Summer at Coastguard Cottages: a feel-good holiday read

But now, why not? Move here and maybe do just one local renovation a year to keep his hand in and stop him getting bored. He’d need to suss out the local builders, find an interior decorator. Were local architects any good? Bruce could feel the lethargy that had settled over him in recent months lifting as possibilities flitted through his brain.

He’d go to the estate agent’s and pick up the details of the townhouse, see if there was anything else that caught his eye, and then do some serious thinking about his future. He’d work his way back into some sort of life. Gabby would expect nothing less of him.

*

‘Right, that’s the spare ribs marinating and the spicy chicken legs rolled in their coating. What shall I do next? Cut up the veg for the kebabs?’ Hazel asked.

‘Please. I’ll get on with the macaroni salad once I’ve got the pumpkin pie in the oven,’ Karen said.

The two of them were in Karen’s kitchen preparing everything for the 4

July barbecue that evening. The first communal get-together of the season.

‘At least the weather is good. Remember the year of the thunderstorms and floods?’

‘Never forgotten it,’ Hazel said. ‘God, was it scary.’

‘How big a macaroni salad do we want?’ Karen held up the bag of pasta. ‘All of it?’

Hazel nodded and Karen poured the lot into the saucepan of boiling water on the Aga.

‘Simon and Bruce setting the barbecue up for later? Who’s in charge of the actual cooking this year?’

‘Who d’you think?’ Hazel laughed. ‘Simon’s bought himself a new set of posh tools and a King of the Barbeque apron. No way is he planning to stand aside.’

Karen piled all the meat for cooking – chicken drumsticks, steaks, beef burgers and sausages – onto dishes ready to be carried out to Simon and Toby. A table had been set up to one side of the barbecue for people to help themselves to the rest of the food. Green salad, macaroni salad, rolls, crisps, sweet-potato wedges, pumpkin pie.

Looking at the array of food, Karen said, ‘D’you think we might have gone over the top this year? There’s only Tia to represent the hordes of hungry teenagers we usually feed.’

Before Hazel could answer, Karen’s mobile rang. Glancing at the caller name her heart lifted. ‘Wills. Where are you?’

‘At the airport on the way home. Looking forward to seeing you and Devon.’

‘Wonderful. When exactly do you want me to collect you from Totnes?’

‘No worries. Dad’s offered to bring me down towards the end of next week.’

Karen pushed the guilty ‘But I don’t want him to’ thought away, saying instead, ‘Great. See you both then.’

What had happened to Derek’s ‘Not sure there’s any point in coming down’ excuse? Was he up to something? Fingers crossed it would just be an overnight visit and he’d then disappear back to town, leaving her to enjoy Wills’ company.

Karen smiled happily at Hazel. ‘Wills is on his way home. He’ll be here next week.’ She picked up the first couple of meat dishes. ‘Right, let’s get the chefs cooking.’

The first communal barbecue of the summer was always a noisy one. This year was no exception.

As the first steaks and burgers came off the grill, Bruce checked everyone had a drink before raising his glass of wine. ‘Nice to see everyone here again and hopefully we’re in for a good summer.’ He paused before adding quietly, ‘Here’s to absent friends.’ Silently, glasses were raised in acknowledgement.

Looking at Bruce, Karen realised how tense he was and knew how difficult this first communal get-together was for him. Gabby had always been such a powerhouse at these events. Organising everything and everyone. This first summer without her was sure to be full of reminders of the gentle woman who had been his life for so long.

‘You okay?’ Karen said, moving to stand by him.

Bruce nodded. ‘Yes. As Gabby would say, the show must go on.’ He glanced at her. ‘I need to talk to you. About something I promised Gabby I’d do. Can I buy you lunch one day next week? Wednesday? Friday?’

‘Wednesday’s good for me. Wills and Derek are probably arriving on Friday,’ Karen said.

‘Glad to hear that,’ Bruce said. He glanced along the terrace. ‘I was in the estate agent’s this afternoon. They’ve got No. 4 on their books, so we can expect a few nosey parkers looking around this summer. Mind you, at the price they’re asking, it’ll be well-heeled nosey parkers.’ He shook his head.

‘Oh, that’s a shame. You’d have thought one of the relatives would have wanted to keep it,’ Karen said. ‘What were you doing in the estate agent’s anyway? Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of selling up?’

‘Not The Bosun’s Locker, no.’ Bruce shook his head. ‘But I’ve got to find something to do. Some purpose to my life,’ he added quietly. ‘I’ll tell you more on Wednesday.’

By mid evening, Simon and Toby, fuelled by several cans of beer, were doing a duet of ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’, much to the disbelief of Tia, Hazel and Simon’s teenage daughter, who was watching them with a look of horror on her face.

‘Yankee doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony, stuck a feather in his cap, and called it macaroni.’

Hazel tried not to laugh as she poured Joy and Karen another glass of wine. ‘It only needs for us to start dancing and her embarrassment would be complete,’ she said. ‘If I had the energy it would be worth it.’

An hour later, as Bruce supervised the fireworks that always heralded the end of the evening, Hazel whispered to Karen, ‘You up for a chat and a skinny-dip tonight after this lot finishes?’

Karen nodded. ‘Good idea.’

*

‘Joy – lives in No. 5. She and her husband, Toby, act as unofficial caretakers for everybody. She’ll have bought food and stocked the fridge, made the bed up, etcetera, and will look after you. Do your shopping, a spot of cleaning if you want,’ Charlie said, looking at his old friend Guy Widdicombe.

‘Thanks, mate,’ Guy said, taking the key Charlie was holding out.

‘Stay as long as you want. I’ll be down at the end of the month.’

‘I really appreciate this,’ Guy said.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s what mates do. You can buy me a decent dinner when I get there. Now, d’you want a lift to the station?’

‘Booked a taxi. Should be here any minute. Thanks. I’ll go and wait downstairs. See you in a few weeks.’

Sitting lost in his own thoughts as the train thundered through the countryside, Guy tried to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

He knew going back was supposed to be a no-no. But he was only returning to where he’d once spent an idyllic holiday. It wasn’t as though it was his hometown and he was attempting to begin a new life there. He was just going to chill out for a few weeks while he got his life back on track. Forget the horrors he’d seen. Then he could move on.

He’d accepted Charlie’s offer of the use of his holiday cottage for the summer before he’d realised where it was, by which time it was too late to turn the offer down. He needed somewhere to live and he hated the thought of being holed up in London for the summer months.

But the memories had started to come back once he’d realised, and now, as the train negotiated the vulnerable track beside the sea near Dawlish, images of that holiday were picture-sharp in his head. At nineteen, he’d moaned about its location. Isolated and boring he’d called it then. Nothing to do. But then he’d met Chris and things had changed.

Instead of mooching about bored, his days had been filled with sailing, rock climbing, swimming in the small cove, illicit beer drinking and playing table tennis on a rickety old table under the big oak tree at the edge of the garden. In the end it had been a good holiday – one he looked back on now with affection and nostalgia for lost opportunities.

Today, thirty-odd years later, all he wanted was the isolated and boring part. No friends or holidaymakers intent on jollying everyone into joining in things. Charlie had said to expect the cottages to be occupied by the various owners, but they all wanted peace and quiet too. He wouldn’t have to socialise if he didn’t want to. And he definitely didn’t want to. He planned on lots of sleep, long walks and lots of reading. And drowning recent memories in copious amounts of whisky and wine.

The taxi he’d organised was waiting for him when he got off the train at Totnes. Half an hour later he was standing in the car park behind the cottages, looking at the stars and stripes flag fluttering in the evening breeze over the end cottage. Someone was singing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’ loudly, off-key, and there was a lot of laughter and conversation.