Summer at Coastguard Cottages: a feel-good holiday read

‘Karen. Lovely to see you. How are you?’

‘Thought you might like to share a glass with me?’ she said, holding the bottle aloft. ‘Drink to summer. Unless you’re busy?’ she said, looking at the pile of material she recognised as his flag collection.

‘Almost sorted,’ Bruce said. ‘You know where the glasses are. I’ll just finish tidying up this lot.’

In the kitchen, as Karen reached for two glasses, she saw the picture of Gabby and Bruce. The memory of the perfect summer evening it had been taken on just a year ago flitted into her mind. Whoever could have guessed tragedy was so close?

She glanced out at Bruce carefully folding the last flag, remembering with affection the day he and Gabby had arrived in their lives, twenty-seven years ago. In those days the cottages and grounds had still been rustic, the amenities basic, and her parents had voiced trepidation about the young couple who were the new owners, the changes they would want to initiate.

At first sight, Bruce and Gabby had been a most unlikely couple. Her, extrovert and people-gathering. Him, friendly but reserved in the beginning. The realisation that they too genuinely loved the old-fashioned cottages, which had survived over one hundred years of buffeting by the storms that thrashed the coast every winter, had come as a welcome relief.

Joining Bruce out on the terrace, Karen poured the wine and handed him a glass. The flag bag was full again, the green, black and white Devon flag remaining alone on the table.

‘First one up tomorrow as usual,’ Bruce said. ‘Normal summer routine. Cheers.’

‘Cheers. Here’s to...’ Karen hesitated. It would be insensitive to drink to a good summer when it was going to be such a difficult one for Bruce. ‘The next few weeks. And a sunny summer with not too much rain,’ she added.

Bruce gave her a diffident smile before taking a sip of his wine. ‘Long-term forecast is good, I think. Derek not with you?’

Karen shook her head. ‘No. Too busy at the moment. He’ll be down when the children come.’ Maybe. But there was little point in saying anything to Bruce just yet about the state of her marriage.

Bruce glanced along the terrace. ‘No news about No. 4 yet. Still going through probate, I suspect. Sad to see it empty.’

Karen nodded. ‘Hope someone in the family decides to keep it rather than sell it.’

‘Joy was telling me that No. 3 has been rented for most of the summer,’ Bruce said.

‘Has Charlie told her who it is? Someone we know already?’ Karen said, surprised.

Bruce shook his head. ‘Just a friend of Charlie who needs a place to stay for a while. No definite arrival date yet. Maybe next week.’

Karen sipped her wine thoughtfully. A long summer rental of any of the cottages was unusual. Charlie himself always came down for a week or two with a group of friends, and always around the time of the owners’ annual meeting when joint decisions regarding maintenance, etcetera, were taken.

Wills had once described Charlie’s friends as ‘totally fit’, so summer could be interesting – or not.

*

The next day, awake at 5.30 a.m., Bruce decided it was pointless to stay in bed in the hope of falling asleep again. Four hours sleep a night seemed to be the maximum he could hope for these days as he tossed and turned his way through the hours of darkness.

In town there were familiar noises accompanying the new day. Buses changing gear to climb the hill, car doors slamming, the rattling of the jeweller’s security shutter as he unlocked the shop across the road from the apartment. But here – nothing.

It always took him a couple of days at the cottage to adjust to the silence surrounding him. Seagulls were the only early risers here and the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks below was the only other noise he could hear. Even when all the cottages were occupied in August there was little movement or noise before half past eight. Something to do with everyone being on holiday, Bruce supposed. No need to rise early. He had to admit he liked the all-enveloping morning silence. He’d get up and have his first coffee of the day watching the breaking dawn from the terrace.

Sitting there, waiting for the sky to lighten completely, Bruce planned his day. Finish his coffee before raising the flag. A drive along the coast for supplies – including a visit to his favourite bookshop. After that he’d treat himself to lunch somewhere. At some point he’d need to talk to Karen and enlist her help in carrying out the promise he’d made years ago to Gabby. He hadn’t wanted to mention it on her first evening. Too soon.

He glanced along the terrace towards The Captain’s House. Karen had been rather quiet last night. Not her usual self at all. Apart from the brief ‘He’s too busy’ comment she hadn’t mentioned Derek. Gabby would have picked up on that and gently probed – something he hesitated to do. He’d hate Karen to think he was intruding. Overstepping boundaries between friends. On the other hand, he’d like her to feel free to talk to him if she wanted. He’d wait a couple of days and see if she talked to him, asked his advice, before asking her if she was all right.

Carefully, he clipped the Devon flag to its rope and pulled it to the top of the mast where it fluttered in the breeze. Always the first flag of the summer, the Devon flag would be raised every day until the annual communal barbecue on 4

July, which Gabby, proud of her American roots, had instigated, and for which the stars and stripes had specifically been bought.

It was very rare for anyone to join him for the morning flag-hoisting, but the lowering of the flag every evening was different. Nine o‘clock was sundowner time, when everyone migrated to The Bosun’s Locker if they were around, either with a drink in hand or a bottle to share.

Gabby had always had a plate or two of nibbles to pass around every evening. Nothing fancy: cheese and crackers; crisps; maybe some crab sandwiches if she’d been to town. Things it was well within his capabilities to provide. He just had to get organised.

Lady Luck was smiling on him, Bruce decided, as he manoeuvred into the last available place in the car park.

Taking Gabby’s wicker basket from the front seat he made for the embankment. A walk alongside the river was one of the pleasures of summer down here. They’d always made it a part of their shopping routine before facing the supermarket crowds when they made the effort and drove over to Dartmouth. That and lunch afterwards in the Royal Castle Hotel. For some reason, in recent years, Gabby had always preferred to shop in Kingsbridge, although she did like lunch in the Royal Castle.

This morning the tide was in and there was the usual activity out on the river. A teenage boy handed him a flyer as he passed the fishing-trips kiosk. Bruce smiled and said ‘Thanks’ before briefly glancing at the paper.

A day at sea fishing? Something he’d never done – never been tempted to do. His days here had always been spent with Gabby. Filled with ‘couple’ things. There had always been places to go, books to read, restaurants to try, films to see, friends to meet up with. Memories to be made together. Six months since she’d gone but the numbness was still there. No point making memories now there was no one to share them with.

Already, in this first week of being alone down here, he was struggling to fill his days. He’d never been one for hobbies as such. Not even when he was younger. He doubted sea fishing was for him, though. A short trip on the Dartmouth ferry was enough to have him reaching for the sea quells.

He sighed, inwardly acknowledging he was going to have to think seriously about what he was going to do with ‘the rest of his life’, however long that might be. Sea fishing might be out but there had to be something else.

He stopped as he saw a small girl skipping along the embankment towards him, not concentrating on where she was going and dangerously near the edge. Her parents were yards behind pushing a buggy, laughing and chatting happily together, seemingly unaware of the risk their daughter was taking.

Instinctively he moved nearer the edge himself, ready to put a restraining hand out should she need it. Which she did. She stumbled and would have fallen over the edge if he hadn’t grabbed her.

‘Whoops,’ he said. ‘Not time for a swim yet.’ Holding her hand he looked towards the parents.

‘Hey, you! Let go of her,’ the man shouted as he ran towards him.

Shocked, Bruce let go of the little girl’s hand and straightened up.

‘You, young man, can stop shouting at me. Your daughter very nearly went over the edge. I caught her just in time. Children are very precious. You should look after her better.’

‘He’s right,’ said a woman sitting on a nearby seat. ‘I saw what he did. If he hadn’t grabbed her, she would have gone over. He deserves your thanks.’

Bruce smiled at her gratefully as she got up and walked away.

‘Sorry. I guess I overreacted. But these days...’ The man shrugged.

‘Keep a closer eye on her if things like that worry you,’ Bruce said. He smiled down at the little girl. ‘And you, young lady, you stay away from the edge of the quay.’

Bruce turned and walked briskly away. How could anyone not realise how quickly children could get themselves into trouble and take more care of them? But it wasn’t just anger he was feeling. He was shaking from the rush of an emotion he hadn’t felt for years. The crippling sadness they’d both felt with the three miscarriages Gabby had suffered before they’d given up on their dream of a family.

Thankfully, by the time he reached his favourite coffee shop, he’d stopped shaking. The large ‘For Sale’ sign on the nearby three-storey townhouse caught his attention. Normally that would be just the kind of property he and Gabby would have been interested in renovating. Mentally he made a note of the estate agent’s name. He’d call in later and get the details. It would be good to have a project on the go again. He’d throw himself into work and try to fill the new gap in his life.

He stopped in the act of pushing open the café door, to the annoyance of the woman following him in. How could he even think of renovating a building without Gabby? Without her to oversee the interior details, he’d be lost.

‘Sorry’ he muttered, ushering the woman past.

Where had these sudden thoughts come from? Only last week he’d decided that, in September, he’d wind up the business. Find something else to do. The word ‘retire’ had flitted through his brain. He’d even been vaguely thinking about moving down here. Living in The Bosun’s Locker permanently. It was big enough for just him.

Sitting waiting for his coffee, he sighed inwardly. The business had always undertaken work up country, both he and Gabby wanting to keep Devon as the place they escaped to from the pressure of work.