Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I ’m just about to head back up to the village when I hear a voice shout: ‘Ahoy there!’
I jump and curse myself for not having my keys gripped between my fingers like I would if I was walking in London.
Then again, I decide, a vicious killer probably wouldn’t shout first to get my attention– plus the voice sounded female.
Not that women can’t be vicious killers, but let’s face it, history tells us it’s a lot less likely.
I glance behind me, wondering if someone, or even something, has emerged from the sea– maybe a water goddess, or a mermaid! Nope, predictably enough. I look left and right, in case there is someone else on the beach I didn’t notice. Also nope. There is only one option left– I am hearing voices.
‘Up here!’ it shouts again. ‘At the café!’
I turn in that direction and see that there is a balcony facing out over the sea.
I can only imagine how spectacular the view is from up there.
On a clear day you can probably see to infinity and beyond.
I see the rosy red glow of the tip of a cigarette, and it waves around like a little ghost spark.
I have to assume that the ghost spark is in the hands of a human, one who is waving to me.
She seems to realise that I can’t really see her, and a sudden glow of light surrounds her face– the torch from her phone.
I’m not sure that’s much better, because now there’s a whole Blair Witch Project vibe going on instead. And I’m still too far away to make the face out properly.
‘Are you Sarah?’ she yells. ‘And would you like a cuppa and a bite to eat?’
Damn. What is it with this place? How does she know who I am, and how does she know I’m hungry?
Or maybe she always assumes people are hungry.
Maybe everybody here shows their kindness through the medium of food.
I freeze momentarily, not at all sure what to do next.
My instincts tell me to flee, to run back into the night, to go and hide in my little safe haven.
Except she obviously knows who I am, which means she knows where I live, and I don’t really want to start my time here by being so very rude.
I might not want to be deeply involved in the lives of my new neighbours, but I also don’t want them to hate me.
Then where would I be after the solar flares?
I wave back, no idea if she can see me properly or not– in the last few minutes it’s become much darker, the moon kicking the sun out of its spot. ‘Come on up!’ she calls.
I’m still in two minds when I hear a little yapping sound accompanying her. ‘My dog wants to say hello!’
That pushes me over the edge. I always trust people with dogs, which I know is a weak spot of mine.
All a serial killer or twisted kidnapper would have to do to get me in his car would be show me a dog.
I’m almost fifty, and still the kind of little girl who would fall for the ‘Would you like to see my puppies?’ trick.
I decide that I will hedge my bets. I will go and say hello, to be polite, but I will not go inside and make this interaction last any longer than it needs to.
I head towards the paths, glancing up at the café as I go.
From this angle it actually looks like it’s hanging over the cliff.
It would definitely topple off if there was an earthquake.
There are two paths, one with steps and one that is paved and winds around the slope, presumably for people with buggies and wheelchairs, or just people who hate steps.
Right now, I am one of those people, because the slower ascent will give me more time to prepare myself for meeting yet another Budbury resident.
The climb up is actually pleasant, the path sided by handrails that are lit by pretty golden fairy lights, making the whole place feel like Christmas has come early.
I pause and look out at the sea, smiling at the way the moon reflects on the shimmering water.
It really is gorgeous. An owl hoots from somewhere more distant, and I take a deep breath as I continue on.
Owls are fantastic creatures, I’ve always thought– they look really weird and nowhere near as cool as some of the other birds, but somehow retain an air of mystery. Life goals right there.
I reach the top of the path and walk through an iron archway into a garden. The top of the archway is curved with the words Comfort Food Café, metallic roses trailing in and out of the individual letters. Green and red and black, the effect incredibly pretty.
The string lights cast a merry glow over the sloping garden, highlighting the higgledy-piggledy picnic tables and the tubs and troughs of plants and flowers.
The café itself is a sprawling one-storey affair, and there is a little annexe that has books in the window.
I’m automatically drawn towards it, as ever unable to resist a bookshop, and admire the Halloween display.
A little bookcase has been placed there, draped with spooky cobwebs, surrounded by miniature pumpkins.
I spot the works of Stephen King, Anne Rice, Charlaine Harris, alongside some darker crime novels and some psychological thrillers.
I pull a face when I spot one of my own books on the shelf, because no matter how many copies I sell and how many languages I’m translated into, I will always feel like an imposter.
I’m just a slightly crazy girl from Essex who managed to turn her morbid imagination into a job, and it still feels strange to see myself next to ‘real’ authors.
My actual name is Sarah Jane Wallis, but I write under SJ Andrews.
When I first got an agent, many years ago now, he suggested that having a surname higher up the alphabet helped because when people are browsing bookshelves, they get bored by the time they hit ‘W’.
No idea if there is any truth to it, but as I value my privacy, I’m glad we made that choice anyway.
Hopefully Sarah Jane Wallis is much harder to track down than SJ Andrews.
I’m interrupted by the sudden opening of the café door, and a light being switched on.
A little dog comes yapping towards me, definitely letting me know that this is her territory.
The routine is spoiled a bit by the fact she is tiny and fluffy and white, a shaggy little bundle of fur and fury.
Also by the fact that as she approaches me, she stops barking, drops to the ground, and rolls onto her back for a belly rub.
‘She’s a killer and no mistake,’ her owner says, emerging from the café door. The dog leaps up again, runs around my ankles several times at breakneck speed, then dashes off to find a bush to pee on. ‘Come on in.’
The woman turns back inside and leaves me there, obviously expecting me to follow.
I am momentarily rooted to the spot. I had no intention of going in, and had planned on simply saying hello and then making my excuses to leave.
Huh. My plans have failed. The dog yaps at me and runs back towards the door.
She stops on the threshold, her fluffy little tail wagging, her brown eyes gazing up at me from behind a neatly trimmed white fringe. Damn. Who could resist?
I walk into the café, and it smells like heaven.
Like everyone’s favourite foods ever, mixed in with the lingering scent of coffee beans and cocoa.
I close my eyes and inhale, my senses overriding my thoughts for once.
When I open my eyes again, I’m confronted with a vision of female power.
Seriously, this woman looks like she could have given birth to the Avengers, raised Wonder Woman, and colonised Mars in her spare time.
I’m five foot eight, but she is slightly taller than me, and while I’m on the slender side, she is wide and big and frankly magnificent.
Her hair is loose, a long shimmer of wavy silver, kinked in that way that suggests it was recently in a plait, and her eyes are sparkling with a youthful energy that is at odds with the lines on her face.
If I had to guess, I’d say she was at the least in her seventies, but she is one of the least ‘old lady’ people I have ever encountered: she exudes cheery confidence and gives me the kind of smile that makes me feel like everything in the whole world will be okay.
I fall immediately and uncontrollably in love, and most definitely want to be her when I grow up.
‘I’m Cherie Bloom,’ she says, ‘It’s dark outside, so gin and tonic?’
I gape a little at that logic, then manage to reply: ‘Uh, I’m Sarah. But you’d already guessed that. How did you guess that, by the way?’
‘Well, I watched you walk down the hill via my spy satellite, obviously.’
My eyes widen, and she laughs at my expression. ‘Oooh, your face! No, love, I just heard you’d arrived, and spoke to Laura after she’d popped in. Then I was out on the balcony having one of my herbal cigarettes, and saw you down there. She told me you were a tall, gorgeous strawberry blonde.’
‘And you still recognised me despite that terrible and deeply inaccurate description?’
‘I did. Now, drink, cake, chat?’
No, I tell myself. Do not get drunk. Do not eat the cake. Do not get sucked in. I was warned about this…