Chapter 4
Evie
Evie slotted her headphones into her ears, selected her favourite playlist and headed off along the coast path. It wound along the top of steep cliffs, undulating gently for a long section before plunging steeply into a tiny cove and rising up again on the other side.
She ran easily, long-limbed and relaxed, her strides eating up the ground. Her head was throbbing and her brain was circling around all the problems she was facing and the decisions she had to make.
But she wasn’t going to think about those now. She was going to take a moment to herself and hope that fresh air and exercise would both improve her mood and clear her head.
She’d discovered long ago that running was the best way to blow off steam after a stressful day.
It was impossible to feel tension when your feet were pounding the path, the breeze was blowing in your face and the ocean stretched far into the distance.
She preferred to run alone, just her and the rhythmic pounding of the soundtrack she’d chosen.
Far below, the sea sparkled. Those same foamy white waves that in winter could lash the rocks with terrifying force seemed almost benign today, lapping the coastline gently.
The evening sun warmed her face and beneath her feet the ground was firm. They’d had so much rain during the winter she’d had to run on roads but now the weather was heating up she spent every spare minute on the coast path or the beach itself.
She ran quickly up the steep section, her lungs screaming for air as she pushed herself. At the top she paused to catch her breath and the moment she stopped moving the thoughts rushed back at her again.
Now that she’d pressed Send on her application she felt guilty, as if she was somehow abandoning everyone.
Maybe the hotel wasn’t going to be sold, but there was no escaping the fact that it was in trouble. Something had to change.
She felt disloyal for even contemplating leaving. What if she left and then the worst actually happened?
All those jobs, she thought, rubbing her face with her hand.
What would Donna do if the hotel closed?
She needed not only the money, but also the warmth and support of her coworkers.
Then there was Pat, who had lost her husband six months ago.
She’d admitted to Evie on more than one occasion that it was coming to work that had kept her going.
And then there was her dad, who definitely didn’t want to retire yet.
He was the longest-serving member of staff.
He’d worked at the hotel for most of his working life.
He loved the job and he was brilliant at it.
Maybe another hotel would snap him up. But what if they didn’t?
Plenty of people valued youth over experience.
These people had all been there for her since childhood and she was going to abandon them instead of working to protect their jobs.
But what could she do, really? Her title was acting general manager, but all she was really managing was the mess Gerald had left.
No one saw her as anything other than “our Evie.” Two weeks into the job once the full horror of what she was dealing with became clear, she’d sent everyone a memo out-lining the changes she thought they should be making.
She’d talked about the importance of great customer service, the impact of good reviews, the importance of trying to maximise revenue by upselling, whether it was upgrading rooms or spa treatments.
She’d had loads of ideas that would have increased both occupancy and profits, but in the end none of them had been implemented.
People carried on doing things the way they’d always done them when Gerald was running the show.
If she left and they appointed a new general manager, that person might actually be able to turn the place around.
The staff might take seriously someone who had come in from the outside.
They wouldn’t have to throw off decades of history.
And that would be good. In the end she’d be saving their jobs by leaving.
She probably should have left long ago, but it had never felt like the right time.
Family was important to her. Was that pathetic?
Did it make her boring? Some people lived on the other side of the world and saw their family only occasionally in person and relied on video calls for connection.
Evie couldn’t imagine that. She’d appreciated being able to spend so much time with her grandmother growing up.
She’d been there for Evie, and later on as her grandmother had needed more help herself, Evie had been there for her.
When she or her father had needed help there had been at least a dozen people they could call on.
There was a saying that it takes a village to raise a child and sometimes she felt as if that summed up her childhood.
She really had been raised by the village.
She’d felt loved and safe and never lonely.
She had connections with everyone here, and those connections were hard to break.
It was a community in the true sense of the word and Evie had never had the slightest urge to leave. Until now.
Lately she’d felt restless. A little trapped. She felt stifled in her job and unable to progress.
It was time to spread her wings.
She tried to justify it to herself but her head spun with pros and cons, doubts and uncertainty.
Did she really want to move away? She tried to imagine how it would feel not to look at this view or hear the sounds of the sea when she woke up in the morning.
She screwed her eyes tightly shut and tried to picture London.
Street noise, the rumble of trains, buildings fighting for limited space, expensive stores with glossy windows and intimidating staff whose make-up was always perfect. And people, people everywhere.
But also life. A different life. A different experience. And how did you know what you really wanted if you never tried anything else?
She wished there was someone she could talk to about it, but there was no one who wouldn’t be impacted by her decision. Technically she was the boss, even though no one treated her that way.
She pushed a strand of sweaty hair away from her face.
This was ridiculous. She probably wouldn’t even get an interview for the job she’d applied for, in which case nothing would change.
Feeling tired and a little defeated, she turned round and jogged back the way she’d come.
She ran through the village, slowing her pace to accommodate the throng of tourists gathered around the entrance of the small harbour.
They milled around the narrow streets, cooing over quaint cottages, wandering into gift shops and spilling out of the pub.
She breathed in the salty tang of sea air and gave a wide berth to a seagull who was watching a tourist with an ice cream.
Waving a quick hello to Thea who ran a local book group in the winter, Evie ducked into a narrow cobbled street and paused outside a row of pastel cottages. She dug her hand into her pocket for her key and let herself in to the one with the pale pink door.
Home.
She knew how lucky she was to have this place.
Many of the locals had been driven out by the high prices and some of the cottages were now second homes and lay empty for much of the year, waiting for their owners to arrive, usually from London or the surrounding counties.
This cottage had belonged to her grandmother and when she’d died, instead of selling it, her father had rented it to a local family.
They’d moved out two years before and Evie had moved in.
Much as she’d loved living with her father, she was grateful to have her own place.
The fact that it was next door was a bonus in her opinion.
She could still see her dad regularly, while enjoying her independence.
Having to leave this place would be one of the biggest disadvantages of moving to London. She wouldn’t sell it, of course. She’d rent it so that she always had the option of coming back.
It was an old fisherman’s cottage, tight on space, but full of charm and character with beams and flagstones and sash windows that flooded the rooms with light.
There were views of the harbour and cliffs, and a small cottage garden that was crowded with colourful blooms that she was mostly too busy to tend.
She tossed her keys onto the table, slid off her running shoes and headed straight to the bathroom. She’d painted it a pretty ocean blue and added a few nautical touches that reflected its coastal position.
She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes as the sharp sting of water washed away the cares of the day.
Then she dried her hair, pulled on a pair of shorts and a pale pink linen shirt, and headed downstairs.
She poured herself a glass of wine and was about to take a sip when there was a knock on the door. She wasn’t in the mood for company and was relieved to see it was her dad.
He eyed the glass in her hand. “I hope you’re not calling that dinner.”
“Are you judging me?”
“No. I’m worrying about you. Father’s prerogative. Have you eaten?”
“No. Haven’t got as far as thinking of food.
I’ll probably have cheese and crackers.” Did she have cheese?
She couldn’t remember. The contents of her fridge had been right at the bottom of her priority list for the past few weeks.
Usually she loved cooking but since she’d had to step into Gerald’s job she never seemed to find the time to create anything elaborate.
She opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in? There’s more wine where this came from.
I might get fish and chips from Meg’s. You could join me? ”
He pulled a disapproving face. “Cheese and crackers are not dinner, and fish and chips from Meg’s is delicious but I happen to know that’s what you ate last night.”
“Are you spying on me?”