Despite spending most of the day in the water, the sting of the cold still shocked his skin as it seeped under his wetsuit. Positioning himself on his board, he paddled out to sea. This was why he loved Cornwall. With the wind whipping against his face, and the splash of the water licking his feet, he could forget his troubles and just feel.
Not that he had many troubles. For the most part, he was happy, satisfied to live each day as it came, in control of his destiny … well, almost. There was still the issue of his career, which was currently on pause, but other than that, he enjoyed a carefree existence.
Barney angled his board towards the beach, waiting for the next wave. From this distance, he could see the RNLI boat station next to the surf kiosk, and Piskies café. Across the other side of the cove, the cliffs rose upwards past Smugglers Inn to where Morholt Castle and the Corineus Theatre jutted out against the skyline. He never grew tired of the view.
As a wave approached, he pushed up using his hands, and then leapt to a standing position. Bending his knees, he lifted his arms, trying to maintain his balance as he rode the wave. It was exhilarating.
He’d fallen in love with surfing aged seven, whilst holidaying in Hawaii and visiting his mother’s family. But it was only when he’d moved to Cornwall that he’d been able to master the art.
Surfing wasn’t possible in East Dulwich where he’d grown up, but thanks to Grandma Maggie, he’d enjoyed many other hobbies. He was naturally good at studying, so, for the most part, he’d met his parents’ high academic expectations, which allowed them to ignore his other more creative desires such as music. His parents hadn’t always approved of his gran’s preference for fun rather than study, but they also knew that without her help they would have had to pay for childcare, so they indulged her more relaxed style of co-parenting.
His upbringing hadn’t been unhappy by any means. His parents adored him – a little too much at times – but spending his days on the beach felt far more rewarding than stitching up a head wound ever had … which didn’t bode well for a future in medicine.
The wave died beneath him, tossing him into the sea. The familiar rushing sound of water filled his ears as he was dragged under. He gave in to the momentum, waiting until the wave fizzled out so he could kick his way back up to the surface.
Satisfied that he’d caught the last of the decent breaks, he paddled back to shore and carried his board up the beach to the kiosk. The best of the day’s sunshine had faded, but there were still a few patrons outside the café, enjoying the late-afternoon glow. Among them was Lauren’s sister, sitting on a small section of beach, staring out to sea. Talk about a fish out of water. As he neared, he could see she was wearing dark, tailored jeans, a white shirt and a tan-coloured leather jacket. Her handbag was tucked next to her as though she feared someone might nick it. She looked as stiff as his surfboard.
She was quite a contrast to Lauren, who appeared from the café at that moment, carrying a tray of drinks, her hoodie tied around her middle, her sunglasses pushed onto her head. The sisters had the same slight frame, the same brown eyes and the same dark hair, but whereas Lauren wore hers long, Charlotte’s barely touched her shoulders. She kept tucking it behind her ears as if trying to keep it neat. No chance: the wind was too unruly. Her curls danced about her face as if taunting her. If Lauren was carefree, enjoyed a beer and a laugh, and loved life by the sea, then her sister was the polar opposite. All buttoned-up and rigid. Still, he shouldn’t judge. She might be allergic to sand, or something.
Their brief encounter last Friday hadn’t gone well, but it wasn’t fair to judge a person based on one prickly exchange. After all, he’d taken her by surprise. Jumped out on her. No wonder she’d reacted badly. He needed to try again. He’d head over there and properly introduce himself.
As he struggled out of his wetsuit, changed into cut-off jeans, and shook the sand from his ‘I love a Hawaiian honey’ T-shirt, his phoned pinged. Kayleigh. She wanted to hook up. Christ, she really wasn’t taking the hint, was she? Since going on a few dates with her earlier in the year, he’d been struggling to shake her off, and it was now May. He’d tried being polite, mentioning their ‘friendship’ whenever he could, in the hope she’d get the message, but it hadn’t deterred her. He wanted to ignore her, but that didn’t seem very gentlemanly, so he sent a ‘sorry can’t, I’m busy’ reply in the hope she’d take the hint and leave him alone. It wasn’t the best plan, but he was at a loss as to what else to try.
Bending forwards, he shook the wet from his hair.
History had shown he wasn’t very good when it came to ending things with women. He’d had a couple of relationships while at university, but differing life goals and a lack of free time meant pursuing them was pointless. He’d been accused of being ‘commitment-phobic’ and ‘immature’ on both occasions. He hadn’t disagreed. Was it such a crime to want something casual and relaxed? Medicine had been depressing enough. He hadn’t needed the drama of girlfriends wanting to know ‘where the relationship was going’ all the time. He’d just wanted a bit of fun.
But since moving to Cornwall, his aversion to relationships had been softening. His previous life had been all about work, and his social life – well, what he’d had of one – had been spent playing at being a ‘grown-up’. He was an only child, so his experience of hanging out with ‘little people’ was limited. But as the surf kiosk was situated next to Piskies café, he often kept an eye on Lauren’s kids after school. At first, he’d done it out of friendship – he liked Lauren, she was a good mate – but then he found himself anticipating their arrival, checking how long it would be before school broke up and they’d run onto the beach and jump on him. It’d taken a while to realise what he was feeling. When he did, he couldn’t have been more shocked. He wanted a family. And no one could have been more surprised than him.
Shoving his flip-flops into his backpack, he jogged across the sand to the café.
Spotting him approach, Lauren waved, her smile welcoming. They’d initially met via the drama group, but their friendship had developed when he’d started working at the kiosk. She was a good laugh, easy to get along with, popular with the customers. Hopefully her sister would turn out to be just as affable.
But things didn’t get off to the best start when he inadvertently kicked sand over her handbag. She brushed frantically at the leather, trying to clean it. Anyone would think he’d set fire to it. He waited until she looked up.
‘Hi. Charlie, isn’t it? We met at Lauren’s last Friday. I was the one under the sheet.’ He hoped his laughter might break the ice.
It didn’t.
She stopped shaking her bag. ‘My name is Charlotte.’ The bite in her words matched the venom in her glare. ‘I don’t like my name being shortened.’
Okay, strike two. He tried again. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.’ Her lack of warmth failed to detract from the appeal of her beautiful chocolate-coloured eyes. ‘I’m Barney.’
She glanced away, as though looking at him caused her discomfort. ‘I remember who you are.’
Christ, this was going well. ‘Lauren tells me you’ve come to stay for the summer?’
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she blinked up at him. ‘I’m planning to return to London as soon as possible.’
Another snub. He was running out of pleasantries, but decided to give it one last shot. Not that he was swayed by her good looks, or anything. ‘Lauren says you’ve lost your job. Bummer.’
She stiffened even more, if that was possible, her glare switching to where her sister was currently serving ice creams to a family of hikers across the other side of the café. ‘Did she now?’
‘She didn’t go into details,’ he added, worrying he’d just unwittingly dropped his friend in the shit.
‘Yes, well, it’s a temporary situation. I’m sure it’ll be sorted soon.’
For