Page 13 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“I don’t mind. She helped me a lot when you were all little. Now it’s her turn to be looked after.”
“I’ll be here to help.”
Paul slanted her a questioning look. “You’re staying then?”
“For a while.” For a fleeting moment she had a flashback to herself tucking that airline ticket into the poetry book, but she pushed the image aside. “There’s the two weddings coming up — Debbie’s and Tom’s. I’ll be staying for those. Besides, I thought it was time I took a bit of a break from racketing around having fun.”
Her mum looked pleased but didn’t say anything. Cassie knew how difficult it had been for her to watch her youngest fly off across the Atlantic ten years ago, but she hadn’t said anything then either. She had been grateful for that — it wouldn’t have taken much to tip the scales, take the easy path of staying at home.
She glanced around the kitchen. The family usually ate in here — they had rarely used the dining room, unless they had guests, even before Nanna had taken it over.
The room was at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. It faced north, but it was always warm and bright, withbuttercup-yellow walls, white painted cupboards, and a range-style cooker with polished brass trim.
Barney’s basket was next to the range. He had been curled up, comfortably dozing, but the prospect of begging for nibbles of scone lured him out, his warm brown eyes full of adoration as he levered his front paws a little stiffly onto Cassie’s lap.
“You greedy little mutt,” she chided him fondly, tickling behind his ears. “Here you are.” He snaffled the bit of scone she gave him, and promptly turned his attention to Paul. Cassie laughed. “You traitor!”
She spread her scone with a thick layer of Devon cream and a smear of her mother’s home-made strawberry jam, and bit into it, the warmth of pure bliss spreading through her. “Mmm, I’d forgotten how scrummy your scones are.”
Her mother laughed. “Worth coming home for?”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled through the mouthful. “Nobody makes scones like you. Or maybe Nanna, back in the day.”
Home. Sitting around the kitchen table with her family, the little brown terrier still hopefully begging for a bit of scone. Yes, moments like this were worth coming home for. Worth staying for? She didn’t have to make up her mind about that for a while. She’d be staying for Nanna, and for the two weddings.
After that . . . The ticket said 25th September. Six weeks. There was no rush.
* * *
“Daddeee, can we go down to the beeeach today? I want to play with Amy.”
Liam smiled down into his daughter’s upturned face. He’d give her the moon and the stars, so a trip to the beach was the least he could do. The stack of emails and paperwork on his desk could wait until tonight, when she was asleep.
“Okay, sweet plum. Are you going to go in the sea?”
The small blonde head nodded vigorously. “I ’spect so.”
“We’d better put your swimsuit on under your shorts then.”
“I did awready.”
She gave him her most angelic smile, and he laughed, shaking his head. Five years old, and she could wind him around her little finger.
The beach was crowded, but Robyn knew where to find her best friend. She let go of Liam’s hand as they reached the bottom of the ramp and raced ahead across the sand. “Amy! We’re here.”
Liam let Hobo off his lead and he hirpled after her, not troubled at all by the absence of one hind leg. Barney, the Channing’s small Border Terrier, jumped up to meet him, and the pair of them set off, bouncing and chasing each other down to the water’s edge and back.
A small group was clustered at the far end of the beach, close to the cliff steps. Debbie Rowley’s little girl Amy, the image of her mum. Lisa Cullen with Noah, who was in the same class as Robyn and Amy, and the baby in her carrier in the shelter of a colourful canvas windbreak.
And Cassie Channing.
His footsteps faltered briefly. But his little blonde whirlwind had launched herself to the centre of the group and was chattering excitedly. He managed a casual smile as he greeted them all, careful not to let his gaze linger too long on that one face. “Hi. How’s things?”
“We’re going to build a sandcastle,” Noah announced. “A great big one.”
“Sounds good. Can I help?”
“My daddy builds the bestest sandcastles in the whole world,” Robyn proclaimed proudly, spreading her arms wide.
