Page 28 of Sun, Sea & Strawberry Shortcake
Thinking I’d better go and let them know before they driveaway, I cross over the road and walk towards the car, trying to make eyecontact with the driver. The light is on in the car and I can see him talkinginto his phone. Oddly, even though the sun’s gone down, he’s still wearingthose dark glasses.
I just want to let him know about the bag on his roof. Butwhen he sees me approaching with intent, his face darkens into a frown, heabandons the phone and flicks off the car light. I start signalling to him towind his window down. But instead, he leans forward and starts the engine. Andbefore I have a chance to tell him about the bag, he lurches away from the kerband roars off along the street.
The bag slides off onto the pavement. And the caraccelerates, disappearing around a bend in the road.
I hurry back across the lane and over to the bag, which –after a moment’s hesitation – I prop up on the low wall in front of Moonstone Cottage.If he realises his mistake and comes back looking for the bag, hopefully hemight see it there. (Unless all it contains is a ham and cheese sandwich and adrink, of course, in which case he might not bother.) Unable to resist, I pullthe carrier off the wall and take a peek inside, and my curiosity is justifiedwhen I see a dull red folder which – on closer inspection – contains official-lookingdocuments.
He’ll definitely be back for this. It looks important. Butis it safe to just leave it on the wall? Or should I take it to the police?
I hang around for a few minutes, hoping he might return. Butwhen he doesn’t, I decide I’ll leave the bag there for a while. I’ve seen the carparked there a few times since we arrived, so the chances are, he’ll be back.
I stop at the front door and look back at the road, aworrying thought occurring.
Isn’t it a bit odd, that man parking in the street and justsitting in his car, and then driving off the minute I try to talk to him?Whatif... what if he’s Bee’s ex, Jodie’s dad (not Jon, who Ithought sounded lovely)? What if he’s spying on them? Waiting for the rightmoment to snatch little Jodie? What if he’s the one who’s been penning thoseletters to Bee, trying to scare her?
I step inside with a shake of my head, imagining Hudson’sreaction if I told him of my suspicions. He’d say I was letting my imaginationrun away with me because I was desperate for another mystery to solve.
Smiling to myself, I acknowledge that he’d probably be right...
Jaz
CHAPTERELEVEN
I love the house. It’s been designed so perfectly tomake the most of the awesome clifftop views.
I love the big kitchen and the way the light streams inthrough the huge windows. I love the amazing views that a clifftop perch likethis provides. And I love my big comfy bed with the pristine white bed linenand the fabulous double-size shower.
But amongst all these huge pluses, there’s one very largedrawback.
I can’t relax and enjoy my time in Clifftop House because I seemto have Harry on my mind the whole time.
I’m missing Emma such a lot. But I’ll only be away from herfor a few days more, and deep down, I know it’s not her absence that’s grindingme down.
I just keep wondering what Harry’s up to...
As I stare up at my bedroom ceiling, no matter how much Ikept telling myself not to be so silly, I can’t seem to wipe the vision from mymind of Harry and Vivien sitting together on Sunnybrook village green, Emma on Vivien’sknee.
I trust Harry absolutely, so I know there must be somethingwrong with me to make me suddenly so paranoid. I once felt so certain about everything.But lately, the odd flutters of panic inside have been getting worse, and I feelas if I’m standing on shifting sand, no longer sure about who I am...like I’ve been cast adrift in a tiny boat on a lurching sea, drifting furtherand further from the safety of the shore.
As I lie there, I’m even wondering if this is what it feelslike to lose your mind.
Am I turning into a psycho bunny-boiler? Is this how itstarts? Suspecting – without any concrete proof at all – that the love of yourlife is turning away from you?
Earlier, I spoke to Harry on FaceTime. I was determined tosound cheerful and normal, and the conversation seemed to be going well. Butthen my eye caught something in the background that wasn’t supposed to bethere. Something green, draped over a chair. A jumper? But Harry never wearsgreen. (Something about his mum always declaring green was an unlucky colourand it’s stuck with him ever since.)
All the time I was telling him about Clifftop House and hewas saying how envious he was that he couldn’t be there with me, my eye keptswivelling to the green thing on the chair. And eventually, I couldn’t leave itany longer...
‘Harry, what’s that on the chair?’
Bemused, he turned. But he mustn’t have been looking where Iwas pointing because there was a pause, as if he didn’t know what I was talkingabout.
‘Oh, that?’ he said at last. ‘It’s... awaterproof.’
‘New?’
He turned back with a little smile, as if he was wonderingwhy it mattered. ‘Yes. New.’
‘But you never wear green.’
