Summer at Coastguard Cottages: a feel-good holiday read

‘I’ll do it. I’d say go and join the others for a sundowner but I’m not sure that’s a good idea tonight.’

‘Think I’ll nip down into the village if that’s all right with you,’ Wills said. ‘See if anyone’s about.’

‘I’m sorry your first night back here has been spoilt,’ Karen said. ‘I was so looking forward to it.’

‘Not your fault, Mum,’ Wills said.

Derek wasn’t back by ten and Karen knew the chances of him coming home sober enough to have a rational discussion diminished by the hour. No way was she going to attempt to talk to him when he’d been drinking.

She had a leisurely bath and then went to bed with a book. When she heard Joy and Toby call out ‘Goodnight, everyone’, she closed the book, turned off the bedside light and snuggled down under the duvet, pretending to be asleep when Derek stumbled into the room.

It was Wills who, having realised his parents had failed to talk, twisted the knife at breakfast the next morning with an innocent air. Karen realised afterwards that he’d known exactly what he was doing. Making his father face up to his actions.

‘So, how long d’you reckon it’ll take to sell the house then?’ Wills asked as he helped himself to more coffee.

Karen looked at him, puzzled, before turning to Derek, who’d choked on his own coffee. She waited patiently while he regained his breath.

‘Might have known you wouldn’t keep your mouth shut,’ he said, glaring at Wills.

Wills shrugged. ‘Might have known you wouldn’t do the decent thing and discuss it with Mum like you said you were going to on the way here,’ he shot back at his father.

Derek pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Your mother was asleep when I got back last night, so I couldn’t.’ He turned to face Karen. ‘I put the house on the market this week. We need to downsize.’

Karen felt her mouth open and fury well up inside her.

‘You can’t just decide to sell up without discussing it with me,’ she said. ‘It’s my home too. My name is on the deeds next to yours.’

Derek glared at her. ‘You’ve got this place – going to share it with me? No? Thought not. I have to leave.’

‘You can’t just leave without discussing it with me,’ Karen protested. ‘It’s our family home. And I’m not signing anything. And I told you I needed to talk to you too.’

Derek shrugged.

‘Like I said – we need to downsize. Anyway, I’ve got an important meeting later this afternoon, so I’ll get my stuff and go.’ He turned and went upstairs.

Speechless, Karen turned to Wills, who shrugged.

‘Sorry – it was the only way I could think of to make him tell you what he’s up to.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘The For Sale sign in the front garden was a dead giveaway,’ Wills said. ‘Sorry, Mum.’

Karen stayed sitting where she was, trying to make sense of the news. What exactly did Derek mean by ‘downsizing’? And why was it suddenly so urgent? Where did he plan on them living in the future?

Derek came back downstairs carrying his overnight bag. ‘Right. I’m off.’

Karen looked at him dully. ‘We need to talk. Now more than ever.’

Derek shrugged. ‘It’ll have to wait until next time.’

‘Wait for how long? End of summer? Or are you planning on coming down to stay for a while?’

‘Thought I’d come down near the end of the month – or even August. Not sure yet. Depends on my schedule. I’ll let you know.’ And he was gone. Leaving her in shock and feeling more than slightly nauseous.

*

5.30 a.m. and Guy, as usual, was awake. Throwing off the duvet he stood for a moment looking down over the lawn towards the swimming pool. So far he’d ignored its pull, but today the urge to go for a swim was persistent.

At this hour nobody was about. He wouldn’t have to make polite small talk. He could do a few lengths of the pool and be back in the cottage before anyone else was up. He sure as hell could do with the exercise.

Pulling his trunks on and shrugging his arms into the denim overshirt he’d been slobbing around in for the last few days, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom and let himself out of the cottage.

Ignoring the neat path around the lawn that led down to the pool, he leapt over the small wall for a more direct route, enjoying the feel of the dewy grass under his bare feet as he ran down the slope.

Leaving his things on a poolside chair, he walked to the deep end and stood for several seconds looking down before taking a breath and executing a dive into the water. Surfacing half a length down the pool he covered the remaining distance with a slow front crawl to catch his breath before turning and upping his pace. As always, he lost himself in the rhythm of the strokes and concentrating on the number of lengths swum.

He finished on twenty lengths, happy he was still fit enough to manage that amount, turned on his back and began to float slowly down the pool to the steps. That had been the best swim in ages – since the hotel pool in Paris with Hugo when Melissa had…

Guy turned on his front and began a slow, deliberate breaststroke down the pool. As he swam he silently repeated his mantra of the past few months. It’s in the past. Let it go.

He grabbed the steps rail to haul himself out of the pool, taking deep breaths to steady his breathing. A quick towel down, shirt on and he was making his way back to the cottage.

‘Good morning. The coffee’s on, if you’d care to join me?’

Startled, he was about to shake his head and mutter ‘no thanks’ when, perversely, he heard himself say ‘Thanks’ and began walking towards The Bosun’s Locker.

‘I’m Bruce Adams,’ Bruce said, holding out his hand. ‘How d’you like your coffee?’

‘Black, please. Guy Widdicombe,’ he said, grasping the offered hand and noticing the flag hanging limply on its lanyard, not yet pulled up the flagpole. ‘Shall I do the honours with this, while you fetch the coffee?’ he added, looking at the flag.

‘Thanks. Rare to have company this time of day. Couldn’t you sleep either?’ Bruce asked.

Guy muttered an incoherent reply to Bruce’s back, and concentrated on pulling the rope. Seconds later and the Devon flag was fluttering in the morning breeze as Guy looped the lanyard around its cleat.

Bruce reappeared with two mugs of coffee and the two men stood looking out to sea.

‘Coffee out here first thing sets me up for the day,’ Bruce said.

Guy nodded. ‘I can understand that.’

‘My late wife, Gabby, used to enjoy an early morning swim,’ Bruce said. ‘Me, I’m not much of a swimmer. I’d organise breakfast and coffee while she did her hundred laps.’

‘She must have been fit to do that many laps,’ Guy said. ‘I only managed twenty this morning.’

‘She was.’ Bruce took a gulp of his coffee. ‘Always took life at a gallop.’

Guy waited, wondering if Bruce was going to volunteer more information. Bruce turned to look at him.