Page 2 of The Big Dip in Crumbleton
Pete let out a low, rumbling growl.
Nope – The Big Dip no longer held the excitement and sparkle for him that it once did. He might have run away to Australia for several years to “get over it”, but it hadn’t worked.
He wasn’t sure he’deverget over it.
Over her.
Whatever.
Anyway, maybe that’s why being turfed out of his home for the weekend stung more than it should. After all, he’d slept in his van plenty of times before. He’d even lived in it for weeks at a time while chasing waves around the British coast.
That had been different, though – that was back before the great white shark incident. Before Australia. Plus, it had beenhischoice… the chance for a little taste of adventure to keep him sane while living his small-town life with his parents and little sister.
This felt more like being evicted.
Scrubbing at his face, Pete straightened up. He was just being daft. It really wasn’t a big deal to clear out of the hut for a couple of days, was it?!
‘Okay… let’s just finish this job,’ he muttered, wishing he could grab his board and head back out into the waves instead.
He’d spent most of the morning surfing, more to calm himself down than because the conditions were any good. The waves had been mediocre at best, but there was something about the rhythmic paddling and the burst of exhilaration as he caught a wave that always helped him get his head on straight.
Grabbing the pile of spare bedding he’d nicked from the shepherd’s hut, he bundled it into the back of the van, tossing it in a heap on top of everything else. He’d sort his own bed out later. First, he needed to do a last-minute check on the hut.
Pete had left the door open so that fresh sea air could replace the smell of damp wetsuits and much-used flipflops. He’d already spent the last hour making sure everything was clean and tidy. Not an easy task, considering he wasn’t exactly renowned for his housekeeping skills. He’d pushed the boat out today, though. He’d even gone so far as to check the shower drain for mysterious-looking hairs.
‘All sorted?’ came a voice from behind him just as he was about to head inside.
Pete turned to find his little sister, Libby, watching him, a giant blue bucket dangling from her arm. She’d always been a beachcomber, even as a kid. At seventeen, she was twelve years his junior, but sometimes she seemed like the more sensible one.
‘Just about,’ Pete grunted. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were working in the café today?’
‘Dad’s given me the afternoon off,’ said Libby with a shrug. ‘I’m meant to be revising, but I need a break.’ She patted her bucket. ‘Mum says the shop needs more sea glass for those wind chimes she’s been making, so… it still counts as work, right?’
Pete grinned at her. ‘Good luck with that. No storms means slim pickings. There’s not much of a wave out there today.’
‘That’s true, but it’s a good excuse for a walk on the beach, though!’ She peered past him towards the open door of the shepherd’s hut. ‘Anyway, who’s so important that you have to give up your bed for the weekend?’
‘Some swimmer from Seabury,’ said Pete. ‘Here for The Big Dip. Apparently, she’s a last-minute addition, so there’s no room for her with the rest of them.’
Libby nodded. ‘I heard Seabury’s got even more swimmers coming than usual—there are loads more Chilly Dippers than there used to be. Mum said they’ve got a whole minibus coming. Brian Singer’s gone over to collect them! They’ve grabbed the last few rooms at the Dolphin and Anchoranda bunch of the local bed and breakfasts, too!’
Pete nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘Nice of you to offer your hut,’ she said lightly.
‘Not like I had much choice,’ muttered Pete. ‘And now I’ve got to be on call for her all weekend, too. I’ll be glad when this whole event is over!’
‘Poor baby,’ teased Libby, reaching up to ruffle his salt-stiffened hair. ‘Homeless for two whole days. However will you cope?’
‘I’m not homeless,’ Pete protested. ‘I’ve got my van.’
‘And Mum and Dad’s place,’ Libby pointed out. ‘Or have you forgotten about that?’
‘Trust me, that was my first thought,’ said Pete. ‘But Mum said I’d be more useful down here in case our visitor needs anything during the night.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Libby. ‘You’re coming up for dinner tonight, though, right? Dad’s making his legendary paella.’
Pete was about to refuse – he’d been looking forward to a night of solitary sulking – but the thought of his dad’s cooking changed his mind.
