Page 45 of Summer at Harbour View House
By the time they bade him goodnight just after midnight, the rain had finally stopped, but the two girls felt too wired to sleep, so Natasha suggested a late night walk down to Winter Vale Beach.
‘We’ll take our costumes, just in case we feel like dipping our toes in,’ Hannah said in an excited whisper.
‘You do that,’ Natasha said. ‘I’ll just be boring and responsible and watch from the shoreline while you get cold and wet.’
After days of rain, the night sky was clear and beautiful, a full moon hanging high overhead giving everything a ghostly outline. The harassed sea had fallen calm, small waves gently lapping at the gravelly sand, drawing it back to the water with soothing, hypnotic regularity.
As they came down the steps to the beach, however, Natasha put out a hand and drew Hannah back.
‘There’s someone down there,’ she said.
‘Where?’
‘There, by the shoreline.’
The figure, a woman from the shape of her dress, was walking slowly back and forth, head lowered into her hands, crying gently, the sound just reaching them over the rustle of the water.
‘Who is it?’ Hannah whispered.
The skirt was a giveaway. ‘It’s Lizzie,’ Natasha said.
17
Barbed Wire and Broken Bones
By the timeNatasha got up the next morning, Hannah had gone out, a note on their living room table explaining a day out fishing with Davey. Still feeling a little overawed by events of the last couple of weeks, Natasha was happy for a little downtime, and after pottering in the garden for a while, cutting back the grass again after the days of rain had given it a resurgence, she put on her sturdiest shoes and went for a walk up the cliffs.
It was said that walking the entire Cornish coastal path had the equivalent elevation gain of climbing Everest eight times, and Natasha didn’t doubt it as she huffed and puffed her way to the top of the nearest headland. From there, after barely ten paces of flat to give her a respite, it plunged into the next valley, with a steep, crumbly path, the only way down to the adjacent cove, where Lizzie had gone to collect her treasures. Natasha scrambled down and clambered over the rocks for a while, before heading back up to the main path. Feeling adventurous, she continued on over the next headland until she came to another small beach, this one with a café crowded with tourists. After getting herself a sandwich and an ice-cream, and stretching out her weary legs, Natasha headed back.
By the time she reached the headland above Winter Vale Beach and paused to look down at the scattering of beachgoers on the grey sand, she was exhausted. She clambered down, her legs shaking, making it to the beach just as she thought her legs might give way. The path exited near the lifeguard hut, so she staggered down on to the sand and sat down on a flat rock.
A dozen or so families were enjoying the thin triangle of grey sand. She recognised Albert and Marigold from the pub, Albert with an easel set up in front of him as he splashed thick lines of paint across the canvas. Marigold was lying nearby, reading a dogeared paperback. The two girls, Ebony and Cassandra, had changed into swimwear that paired with their interests, Ebony in a black lace thing that revealed her figure, Cassandra in an old-school full-body suit that came down to her knees. Both sat on the sand, staring out at the water, seemingly bored.
‘Hey.’
Natasha looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Ben stood in the open doorway to the lifeguard hut, wearing only a pair of yellow and red shorts. Natasha immediately felt her hackles rising at the sight of his smug grin, the way his jaw jutted like a side of beef dangled for a catfish, and she was that catfish. He nodded a couple of times as though to sayyou’re here, of course you are,then came out, sitting down on a rock nearby.
‘Natasha, isn’t it? I can tell you didn’t like Nat. It’s been a while. How are you doing? How’s the front door?’
‘Still there. Thanks.’
‘Anything else you need fixed, just give me a shout.’ As though to emphasise his manly skills, he flexed the bicep of one arm, then stared at his own muscles like a baker smugly assessing a newly completed birthday cake.
‘It’s not my house.’
‘I know that, but the owner doesn’t seem to care, so it’s nice that you’re tidying it up a bit.’
‘It’s because I’m a strong, independent woman.’
Ben grinned. ‘I’ve noticed. If you were any stronger, you’d leave cracks in the road where you’d walked.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Don’t you ever wear a shirt?’
‘Rarely. Don’t you ever wear a swimsuit?’
Natasha couldn’t help but smile. ‘Rarely.’
Ben cupped a hand around his ear. ‘Did you hear that?’
