rail, Melody continued to watch as the donkeys continued up the beach, tails swishing lazily behind them, her mind wandering back to a diffe
rent time, a different beach.

  Finally, the spell broken, she set off again, adjusting the rucksack on her tired shoulders. Ahead, the promenade widened, but the space was currently being filled with little bodies and their parents as they sat in a haphazard semicircle in front of a vintage, red-and-white-striped Punch and Judy booth. Melody navigated the crowd but hesitated as she made it to the other side of the booth, glancing at the ice-cream van that had conveniently parked close to the show. The van was sky-blue and white, with a giant, plastic ice-cream cone – complete with Flake and dripping strawberry sauce – on the roof, while large lettering identified the van as belonging to the Marsland Brothers with their homemade ice cream. An ice cream in the hot weather did seem appealing, especially as she drew closer and saw the delicious flavours on offer. Toffee fudge, orange chocolate chip, bubble gum, passion fruit, banoffee pie, cappuccino, as well as the more traditional vanilla, strawberry and raspberry ripple. She’d already decided on a banoffee pie cone by the time she reached the van, but the serving hatch was empty. Never one to miss a photo opportunity, Melody grabbed her camera and aimed, taking a step back so she could line up the perfect shot. A figure suddenly appeared in the hatch, making her jump.

  ‘I’m ready for my close-up,’ he said and Melody groaned, seeing the bloke she’d encountered outside the fish and chip shop earlier. ‘How do you want me?’

  ‘You really don’t want me to answer that one, pal.’ Dropping her camera so it hung from its strap around her neck, she stepped forward. ‘Can I get a banoffee pie ice cream?’

  ‘Cone or pot?’

  ‘Cone, please.’ She shrugged her rucksack off her shoulders and rummaged inside for her purse. ‘And can I get a Flake too?’

  ‘Anything for you,’ he replied with a wink before turning to prepare her ice cream. Melody fought the urge to gag. Was he this cheesy with all his customers?