Page 1 of Wishes & Waves at the Cornish Bakery
Chapter One
As she slammed on the brakes, Tilly Matthews held her breath as her little Fiat 500 jerked to a stop just shy of the shiny BMW which had pulled out on her at the roundabout. She hit her horn just as the sudden movement threw a box from her pile of belongings on the back seat forward, releasing a cascade of clothing over her shoulder and into her lap.
‘Fab! Thanks, mate! Thanks so much.’ Tilly rolled her eyes as the BMW driver continued on without a care in the world. He’d probably not even heard her if the music blaring out from his open windows was anything to go by.
Turning down the road to her right, she stretched out her fingers from the steering wheel. She should have stopped at the last service station she’d passed. After four hours of driving, she was feeling it, but she’d be there soon. According to the SatNav, Penworth Bay was just down the road. Not that she had a clue what she was going to do when she got there.
Reaching across, she turned up the fan, hoping to make a dent in the heat. One day she’d treat herself to a new car with air-con.
She laughed at herself. New car! She didn’t even have anywhere to sleep tonight, let alone somewhere to call home. Nope, the bailiffs had made sure of that this morning.
Slowing to a stop at a junction, she threw the clothes which had dropped into her lap onto the heap of belongings behind her. She’d taken what she could fit in her small car; everything else would either be held somewhere for her or dumped. Shewasn’t quite sure what she’d been told, she’d just been on autopilot since the moment she’d heard the thump at the door. The thump at the door which had changed her life within minutes.
Turning left, she tapped the pads of her fingers in time to the song she was listening to -Downtown by Petula Clark- Aunt Gwen’s favourite and Tilly’s favourite pick-me-up on a tough day too. And she needed Petula’s optimism more than ever today. She’d need an all-out miracle.
Here she was, Penworth Bay. As she drove past the welcoming sign, Tilly wound down the windows and took a deep breath in. She could smell the salty aroma of the sea, stirring memories of visiting Littlehampton as a child. Sun, ice cream and a little keyring keepsake from the little shop by the estuary. She drove past beautiful, thatched cottages until the road turned to cobbles beneath the tyres and a row of shops came into view, a haberdashery, a bakery and a little cafe amongst others.
She smiled. This looked like quite the quaint old Cornish seaside village Aunt Gwen had described it as Her aunt had always been good with words, and the stories she’d woven about Penworth Bay had been so detailed and felt so real that Tilly had almost been able to picture herself walking down the winding streets herself, taking in the ocean views with her eyes and breathing in the fragrance of freedom with her lungs.
Coming to a car park, Tilly drove in and found a little spot overlooking the beach, the old seawall the only barrier between her car bumper and the drop to the sand below. Perfect. She glanced to her left and watched as people lounged at the collection of tables and chairs arranged outside a restaurant, Baywater Delights, enjoying a late lunch or early evening meal. They looked as though they didn’t have a care in the world. And they probably didn’t. Not right now. They were likely on holiday,enjoying a break from their gruelling jobs and their reality back home.
Huh, not that she’d complain if shedidhave a job. She swallowed as a lump formed in her throat, and she looked out of the windscreen towards the ocean below. Yes, a job would be good, but what would be better was to have her aunt back with her, to be caring for her still.
She sighed. ‘Yep, I know, Aunt Gwennie. I know I promised you I’d move on. I promised you I’d find my place in the world and follow my dreams, but it’s trickier than it sounds.’
Tilly picked up the scrunched napkin she’d squashed into the cupholder after she’d grabbed lunch at a fast food drive-thru and dragged it across her face, hoping the tomato ketchup she’d wiped from her t-shirt with the napkin didn’t transfer to her skin. She didn’t think her aunt had had a clue about how difficult it would be for someone who had been out of the workforce for seven years to get a job. Tilly herself hadn’t. She’d naively thought that potential employers would be impressed by all the transferable skills she’d learned whilst caring for her aunt or the loyalty she’d shown her.
But nope, each and every one of the one hundred and fifty-four jobs she’d applied for over the past five months had rejected her application on the grounds that she didn’t have enough experience. How was she supposed to get experience if no one would give her a chance?
Opening the car door, she sighed as she realised her front tyres were not only outside the confines of the parking bay but were also sitting at an unforgivable angle across the white line. Great. No wonder she couldn’t get a job; she couldn’t even complete the simple task of parking in a bay.
Chapter Two
Tilly slipped back inside her car and shoved her key in the ignition. It didn’t matter, she’d soon have her car straightened up, and then she could get back out and start exploring the bay her aunt had so loved.
Placing her foot on the clutch, she slid the gear stick into reverse, pushing past the point it usually stuck on, and hit the accelerator. The car lurched, and an unmistakable thud sounded. Slamming her foot on the brake again, she felt her breath quicken as she pulled up the handbrake.
Drat. She’d knocked into something. How had that happened? She’d only moved a few inches back, and she’d checked her rear-view mirror before she’d reversed.
Biting down on her bottom lip, she forced herself to look in the mirror, her heart sinking as she watched the reflection of a man jumping up and down behind her.
She’d not just hitsomething. She’d hitsomeone. He must have walked behind the car after she’d checked her mirrors.
Closing her eyes for a brief second, she took a deep breath in, willing her rapid breathing to slow. She needed to appear in control. She needed to get out and check he was okay and not look as though she’d been driving haphazardly. Which she hadn’t. She’d looked.
Gingerly, she cracked open her door, and she was met by the noise of the man groaning. He was hurt. What if she’d broken his foot? His leg? Damaged him irreparably?
As though her body was only just catching up to the situation at hand, the adrenaline kicked in, and Tilly jumped out of thecar and hurried around the back. The man was holding one foot and jumping up and down, a bag of shopping lying on the tarmac next to him, a bottle of orange juice having rolled to a stop next to the tyre, and a pack of eggs cracked open. ‘I’m so so sorry.’
Coming to a standstill, the man laid both palms on the metal of the boot and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.
She watched as a lock of mousy brown hair fell across his forehead. Stepping forward, she raised her hand, ready to place it on his shoulder before thinking better of it and letting it drop to her side. What was she supposed to do? She’d never been in this situation before. Did she call the police? Hand herself in for dangerous driving? That would look great on any potential job applications, wouldn’t it? She shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about herself. She should be focusing on the man in front of her. The man she’d just run down with her Fiat 500. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital. I’ll drive you there. Get you checked out. You might have broken something.’
Holding his hand up, palm forward, the man grimaced before answering. ‘No. No, thank you.’
‘But you might be hurt. You’ll need an X-ray. Your toes might be broken. Or the bones in your foot...’ She let her voice trail off as her stomach churned, the greasy fast food meal she’d had for lunch threatening to resurface. It was her first few minutes in the bay, and she’d already made a total mess of things. Just as she always did.
Pushing himself away from the back of her Fiat 500, the man leaned down and pressed against the top of his foot before standing again. ‘I don’t think it’s broken.’
