Secrets and Surprises at Sandyhaven Bay
Chapter 1
L eaves of golden brown and fire red swirled along the pavement like a vortex. Despite the clear sky and gleaming sun, the early September wind possessed an undeniable chill, causing Millie to swaddle her cardigan further around her body. Escapee hairs fluttered around her face as she meandered slowly down the narrow-cobbled street, heading towards the beach. She was getting closer, she could tell; mainly because she had now walked this path three times, but also because she could feel the wind getting stronger. A sure sign the sea was close. Sure enough, the tiny walkway opened out onto what she imagined was the village square. Instantly, she could tell it was the hub of Sandyhaven; the quaint pub on one corner emanated the soft sound of voices, presumably regulars in for Sunday lunch. Even the faint smells of Yorkshire puddings and roast chicken couldn’t tempt Millie away from her trail. A few metres more, a stony ramp down and she felt sand bouncing underneath her boots.
An immediate wash of familiarity bathed over her, despite having only visited here just a few times. There was something about this tiny village; the pretty brick cottages coated in camellias and crawling ivy, the narrow streets barely wide enough for a single car, and the beach, both pebbly and sandy in different places, accompanying the breaking waves. It felt like she had lived here all her life when, in reality, it had been barely a week.
Finding a quiet spot (which wasn’t hard now all the holidaymakers had left in their droves), she perched on the sand, finding a smooth part, not far from the foaming waves. Squinting slightly from the brightness, she carefully removed an errant strand of hair from her eyes. Barely any sounds could be heard, only Mother Nature’s beautiful thrum. She should feel calm. She should feel at peace. In theory, this would be the perfect place to come to escape from everything.
Why then, at this point, did her eyes fill with tears? Why did she bow her head and why did the most pained tears of desperation course down her face?
It had all happened so quickly. One minute she was jumping off the bus, tapping up the steps to the tiny flat in Holborn which she shared with her boyfriend of nearly four years, Sam. An early finish on a Friday was practically unheard of and she was ready to embrace the weekend with open arms. The key turned in the lock, the comforting smell of home washing over her. The house was quiet but she had expected that; Sam was still at work. She was looking forward to having a few hours of quality alone time; a long hot bath, some proper skincare and then making a start on a new painting. As a talented artist, it was a real passion – one day she hoped to do something more proactive with her creative skills but for now, experimenting at home would have to do.
It was only as she reached the halfway landing on the stairs that she realised something was amiss. Noises. Frowning deeply, she continued cautiously, uneasily. They were coming from their bedroom. With a shaking hand, she quickly pushed her bedroom door open. What she saw was sickening and shocking.
“Millie?! Why aren’t you at work?!”
Despite her trembling lip and stinging eyes, she’d had to smirk to herself. As if the sight of Sam on top of another woman wasn’t shocking enough, she had then reeled from his accusatory question of why she’d left work early! Surely the real interrogations should have come from her? More along the lines of ‘what the hell are you doing in our bed with another woman?’ The question was never asked. Millie knew that they’d had problems. She knew their relationship wasn’t where it should be at. But she’d sort of hoped he would have communicated his apparent need to move on in a slightly less physical and obvious way, with her alone, rather than letting her find out as explicitly and callously as she had.
She roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Wearing no mascara made this easier; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had worn make-up. It seemed an irrelevant, menial exercise, despite her now having all the time in the world. This sleepy village she’d found herself in seemed to wait for everyone and everything. It was stuck in its own time-warp. She reckoned nothing had changed for years.
* * *
“What do you mean, you’re moving to Cornwall ?” Jenny stared at Millie, mouth agape.
“Exactly what I just said. I’m moving to Cornwall.” Millie remained monotone, continuing to throw things sporadically into a suitcase. She had to remain stoical. It was the only thing stopping her from breaking down completely. Jenny’s mouth remained open, shutting every now and again like a goldfish.
“But…but why? ”
“I have to get out of here, Jen. Out of this house and out of this area. I can’t stay here after what has happened.”
“Well yeah, I get that. Everyone needs a fresh start after a breakup, God knows after being cheated on as well. But people usually move in with a friend, move back in with parents…” – she stopped at this point and swallowed hard, realising what she’d said. Millie paused her packing for a moment but didn’t break eye contact with her suitcase. Re-composed, she carried on. Jenny continued: “What I’m saying is, yes, they move on. But they don’t move 250 miles on! I mean, why Cornwall? It’s the back-arse of nowhere!”
“Exactly,” Millie declared, pushing down heavily on the items in her case, in an attempt to flatten them. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it. As far away as possible.” Jenny watched her, concern etched on her face. She watched her best friend of many years struggling, becoming frustrated and reached for her wrists, gently stopping them moving. Her tension was palpable.
“But you’re going to be on your own. You don’t know anyone in Cornwall?” she reasoned gently. Millie turned to her, eyes glistening.
“I know. But I just want to get away. Start afresh. Apart from you, Sam was the only thing binding me to London. And you have your own life here – you’re married, you’re pregnant. You’re going to want to move out of the city soon, you won’t stay here forever. Without you, I have nothing. I need to start building a new life for myself, Jen. A life that I’ve built myself .”
Jenny’s eyes remained on her, searching her face for any signs of uncertainty. But she found none. Ten years of friendship gave you an unlimited pass to the thoughts and emotions of the other person and she could tell Millie’s mind was firmly made up. Jenny’s thumbs gently grazed her best friend’s wrists, and she allowed the tears to spill. Firmly, she threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed, causing Millie to give a joking exhale. Gently pulling away, Jenny sniffed.
“What about your job? What about money?”
“I still have mum’s money,” Millie replied, wiping her own nose. “It’s about time I put it to some use.”
The giggle of some children snapped Millie back to her present moment on the beach. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately: missing the present moment. Living in the past. The wretched squawking of seagulls, now such a familiar background noise, resonated across the sky. She watched as one of them, larger than a small cat, dived down and aggressively yanked an ice cream from a small child’s hand. The girl blinked several times from shock, before bursting into tears. She watched as her family comforted her, checking she was OK, the mother blowing delicately on her hands while the father shooed away the hovering birds. She recognised the family: they lived a few doors down. The girl must have been around six, her brown hair fashioned into pigtails, a ribbon wrapped around both. The mum looked about Millie’s own age, she thought, pretty and young. The dad was attractive, she couldn’t help thinking, tall and broad. The perfect family. Millie swallowed harshly. Everything she’d wanted to be.
“It’s not your fault,” Sam had repeated continuously. “It’s just one of those things.”
“One of those things.” Just like being cheated on with the hot fitness instructor from next door.
It was just as she managed to get the logs to catch later that day, that the phone rang. Blowing out the match furiously before it burnt her fingers, Millie dropped it into the washing up bowl and answered the phone.
“Millie? Hi it’s Alan.”
“Oh, hi Alan, how is everything?”
“It’s fine thank-you. And with you? I’m sorry I haven’t got around to calling you properly yet.” She knelt and prodded the logs with the poker, trying to spread the growing flames. She didn’t really have a clue what she was doing, it’s just what she’d seen before in films.
“That’s OK, I guessed you might be busy,” she replied, a guilt tinging her voice.
“Things are a bit manic, but it’s all going alright. Your replacement is doing well.”
Alan had been Millie’s boss. A life-long friend of her mum’s, she had worked for him for just over a year. Office work, assistant, general dogsbody; that sort of thing. When the news of her breakup struck, happening only months after the death of her mother, Alan had suggested she take some extended leave. However, he’d then taken it one step further with his next suggestion. He owned Rosemary Cottage in the idyllic village of Sandyhaven in Cornwall. The cottage had been in his family for many years and he’d kept it on so he’d have somewhere to stay when on extended visits to his son, who also lived in the village (though they hadn’t happened for quite some time, instead frequented by tourists). After all, London to Cornwall wasn’t exactly a fly-by visit. Alan, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for Millie and after hearing her pleas for a fresh start, had offered out the cottage for her exclusive rent. He’d rather it be occupied all year round than just sitting there getting damp.
Alan had taken Millie under his wing since her mother’s passing and, whilst it was a scary prospect, the glinting of hope in her eyes made it clear he’d offered a good suggestion.
“I meant to say, it’ll probably start to get a bit chilly down there now, especially at night. You’ll have to use the card to get your electric topped up for the heaters. It’s in the drawer in the sideboard. Sorry I haven’t told you already, you must be freezing.”
“No problem, I’ve got the fire going,” she explained, a faux brightness to her voice whilst simultaneously pulling a face at the pathetic flickers behind her. Standing up and moving over to the sideboard, she rummaged and found that, indeed, a top-up card lay in the drawer.
“Excellent. I do prefer a real fire, I have to say,” he said. “Has my son popped round yet?”
“Not yet,” Millie answered, relieved to see the flames finally begin to spread, offering wonderful warmth.
“Ah, typical Alfie. He’s probably locked in his house, staring out that window of his.”
“Oh, is he a birdwatcher?” she asked in confusion. Alan let out a small chuckle.
“No no, not a birdwatcher. He’s an artist. Spends most of his life conjuring up paintings, drawings, sketches. All forms of art, all different tools – it doesn’t really matter what he uses, so long as he can make marks with it.” The admiration in Alan’s voice was clear. Millie smiled and felt a tinge of excitement that there was someone else close by whom had a passion for art, even though she’d never met him. “Well, I’ll give him another call, remind him to pop over sometime and check you’re all OK. You know you can call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks Alan. I’m fine really.” There was a pause on the other end. She bit her thumbnail agitatedly – she hated these silences. She never knew what to say. “I’d better get going then. Few things to sort out, you know.”
“Of course!” he said abruptly then. “Speak soon, Millie. Take care of yourself.”
She hung up the call and placed the phone back in her pocket. Glancing around the room, she wondered what those “things” were she needed to sort out. As far as she was aware, tonight would be spent doing the same as every other since moving here. Staring into space. Wondering what on Earth she was doing with her life.
* * *
“There’s nothing that can be done. It’s purely a case of this being the hand you’ve been dealt. I’m sorry Miss Jones.” Millie swallowed back tears, trying to focus on the doctor’s face but watching it swirl and ripple before her eyes.
“But…but there must be something…” Sam’s voice was stuttering, disbelieving. She turned her head to glance at him, her blink allowing tears to fall violently from her eyes. She could feel the wetness of her eyelashes, the dewy droplets gathering like raindrops in a puddle. A puddle felt like the perfect metaphor for her life right now. A cold, muddy puddle.
“I’m afraid not Mr Ashton. Sometimes there are things we can do but there is nothing. There are of course other avenues, but for your partner, there is little that can be done.” The doctor’s voice was clipped and to the point, yet Millie knew they were just doing their job. Once she and Sam had left the room, they would gather up their notes, file them away somewhere dark and dusty and move onto the next patient. All in a day’s work.
Nodding in defeat, Millie stood up, patting Sam on the arm as if to signal her need to exit. She thanked the doctor, who handed her a pile of leaflets. Crumpling them in her fist, Millie exited the room, her legs leaden, as though she were weighed down with half a tonne of bricks. The floor felt strange beneath her, like it wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure if gravity was present anymore. She’d held it together all the way to the car but as soon as Sam’s passenger door slammed shut, she slumped forward and broke down. Sam was trying to say words of comfort, but she couldn’t hear them over the howls of her own breaking heart.