When she’d finished Nick hid it in amongst some other pots of flowers where Layla had to admit she’d hardly notice it. She brushed the dark crumbs of soil off her hands and sat down, closed her eyes and turned her face into the sunshine. After a few seconds of luxuriating in the sunrays she turned to Nick and opened her eyes.
‘Dad swung by Maggie’s earlier. The water heater’s kaput. He reckons the whole thing’ll need replacing.’
Nick sat down opposite her and she looked away, picking nervously at the compost under her nails, but not before a whisper of awareness hit her. She couldn’t help taking in the sexy shadow of fresh stubble on his jaw and chin. She desperately didn’t want to go and wash dishes at the restaurant, but they were in a bind and she didn’t want to let them down. At least she wouldn’t be waiting tables. She could hide in the kitchen.
Like they were on a see-saw, Layla bobbed up, though she was reluctant to drag herself away.
‘He also had a bit of news. Quite the surprise really. He and his partner are expecting. They’ve decided to get married.’
‘That’s good news.’ Nick hesitated. ‘Right?’
‘I can’t quite believe it.’ She snapped her lips into a jolly smile. ‘Yes. Of course. Lovely. I’m going to have a sibling. Imagine that. After all these years.’ She felt like she had two left feet and was trying to remember the steps to an elaborate dance. ‘It’s a bonanza day for wedding news. Listen. Thanks, for this. I love my moving-on flower. And you’re absolutely right. By this time next year things around here are going to be all kinds of different.’ She backed away from him towards the doors into the kitchen her gaze riveted to his gorgeous, curious face. ‘I have to go. I’ve got a job to go to.’
‘Another one? How many jobs have you got?’
‘Too many.’
‘I was going to ask you to dinner at the Lobster Pot.’
‘That’s sweet. But I work there, actually.’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘That’s where I’m going now. I’m doing the washing-up shift tonight.’ She wrinkled her nose apologetically. Crikey! He wanted to ask her to dinner? She wished Porthkara wasn’t so complicated. She placed her palms together. ‘Make yourself at home.’ He already had. Still, it was only polite to say so. ‘Help yourself to whatever you need. We can make the bed in the spare room up for you when I get back.’
‘Cool.’ His wicked grin put her in a spin and her heart did an uncalled-for somersault.
Practically falling over her feet she hurried off to change, only turning to call back to him through the French windows. ‘Would you mind feeding Ophelia? Her food’s in the cupboard next to the washing machine. There’s a scoop in the bag. She gets one. Don’t let her con you into more.’
* * *
At a loose end Nick fed the dog, filled an empty wine bottle at the sink and watered the marigold before spending a while working out how to use Layla’s channel changer and spending another while flicking through channels. Nothing held his attention. He watched the beginning of a movie, but quit when his mother appeared on screen in a cameo appearance he hadn’t known she’d made.
Leaving Ophelia snoozing contentedly in her basket he set off to explore the path that ran up a hill behind the cottages. Having followed the path through a field carpeted with purple heather and clumps of spiny yellow gorse he climbed over a stile and found himself within feet of a wall of sheer cliffs that stretched around the bay and off into the distance. His fear of heights kicked in big time. The thought of walking any further made him ill. A weathered wooden bench sat well back from the edge so he perched on it and felt better, safely anchored.
The sun, which had been high over the sea, was slipping towards the horizon. He sat and absorbed the magnificent sundown colours, awed by the mysterious beauty of the cliffs and the sea. Across a couple of fields there was a quaint old farmhouse, and way in the distance on the far-off headland he could just see the ghostly shape of a long abandoned tin mine. It was hard to imagine anywhere more special and so far removed from his ordinary life. All he’d ever cared about was making Mercy of the Vampires. He’d spent large portions of the last ten years hanging out in nightclubs, often with eyebrows tweezed at a jaunty angle to suit the part of Jarvis. He’d like to blame his disastrous personal life on all that stuff, but it ran much deeper than strange-looking eyebrows and scandalous headlines.
He looked at his phone. The signal on the cliff bench was a hundred percent better than at the cottages. He took a photo of the view and texted it to Alex. Then he called him.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Apart from the lack of sleep I’m good. Did you speak to a lawyer? I can get you a name.’
He bristled. ‘I don’t want to go down that route.’
‘This is hot water Nick. At least tell me you’ve done a paternity test.’
‘It’s pretty clear she’s my kid.’
‘So what next?’
‘I talked to Fran. It’s a bad situation. I’m taking it one step at a time. I don’t want to go into it just at the minute. I’ll let you know when I have more information.’
‘How’s the black eye?’
‘Horrible.’
‘Toni?’
‘Over.’
‘Porthkara?’
‘Beautiful. Like an out of body experience.’
The sound of Alex’s laughter on the phone lifted his mood.
‘Give Layla our love. And hug Ophelia for us.’
‘Sure. Are you guys coming down here anytime soon?’
‘We’d love to. But we’re tied up.’
The line distorted Alex’s voice into a jumble of noise and cut out before Nick had time to mention that the cottage was so far off being ready that apart from the super comfy sofa it wasn’t habitable.
Brimming with restless energy and sick of haranguing himself he wondered how Layla was doing. With her he’d almost forgotten that his life was falling apart. Why was someone with so much artistic talent wasting so many hours doing other things? Her schedule was as crazy as an actor’s.
He checked the restaurant closing time on his phone, and set off to find her.
Outside the Lobster Pot he sat on a low wall to wait, watching the customers straggle out. Darkness had fallen, but a line of old-fashioned lamp posts dotted the seafront with pools of light. Behind him he heard the steady shushing break of waves, advancing and retreating. The tide was turning. He checked his watch hoping he hadn’t missed her.
A group of chattering girls emerged. High heels. Pretty dresses. Their high style reminded him of his mother, the way she flicked through piles of fashion magazines, excited about her next new look. That was during the ups. Other times, being with her had been a chaotic nightmare. The current Cassandra Wells was unrecognizable compared to the fragile, broken woman he’d grown up with. He put it down to having a man in her life she could trust.
One of the girls sat down on the wall along from Nick. ‘The taxi’s late.’
‘Give it five minutes.’ Another of the girls sat next to her friend.
‘Did you see Layla Rivers? I hate to see her looking so sad. Joe treated her like a doormat.’
A flicker of tension rolled through Nick’s shoulders.
‘No one deserves that. Especially not Layla.’
The rest gathered round.
‘She’s