Page 15 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“Sorry, sweetie, but you can’t have one until you’re eighteen years old, which is a long time yet. But you can have a pretend one, if Daddy says that’s okay.”
“Can I, Daddy?” The child launched herself at him, hugging his neck. “Can I have a pretend tappoo?”
“I suppose so.” He laughed, shaking his head in resignation. “You draw all over everything anyway, so having a drawing on yourself won’t be much different.”
“I want one like yours.” Now she launched herself at Cassie, clambering into her lap and raising a pleading face.
“Okay.” Cassie’s eyes were dancing with amusement. “But we can’t do it right now. We need the proper pens to do it with.”
Liam half expected the child to demand to have it done instantly. But maybe just because Cassie was new to her, or maybe there was something in her tone, the child agreed happily and picked up her spade again, returning to her sandcastle duties.
He smiled at Cassie across the excavation. “Thank you,” he mouthed silently.
She smiled back. “No worries.”
He sat back on his heels watching his small daughter, her face intent, her little pink tongue peeping out from the corner of her lips as she helped to dig the moat deeper.
He could kick himself for speaking to her so sharply. Much as he adored her, there were times when he just couldn’t seem to get it right.
Maybe he was overanxious, overthinking everything. Struggling to be both father and mother to her. Maybe he should try to relax a little more. His mother had told him more than once that there was no such thing as perfect parenting.
* * *
Cassie was doing her best not to let her gaze linger too much on Liam Ellis. It wasn’t easy. She’d met a lot of fit, good-looking men on her travels — men who did a lot of water sports or other adventure activities tended to have good bodies.
Liam didn’t have such a muscular build as them — but then too much muscle didn’t really do it for her. It was enough that he filled out that T-shirt so nicely. And those strong forearms and wrists, covered with a smattering of dark, curling hair . . . Strong wrists had always been her thing.
He and Robyn were laughing together as they competed to shovel sand onto the mound that would become the castle, theearlier storm forgotten. Cassie watched them covertly as she wielded her own plastic spade.
It was lovely to see the way he was with his little girl. She was a pretty little thing, with that cap of golden curls. She must take after her mother. That would be a double-edged sword for him — a constant reminder of the woman he had loved and lost.
If she hadn’t left . . .
Liam smiled at her across the construction works. “How’s your grandmother?”
“Not good. She came home from the hospital yesterday.”
“Oh?” He looked surprised. “She’s well enough?”
“Not really. But she’s very obstinate. Ollie spoke to her consultant and they agreed it would probably do more harm to refuse to let her have her way. Besides,” she added wryly, “she might be frail but she’s very definitely mentally competent, so really they have to abide by what she wants.”
“Still, it’ll be nice for you to have her home,” he suggested.
“It will. Though she can be pretty hard to manage.”
He laughed. “At her age, I suppose she’s entitled to be.”
“That’s pretty much what she said.”
With most of the construction of the sandcastle completed, Cassie retreated to the picnic blanket beside the windbreak. The children continued the task of installing turrets, arranging pebbles strategically around the fortifications, and digging a long canal up from the sea to fill the moat.
The dogs had come back from their romp. Lisa dug a collapsible bowl out of her capacious bag and filled it from a water bottle. They lapped it up before collapsing, exhausted, in the shade.
“It’s busier than ever down here today,” Cassie remarked, glancing along the beach. Hardly an inch of sand wasn’t covered with beach towels and deckchairs and sun loungers. The shallows were full of excited children, squealing as theyskipped over the waves. The beach shop up on the Esplanade must have very nearly sold out of frisbees and beach balls, lilos and colourful inflatable rings, some shaped like flamingos or dinosaurs.
“It’ll be worse than this in a couple of weeks when it’s the bank holiday. Half the country will be heading for the seaside.”
“Oh lord, yes. I’d forgotten that. The roads’ll be snarled up all the way from Bristol.”
