Page 3 of Best Summer Ever

I looked at him, oozing hope.

‘Go on then,’ he finally said. ‘You’re on.’

‘Really?’ I gasped.

‘Really.’ He nodded. ‘Come in on Thursday about six and I’ll start getting you up to speed as to what’s required.’

‘That’s fantastic!’ I gushed, feeling a heady mix of relief and gratitude. ‘Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.’

‘As are you,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks as I took a gulp of my lemonade.

I hoped I would be.

‘So, where are Sophie and Hope off to?’ I asked.

Sophie, Hope’s mum, had created the most delicious Caribbean slash Norfolk fusion cuisine, which she served in the pub and in her café on the beach, and Hope, if memory served, had her own bespoke biscuit business now. Tess, Sam’s partner, and Hope also had the same dad, and he and Sophie were a couple now after years apart.

‘They’re going to Jamaica,’ Sam said in a quiet voice, even though there was no one else around to hear.

‘Lucky them,’ I sighed.

‘Sadly, it’s not a holiday,’ Sam explained. ‘They have an extremely sick relative out there and from what I can make out, I think they’ll be saying goodbye to them almost as soon as they get there.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said, feeling guilty to have imagined them sipping cocktails and swimming in cerulean seas that would be far warmer than the water lapping the sand in Wynmouth. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

‘Me too,’ said Sam, as another customer darkened the doorway. ‘They’re both really cut up about it.’

I sat and finished my lemonade while Sam served the other customer and I took the time to count my blessings. At least no one in my family was unwell and I had parents to come back to in my moment of crisis. And now I had a job too. It might only be temporary and part time, but it was a start and I was grateful to have secured it ahead of going home.

I could feel the ends of my salt-laden hair drying in a tangle down my back and knew that if I didn’t wash and condition it soon, it would be completely unmanageable. It was time to go home.

‘I’ll see you Thursday,’ I said to Sam, as I made for the door. ‘Do I need to bring anything?’

‘Just your national insurance number,’ he told me. ‘And some comfy shoes.’

‘Comfy shoes?’ I frowned, wondering why I’d need them when I’d probably spend longer on a bar stool than standing.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Vital. Hey, look out.’

I turned around and bumped straight into the broad chest of someone who had walked in just as I was walking out.

‘Sorry,’ we both said at the same time.

I would have recognised that apology and accompanying accent anywhere now.

‘Sorryagain,’ said the guy, taking a step back and hoisting his rucksack higher.

‘Sorry again indeed,’ I repeated with emphasis.

‘It’s dark in here,’ he carried on. ‘I didn’t spot you.’

‘Well,’ I said, stepping around him, ‘I sawyouin the beach hut.’

‘If it’s any consolation,’ he meekly responded, ‘I didn’t see that much of you.’

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

‘They’re not for sleeping in, you know,’ I tersely replied, assuming he was most likely on the lookout for somewhere to stay that he wouldn’t have to pay for. ‘They’re private property.’

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