Chapter 25
25
The Net Loft, St Aidan
Sweet dreams and ulterior motives
Sunday
W hen I wake up in the Net Loft early on Sunday morning, for the first few minutes I lie listening to the calls of the seagulls as they swoop across the quayside and the ring of the rigging on the boats that are lined up across the harbour. After that I look up through the roof light directly above the pillows and watch the peach pink of the dawn sky as it turns through pale aqua to deeper blue. I lie on my back, stretch out my arms and legs, and for the first time in three weeks I starfish across a bed.
When I first left my shoebox-sized room at the sanctuary, I doubted I’d ever get used to the lofty ceilings and wide open spaces of Boathouse Cottage. I was surprised how easily their expanses began to feel normal and now I’ve come to the studio, it’s another jump again.
After Malcolm gave me the keys and my welcome tour yesterday, I waited until dusk then made a dash along the beach to rub Pumpkin’s ears and check his water, and as Miles was out, I grabbed a few bits to bring back. Despite my full rucksack, it still feels like me and a postcard rack rattling around in a warehouse. And however sparse Boathouse Cottage felt when I arrived, this is a new level of empty.
On the upside I have my bathroom and the luxury of being able to visit exactly when I want rather than planning my loo stops for days ahead. I jump out of bed, bound downstairs, and perch on the toilet seat in my skimpy vest, with my see-through pyjama micro shorts around my knees without bothering to shut the door. It’s only when I reach for the paper that it hits me that I’m looking straight across the studio and out across the harbour beyond that.
I scream, kick the door closed, finish and flush the gloriously loud flush. Then I wash my hands, nip into the kitchen to get a can of Coke, an almond and blueberry breakfast bar, and the box of Malteser truffles I bought yesterday to celebrate having a home of my own. Once my arms are full, I jump back up the stairs two at a time and vow this will be the last time I’ll be flashing my bum at the harbourside car park, which is already full of people.
I open my laptop and spend the next few hours decadently lounging on my pillows, with Radio One Sunday morning bangers bouncing off the ceiling while I write the copy for the pieces for each of the relaxing weekend paint jobs, and eat chocolates.
By the time I send them off to Fenna, I’m pushing my word count record for a morning, and I’m seriously wondering what is going on with Scarlett. I don’t want to butt in at a sensitive time for her and Tate, but if I message to tell her I’ve found somewhere to move to, that leaves the way clear for her to come back if she wants.
After all her generosity with the cottage, telling her I’ve already moved out seems too abrupt, so I ease in.
Scarlett, hope you’re okay??? There’s a place coming up by the harbour I can go to if you need me to move out quickly. Sending huge hugs xx
I take another truffle and start to think about a bath and a walk with Pumpkin, but before I’ve even scrunched up my sweet paper, my ‘I’m a believer’ ringtone is echoing across the studio.
I accept the call, and Scarlett’s straight in.
‘Please don’t move anywhere else, Betty! Tate and I have had a huge bust-up. He’s moved out of the apartment. I’m staying on as planned, but I’ve talked to my lawyer in Manchester, and it’s vital you don’t leave the cottage.’
‘You’ve already taken legal advice?’ My jaw is sagging at how fast things have moved.
‘It’s over. There’s no point hanging around.’ She sounds strangely detached. ‘Tate and I spent the whole of Friday night ripping each other to pieces, and I spoke to Kiera, the hot-shot barrister, yesterday.’
The name rings a lot of bells. ‘Kiera who lost her shit in Revolución de Cuba on your hen do?’ She was also the main mover on the choice of the milky silk bridesmaids’ dresses.
Scarlett sighs. ‘That’s the one. She says it’s imperative I don’t allow Tate’s representatives to take possession of the St Aidan property, so I’m counting on you to stay exactly where you are. Every single night if you can.’
My heart is sinking, for all the reasons, but I can’t add to Scarlett’s load. My problems are so insignificant compared to hers, and I have to support her.
Her voice breaks. ‘It’s hell on earth here, and very surreal. The one thing keeping me going is knowing you’re there to keep the cottage safe for me.’
‘It’s that bad already?’
‘Separation is a war zone. A second of weakness, and I’ll pay for it ten times over later.’ She sniffs. ‘And bear in mind, if Tate starts playing dirty, Miles will be trying to force you out too. You’re going to need to keep your wits about you, but I’m confident you’ll win.’
After that, there’s only one thing I can say.
‘No worries, Scarlett, I’ve got this.’
Then she rings off and leaves me sitting on the edge of the bed, staring past the wrought iron balustrade of the balcony and out to where the sea is shimmering all the way to the horizon.
The truth is, I haven’t got this at all. I have no idea how the hell I’m going to handle any of it. I mean, the studio has taken my savings, but that’s only money. If it was uncomfortable to coexist with Miles before, after my early hours grope it was already going to be a nightmare. Add in Scarlett’s fears, and who knows what might happen?
I’m so deep in my despair I miss the first knock on the shop door. By the time the second comes, I’ve had time to pull on a sloppy T-shirt and get halfway down the stairs but then the door opens, and a voice calls in.
‘Betsy Bets? I’ve been looking for you all morning!’
‘Miles!’ I leap down the last three steps, tugging my T-shirt down to cover my shorts. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
He smiles. ‘My old mate Malcolm from the Yellow Canary told me you were here.’
I’m blinking. ‘You actually know Malcolm?’
He nods. ‘Before he moved in with his girlfriend up at Periwinkle Cottage he had a bungalow three doors along from my mum, down by B&Q.’
I can’t hide my surprise. ‘Since when have you had a mother in St Aidan?’
He shrugs. ‘She’s lived here for years. She was the one who found Tate and Scarlett their cottage.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Enough about her. Tell me what you’re doing with this place?’
He has no idea how ironic that question is. I can’t tell him the real reason, and as it’s all changed anyway, I’m going to have to wing it. I seize on the first thing I see in the empty expanse of the ground floor where we’re standing, which is the revolving rack.
‘I thought I’d have a postcard shop.’ I’m making it up as I go along. ‘I’m going to make them from the photos of the lines I write in the sand.’ I’m still going. ‘The extra income will help with the freelancing.’
That’s complete rubbish. Added on to my Net Loft lease, it would be a fast way to run my savings to nothing, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Miles’s eyebrows shoot upwards. ‘Genius! A retail outlet is a great way to get a second income stream.’
I’m nodding furiously. ‘The best bit is I’ll be able to write while I look after the shop.’ I can’t see myself being tied up here all day every day, but this is make-believe after all.
He tilts his head on one side. ‘You’ll be able to stock boathouse buns!’ His smile widens. ‘That’s what I came to tell you. There’s another load ready for you to sell. Banana custard, and blueberry and white chocolate.’
I swallow hard, my mouth watering. I need to decide how I’m going to play this.
He carries on. ‘There are more pecan and toffee too.’ He looks at me more closely. ‘They are your favourites, aren’t they? They’re to say sorry.’
I’m bemused. ‘What is there to apologise for?’
He’s frowning. ‘You must know?’ His frown deepens. ‘Okay, as you obviously don’t, I’m going to have to tell you. The very inappropriate clinch in the corridor yesterday morning… I’m extremely contrite. It was way too long, and I promise it won’t happen again.’
‘Excuse me?’ My jaw is on the floor, because as I saw it, all he did was to stop me falling over.
He shakes his head. ‘I wanted to clear the air as soon as I could.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Hopefully this way we can avoid any excruciatingly embarrassing moments when our eyes meet across the mud room.’
I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing, but he’s got more courage than I have. In his place I’d have rather sofa-surfed at the parental bungalow than bring this out in the open and talk about it. Myself, I was so mortified, I found a place to rent rather than face him out, but that’s a whole other story.
Then my heart skips a beat. This could all be part of Tate’s dirty tricks campaign. Who knows what they’re planning with that, or what depths they’d stoop to. All I know is, I’m going to need to be super vigilant from now on. I can’t take anything relating to Tate or Miles at face value.
So one impossible situation slides into another.
And to make matters worse, Miles still looks disgracefully shaggable. Considering my history, that’s puzzling and disturbing.
‘Consider it done, Miles, and let’s move on.’ I make my smile very bright, and ignore the flutters in the pit of my stomach. ‘How many buns have you made to sell?’
He gives a shamefaced grin. ‘Only sixty.’
I beam and put my hands on my hips. ‘Lucky for you, St Aidan’s heaving, and Pumpkin needs a walk. What are we waiting for?’
Miles gives a cough and wrenches his eyes away from my hem. ‘Maybe for you to put on some shorts that aren’t see through?’
I cough back at him. ‘Good point well made, Mr Appleton. Give me a minute. And no looking up my T-shirt as I go upstairs. ’
If this is the start of their campaign, whatever it is, they’re already playing a blinder.
I can’t take this lying down. I’m going to have to up my own game to expert level. Starting from now!