The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea

Mae scurried up the stairs as Hannah’s head disappeared back into her bedroom. Placing the basket on the end of the bed, she gave the pillows a fluff before heading back down to check on Hannah’s shoe status.

‘Wellies?’

Hannah looked down at the Doc McStuffins wellies and shrugged. ‘They’re all I could find.’

Mae could have made many arguments against the wellies – not least the ridiculous mismatching and the fact it was a glorious summer’s day – but she really, really didn’t have time to discuss the matter, nor locate more suitable footwear.

‘They’ll do.’ With a decisive nod, Mae led the way down the stairs, heading for her desk to grab the keys for today’s guests from the drawer. With her car keys, handbag and sunglasses in hand, she was ready to go.

‘Hannah?’ The girl had disappeared. ‘Hannah! We need to go!’

Mae scurried through the rooms of the house, finding Hannah crouched in the kitchen, her outstretched palm full of Frosties.

‘Hannah,’ Mae groaned as the cat nibbled at the proffered cereal. ‘I’ve told you not to feed him. And especially not Frosties. Come on, cat. Out!’

‘But he’s hungry,’ Hannah said, hand still outstretched.

‘And we’ll be hungry if I’m late for work again and lose my job. Come on.’ Mae swung the back door open and nudged the cat gently with her foot until it slunk away into the back garden. ‘Please stop feeding him. It’ll only encourage him to come back.’

‘But I want him to come back,’ Hannah said as Mae closed the door. ‘I love him.’

‘He isn’t our cat.’ Mae wasn’t sure he was anybody’s cat, judging by the state of his matted fur and lack of collar. The jagged ears from ancient fights gave him a definite alley cat vibe. ‘Now, let’s go, little lady. Nanny will be wondering where you are.’

As lovely as the Seafront Bed and Breakfast was, and as busy as it kept Mae, the profits generated from the small establishment weren’t enough to pay the bills, so Mae topped up her income by working part-time at one of Clifton-on-Sea’s pubs. The Fisherman sat opposite the harbour, in the quieter part of town away from the beach, but it was popular with the locals and the holidaymakers who liked to venture a little further afield. Mae had known the owners – Frank and Corinne Navasky – for as long as she could remember, as Frank and her grandpa had been friends since childhood. Mae had fond memories of sitting by the open fire in the pub with a glass of lemonade and packet of crisps while Frank, her grandpa and their friends played dominoes on chilly Saturday afternoons.

‘Ah, she’s here. I was about to send out a search party.’ Frank winked at Mae as she burst through the doors of the pub, breathless from the dash from the car. As predicted, she’d ended up chatting with Mrs Hornchurch for a good ten minutes when she’d dropped off the keys, plus she’d had to deal with a lady who wanted to book a room on her way out of the house, meaning she was even later for her shift. But she couldn’t complain too much about Mrs Hornchurch as her neighbour was doing her a massive favour. As Mae needed to work, Mrs Hornchurch often stepped in to help, keeping watch for any guests and showing them to their rooms when they arrived. Mrs Hornchurch was a godsend, so Mae could forgive her chatterbox nature.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Mae threw her handbag onto one of the shelves under the bar and rolled the sleeves of her cardigan up. ‘I’ll work through my break to make it up to you.’

‘You will not,’ Frank said. ‘There’s no harm done. It isn’t like I’m rushed off my feet.’

It wasn’t yet lunchtime so the pub was pretty much deserted, with only Tom Byrne, a permanent fixture in the Fisherman, sitting with his pint of bitter. Soon, however, the place would be filled with patrons wanting a pint to go with their fish and chips from the chip shop next door.

‘Do you need me to do anything before we get busy?’ Mae asked Frank. ‘Any glasses need washing? Barrels need changing? Do the loos need cleaning?’

Frank raised his eyebrows at the last suggestion. ‘You must be feeling guilty. But no, love, everything’s in hand. Why don’t we put the kettle on and have a quick game of dominoes before the rabble descends?’

Mae had learned to play dominoes by watching her grandpa play in the Fisherman, and the clatter as the pieces tumbled from the box onto the table always reminded her of him. Her dad hadn’t been around much when she was growing up, so it had been her grandpa who’d been the father figure in Mae’s life. She’d loved staying with her grandparents by the beach, going for a paddle with her grandpa, their skirts and trousers lifted or rolled up to their knees as the cold water washed over their feet, or sneaking off to the Fisherman with him when it was too cold to build sandcastles. Double trouble, that’s what her granny had called them.

Mae missed her grandparents, but she cherished the memories she had of them and smiled now as she picked up a cool tile.

‘So, how’s that goddaughter of mine?’ Frank asked as they set the dominoes out facedown on the table. ‘Enjoying the school holidays?’

‘She’s enjoying too much TV.’ Mae had lost count of the number of hours Hannah had sat in front of the box over the past few days, but Mae had been so busy with the B&B – preparing rooms, looking after guests and taking bookings – and the television provided an easy distraction. Though Mae felt guilty, the school summer holidays were the busiest time of year for Clifton-on-Sea, and Mae couldn’t afford to turn business away. She was fully booked from now until early September, with her largest booking due to arrive later that afternoon. Mae’s B&B only had two rooms to let, but as well as a double bed, the attic room had a sofa bed, which her latest guests would be making use of. The Robertsons – made up of grandparents Shirley and Len, plus their daughter, son-in-law and two young grandchildren – had stayed at the Seafront B&B for two weeks every summer since Mae had opened for business three years ago, and although Mae was looking forward to their stay, she knew looking after six guests – plus Hannah and her part-time bar work – was going to be a tough juggling act.

‘Why don’t you bring her over in the morning?’ Frank asked. ‘Corinne and I are popping into Preston to do a bit of shopping. Hannah can come with us on the train and we’ll take her for a burger for lunch. We might even throw in a trip to the cinema.’

Mae started to shuffle the tiles around the table to mix them up. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

Frank joined in the shuffling. ‘I know that, but we love taking Hannah out. What are godparents for?’ He gathered the tiles into the centre and, with a flick of his hand, invited Mae to choose a tile.

‘She’d love that, thank you.’ Mae plucked a tile and turned it over so they could both see it. ‘One-Three.’

Frank chose his own tile and turned it over, giving a little whoop of victory when he saw the pips he’d uncovered. ‘Five-Six. Me first.’ They both returned their tiles to the collection on the table and gave them another quick shuffle.

‘The vet was in here last night,’ Frank said as they drew their tiles from the collection and placed them in front of themselves, balancing them on their edges so only they could see the value of their own tiles.

‘Frank…’ Mae said with a heavy sigh.

‘What?’ Frank’s bushy eyebrows lifted and his mouth was agape. ‘I was only saying.’

‘Hmm.’ Mae rearranged the tiles in front of her, mostly so she didn’t have to make eye contact with her opponent.

‘He’s a fine young fella,’ Tom Byrne piped up, his voice making Mae jump. He’d been so quiet in his little corner of the bar, she’d forgotten he was there. ‘Our Tiddles had a tumour last winter. Thought she was a goner, but Alfie sorted her out. She’s got a new lease of life. She’s like a kitten again.’

‘Maybe I should take a trip to see our vet,’ Frank said as he placed his first tile face up on the table. ‘I could do with a new lease of life with all these barrels needing to be lugged around the cellar. I feel like I’m ready for the knacker’s yard some days.’

‘Rubbish.’ Mae selected a tile and joined it onto Frank’s. ‘You’ve got more energy than anybody I know, including Hannah. I hope I’m as fit and energetic as you when I’m in my seventies.’

‘Ssh!’ Frank’s eyes roamed the near-empty pub. ‘Will you keep it down? As far as everybody else is concerned, I’m not a day over fifty.’

‘Tom won’t spill the beans, will you?’ Mae asked and he shook his head.

‘What happens in the Fisherman stays in the Fisherman. Ain’t that right, Frank?’

Frank chuckled. ‘Sure is. The tales I could tell…’ Frank chuckled again and shook his head. ‘It’s like being in a confessional some days.’

‘I hardly think you can compare yourself to a holy man, Frank Navasky,’ his wife said, appearing in the doorway that led to the living quarters of the pub. Corinne joined them at the table and dropped a kiss on Mae’s cheek. ‘And I don’t think priests make a habit of mopping up vomit from their confessionals.’ Corinne pulled a face and turned to Mae. ‘Gary King, pissed as a newt, again. I’ve told him he’s on his last warning. Once more and he’s barred.’

‘He’s already barred from the Old Coach and the Lion,’ Tom said.

‘And no wonder. He’ll be barred from here in no time, no doubt.’ Corinne Navasky was short and slim with delicate features, but she was a no-nonsense kind of woman who had no qualms about chucking even the biggest, roughest blokes from her pub. She was so different from Mae’s granny, who would weep over sentimental films and always, always gave somebody the benefit of the doubt, but they’d become as close as their husbands despite their differences. Corinne and Frank were like family to Mae, almost filling the gap her grandparents had left.

‘That vet of yours was in here last night,’ Corinne told Mae. Mae groaned and fought the urge to drop her head onto the tile-covered table.

Chapter Two (#u3662fc1d-138b-580a-812f-9b4b6ad10aaa)

Willow

The morning hadn’t started out as a usual Monday for Willow. Her husband usually caught the train from Clifton-on-Sea to Preston for his job and, as Willow worked a couple of streets away from the station, they’d walk together most mornings. But Willow had woken alone that morning and had to follow their routine by herself. She’d popped into the bakery opposite the pier as usual for a takeaway breakfast, munching on a cherry pinwheel and sipping a coffee as she walked to work, but it felt odd without Ethan there to chat to. With her mind free to roam, she found herself latching on to the memory of their argument the previous evening, the air thick with frustration and unspoken accusation and blame. Willow’s hand reached for her phone, her finger hovering over the contact list, but she shoved it back into her handbag without making the call. Ethan would call her when he was ready.

There was nothing left of Willow’s breakfast by the time she reached her shop, bar a few flaky crumbs she quickly brushed away before she unlocked the door. Willow’s shop was a treasure trove of other people’s junk: furniture and household items rescued from skips, junkyards, charity shops and the local tip, all lovingly restored or upcycled to breathe new life into the once-loved items. Willow’s eye was immediately drawn to the dining table and chairs she’d finished the previous day. The piece had been commissioned by a local family who’d wanted a fun and quirky table for their playroom and Willow had risen to the challenge, decoupaging the tabletop with banknotes from old, unusable Monopoly sets and adding shallow drawers underneath that were perfect for storing board games and jigsaws without getting in the way of knees and legs while sitting down. The chairs had been painted in vibrant colours, with each of the children’s names – plus Mum and Dad, of course – spelled out in old Scrabble tiles on the backs. Willow was proud of the effect and couldn’t wait to see the reaction from the family when she dropped it off later that day.

Closing the door behind her, Willow switched on the lights and moved across to the shop’s counter, which had been recrafted from an old oak sideboard. Her assistant would be there soon, allowing Willow to get creative in the workroom, but until then she would remain in the shop, catching up with admin and smaller jobs between customers.

The morning’s second irregularity occurred when nine o’clock rolled around and there was no sign of her assistant. Gary didn’t have Willow’s eye for detail, but he was handy with a paintbrush and always willing to help her shift hefty items. Plus, he made a cracking cup of coffee, perfecting the milk-to-coffee ratio like an experienced barista. He’d been working with Willow since leaving college a few weeks ago and hadn’t been late once in that time.

Another hour passed and there was still no sign of Gary. Willow had sold a pack of mini, spiral-bound notebooks she’d made using the property cards from the Monopoly sets as covers to a tourist looking for gifts for her grandchildren, and had arranged a house clearance for the following week, but her assistant hadn’t arrived. She dragged the planters she’d made from wooden pallets, which were filled with a rainbow of fragrant blooms, out onto the pavement in front of the shop to attract passing trade and ran a duster over the furniture, but still there was no sign of Gary.