Page 21 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“It’s my favourite. By the way, I was thinking. If you like, I could put you on my car insurance. That way you can borrow it whenever you need to, even if it’s only for a few weeks.”
“That would be good. Thank you.”
A small stab of guilt pricked at her. Her mother was being matter-of-fact about it, in her usual way, but those words — “only for a few weeks”— glossed over the surface of a much deeper current.
“If the bus service is as bad as it used to be, it could come in very handy.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “It’s worse. Once an hour, even in high season. Off season, it’s every two.”
Oh yes, the buses. She remembered a long campaign by the locals to try to improve the service, but apparently it still hadn’t achieved anything. With the train station demolished years ago when the rail line had been closed down, Sturcombe had dwindled into a backwater, no longer the thriving holiday destination it had once been.
Most people would stop off at the popular resorts of East Devon — Beer and Exmouth and Dawlish — or drive straight past on their way to Cornwall. Though it could still attract crowds at the height of the season, by October it would lapse almost into hibernation for the winter.
She knew that many people loved the place and never wanted to leave — her parents, her sister and her friends, evenher brother. But for her, the lure of what was beyond the horizon had always tugged at her heart.
Now . . . she really didn’t know. She’d had some wonderful adventures — but home was home.
Dammit, she wasn’t going to think about that right now. One day at a time was enough. “Would you like a cuppa?” she asked her mum.
“Yes, please. And you could make one for Nanna while you’re at it.”
“Sure.” She filled the kettle and got the mugs down from the cupboard. “Liam Ellis was at the beach this morning, with his little girl,” she remarked, hoping her tone conveyed only casual interest. “She’s such a pretty little thing. She saw my tattoo and wanted one like it. She called it a ‘tappoo’.”
Helen laughed as she reached for the greased pie dish and slid the rolled-out pastry onto it.
“He seems to be making a very good job of bringing her up on his own.”
“He is.” Helen dusted off her hands and turned to check the oven temperature. “Fortunately, he’s got the family around him to help.”
“Even so, it must be tough for him.” Cassie fiddled unnecessarily with the mugs, lining up the handles. “Lisa said Natalie used to work for Ollie.”
“Natalie? Yes, she did. He always said she was the best receptionist he’d ever had. She could even manage Edie.”
Cassie’s eyes danced. “That’s quite an achievement.”
Her mum was looking at her the same way Lisa had — questioning, slightly sceptical. As if doubting that she really wasn’t interested in reviving that old relationship. Which she wasn’t. Too much water had flowed under the bridge, they were different people now.
There could be no going back.
The kettle had boiled, and she focused on making the tea, refusing to even notice that her hand was shaking slightly. She brought her mother’s mug over to the table.
“I’ll take my tea in and sit with Nanna for a while,” she suggested.
“Take her a couple of chocolate biscuits too. Not too many — she’ll scoff the lot, and I’m not sure they’d be good for her.”
Cassie laughed. “She’d tell you that she’s too old to be bothered about what’s good for her.”
She set Nanna’s teacup down on a tray with a plate of biscuits. No mug for Nanna — it had to be a cup and saucer from her second-best bone china tea service, which had been brought down from her house when she had moved.
Careful not to let any tea spill in the saucer, Cassie carried the tray along the hall to the half-open door. “Nanna?”
The old lady was sitting in her chair, her eyes closed, her frail hands resting on the crocheted blanket covering her knees. As Cassie quietly stepped into the room, the old lady opened her eyes, glaring fiercely.
“Ah, you’ve brought me a cup of tea. About time, too. My mouth’s as dry as the Sahara Desert.” The sight of the chocolate biscuits mellowed her instantly. “Biscuits. Good girl.”
Cassie set the tea tray down on the side table. “What about your teeth?”
“Ugh!” The old lady dismissed the suggestion with a snort of disgust. “Never bother with ’em. Make my mouth sore.”
