Chapter Twenty-Six
May half-term arrived with a burst of early-summer warmth, and Brookleigh Bay responded by throwing open every window. Children zipped along the High Street on scooters, families lingered outside the bakery with warm pastries, and the salty air seemed to sharpen every colour.
Carnival preparations were well underway. Iron brackets had been fitted to every lamppost, ready for the bunting, and the steady rhythm of hammers from the harbour-front workshops meant the stalls were beginning to take shape. The whole village seemed to be leaning forward into the season.
At Cliffside House, the mood was lighter than it had been in months.
With the children off school and William having taken the week off, the day stretched ahead with no timetable except the one they chose.
The stocks he had been working on all morning were drying in the garage, the scent of fresh wood oil hanging in the air, while most of the children played in the garden.
By early afternoon, William decided they needed a break and called everyone together.
“Right, team,” he said, ushering them toward the gate. “Let’s get some lunch before someone glues themselves to something.”
Ollie grinned. “That was one time.”
“It was last week,” Ethan said, deadpan.
The walk down Sandy Lane toward the village square was bright, the air warm with early-summer salt. When they reached The Meeting Place, the café’s outdoor tables were already busy with families enjoying the first day of the holiday. The scent of coffee and hot food drifted through the open doors.
William guided the children to an empty picnic table beneath a striped umbrella. Jake scrambled onto the bench first, followed by Sophie, who immediately began arranging the cutlery into a neat little line.
Their food arrived quickly — tall glasses of lemonade and plates of burgers and chips set down in front of each child. The smell of hot, salted chips drifted up in a comforting wave, and the children tucked in with the kind of enthusiasm that only sunshine and holidays could produce.
A short distance away, the Carters, Fellows and Lintons were gathered around a long picnic table, with the easy familiarity of families who had spent years sharing school runs and muddy football matches.
At the far end of that table, the older boys, Rob and Josh, were huddled together talking in bursts of excitement, a football resting under Rob’s foot. Ollie watched them for a moment, then ate his last chip and looked up at William.
“Dad, I’ve finished. Can I go over?”
“Go on, then. Stay where I can see you.”
Ollie launched himself off the bench and hurried across the flagstones to join his friends.
At the other end of the neighbouring table, Emma, Alfie and Harry were sharing a plate of chips.
Emma held up her little plastic pony, and Sophie leaned eagerly across the gap between the tables to see it.
Arthur hovered between the two groups, turning a bright red bucket over in his hands as though deciding what game it belonged to.
Mia sat quietly beside William, dipping a chip into a little pot of ketchup with careful precision. When she caught his eye, she gave him a small, relaxed smile — the kind that had been rare in the early months.
Ethan leaned back, stretching his arms. “Feels like everyone’s here today.”
“It does,” William agreed.
When they’d finished eating, William stood up. “Stay here. I’ll go and pay.”
The children nodded, the younger ones already distracted by their friends at the neighbouring table.
James leaned over as William passed him. “We’re all heading to the beach from here. Want to come with your lot?”
“We’d love to,” William said.
Inside, the café was cooler, filled with the smell of coffee and hot meals. William joined the short queue at the counter, fishing his wallet from his pocket.
A woman he didn’t recognise stepped up beside him — tall, stylish, confident, the sort of woman who seemed entirely at ease in her own skin. She gave him a bright smile.
“Hello,” she said, as though they were already acquainted. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
William blinked. “Oh. Er… hello.”
“Are you visiting, or…?”
“We moved here a few months ago,” he said, keeping his tone polite. “I’m William.”
“Hilary,” she said, holding out her hand. “Hilary Dalton. I’m here quite often. I’d definitely have remembered you.”
William shook her hand briefly.
She glanced through the window toward the children. “Five, isn’t it? You seem to have everything remarkably well organised.” As she spoke, she closed her fingers lightly around his forearm.
William stiffened and stepped back, freeing his arm. “Yes… five. Excuse me — I should get back to my family.”
“Perhaps we could have coffee sometime,” she said.
“That’s kind, but no thank you.”
Her smile faltered before she recovered. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m around.”
The barista called his total. William paid quickly, relieved to escape into the sunshine.