Page 61 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
A lively round of applause broke out when he was done, but it was more an acknowledgement of the entertainment value than any talent he’d displayed.
‘Thank you very much.’ Lobster Harry gave a gap-toothed smile. ‘If any of you would like to show your appreciation, I’ll be taking pints at the bar.’ He cleared his throat once more then opened his mouth, where he proceeded to produce a painfully long, whining note. Snorts of laughter followed before a springerspaniel threw its head back and started howling. Everyone in the pub collapsed into fits of laughter. The fisherman was quickly guided back to the bar by Mandy the landlady. Moments later, the local folk band struck up, filling the air with a jaunty tune, much to everyone’s relief.
Though Lark was laughing too, she was glad of the unexpected interlude, glad the heat and attention was being directed elsewhere for a while.
But it wasn’t long before it was back on her and she was forced to explain why going to stay with her mum and Elfie in Thailand was a good idea and not the hare-brained plan they seemed to think it was.
By the end of the night, her friends had helped her see sense and talked her out of leaving Micklewick Bay for Thailand, telling her that she wouldn’t be going for the right reasons. It was something she’d had to agree with, even though she still hadn’t heard from Nate.
THIRTY-SEVEN
SUNDAY 14TH DECEMBER.
The heady mix of Lark’s latest aromatherapy blend she’d created to instil calm and clarity filled the living room at Seashell Cottage as she brought the meditation session with her father to an end.
Silas opened his eyes and released a slow breath. ‘Ooh, that was wonderful, sweetheart. I feel light as air now.’ He pushed himself up from where they’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor and placed his crystals on the sideboard ready for Lark to cleanse. ‘I can see why it’s gaining popularity. I’ve been making time for a session every day and I can really feel the benefits.’
‘Glad to hear it, Dad.’ She smiled up at him. Lark wished she could say the same for herself. But since her fallout with Nate – for want of a better word – and anxiety had hijacked her thoughts, meditating didn’t work the wonders it usually did for her.
‘I’m going to introduce Louisa to it, I think it’s something she’d embrace.’
‘She’s very welcome to join us, if you think she’d like to?’
‘That’s kind. I’ll run it past her, see what she thinks.’
The “romance” between Louisa and Silas seemed to be blossoming even more so, much to Lark’s delight. He talkedabout her all the time. ‘Louisa this, Louisa that.’ It made Lark smile. He’d travelled over from High Nedderton on Friday straight from school and spent the evening at Louisa’s where he’d helped her cook their meal – rib-eye steak and fondant potatoes with wilted greens, followed by warmed Bakewell tart from the deli, served with lashings of custard. It had made Lark drool just hearing about it. Last night, Louisa had joined them at Seashell Cottage where they’d dined on a large chilli served with wild rice and soured cream with a garnish of coriander. Simple but tasty. And tonight, the couple were going to the Jolly for some fish and chips. ‘I think I’m going to have to take up running as well as meditation if I continue eating this way,’ he chuckled when he’d told Lark of his plans.
The radio silence from Nate had continued. If silence could ever be deafening, then this was it. She’d taken the hint and left him alone, waiting for him to contact her when he was ready. She was beginning to think he never would.
Her father had asked a few subtle questions, but never pushed it, for which she was grateful. And she had no idea if Nate had been back to Crayke’s Cottage as he’d planned, or what he was going to do with the key from the small suitcase.
‘Right then, I think I’ll head upstairs and get changed. Louisa and I are going to have a sift through the archives, see what we can find about the families named in the ledger.’ His eyes shone at the prospect.
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘You’re welcome to join us. I’m sure Louisa wouldn’t mind.’ His smile told her he’d like her to tag along, but Lark wasn’t really in the mood.
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got a pile of clothes that need fixing for the shop, so I’d better get on with that.’
Her father had been gone for an hour when there was a scraping at the front door, making both Lark and Luna look up. The sound stopped and Lark turned back to her work thinking it was just someone walking by a bit too close to the house, but it soon started up again, this time with increasing urgency, and it was accompanied by a whimpering sound.
‘Whatisthat?’ Lark tucked the needle carefully into the fabric of the skirt she was working on and set it down on the coffee table. The whimpering was growing louder and she opened the door to find a familiar looking black Labrador on the doorstep. He was covered in a light dusting of snow. ‘Bobby! What are you doing here?’
Bobby whimpered, his amber eyes looking at her pleadingly. He was agitated and Lark sensed he was trying to communicate something to her.
She crouched down to his level, stroking his head. ‘It’s okay, Bobby,’ she said soothingly. ‘Have you got lost, or sneaked out of somewhere?’ She recalled his Houdini act at the Millingtons. ‘Where’s Nate? And does he know where you are?’
Bobby continued to whimper and whine. Pulling himself away from her, he rushed out into the street, circling before coming back, then heading out into the street again, his paw prints churning up the snow. His behaviour was starting to worry her.
Lark knew she had no choice but to call Nate. She rushed back into the cottage and grabbed her phone from the arm of the sofa and hurriedly found his number. She pressed call, her heart pounding as she waited for him to pick up. As usual, it rang out and voicemail kicked in. She left a garbled message before tapping out a quick text to say Bobby was with her. If he wasn’t going to listen to a voicemail message, he might at least read a text.
She went back to Bobby who was still whining on the doorstep. As quickly as she could, Lark grabbed her coat and pushed her feet into her wellies, before heading out to find out what had got Bobby so agitated.
He trotted along, looking back as if to make sure she was following him. Lark was struggling to keep up, slipping and sliding in her haste, her breathing ragged, floating before her in puffs of condensation. The cold was biting, and she tugged her gloves from the pockets of her coat, pushing her hands into them, grateful for the warmth. She was glad the snow-covered streets of Old Micklewick were quiet as she hurried along after Bobby.
She’d reached the end of Gabblewick Gate when she realised she’d lost him. ‘Bobby! Bobby!’ she called. She scanned the snow for paw prints and noticed they turned into Micklemackle Yard. A feeling of foreboding crept over her as she followed Bobby’s paw prints and walked towards Crayke’s Cottage where the door was standing open.
THIRTY-EIGHT
