Page 3 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“Glad you like it.” Her mum hesitated. “We haven’t done your room, because . . .”
Ah, there it was. The unspoken question she’d been expecting. How long was she going to stay? Would she stay for good? To be honest, she didn’t know the answer to that herself.
“Anyway, you can see the rest of the house later. You must be hungry. Come on through and get something to eat. We’ve got your favourite — lasagne.”
“You waited dinner for me? Oh, Mum, you didn’t need to do that. I could just have had cheese on toast or something.”
Her mother looked horrified. “You think I’d let you make do with cheese on toast?”
“Don’t be daft!” Lisa laughed. “The prodigal has returned — Mum’s killed the fatted calf.”
“Well, yes — I am pretty hungry,” Cassie admitted. “They fed us well enough on the long-haul from Wellington, but it was only coffee and biscuits on the hop to Exeter.”
“We’re eating in the kitchen.” Her mum laughed dryly. “Nanna has taken over the dining room.”
* * *
Liam coaxed The Bandit up the concrete ramp from the beach. Sometimes the high-bred racehorse would take exception to the slope, but this evening he behaved perfectly.
Trotting easily, they picked up the South West Coast Path, skirting the Memorial Gardens with its neatly-clipped lawns and colourful flowerbeds, and past the white front of the Carleton Hotel.
A short distance further on he came to a low stone wall and an open gate. He rode through and across the front yard to the side gate leading to the stable yard behind the house, slipping down from the saddle and latching the gate shut behind him.
Most of the horses were out in the back paddock, but a couple were in their stalls, and at the sound of The Bandit’s hoofs on the cobbles, they stuck their inquisitive heads over their half-doors like nosy neighbours eager for gossip.
As Liam led The Bandit across the yard his dad strolled out of the tack room, pausing to study the elegant horse with an expert eye. “How did he go, son?”
“Pretty good. Another few days and he’ll be ready to go back to his training yard, I reckon.”
Graham Ellis nodded. “You’ve done a good job with him. He’s a fine horse. Leave him — I’ll see to him now.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Liam strode over to the house, entering by the back door — they rarely used the front. In the kitchen the rich aroma of coffee drifted to his nostrils from the coffee maker in the corner. His parents had no aversion to modern appliances for convenience, though his mother drew the line at an air fryer.
He poured himself a strong mug, not bothering with milk or sugar, and strolled into the sitting room. His mother was knitting, her feet up on a footstool, a springer spaniel on one side of her on the sofa, and a young grey lurcher on the other.
She glanced up as he came in. “Hello, love.”
“Hi, Mum.” He leaned over the back of the sofa to drop a kiss on her cheek and ruffle the dogs’ heads, then he settled into the sofa on the opposite side of the fireplace with a contented sigh, sipping his coffee.
The sitting room was cosy, with rough white-painted walls and dark oak beams across the low ceiling. The big stone fireplace held a coal fire in winter, but now it was filled with ragged sprays of lilacs and irises from the garden, their scent almost overlaying the faint aroma of damp dog that always seemed to pervade the house.
The furniture was comfortable rather than stylish, with piles of mismatched cushions and an ancient wooden cabin-trunk that served as a coffee table.
He shifted his nephew Ben’s toy car and leaned over to switch on the lamp on the table beside him. The room had changed little since he was Ben’s age — the cushion covers had been replaced from time to time, and the television set was at least twice the size, but he was sure that some of the clutter was still in the same place as it had been twenty-five years ago.
His mother was watching a quiz show, impatiently calling out the answers while the contestants were still furrowing their brows. He smiled to himself. That hadn’t changed either.
They were a good team, the Ellises. His father and older brother Luke mostly worked with farm animals, his mother ran a small animal clinic, while Luke’s wife Julia managed the business side. For himself, his main love was horses, but there was no clear demarcation between them — they could all back each other up when necessary.
His mother sighed as one of the contestants fluffed a simple question. “Honestly, I think they must have to fail an intelligence test to get on this show.” She slid her hand under Hobo, the lurcher, and pulled out the remote to change the channel. The dog huffed and settled down again, his tail banging against the cushions. “How’s The Bandit?”
“He’s doing well. I gave him a good gallop, and he was moving perfectly. Dad’s dealing with him.”
She nodded, her knitting needles clicking rapidly as she watched the wildlife programme she had switched to. “I heard Cassie Channing’s coming home.”
“Oh?” Yes, he’d heard. But he didn’t want to get into a discussion about it.
