Edie Browne’s Cottage by the Sea: A heartwarming, hilarious romance read set in Cornwall!

‘Right.’ Her eyes are full of concern, but she skips the awkward questions and sticks with the practical stuff. ‘You’re welcome to come and wait upstairs, I promise to find you a paint-free corner.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll grab some alone time.’ I make my smile extra bright.

Her whisper turns to a chortle. ‘Good luck with that – no one’s ever on their own for long in St Aidan.’

I step outside, still doing up my coat. As I pull my scarf tighter against a flurry of wind, the cobbles are washed with pale light from the shop windows. I stop by Crusty Cobs to count the strawberry tarts – four – and custard slices – three – and only hurry on when I start to shiver. When I get to the harbour the water is shiny black, and the rigging is clinking against the dark lines of masts as they bob against the sky. As I stride past the rows of tiny pastel-painted cottages fronting onto the quayside Aunty Jo’s tunes are on slow-mo in my head.

Whatever I’m doing, I always have a mental backing track playing. The day of the jump I had Titanium on repeat, when I was out on my building sites it was always something fast and bouncy. Blasting around the country with Marcus in his ever changing convertibles, Cold Play was where our musical tastes collided. For me that When I Ruled the World song was like Marcus’s signature tune and the backing track to our life together. Since I’ve been ill I can’t believe how much lippy I get though making damn sure my happy, super smiley outside shell hasn’t changed any. But, however hard I try on the inside, all I can get in my head are slow chords and heart-wrenching, minor keys. At times, even Aunty Jo’s ‘wring out your hanky’ songs feel too upbeat.

That’s another strange thing. Just as reading and writing and speaking are all powered by different parts of the brain, singing stems from yet another area. I might struggle to put two words together, but entire lines of lyrics pop up in my mind without me wanting them to be there at all. It’s happening as I slip along the dune path down to the beach. There’s a crescent moon in the sky, and the music playing in my ears slows to a Johnny Cash plod … full of broken thoughts … I cannot repair … I will let you down … I will make you hurt … It’s as if the working part of my brain automatically knows those are exactly the right lines. However much I put on a happy face to the outside world, really, really mournful music is the true expression of who I am and where my life is right now.

As I thread my way down to where the breakers are rushing up the beach in pale wavy lines my eyes are getting more used to the darkness. Around the bay the arc of pinprick lights follows the line of the coast, but their gentle twinkle against the mottled black of the sky isn’t a threat. When I slide my phone out of my pocket, it lights up and tells me what I already know – the little line of dots in the screen corner has gone. The signal and internet give out somewhere higher up the hill which means my phone genie, Siri, has gone all silent on me, not that she’s ever that cooperative. Not only that, but even if I needed to, I couldn’t ring Mum or Bella.

The realisation slides into focus as slowly as the music – for the first time in months I’m totally on my own. Out of reach. Away from the protection of the people who love me and who have been keeping me safe by never letting me out of their sight. It’s like I’ve accidentally wandered into a no man’s land away from where I should be. There’s a sensible voice in my head telling me I should go back to where I’m safe, where there are people at least. But at the same time I don’t want to rush.

As my foot catches on a stick of driftwood I stoop and pick it up. It’s straight and smooth like a bone and, without thinking, I head to where the beach is firmer and begin to scratch marks in the sand with the wooden point. It’s easier when there’s no one watching. When there’s no one there to see how badly I’m doing, my hand is somehow more free to move. I try one small line, then another crossing it. Then do the same again. And again. Then I try a row of those ‘s’s that always catch me out on paper because the pen won’t curl fast enough so, however hard I try, they end up twice the size of all the other letters.

Scratching with the end of a stick with the wind snatching at my hair, knowing that soon the crash and fall of the tide will thunder over the marks and suck away the traces of where I’ve been, it’s easier. My lips twist into a smile as I look along my wandering line of ‘s’s and ‘x’s and see a whole empty beach stretching into the distance, all waiting to be written on.

A cry in the darkness behind me makes me turn. There’s a big figure and a smaller one, their jackets flapping in the shadows, and another shout as the smaller one springs towards me.

‘Edie Browne! What are you writing?’ Only one person calls me that.

‘Nothing much.’ The wind snatches my words away.

He lets out a wail. ‘That’s way more than when you were writing on paper.’

‘It’s easier here.’ Anyone else, I’d be fed up at them finding me. Cam I don’t mind, although I can’t say the same for Barney.

‘What? On the beach, in the dark?’ He’s very judgmental for six. ‘We’re going for ice cream.’

‘Brill.’ Shouldn’t he be asleep by now?

‘At the Surf Shack.’ He points to a wooden building with swinging lights on its deck, further along the sand. ‘You could come too.’

That’s a bad idea, for a hundred reasons I can’t immediately put my stick on. I’m hesitating when Barney arrives.

‘Best coffee along the bay. They do a mean hot chocolate too.’

‘I’m not …’ Not getting my excuses together fast enough for starters.

‘Cam wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important to him.’

Even in the dark, with only the smallest shimmer of moonlight reflecting off the blackness of the sea, I can sense his disapproval. If he’s trying to make me feel hugely that I have to, it’s working. If I hadn’t been caught out before, I might have given in already. I slide out my phone, then slide it back in my pocket because it’s not telling me anything. Realistically, I reckon they’ve barely started their flower slides yet.

Barney’s insistent. ‘Five minutes. Then you can go back to whatever’s so pressing.’

He’s overstepping again. Totally ignoring that I’m on a private walk. If it wasn’t for Cam, I wouldn’t be considering this. But, to be fair, without Cam he wouldn’t be asking.

As we kick our way along the beach and up the broad wooden steps of the Surf Shack I’m hoping this won’t be another ‘boat in the bay’ fiasco. But I have to admit there’s something about Cam’s small scrap of a figure beside me, kicking sand in the half light, that makes my heart turn over. That’s what’s tugging me.

As we push through the door into what looks like a hut made from thousands of mismatched planks hammered together, we’re hit by a wall of warmth, and a broad smile from the guy behind the counter. Apart from a few salt-streaked surfers, we’re the only customers. Cam heads for a rough-hewn table, slides onto a metal chair, swings his feet and looks up expectantly.

I grab the chair that’s close to Cam and as far away from Barney as possible. It’s only when he slides into his seat and I get the full benefit of taut denim stretched across muscly thighs that it hits me. I’m so used to thinking of myself as out of the dating scene I forgot to worry that people could think I was here for entirely the wrong reason.

There’s not even time for me to have a good look at the piles of goodies under glass domes on the counter because the guy from behind the counter is already at the table. The glass he puts down in front of Cam is filled with scoops of colourful ice cream, and topped with wafers and a long spoon.

‘Wow, quick work.’ It’s one of my blurts.

‘Thanks.’ Cam’s eyes are huge, but as he picks up the long spoon, he still hasn’t smiled.

The waiter laughs. ‘Same order, same time every week. We like to be ready for our regulars.’ He turns to me. ‘So what can I get for you?’

‘A small coffee, please.’ Despite the cake stacks, sometimes it’s best to be minimal.

Barney turns to me. ‘Way too boring – this is chocolate central. Look at the chalkboard – you have to be wilder.’

As far as I’m concerned, the board he’s waving at might be taller than the waiter but it’s still just a load of squiggles. At least I remember enough about cafés to wing it. ‘A small coffee with chocolate then.’ There’s definitely a name for it, I just can’t nail what it is.

‘A mocha?’ The waiter beams. ‘One mochaccino, coming up.’ He turns to Barney.

‘Great choice – same here, but I’ll go large.’

It’s not just never being allowed to be on your own that’s off kilter here, it’s also coffee sizing. When the waiter comes back it turns out ‘small’ means enormous and ‘large’ is more like one of those boat things that crosses the channel with cars on. They’ve both got lumps of floating cream approximately the size of the Isle of Wight. Around the island the liquid is so thick and chocolatey I wish I was getting the full benefit. But at least it warms me, and the cream is fabulously thick and sticky as I suck it off my spoon.

Cam takes a bite of his wafer then gives me a hard stare. ‘But why didn’t you have ice cream?’

It’s easier being put on the spot by someone Cam’s size. ‘I was too icy already.’

‘Next time you have to have ice cream.’

If I was shivering before, that thought makes my insides go glacial. ‘We’ll see.’ By next Friday I hope to have come up with a plan that doesn’t involve crawling or gardeners or freezing my shit off on the beach. Or not being able to read the menu at whatever this place is called.

Barney watches Cam working his way down his ice cream, then turns to me. ‘Cam’s ice creams at the Surf Shack are a long-standing Friday night tradition.’

As if that explains anything. And then suddenly it all falls into place. Sadie from Zinc Inc had kids and an ex, and didn’t spare us the details. Single dads and mahoosive ‘daddy loves you more’ sweeteners? Compensatory ice creams don’t come any larger than the one Cam’s wading through now. The warning bells couldn’t be clanging any louder.

Knowing the tussles Sadie and her husband had, if this is a divorce, I need to keep my distance. Run for the hills, and now wouldn’t be a moment too soon. As if Sadie hadn’t drilled it into us single women, going within a country mile of a single dad is too near, especially if they’re using the kids to draw you in.

‘That’s great.’ In my head I’m already taking giant strides towards the door. ‘But you have to be careful with …’ I rack my brain, and for once it comes up trumps ‘… inducements … especially with children.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Barney’s rubbing his lip with his thumb, but by the way his eyes clash with mine he’s being deliberately bloody-minded.

‘Bribery’s never good. And it’s late too.’ Simply by being here, I’m condoning all of it.

Barney’s voice rises. ‘And it’s so wrong to have a blast on the beach and an ice cream to make ourselves feel better?’

I squeeze Cam’s shoulder as I get up and focus on the freckles on his nose, not how sad his eyes are. ‘Sorry Cam, I have to go now. I promised Aunty Jo.’ I hope he’ll understand. And it is the truth. If I’m not back at the gallery when the lights go on again, Aunty Jo will worry. Ring my mother. Send out the lifeboats. I dip in my pocket, pull out some cash and wedge it under the bottle full of fairy lights in the middle of the table.