The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse: The perfect feelgood romance

‘Not yet, it’s not ready.’

‘I don’t get a sneak peek?’ He pouted, looking so ridiculously crestfallen that she laughed.

‘No. What made you think you would?’

‘Our history.’

‘Not all good history,’ she reminded him, but she felt a flutter of unexpected longing. She risked looking at him. He was sitting perfectly still, his blue eyes trained on her.

‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ he said quietly.

She shook her head, incredulous, but her heart was racing. She stood, catching her fork with her knee and knocking it to the floor. She bent to pick it up, but Tim was already there. They rose to standing together, so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

‘I have to get back,’ she said quickly.

‘Repurposing some furniture?’

‘Endlessly, for about the next four months.’

‘It’s been great catching up.’

Tim refused to let her pay the bill and walked her to the door. The cold was bracing, and Robin welcomed it; she needed to clear her head.

‘When can I come and see the rooms?’ he asked.

‘When they’re finished, not before.’

‘Robin Brennan, ever the perfectionist.’

‘Takes one to know one.’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ He smiled, their eyes catching hold of each other’s. Tim was first to look away.

‘I’d best get on,’ Robin said. ‘Thanks for coffee.’

‘Next time let’s make it a glass of something celebratory to toast your new business.’ Before she had a chance to protest, Tim’s arm was around her and he was kissing her cheek, smelling of spicy, no doubt expensive, aftershave and filling Robin’s senses with heady nostalgia.

She watched him stride away and thought again about fate. She’d known that seeing Tim was inevitable once she moved back to Campion Bay, and she’d also known that their five-year, first-love relationship would always hold a special place in her heart, but she hadn’t been prepared for her heart to be quite so keen to see him again. Was this what was destined for her, what was written in the stars? Could she forgive his indiscretion, aged nineteen and with her too far away for their relationship to flourish? They were both so much older now, both with their own histories and heartaches behind them, but still with an undeniable chemistry. Could it be rekindled? As she started to walk back to Goldcrest Road, Robin chided herself for even entertaining the thought.

‘Where is she?’ Robin heard her dad’s voice, always on the right side of amiable, drifting up the stairs.

‘Up here!’ Paige called, and then glared at her mother as Molly made a loud shushing sound. Robin tried not to laugh. Paige was sixteen, Molly thirty-four, and they often acted more like sisters than mother and daughter. Paige’s hair was the same, expertly applied blonde, only three times longer than Molly’s.

‘This is a delicate operation,’ Molly hissed at her daughter.

‘Why?’ Paige asked. ‘Will the fish get scared?’

‘Not sure we’ll know if they do,’ Jim said, his back towards them, intent on securing the large fish-tank into the newly cut hole in the wall of Robin’s Rockpool room. Molly had been right, the wiry but – as Robin had discovered over the last few months – ridiculously strong builder and glazier had a very neat, impressive beard, and in her head he’d instantly become Beardy Jim. She was worried she’d say it out loud, but on voicing her fears to Molly had been led to understand he’d probably be quite pleased with the nickname. He’d worked solidly and cheerfully alongside his partner Kerry, and Robin knew that free haircuts for life would not be enough for all they’d done. But she’d held back some budget for labour costs, and was confident that she could pay them for their time.

Right now, they were making Robin’s vision of a fish-tank wall come true. Between the main bedroom and en suite bathroom of Rockpool, instead of plasterboard there would soon be a beautiful aquarium, reflecting the light from the window opposite, filled with colourful discus, rainbow fish and fantail guppies. It was a risk, she knew, but she couldn’t imagine a better feature for this room that, along with its bleached floorboards and hints of turquoise, held the essence of the sea.

Her mum and dad appeared in the doorway and the room, now full of bodies, seemed suddenly too small. Ian Brennan glanced at the large polythene bags on the floor, the assortment of fish waiting for their new home, and looked anxiously at his wife.

‘Ah.’

‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ Robin asked. ‘Has something happened with your ferry?’

It was the first week in April and her parents were about to leave for France. Robin had been working harder than ever, while also trying to ward off the encroaching panic that she would soon be in sole charge of the guesthouse. Not to mention that her mum and dad, who had been such a comfort to her after Neve’s death, would be hundreds of miles away, for good.

Sylvie approached her daughter, her narrow face pinched. She was holding a red, fleecy blanket. On closer inspection, Robin could see that the blanket was wriggling.

‘Mum, Dad?’ She looked from one to the other, then back at the blanket, and then at Molly who shrugged her shoulders. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Maybe this isn’t the best room,’ her dad said.

‘For what?’

Without answering, Sylvie thrust the blanket into her hands and Robin looked down at it. A tiny black paw emerged from the fleecy material, claws finding and holding on to the cotton of Robin’s paint-splattered jumper. She pushed back the blanket and found the fuzzy head of a kitten. It let out a huge yawn, exposing a tiny pink tongue.

‘A kitten?’ Paige yelped. ‘Oh my God, it’s adorable.’

Through her confusion, Robin felt a surge of love for the helpless creature. She looked at her mum. Sylvie Brennan had her hands clasped together, the look in her dark eyes both defiant and tentative, ready to accept either congratulations or rebuke for the decision she and Ian had made.

‘Mum,’ Robin started, ‘what is this – he, she – for?’

‘He’s for you,’ Sylvie said. ‘For when we’ve gone.’

‘A perfect replacement, I’d say,’ her dad chuckled and put his hand on Sylvie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

‘I don’t need a kitten,’ Robin said softly, though already she knew that she wanted him, that he was hers, and she would struggle even to release him from his temporary bed in her arms.

‘We don’t want you to be lonely,’ Sylvie said, shooting a nervous glance at her husband, the two of them sharing tight smiles. ‘Now that you’re taking this on all by yourself.’

‘Does this look lonely to you?’ Robin asked, giving them a warm smile. ‘I’ve got Molly and Paige, Jim and Kerry, and—’

‘About a hundred fish,’ Kerry added.

‘Which I’m sure Mr Kitten here is going to absolutely adore, aren’t you, Mr Kitten?’ Molly stroked a small black paw, her voice taking on a soppy tone.

‘I promise, Mum,’ Robin said, ignoring her friend, ‘you don’t need to worry about me.’

Sylvie nodded but her hands wrung together, the knuckles white, and Robin could see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

‘Oh, Mum, don’t cry.’ Robin stepped forward, carefully removing one arm from the kitten, holding him tightly against her with the other hand, and gave her mum an awkward, one-sided embrace.

They looked at the small, black bundle to avoid seeing the emotion on each other’s faces.

‘We’ll look after her, Mrs B,’ Molly said, patting Sylvie on the shoulder.