Coming Home to Wishington Bay

With all my love, now and forever, Gigi.

I put the letter on the table in front of me, tucked my knees up to my chest and sobbed like a child.

As my eyes dried, I leant over and picked up the letter once again. Her name was signed with a big flourish, as always. She was the queen of the single name long before Kylie, Beyoncé and anyone else who tried to claim it.

‘My grandmother had you all beat,’ I said aloud to no one. Carefully I refolded the letter and slipped it back into the pocket of my handbag.

‘Right,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s start ticking things off this to-do list. And then I’m going to make a big, bugger-off chocolate cake and eat it all. Possibly in one sitting.’

From outside I heard the throaty roar of a motorbike. A proper bike. The noise that emanated from it definitely didn’t sound like one of the Vespas that sometimes buzzed about the village with teenagers aboard, acting like they were cool, hip Italian types going off to meet up by the Trevi Fountain. In reality, they were more likely to be nipping down to the local Spar because they’d run out of toilet roll.

Hurrying over to the window and concealing myself behind the heavy drapes, I peeped out and saw a large bulk encased in leather swing one long leg over the burbling bike, adjusting his foot as it settled on the pedal. He moved his right hand on the handlebars and the engine revved briefly. Flicking a hand up to close the visor on his crash helmet, he blipped the throttle again and the bike pulled away, his other leg folding up to perch on the opposite pedal. I watched him disappear up the road, out of sight, and hoped that he’d stay that way for a long time to come.

Just knowing he was no longer next door helped me relax a tiny bit. Admittedly relaxation wasn’t exactly my forte. That was partly how I’d ended up back here in the first place. As a top Discretionary Fund Manager in London, I’d worked hard and done well. I had a swish flat in Canary Wharf that had a view of the river and was perfect for the short commute to work at Canada Water. It was sleek and modern, and stylish. My brother had called it ”soulless” but then Ned never was in the running for any prizes for tact. Admittedly it didn’t have the warmth that Gigi’s house had, or that his and Carrie’s did. But then my life was very different to theirs too. And the fact that I started work early, and often didn’t leave until ten or later, meant that keeping it easy to maintain was important. Really the thing that was most important to me was that my bed was comfortable, and my coffee maker worked. Everything else was just window dressing.

Nothing about Gigi’s house was just window dressing and there was certainly no way anyone could call it ‘soulless’. I stood and walked to the patio doors, pulling them back to let in the warmth of the morning and the sound of the sea washing the beach. It was still early in the season but looking further along to where the beach became public, I could see a few holidaymakers setting up towels and parasols on the soft, pale sand. After listening to the calming sound of the sea for a few more moments, I turned back to the house and set my coffee cup in the dishwasher.

The kitchen had been revamped a few years ago and now had shiny white units and fancy worktops that sparkled when the light caught them. Gigi was like a magpie when it came to sparkle but I loved that she’d chosen it. It was so her. And while the units might have changed, this was still the kitchen where Ned and I had learned to cook, the same table where he and I had sat thousands of times, being fed and comforted and made to feel loved by Gigi and Grandpa.

Letting my hand drift across the doorway, I moved back into the living room. I pulled back the curtains I’d hid behind earlier. They were heavy velvet in a deep shade of plum and really had seen better days. They were on my list of things to assess but right now I was just enjoying the tactile feel of them against my skin and the theatrical reminder of Gigi’s taste. Turning, I whipped off the last couple of sheets that had been covering the furniture, piled them on a chair and moved towards the stairs.

I’d removed the sheets from the guest room I always stayed in last night and had claimed that as my room for my sabbatical stay. It was a beautiful room overlooking the back of the house and the beach beyond, its large windows flooding it with light. The décor, like all the other rooms, had a slight theatrical bent – but that was Gigi and right now, the familiarity of that was comforting.

The other two spare rooms were mostly unused and one appeared to have developed into a bit of a dumping ground for things my grandmother had never quite decided on a place for. I pulled the sheets off everything, swallowed back a moment of feeling overwhelmed at just how much stuff she had acquired and the fact that I needed to sort through it all in the relatively short space of time I had, and then I moved on. My hand rested on the handle of the fourth and final bedroom. Gigi’s bedroom. But I didn’t go in. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

From the back pocket of my shorts, my phone made a ping and I pulled it out immediately, opening the email app only to find another spammy newsletter from a company I hadn’t bought anything from for the last three years. I really ought to get around to doing some unsubscribing. Something else to add to the list. Opening my To-Do app, I did just that, gave the markets another quick scan and checked my work email again before putting the phone back in my pocket.

I’d planned on spending the day going through boxes and making a start on getting the house into order for sale. That was, after all, the plan. The thought of keeping it was wonderful but I knew in reality it wasn’t a viable one. The idea of a beach retreat in a place that held such happy memories – really the only place that did – was perfect. But it was just a daydream. I knew that, with me working the amount I did, it wouldn’t get used – at least not in the way it should. Even if I did manage to get away from London, I would only end up bringing work with me. I barely looked out of the window of my flat, even though the view of the Thames and the city could steal your breath away, especially at night. Why would it be any different here? Better to sell it to someone who would appreciate it. And I would ensure that was the case. This was going to be a family home. Not an opportunistic investment for some businessman who already had a second, third and fourth home.

If Carrie and Ned weren’t so settled and in love with their own house, I’d have insisted they have it but that wasn’t an option. The thought of turning it into an Airbnb had crossed my mind – albeit only fleetingly. Ned and I had been enveloped with love here, and the house was a part of that. I couldn’t bear the thought of it becoming a place where people just dropped their luggage. Four walls and nothing more. It had meant so much to Gigi, and still meant so much to me. It was a house that deserved to be loved. So, I would just have to find a new family to bring to it.

While the house was beautiful, it was definitely in need of some updating. Gigi had been a showgirl in her youth, performing at top theatres in London and Paris when she met my grandfather all those years ago, and the décor definitely reflected a tendency to draw on that part of her life for inspiration. There were a lot of rich, deep colours on the walls and in the furnishings. I had no intention of trying to get rid of all of Gigi’s stuff so I’d decided to ask my brother Ned what he wanted, choose a few pieces for myself and then sell the house with much of the rest included. But as it was, even though the Thirties’ Art Deco style of the house supported a bit of Gigi’s style, with my business head on, I knew it wasn’t as attractive to a modern buyer as it could be, so I needed to think up some tricks for adding in a bit more of a contemporary look.

Of course, I’d also have to work on a strategy that would help sell the sitting tenant next door – something I wasn’t terribly thankful to Gigi for, knowing that without that particular fly in the ointment, I’d be looking at a far quicker turnaround. But, as it was, it seemed a good time to take some leave from work anyway. Well, that and the fact that my boss had told me I was wound tighter than a Swiss watch and if I didn’t take a break he was going to fire me and blacklist me for six months just so that I had to. All of which was really Gerald’s way of being a sweetheart. He’d watched me working long hours for years, and then of course, after the break-up with Paul, something pretty much everyone in the company had seen, I’d only increased my workload. If I was thinking about work, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. But everyone, apparently even me, has a limit and Gerald knew I was burning out.

The ultimatum had come after I’d gone off the deep end about a report he wanted. One that, despite practically living at the office, I still hadn’t had time to get around to. As I’d begun assuring him that I’d have it done by the end of the week, without having the faintest idea how, my chest had got so tight I could barely breathe, the room had begun to swim and I’d ended up sliding down the side of Gerald’s desk in what I don’t imagine to be the most elegant of ways, getting more and more panicky as I found I had less and less breath.

At this point, Gerald had had a little panic of his own and in my fuggy, lack-of-oxygen state, I’d heard him on the phone, trying to find out who the First Aider was. With the tiny bit of energy I’d had left, I’d flung my tingling arm out and yanked the phone away from him, and the desk, cutting off the call as I shook my head. This was already an embarrassing enough situation without more people coming in to gawp at me and comment as to whether that particular shade of waxy white my face had taken on was really my colour.

Gerald had tried to wrangle the phone back from me but I’d kept him at bay and instead flapped my hand about on his desk until it had reached his paper lunch bag from the posh sandwich shop just down the road. Scattering the contents across Gerald’s desk, I’d quickly shoved the paper bag up to my face. After a few breaths in and out, the room spun a bit slower and I’d focused on trying to calm my racing mind. The pain in my chest was still there but it would go in time, like it usually did. Although, this was by far my most spectacular, and most public, experience of it. I hadn’t admitted it to anyone – and barely to myself – but I was terrified.

Gerald had been my boss, and friend, for over ten years. Once I’d calmed down and returned to a much more normal colour, he’d sat me down and given me the ultimatum, telling me that with the way I was going, my next position was either going to be a sabbatical at the seaside, or a stay in hospital. Put like that, the decision was kind of made for me. I arranged for my post to be forwarded to Gigi’s place, packed a suitcase and drove down. The further I got from London, the more I had tentatively started looking forward to it. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to cope without going into the office every day but I had my phone and laptop so it wasn’t like I was going to be cut off from civilisation entirely.

That night, I’d gone to sleep surrounded by peace and quiet and woken to the sound of real waves gently washing over a real beach. I’d lain there feeling a little of the long-held stress leave my body with each return of the tide, confident that this little break was all I needed to see off the attacks I’d had.

And then Gabe McKinley had appeared at my window, seen me in my scrap of silk undies, and spoiled it all.

* * *

I’d succeeded in accomplishing very little today. The morning’s encounter with my neighbour had put me out of sorts and disrupted my equilibrium. I hadn’t felt able to concentrate on anything after that, which wasn’t like me at all. I’d fiddled about, moving bits from one place to another before moving them back again, looked half-heartedly over paint charts, and wandered out into the garden to deadhead a few flowers before finally giving up. Pulling out a big box of photos I’d found in a sideboard, I sat on the overstuffed sofa, tucked my feet up underneath me and proceeded to lose the next two hours looking through them.

Many of them I hadn’t seen for years or had never seen. I smiled at a photo of Gigi and Grandpa laughing together and cried at one of my dad and me building a sandcastle on the beach outside this very house. For once, he actually looked happy. Eventually deciding I’d had enough emotional pummelling for today, I gave my phone another quick check for market news and possible emails then headed out and took a long walk on the beach, making some notes on my phone about jobs I needed to get done in the house as I did so.

It was nearly three hours later I returned to the house, feeling both mentally and physically calmer. Even just approaching the house from the beach, knowing that was where I was headed, had sent a ripple of calm through me that I couldn’t remember feeling for many years. And not one I could remember ever feeling anywhere else. Thankfully there seemed no signs of life from next door and I settled down on one of the steamer chairs on the patio with a stack of interior design magazines to study for ideas for the house. The huge UV protective sail that stretched across both sides of the house provided perfect shade – which was just as well because the next thing I knew it felt cooler and there was a large shadow over me. I opened my eyes to find Gabe McKinley back, and loitering by my patio door.

‘What are you doing?’ I snapped, waking properly and pushing myself into an upright position.

He jumped and spun around. ‘Oh God! I thought you were asleep!’ he said, his words slightly muffled because his face was all squished up by the crash helmet he still wore.

‘Lucky I woke up before you got a chance to case my house properly then, isn’t it?’ I said, standing up.

‘Oh for …’ The rest of the sentence got lost as he pulled the crash helmet from his head, revealing a very recently acquired neat short back and sides. ‘You’re officially nuts. You know that, don’t you?’ He turned away and began walking back towards his own side of the house.

‘And that’s your professional medical opinion, I suppose?’ I returned, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

I really don’t know why I was having such trouble believing this man was a doctor. I know you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover and all that, but he just didn’t look like one. Not one I’d ever seen anyway. Which was probably just as well because he had a habit of raising my blood pressure dramatically – and not only because all we’d done so far was bicker. But right now, I was doing my best to put that particular nugget of information to the back of my mind and pretend it wasn’t there.

He continued walking away from me, his gait slightly stilted due to the stiff, protective motorcycle suit and boots. At my comment, he threw his hands in the air in resignation, not bothering to turn around. A moment later he disappeared inside and the patio door slid back into place with a little more help than it probably needed.

I shook my head and checked my phone for the time. My brother and his wife had invited me for dinner this evening, but I still had a bit of time to kill before I needed to get ready. Retaking my seat on the lounger, I picked up one of the magazines and flicked through the thick, glossy pages looking for inspiration. As I stopped on one particular article, I heard the neighbouring door slide open again. Keeping my head down, I concentrated intensely on the words. A moment later, Gabe McKinley was stood in front of me, and it was really hard not to concentrate on him instead.

I aimed for nonchalant as I lifted my head and met his gaze. He’d unzipped the yellow and black leather bike suit and the top half now hung down from his waist, the arms dangling loosely. Underneath he wore a fitted white T-shirt that showed every line and curve of a powerfully built chest and heavily muscled arms. He’d discarded the boots now and his feet were bare as he stood looking at me. I tilted my head in question at him because I wasn’t entirely confident about what might come out of my mouth if I attempted speech right now. Best to be safe.

‘Just so you know, I wasn’t casing your house. All I was going to do was shut your patio door. I know it’s pretty quiet here and this bit of the beach is private, but you never know. Gigi used to nod off out here from time to time, always leaving the door wide open, even though I’d suggested she might want to push it closed a little. It made me nervous for her. I know she wasn’t worried because she was so trusting. I grew up in a city and although I’ve lived here a few years now, it’s hard to shake that instinct, so I still always shut it for her if she was asleep when I came by. She always knew to check so that she didn’t bump into the glass or anything. It sort of became a habit.

‘Although you’ll probably disagree because it’s me who has said it – but I get the feeling you understand because you’ve definitely got suspicious instincts and probably had no intention of dropping off and leaving your door open. Having said that, I do see now that my behaviour might have seemed a bit odd to you as it wasn’t expected, and I’m sorry if I startled you – again – but my intentions were entirely honest.’ Having finished his speech, he nodded at me and turned to go.

‘My flat was broken into. It’s made me a little paranoid,’ I blurted, surprising myself. What on earth was I doing telling this stranger my business? Opening up to people, even my family, wasn’t exactly like me so why had I just told Gabe McKinley about the break-in?

He turned back, facing me once again with those incredible eyes. ‘I’m really sorry about that. It’s definitely not a nice thing to go through. I’ve been burgled myself.’

‘Here?’ I asked, my nerves tensing and my voice zipping up an octave.

He smiled, holding his hands up briefly in reassurance. ‘No. At home in Oz.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Then I’m sorry for you too.’

‘That’s OK. It was a while ago now.’

I nodded.

‘I’m guessing yours was more recent?’ he asked, leaning on the metal balustrade that encircled both balconies. The leather of the protective suit creaked as he bent a leg and rested one foot on top of the other.

I knew that I should just shrug and give a noncommittal answer, thereby putting an end to the conversation. I didn’t want to start sharing with this man. He was unbelievably gorgeous, built like Atlas and with a sexy accent to boot. That was way too much good stuff wrapped up in what looked to be one incredible body. All of which meant he could only be Bad News – at least for me.

Of course, this was all moot anyway. There’s no way he’d be interested in me, despite what Gigi had tried to dream up in the past. I mean, I had accused him of being a burglar – twice. And been instrumental in him falling off a ladder, although that bit really was unintentional. It was just that he’d made me jump, not to mention the fact that he’d caught me in my underwear. Oh God! He’d caught me in my underwear!

‘What’s wrong?’ The deep voice penetrated my thoughts.