Page 8 of Summer at Harbour View House
‘There’s no such thing,’ Natasha said, at the same time thinking,why am I so jaded?She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Look, it’s okay. There’s a little café down the street. We’ll get some food, and talk about it. I don’t know, maybe Brad will come to his senses.’
Or maybe once he had realised he couldn’t just keep Hannah on the backburner while he went about his life, he had jumped ship. Perhaps that wouldn’t be the best thing to say, but Hannah was totally gorgeous, even in the middle of a crisis. There was no way Brad would can her without good reason, one that probably involved the letters W, I, F, and E. However, without further investigation, it was a waste of energy to speculate. What was his loss, however, was Natasha’s gain. Or, less politely, her burden.
‘I don’t have any money.’
‘I thought you had a job?’
‘I did, but it was only part time, and my salary was paid straight into Brad’s account. And this morning they called to say that they don’t need me anymore, except I couldn’t call back because my phone got cut off—’
‘Brad was paying for it?’
‘Er, yeah.’
‘This is seven shades of messed up.’ Natasha sat down on the bed. Hannah looked like a lost kitten. ‘We’ll sort you out,’ she said, wondering when she would ever get time to sortherselfout. She smiled. ‘I’m a strong, independent woman, aren’t I?’
‘I wish I was like you. Can you teach me?’
I can teach you Year Four geography and how to be single and broke in your early thirties.‘Er … I’ll try. But let’s eat first.’
Because I still have my credit card, thank God.
‘It’s been hard, but I’m getting over it,’ Tina said. ‘I nearly took today off to reminisce, but then I’d have to go over the summer coursework projects tomorrow, instead of putting on a DVD and doing a bit of end of term relaxing.’
‘The hard life of a teacher.’
‘You look hungover again. Have you checked in for a summer of rehab yet?’
‘Not yet. I thought I’d just find a bridge somewhere. After all, I’ll have plenty of free time for a few weeks.’
‘Lucky you. For some stupid reason I agreed to look after my sister’s beach house while she goes off on some stupid Amazon River cruise in Brazil with her new millionaire boyfriend. Life’s great for some, isn’t it?’
Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘It sounds like you’ve landed on your feet.’
‘How do you figure that? I hate the beach. Sand gets everywhere and there are all sorts of nasty things living there that could bite you or poison you.’
‘Well, I suppose. But you don’t have to actually go on the beach, do you? You can just sit on a patio and drink wine, watching the sunset. Where is it?’
‘Cornwall. The place is next to some horrid little beach called Winter Vale, in a village called Penkoe. I mean, it just sounds cold and windy, doesn’t it?’
‘It probably is.’
‘And the house is a horribly big place. My sister got it in her last divorce from the car company guy.’
‘Her last divorce?’
‘She’s three deep.’
‘Wow.’
‘There was the photographer, but she dumped him early on for a career move. Then there was the singer-songwriter, but after he lost his record contract, she moved on. The car company guy was the third. She liked him a lot, I think, but when the company stock slid for some scandal they had going on, she decided to cut her losses.’
‘Your sister has had quite a life.’
‘She’s the very definition of gold-digger. Don’t worry, you can say it. Nothing I haven’t thought myself. She was a model in the seventies, and got sucked into that vacuum of a lifestyle. She still thinks she’s better than everyone else, even if these days she’s a bit of an old hag.’ Tina gave a tired sigh. ‘One with a big beach house she wants looked after. Honestly, everything gets lumped on me. I was so looking forward to a few weeks drinking wine in southern France.’
Natasha rubbed her chin, an idea forming. ‘I … ah … have a suggestion?’
Tina looked back up from the pile of marking she had returned to. ‘What? Don’t you dare criticise me for using purple pen. You know, psychology tests have shown that red ink has a damning negative effect on pupils’ morale.’
