Best Summer Ever

Chapter 1

I was a couple of hours into my journey back to Norfolk when it suddenly dawned on me that the universe had recently been trying to give me a heads-up about the appalling behaviour my partner – now ex-partner – had been indulging in and that I could have used it as an excuse to be shot of him weeks ago.

‘Oh, Daisy,’ I admonished huffily, striking the steering wheel and inadvertently hitting the horn. ‘What are you like?’

In my defence though, I had been so focused on looking for a way I could resign from my current job that wouldn’t make it look as though I wasn’t giving up on the world of work again, that it would have taken a flashing neon sign to make me take notice. The fact that Laurence had practically confessed his infidelity ages before I cottoned on was no comfort now though.

‘She’s a total ball-buster,’ I remembered him saying, when I had asked what his new colleague was like. ‘Very focused on getting what she wants.’

His description had been accompanied by a salacious grin he hadn’t even tried to suppress, the obvious implication of which should have immediately given the game away. Or at least given me a clue.

‘Ball-buster’ was an entirely appropriate description, as it turned out. She certainly looked as though she had been busting his balls when I turned up at their office early and unannounced, having finally made up my mind to end things and determined not to wait a second longer to do it.

I had found the pair in a most compromising position. Her skirt hoisted up higher than her hips and him groaning in a way that left me in no doubt what was coming. Pun intended. I had snuck out unseen, rushed back to Laurence’s flat and bundled my already haphazardly packed possessions into my car, feeling full of relief that he’d saved me a task I’d been dreading and none of the guilt I had been expecting.

We’d never had much in common and the only people who really thought the relationship might go the distance were my wishful-thinking parents. A former friend from university had introduced me to Laurence when I happened to be waiting on the table that she and some of her friends had booked.

Beth had graduated with a first, but I’d dropped out after my second year and had been floundering ever since, moving from one casual job to another. When she turned up with Laurence and somehow recognised me, I was heartily sick of my drifting and when he handed me the bill with his phone number written on the back, it felt like the ideal opportunity for a potentially fresh start.

Laurence was a proper grown-up with a structured career path and investment plan, and I had hoped some of his ambition would rub off on me and at the start, it had. The initial chemistry between us and the phenomenal sex suggested we were a good match and within six months of getting together, I had moved into his flat and he was helping me get my life in order. It was the first time my parents had looked at me with something akin to pride and I felt my life had turned a corner.

That was almost two years ago and the scales had long since dropped, the rose-tinted specs were definitely off. I was still the same free spirit with no pension plan, who couldn’t seem to stick to anything and Laurence was now the most materialistic man I’d ever met and becoming increasingly self-absorbed and even more ruthlessly ambitious as a result. Ergo, we really did have nothing in common and opposites certainly no longer held any attraction whatsoever.

Hence the lack of upset at finding him in flagrante, the hastily scribbled note sketchily describing what I had seen and the mad dash to block his number and leave. I was now heading back to the comfort of my childhood family cottage on the Wynbrook Manor Estate, a couple of miles beyond Wynmouth on the Norfolk coast. The only thing I wasn’t sure about was what to tell Mum and Dad.

They had loved Laurence from the moment they met him and I knew they had always thought, like I originally had, that he would be the making of me. That his work ethic would be a steadying influence and, with him by my side, I would finally settle down and stick with something. Not only had Laurence now been culled, I also still had the ability to rinse through jobs faster than the North Sea tide could turn and as a result, I had no money, no prospects, no options…

‘Home sweet home,’ I nonetheless said, as the road sign for the familiar coast flashed by.

Perhaps I could put off Mum and Dad’s crushing waves of disappointment about letting Laurence go a little longer, courtesy of some real waves?

In spite of the parental predicament, my heart soared as I drove through the village of Wynmouth and around the Green and its row of brick and flint shops, with the car windows wound down. The air that rushed inside was hot rather than warm and carried with it that most welcome salt-laden smell and taste of home.

My heart happily thumped even harder as I carefully turned into the top of the one-way narrow lane, which had the Smuggler’s Inn situated on the left, rows of traditional fisherman’s terraced cottages along both sides and a path straight down to the beach directly in front. It then almost leapt completely out of my chest as a guy, with a huge rucksack on his back, appeared from nowhere and stepped out in front of the car. I stamped on the brake and only just tamped down the urge to give him a blast on the horn. That would have done nothing for my discreet return to the county.

He stepped quickly out of the way and bent to peer inside as I drew level.

‘Sorry,’ he apologised through the open window, both hands raised.

He had sandy blond hair, blue-green eyes and was wearing at least a couple of days’ worth of stubble, a light cotton red and blue checked shirt and jeans.

‘I got so excited to see the sea,’ he added as I tried to pin his accent to the right American state, ‘that I forgot myself and stepped straight out.’

I felt a creeping heat spread up my neck. I didn’t want to be charmed; I wanted to be huffy, but his apology and hundred-watt smile were both extremely disarming.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘No harm done.’

Well,’ he said again, straightening up and looking back up the lane, ‘that’s all right then.’

I lingered for a moment, then realised one of the beach tractors that hauled the few fishing boats in and out of the sea had turned into the top of the lane behind me, so I had no choice but to carry on. Rucksack guy raised his hand in salute and then strode off towards the beach. I indicated and carefully turned left into the tiny car park that belonged to the Smuggler’s Inn. I was sure Sam, the pub owner, wouldn’t mind me parking up for a while.

‘Please be here,’ I begged fervently as I made my way, barefoot, across the warm sand towards the row of prettily painted and much-loved beach huts.

There were about a dozen in total and one of them, the pink, orange and yellow brightly painted hut, belonged to the Wynbrook Manor Estate, which was where both my parents worked and where the cottage I’d spent my childhood growing up in was located. The estate owner, Algernon Alford, very kindly allowed his staff access to the hut and the key was kept for safe-keeping, unimaginatively, in a small box on a ledge above the door.

‘Bingo,’ I exclaimed, as my fingers closed tightly around the box.

The sight and smell that rushed to greet me as I opened the door instantly carried me back to childhood on a nostalgic wave of happy memories. Unlike the other estate families, Mum and Dad had never ventured further than the beach during the holidays and consequently, Wynmouth and the row of huts felt as familiar to me as home had once done.

The interior paintwork was a little faded, peeling in places, and the bench seat cushions weren’t quite as plump, but it was all achingly familiar, right down to the enamel plates and cups on the shelf in the tiny space carved out as a kitchen.

Having already checked the tide times, I tied up my dark hair, slipped quickly into my swimming costume, then ran down to the sea, dumped my towel a way back from the shoreline and strode in. The temperature was bracing and it took my breath away, but I knew that the trick to coping with the shock was to keep moving, so I began to swim straightaway.

I also knew it was vital to get back to the shore before I started to tire, but I was very nearly tempted to stay in the water longer than I should. My mind had cleared completely as I powered through the sea, my thoughts only returning when I stopped to check how far out I was and saw rucksack guy on the sand, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun and looking in, what I thought, was my direction, before striding away.

I didn’t track where he went after that and carried on until the cold really started to make its presence felt. Only then did I reluctantly head in. I was shaking with cold as I wrapped my towel around me, but the sun was brightly shining and I was almost warm again by the time I’d crossed the sand for the sanctuary of the beach hut to get dressed in.

My temperature soared sharply to somewhere around tropical, however, as, completely naked, I roughly rubbed myself down and the hut door opened, exposing almost all of me to the rest of the world.

‘Hey!’ I yelped, quickly covering myself up with the length of the towel. ‘This is private property!’

‘Sorry,’ came that American accent again. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone was in this one.’

‘Well, I am! I’m in this one!’ I shouted after his retreating back, as I slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock.

I wondered, once I was dressed and as I attempted to run my fingers through the tangles in my hair in lieu of a hairbrush, just how much of me he’d seen before he’d turned tail and if his vocabulary ever extended further than making apologies.

‘Daisy?’ said Sam, the handsome green-eyed owner of the Smuggler’s Inn, when I ventured along to the pub. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Well, hello to you too,’ I laughed, as my eyes became accustomed to the dark interior after the bright July sun, and I perched myself on a stool at the bar.

‘Sorry,’ he laughed as well, ‘it’s just that I haven’t seen you in years and I didn’t know you were coming back. Penny and Nick haven’t mentioned that you were going to be in the area.’

Penny and Nick were my two closest friends. We’d been at school together since kindergarten. Unlike me, they’d both stayed local and also unlike me, they’d been far better at keeping in touch. They were also both single and absolutely perfect for one another, but completely clueless about that.

‘That’s because Penny and Nick don’t know,’ I told Sam, feeling bad that I hadn’t kept my besties in the loop about my life for quite a while.

‘A surprise visit,’ Sam continued to smile, unaware of my guilt. ‘They’ll be thrilled. Your mum and dad will be chuffed too.’

My parents were actually the reason I’d decided to call in at the pub. I’d experienced something of a lightbulb moment as I’d walked back along the beach and was here as a result.

‘What can I get you?’ Sam asked. ‘It’s on me.’

‘Thank you.’ I smiled back. ‘I’ll have lemonade with plenty of ice and lemon, please.’

‘Coming right up.’

‘And a job, if you’ve got one going,’ I further requested.

‘A job?’ Sam frowned, packing the glass half full with ice.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s looking like I’m going to be here a while and it would be great to be working while I am.’

This was a masterstroke on my part because as long as Sam could offer me some shifts behind the bar, it meant I wasn’t about to turn up at home with nothing to offer. If I could soften the blow of my single status with the promise of some work already lined up to see me through the summer, that would hopefully ease some of the frown lines that would doubtless be etched across Mum and Dad’s foreheads when I told them why I was back.

‘You’re serious?’ Sam asked, setting the lemonade down in front of me.

‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘I’m currently between jobs, so some bar work to cover the summer would be great.’

The pub was always a quiet spot, so learning on the job shouldn’t prove too taxing. Pulling pints was a skill I hadn’t yet added to my repertoire and the quiet ambience of the Smuggler’s would be as ideal a place to learn in as any.

‘Well, that’s actually perfect,’ said Sam, rubbing his hands together. ‘Because I’m about to lose both Sophie’s cooking skills and Hope serving behind the bar—’

‘I’m not up to cooking for the public,’ I warned him, before he thrust an apron in my direction. ‘And I don’t actually have any experience of bar work, but I can wait on tables.’

I thought it was only fair to warn him that if he did offer me a job, he would be taking on a total novice.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ he somewhat surprisingly said, ‘that’s fine. Tess has been learning Sophie’s recipes and will do the food, but that will leave the bar a bit short. Would have left the bar a bit short,’ he corrected, looking speculatively at me. ‘I don’t suppose it would take long to train you up.’

I looked at him, oozing hope.

‘Go on then,’ he finally said. ‘You’re on.’

‘Really?’ I gasped.

‘Really.’ He nodded. ‘Come in on Thursday about six and I’ll start getting you up to speed as to what’s required.’

‘That’s fantastic!’ I gushed, feeling a heady mix of relief and gratitude. ‘Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.’

‘As are you,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks as I took a gulp of my lemonade.

I hoped I would be.

‘So, where are Sophie and Hope off to?’ I asked.

Sophie, Hope’s mum, had created the most delicious Caribbean slash Norfolk fusion cuisine, which she served in the pub and in her café on the beach, and Hope, if memory served, had her own bespoke biscuit business now. Tess, Sam’s partner, and Hope also had the same dad, and he and Sophie were a couple now after years apart.

‘They’re going to Jamaica,’ Sam said in a quiet voice, even though there was no one else around to hear.

‘Lucky them,’ I sighed.

‘Sadly, it’s not a holiday,’ Sam explained. ‘They have an extremely sick relative out there and from what I can make out, I think they’ll be saying goodbye to them almost as soon as they get there.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said, feeling guilty to have imagined them sipping cocktails and swimming in cerulean seas that would be far warmer than the water lapping the sand in Wynmouth. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

‘Me too,’ said Sam, as another customer darkened the doorway. ‘They’re both really cut up about it.’

I sat and finished my lemonade while Sam served the other customer and I took the time to count my blessings. At least no one in my family was unwell and I had parents to come back to in my moment of crisis. And now I had a job too. It might only be temporary and part time, but it was a start and I was grateful to have secured it ahead of going home.

I could feel the ends of my salt-laden hair drying in a tangle down my back and knew that if I didn’t wash and condition it soon, it would be completely unmanageable. It was time to go home.

‘I’ll see you Thursday,’ I said to Sam, as I made for the door. ‘Do I need to bring anything?’

‘Just your national insurance number,’ he told me. ‘And some comfy shoes.’

‘Comfy shoes?’ I frowned, wondering why I’d need them when I’d probably spend longer on a bar stool than standing.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Vital. Hey, look out.’

I turned around and bumped straight into the broad chest of someone who had walked in just as I was walking out.

‘Sorry,’ we both said at the same time.

I would have recognised that apology and accompanying accent anywhere now.

‘Sorry again ,’ said the guy, taking a step back and hoisting his rucksack higher.

‘Sorry again indeed,’ I repeated with emphasis.

‘It’s dark in here,’ he carried on. ‘I didn’t spot you.’

‘Well,’ I said, stepping around him, ‘I saw you in the beach hut.’

‘If it’s any consolation,’ he meekly responded, ‘I didn’t see that much of you.’

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

‘They’re not for sleeping in, you know,’ I tersely replied, assuming he was most likely on the lookout for somewhere to stay that he wouldn’t have to pay for. ‘They’re private property.’

I ducked outside before he could do or say anything else he was going to have to make amends for and quickly walked back to my car.