Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
PETE
P ete Trant knew he was being ridiculous. Twenty-nine was far too old to be sulking about having to vacate his home for a couple of nights… but here he was, stomping around like a teenager who’d just been told they couldn’t borrow the car.
‘It’s just two nights, Pete,’ his mum had pointed out earlier that day, fixing him with the look she’d perfected when he was about seven. ‘Two nights! And it’s not even really your home, is it?’
He’d huffed and puffed… but she did have a point.
The shepherd’s hut nestled cosily between the dunes of Crumbleton Sands wasn’t his, even if he’d commandeered it for the past year. It belonged to his parents, just like the gift shop and the café.
‘It’s just the principle, Mum,’ he’d argued, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the postcard rack. Several cards featuring Crumbleton Sands’ glorious stretch of golden beach had hit the floor with quiet slaps. His mother’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, and he’d quickly scrambled to pick them up. ‘Why didn’t you ask me first?’
‘Because you’d have said no,’ his dad had chimed in, not even looking up from the display of novelty seagull paperweights he was arranging. ‘And to be honest with you, we need the money.’
That had shut Pete up. No matter how hard he tried, his mum and dad wouldn’t accept a penny of rent from him. He did his best to make up for it by paying for groceries and filling their ancient car with petrol whenever he could, but it was surprisingly difficult to sneak such things past them!
David and Sally Trant had been the proud owners of the Limpet Café and Beachcomber Gifts in Crumbleton Sands since before Pete was even a glimmer in their eyes. They weren’t the most natural of business people… but somehow, they’d made it work for decades. They made up for their lack of savvy with unending enthusiasm and a toddler-like, wide-eyed approach to trying new things.
His dad had bought the shepherd’s hut several years ago as part of yet another “diversification plan”. There was supposed to be a whole row of them dotting the dunes by now. Sadly… inevitably… the plan had stalled. The huts were expensive, and the first experimental unit hadn’t proved as popular as his parents had hoped.
When it came to tourist accommodation, The Dolphin and Anchor over in Crumbleton offered stiff competition. Secretly, though, Pete had a feeling the real problem was the fact that his parents were allergic to advertising. Either way, the other huts had never materialised, and there hadn’t been a single guest who’d shown any interest in his hut all year.
This suited Pete just fine… not that he’d ever admit it to his parents! He might not be completely comfortable living there rent-free, but that’s exactly what he’d been doing since moving back from Australia almost a year ago.
He liked having the little wooden cabin all to himself, tucked away in the dunes. It was far enough from the carpark that he couldn’t hear the incessant bells and whistles of the amusement arcade at the far end, but close enough to the beach that he could roll out of bed and be in the sea within minutes.
Perfect.
Or it had been until his parents decided to throw him out for the weekend so that some swimmer from Seabury could use it.
‘There wasn’t anywhere left for the poor woman to stay, other than someone’s floor,’ his mum had said. ‘Besides, you know The Big Dip happens this time every year… you used to enjoy it, remember?!’
Pete let out a heavy sigh as he wedged the last of his few possessions into the back of his ancient VW camper.
It was true… there had been a time when he’d loved The Big Dip. It was an important event on Crumbleton’s annual calendar. Mad wild swimmers came from all over the country to splash around in the sea together. The fancy-dress swim was always a sight to behold!
Unfortunately, Pete’s long-standing love affair with the event had come to an abrupt and messy end four years ago. The love of his life – dressed as a great white shark – had chosen the occasion to dump him in front of practically everyone he knew. She’d promptly rubbed extra sea salt into the wound by snogging his ex-best friend at The Big Dip Dance that night.
Pete let out a low, rumbling growl.
Nope – The Big Dip no longer held the excitement and sparkle for him that it once did. He might have run away to Australia for several years to “get over it”, but it hadn’t worked.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over it.
Over her.
Whatever.
Anyway, maybe that’s why being turfed out of his home for the weekend stung more than it should. After all, he’d slept in his van plenty of times before. He’d even lived in it for weeks at a time while chasing waves around the British coast.
That had been different, though – that was back before the great white shark incident. Before Australia. Plus, it had been his choice… the chance for a little taste of adventure to keep him sane while living his small-town life with his parents and little sister.
This felt more like being evicted.
Scrubbing at his face, Pete straightened up. He was just being daft. It really wasn’t a big deal to clear out of the hut for a couple of days, was it?!
‘Okay… let’s just finish this job,’ he muttered, wishing he could grab his board and head back out into the waves instead.
He’d spent most of the morning surfing, more to calm himself down than because the conditions were any good. The waves had been mediocre at best, but there was something about the rhythmic paddling and the burst of exhilaration as he caught a wave that always helped him get his head on straight.
Grabbing the pile of spare bedding he’d nicked from the shepherd’s hut, he bundled it into the back of the van, tossing it in a heap on top of everything else. He’d sort his own bed out later. First, he needed to do a last-minute check on the hut.
Pete had left the door open so that fresh sea air could replace the smell of damp wetsuits and much-used flipflops. He’d already spent the last hour making sure everything was clean and tidy. Not an easy task, considering he wasn’t exactly renowned for his housekeeping skills. He’d pushed the boat out today, though. He’d even gone so far as to check the shower drain for mysterious-looking hairs.
‘All sorted?’ came a voice from behind him just as he was about to head inside.
Pete turned to find his little sister, Libby, watching him, a giant blue bucket dangling from her arm. She’d always been a beachcomber, even as a kid. At seventeen, she was twelve years his junior, but sometimes she seemed like the more sensible one.
‘Just about,’ Pete grunted. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were working in the café today?’
‘Dad’s given me the afternoon off,’ said Libby with a shrug. ‘I’m meant to be revising, but I need a break.’ She patted her bucket. ‘Mum says the shop needs more sea glass for those wind chimes she’s been making, so… it still counts as work, right?’
Pete grinned at her. ‘Good luck with that. No storms means slim pickings. There’s not much of a wave out there today.’
‘That’s true, but it’s a good excuse for a walk on the beach, though!’ She peered past him towards the open door of the shepherd’s hut. ‘Anyway, who’s so important that you have to give up your bed for the weekend?’
‘Some swimmer from Seabury,’ said Pete. ‘Here for The Big Dip. Apparently, she’s a last-minute addition, so there’s no room for her with the rest of them.’
Libby nodded. ‘I heard Seabury’s got even more swimmers coming than usual—there are loads more Chilly Dippers than there used to be. Mum said they’ve got a whole minibus coming. Brian Singer’s gone over to collect them! They’ve grabbed the last few rooms at the Dolphin and Anchor and a bunch of the local bed and breakfasts, too!’
Pete nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘Nice of you to offer your hut,’ she said lightly.
‘Not like I had much choice,’ muttered Pete. ‘And now I’ve got to be on call for her all weekend, too. I’ll be glad when this whole event is over!’
‘Poor baby,’ teased Libby, reaching up to ruffle his salt-stiffened hair. ‘Homeless for two whole days. However will you cope?’
‘I’m not homeless,’ Pete protested. ‘I’ve got my van.’
‘And Mum and Dad’s place,’ Libby pointed out. ‘Or have you forgotten about that?’
‘Trust me, that was my first thought,’ said Pete. ‘But Mum said I’d be more useful down here in case our visitor needs anything during the night.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Libby. ‘You’re coming up for dinner tonight, though, right? Dad’s making his legendary paella.’
Pete was about to refuse – he’d been looking forward to a night of solitary sulking – but the thought of his dad’s cooking changed his mind.
‘Yeah, alright. As long as no one starts banging on about what I’m planning to do with my life again.’
‘You know they just want you to be happy, right?’ said Libby lightly.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Pete. It was true. Their parents had never been pushy… unless they thought you weren’t living life to the full. Then? Watch out! ‘I guess I could just do without the third-degree again.’
‘Look, no promises,’ said Libby, ‘but if I feel like there’s an inquisition looming, I’ll do my best to steer the conversation towards my revision timetable. That usually distracts them. They love worrying about me working too hard!’
‘Okay, deal,’ said Pete, giving his sister a gentle nudge. ‘Thanks sis! Now, go hunt for your sea treasures. I need to finish up here before our visitor arrives.’
‘Cheerio, homeless one,’ said Libby, sauntering off down the wooden boardwalk.
For a moment, Pete was sorely tempted to abandon ship and join her…but, no… he really had better make sure everything was spick and span and ready for their guest. The last thing he needed was his mum on his case!
Slipping his flipflops off at the doorway so that he didn’t track sand back onto the boards he’d swept so carefully earlier, Pete stepped inside and paused. He peered around, doing his best to survey the familiar space with a stranger’s eye.
Now that it was clear of all his mess, the nautical-themed décor his mum had chosen added a quaint charm to the hut. The bed looked inviting, with its fresh sheets and striped duvet, and he’d made sure there was plenty of kindling stacked next to the navy-blue enamelled wood burner in the corner.
The little kitchenette towards the back, with its hooks full of copper pots and pans, was cleaner than it had been all year. His mum and dad’s welcome letter sat on the little fold-down table, propped up against a vase of wildflowers his mum had thrust at him earlier.
After one final glance into the minuscule shower room, Pete headed back outside. He pulled the stable door closed behind him with a decided pang of envy.
‘Why can’t the blasted Chilly Dipper just sleep in the van?’ he muttered as he trudged back towards the VW.
The answer was obvious, of course. No one in their right mind would pay to stay in his beaten-up old camper when they could have a charming shepherd’s hut with actual running water and electricity!
Pete yanked the door of his van open again and squeezed inside. He should have thought this through a bit better… he’d barely left any room to actually make a bed in. He’d have to rearrange things if he wanted to get any sleep later!
He gave the pile of bedding a cursory nudge, then promptly gave up and flopped down on top of the mound, wriggling around in an attempt to get comfy.
‘It’s all so bloody unfair,’ he grumbled, though there wasn’t much conviction behind the words anymore. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the pockmarked roof.
Two nights in his van wouldn’t kill him. It wasn’t like it was winter – he wasn’t about to freeze to death!
Still, being unceremoniously ousted from the hut just added to the feeling that he was drifting through life, unsure of where to anchor. Three years in Australia and almost a year back in Crumbleton… and he still hadn’t figured out what came next.
‘Urgh, enough already!’
Pete struggled back to a sitting position and wrinkled his nose. He’d worry about what he was going to do with his life another day. Right now, he had more pressing concerns… like where that ominous smell was coming from!