Chapter 2
TWO
Rita had told herself the trip into Seahaven was for a bit of human contact and some basic supplies: eggs, butter and teabags, for her, and apple cider vinegar for the chickens. But deep down, she knew the real reason for her visit: she needed a book.
Lately, her mind had been so jumpy. She’d started to read three novels and finished none, each one abandoned for a worry or dark thought and left dog-eared beside the bed.
Reading used to soothe her, help her feel like herself.
It was the quietest kind of healing, the kind that asked nothing, expected nothing, just let her rest inside someone else’s world for a while.
The bell above the door of Sail Away chimed as she stepped inside, the hush of the little bookshop soothing her as it always did.
Jude Finch looked up from behind the counter, his half-moon glasses sliding down his nose in a way that somehow felt intentional.
His hair, already silvering, gave him a gravitas beyond his thirty plus years.
Today, he wore cropped navy trousers, vintage trainers, and a Breton jumper, making Rita’s indigo jeans, black hoodie, light rain jacket and muddy trainers look especially scruffy by comparison.
He’d arrived in the village six months ago, and as quite often happened in Seahaven Bay, his story quietly passed around the locals.
Big London job, big flat, big break-up with a long-term boyfriend.
Burned-out and broken-hearted, he’d packed up his curated coffee table books and swapped Soho for the sea.
And now he ran Sail Away, a bookshop stroke literary hideaway, with handwritten recommendations, a back corner that perfectly fitted two immaculate Lloyd Loom chairs, and a fancy coffee machine.
The locals had taken to him with curious affection.
He was clearly not a local, but there was something about Jude’s presence that made people instinctively soften.
Maybe it was the way he listened. Or maybe it was the quiet sadness he carried, the kind worn by people who’d left their old lives hoping to outrun their feelings, only to find they’d packed them too.
‘Long time, no see, Rita. I can’t even guess what you’d want to be disappearing into at the moment,’ he offered gently.
Brushing a crumb off her jacket, she smiled weakly. ‘Something not too heavy, as yes, I’m finding it hard to concentrate for long on anything at the moment.’
He tilted his head. ‘Leave it with me.’
He disappeared into his neat shelves, returning a moment later with a copy of Wild by Cheryl Strayed.
‘It’s not a recent release. It’s about walking.’ He handed it to her. ‘But really, it’s about grief and losing your way, and then clawing it back through nature, solitude, and sheer bloody determination.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’ Rita turned it over in her hands. ‘Reese Witherspoon was in the film adaption wasn’t she? It’s been on my virtual list of must-get-round-to-reading for years.’
‘Then take this as a sign.’ Jude smiled.
Mrs Munroe, Rita’s former cleaner and Queen of the Seahaven Bay Facebook Gossip Group, had said in her thick Cornish accent, ‘There’s a smell of a past unknown about that lad.
’ But Rita, not one for gossip herself, always took Jude as she had found him.
Past or no past he was polite and an incredible bookseller.
It was the personal touch that always got to her.
It was the way she believed all bookshops ought to be.
She was just heading back up the hill to the car park when her eyes and ears were drawn to a bunch of neon pink balloons and the thumping music being piped from the external speakers of the Seahaven Bay Reformer Studio.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Rita pushed the door open to be immediately hit by two things: Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’ blaring from hidden speakers, and the gleam of a fully mirrored studio.
One wall was boldly branded with a LONG SPINE, STRONG MIND slogan, scrawled like it had been written in pink lipstick.
Inside, four red-faced Pilates devotees lay on their backs on Reformer machines, looking one shaky exhale away from total collapse as they finished their session.
‘Engage your cores, you floppy tarts! You’ll thank me when your arse looks like Margot Robbie’s!’ a Liverpudlian accent instructed.
Rita tried to disguise her grin as the teacher spotted her in the mirror, swung round and ushered her to sit on one of two balance balls by the reception desk.
Once the sweaty ladies had left, the woman approached Rita in a waft of delicious grapefruit-scented perfume.
Betty had been spot on with the woman’s description, for she was in head-to-toe lilac Lycra, her bleach-blonde hair scraped into a high ponytail.
Her lips were like plump cushions and her eyebrows so sharp they could slice through ham.
Her perfectly fake-tanned body was firm and toned.
‘Jesus, babe, you look knackered. Fancy a cuppa?’
Rita found herself nodding at the instant friendliness of the woman, who returned swiftly with two pink mugs of builders’ tea. She pulled up another balance ball and perched next to her.
‘So, this is me. Jilly Cooper. Not as talented or as loaded as the great Dame, God rest her gloriously filthy soul, but probably just as raucous. So, I take it you’re interested in having a little go at one of my torture sessions?’
Rita smiled. ‘Rita Jory, I live up at Seahaven Farm and I’m not sure yet. Was just being nosy, to be honest.’
‘Oh, Rita, that’s right, it was your al fella that went over the cliff in a sports car.’
Rita recoiled in horror, then took a breath. ‘Mrs Munroe’s been in, I’m guessing.’
Jilly took a sip of tea. ‘Her daughter.’
Rita nodded knowingly.
‘Good and bad, this gossip lark, for me, anyway. Spreads the word of the new business at least, but I’m not one for airing my dirty laundry in public and there’s been plenty of that in the past.’ Jilly’s laugh was a humorous cackle.
She stood up and put her mug on the reception desk.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss and totally with you on the grief bit.
My old man, stupid, useless bastard, only went and offed himself, didn’t he? ’
Rita shifted more uncomfortably on the ball. ‘As in…’
‘They found him hanging in his cell.’
Rita’s eyes widened. ‘Shit, Jilly. I’m…’
‘Don’t say sorry.’ She waved her manicured hand.
‘He made his bed. Or didn’t, as usual. Lazy sod.
Got put inside and left me with a half-finished extension and some really scary-looking men knocking at my door asking if I knew where it was hidden.
Anyway.’ Jilly sniffed. ‘I didn’t, or I’d be in the Costa del Caribbean rather than the Costa del Cornwall by now.
So…’ she wiped her brow with her pink sweatband, ‘health is where it’s at now.
Wellness, babe. Bodies. Only good energy allowed. ’
Rita smiled. ‘Well, you’re a fabulous advert for this place; you look amazing.’
‘Thanks, Reets! Those jabs, you know, the ones half the planet seem to be on. Well, turns out they’re a miracle.
Three stone, I’ve done. I can see my knees again.
’ Jilly jiggled her arms. ‘Still got the bingo wings, mind you. But I’m on a mission.
Pilates saved me, I swear. Something about all that breathing and stretching…
it sort of pulls your soul back into place. ’
‘Seahaven Bay has a habit of doing that, anyway.’ Rita stood up and smiled.
‘Don’t you be telling everyone that, girl; I’ve got a business to run.’ Jilly grinned. ‘And sorry I didn’t even ask how you’re doing. Like ’em or not, we loved them once.’
‘I miss him, you know.’ Rita sniffed. ‘He was a pain in the arse sometimes, my Archie, but he was my pain in the arse.’
‘Tough, innit? But I’m not done. We may be widows but looks at us, girl. Still hot to trot. I’m after a man with huge wealth and no emotional baggage. Or, failing that, one with a huge cock and a Louis Vuitton luggage set.’
Rita laughed aloud.
‘Laughing suits you, girl.’ Jilly winked.
The music changed to Madonna. Jilly drained her tea.
‘Come on. Hop on one of the machines; I’ll show you how it works.’