‘I could have said no,’ he muttered as Mae reached the middle of the boat and took some of the weight.
‘You bloody well try, lad,’ a voice, which Mae presumed belonged to the bloke’s mum, called out from one of the houses across the street. ‘This is the most work I’ve seen you do in the last thirty-six years. And no, playing on that Playstation-Cube-whatsit doesn’t count.’
‘What is this, anyway?’ Mae asked as they reached the van and jostled the tip of the boat inside.
‘It used to be a boat.’ Mae gave the boat a shove and it began to slide across the van’s floor. ‘But now it’s a bed. I upcycled it and Malcolm’s just bought it for his son.’
The other bloke, who had yet to speak, gave a nod.
‘You made this into a bed?’ Mae stepped aside as the boat was completely swallowed by the van. ‘Wow.’
Willow wiped her hands down the sides of her dungarees. ‘It’s what I do. I have a shop.’ She indicated the premises behind her. ‘You can go in and have a look if you’d like, though I’m not technically open at the moment.’
Leaving Willow to talk business with Malcolm, Mae wandered into the shop, her eyes widening as she took in the assortment of products on offer. There were larger items of furniture, all given new and vibrant leases of life, smaller household objects transformed into beautiful, decorative items, and things that might have been thought useless given a new purpose. Old light bulbs had been filled with small, delicate flowers and hung from a chandelier, mismatched glass goblets and flutes had been turned into stylish candles with white, fragranced wax, and old jars had been scrubbed, their lids painted in pastel shades, ready to be filled with sweets, buttons, cotton buds – anything small that was looking for a new, chic home. Mae could picture the jars in her bathroom or the guest bedrooms, and the champagne-flute candles would look divine on top of the chests of drawers in the rooms.
‘This is all amazing,’ she told Willow when she returned a few minutes later. The van trundled past, its horn beeping, and Willow waved through the open door.
‘Thank you. It all started off as a hobby, but it’s really taken off.’ She looked around her shop, a contented smile on her lips. ‘I love it.’
‘I feel the same about my bed and breakfast,’ Mae said. ‘Which is what I’m here about. I’ve had a cancellation, so if you’re still looking for a room…’
Willow threw her hand up to her mouth to catch a gasp. ‘Oh my God. Are you serious?’
Mae nodded. ‘The call came through while I was on my break. By the time I came back through to the pub, you’d gone. The room’s only available for two weeks, but it’ll give you a bit of breathing space to find somewhere more permanent until the work on your house is done.’
‘Thank you!’ Willow launched herself at Mae, throwing her arms around the woman and squeezing hard before she got a grip of herself and let go. She giggled, her cheeks turning pink. ‘Sorry. I’m just so relieved.’
Mae laughed. ‘I bet you are. I hope you haven’t bought a tent since I last saw you?’
‘Thankfully not.’ Mae giggled and did a little jig on the spot. ‘I should let my husband know I’ve found somewhere. He isn’t here at the moment. He’s working away, but should be back in a few days. Will it be a problem if I’m still at the B&B when he returns?’
Mae shook her head. ‘No problem at all. The room’s a double.’
‘Brilliant.’ Willow heaved a huge sigh of relief. ‘I could do with moving some things over to my room. Luckily most of our stuff is in storage, but I need clothes and my essentials. When would be okay to drop them off?’
‘Whenever you’re ready. If I’m not there, my neighbour can let you in and show you where everything is.’
‘Thanks again.’ Willow paused in thought before she shrugged and threw herself at Mae for another squeeze.
Melody
Melody took her time as she wandered towards the seafront, her rucksack on her back, her laptop bag looped across her chest and her camera dangling from its strap around her neck. She’d been dipping into little cobbled side streets, taking photos of anything that caught her eye: a seagull perched on a garden wall with a pretty cottage and flower-filled hanging baskets in the background, a family loaded with buckets and spades and folded deckchairs on their way down to the beach, a little shop with its window full of quirky seaside treasures: tealights made from shells, driftwood wreaths to hang on doors, and a mirror beautifully surrounded by smooth pebbles in shades of blue and grey. Melody had been particularly taken with the seashell tealights, but the door had been locked and there didn’t appear to be anybody inside.
Melody had continued on her way, the tang of salt and seaweed growing stronger as she made her way through the town, until she found herself on the promenade. The noise was incredible: waves sloshing, children playing, music blaring from the pier and the nearby arcade, seagulls crying out as they swooped along the beach in search of food. Melody closed her eyes and allowed the music of the seaside to wash over her. This was what she was searching for. The heart of the British seaside beating loud and clear. It was everywhere; the joyous sounds of nature and humankind combined, the smell of the sea and fried food mingling to create the distinct scent that took Melody back to her carefree childhood, the crunch of sand underfoot, swept up onto the promenade. Melody made her way to the railing and looked down at the beach, at the happiness sand and sunshine created. Families, couples, dog-walkers, all enjoying this bright, hot day on the stretch of beach. To her right and stretching out into the water was the wooden pier and its fairground-style amusements, and to the left, about half a mile away, were the cliffs that cut off the beach. She’d like to climb to the top of the cliffs and take a photo of the beach from there, but first she needed to find somewhere to stay. The straps of her rucksack were digging into her shoulders, the movement as she walked causing them to rub at the flesh. She’d find somewhere to stay, freshen up, and head back out to discover Clifton-on-Sea’s hidden delights.
Her stomach rumbled as she pushed away from the railing, reminding her she had yet to eat lunch. She’d been so caught up in her new surroundings that she hadn’t thought about eating since she’d clapped eyes on the cakes at the train station’s tearoom.
Food first, she decided, then accommodation.
Turning, she could already see several options before her: a pub – the Red Lion – with a chalkboard outside, claiming great food and a family atmosphere; a restaurant with black paintwork and matching awning stark against its creamy rendering; a bakery with its window crammed with tempting sweet treats; and a fish and chip shop that made Melody’s stomach grumble even louder at the mere sight. That was settled then.
The delicious smell wafting from the fish and chip shop made her stomach growl again as she crossed the road but, hungry as she clearly was, she didn’t step inside straight away and join the queue. There were a few things Melody couldn’t resist, and adorable dogs was one of them.
‘Hello, little guy.’ Crouching, Melody held out a hand for the dog to sniff. His lead was tied around a lamppost, but he stood, his tail swishing from side to side like windscreen wipers in heavy rainfall, and gave Melody’s palm a thorough investigation with his wet nose. Finding the hand disappointingly empty, he sat down again, his head on one side as he observed his new friend.
‘Aren’t you a cutie?’ Melody cooed, stroking the dog’s head. ‘Yes, you are. You are lovely.’
The dog closed his eyes as Melody started to scratch his ears, enjoying the fuss. He was quite a small dog, with scraggly golden fur on his body, legs and head, with