Breeze Bridge (Puffin Bay Book 5)

1. Clover

It was usually a pretty drive across the bridge onto the island. From it, the swell and shimmer of the Menai Strait was clearly displayed there, the boats bobbing on the tide like dancers in a waltz, and the small towns leaving colourful splashes along its coast, patches of flowers in a meadow. It had always been home, even when my parents had divorced and both had moved away from Anglesey, it had remained my home.

I loved coming back here. Even if I’d only been to the mainland for a couple of hours, I relished this drive back across the Strait and back to the place I’d always felt I could be myself.

Especially after today.

Today had been shit. The worst day in a long time, maybe since my parents had told me they were selling our family home and they were both moving back to the mainland. Moving to completely different places, several hours apart, which meant I’d have to choose which one I lived with. I got it; they hadn’t gotten along together for as long as I could remember and growing up in their shared house had involved a lot of books and a range of music with headphones so I could cancel out the sounds of them disagreeing with each other.

I remembered standing there on that day in the kitchen, both of my parents placing themselves at opposite sides of the room, their eyes on me while they waited for me to choose which one I’d live with full-time.

I chose neither. I decided to stay on the island and lived with my friend Cati and her parents so I could finish school. I chose to study at Menai University, finding year-round accommodation and only left the island when I had to.

And yesterday I’d had to.

I gripped my steering wheel a little tighter, annoyance and worry not a nice combination. As of today, I had no job.

I was unemployed.

Jobless.

Without an income.

I’d receive a redundancy payment in another few days and I could contest the decision if I wanted, but there was no point. The publishing company I worked for had changed its structure and there was no room for my role anymore, no matter what I thought or what I knew.

Since graduating after completing my Master’s degree, I’d worked as an editor for a tiny publishing house that specialised in women’s fiction. It was old fashioned and quaint, but successful. Too successful. So successful that a big shark had come along and gobbled it up.

This trip back from London, all six hours of it and counting, had been a form of torture I hadn’t known existed. All I wanted was to take a flask and my big coat and gloves, and to head down to the beach at Puffin Bay to watch the fireworks and enjoy the bonfire with my friends so I could forget what a shit show my life was right now. A phone call would’ve been kinder. A text message would’ve saved me the cost of petrol and time, time I could’ve spent doing something I actually enjoyed. Six hours one way for a shit show.

I hit the midpoint on the bridge and slowed, noting a car had pulled over, it’s warning lights flashing. Fireworks exploded on the island, a shower of bright, colourful lights illuminating the shiny paint job on an SUV too new to be derelict.

I loved Bonfire Night. I loved any celebration or event where we all got together. If I didn’t pull over to help a stranger, I’d be at the Bay sooner. I’d be eating burgers and hot dogs off the grill, maybe with some chilli on the hot dog, and Amelie, my friend and the owner of the Puffin Inn, had made a spicy rum punch specially for Bonfire Night which I was definitely interested in sampling.

I tapped my indicator anyway and pulled behind the broken-down car. There was a chance that the driver could actually be a psychopath who’d pulled over in the hope that a vulnerable, attractive female would assist so he could bundle her into the back of his car and enact his favourite horror movie.

I’d seen a lot of horror movies. It was a bit of a thing – I liked the attempt at being scared. I also liked shouting at the TV and watching the inevitable. This hobby did mean I was prepared. Before I got out of the car, I fished in my bag for my pepper spray and positioned it in my hand, ready to press in case I was introducing myself to the villain of my story – although that was Grizelda Barron who’d told me my services were no longer required this morning, and no one came across two villains in the same day. Unless they were a pair of serial killers working in tandem.

I locked my Fiat and headed over to the SUV. A tall man with light brown hair was staring at a dashboard that resembled a cock pit.

I sighed, still feeling down about the day. I’d lost my job. I was unemployed. Let go. Any of those summed it up well. The little independent publishing company, Hive House Publishers, where I’d worked for years had been bought out by one of the big publishers, who had their own team and nowhere on that team was there space for me. I was a spare part. The day could only be topped up if I was now facing a serial killer with a fetish for dark haired Welsh women.

So I was jobless, had no reliable income and still needed to find somewhere else to live as my landlady’s son was coming home in another few weeks and would be taking over the room that I’d rented for the last three years.

But at least I wasn’t the poor guy-slash-killer currently standing next to his broken-down car on the Menai Bridge when it was just about to pour down.

Hero or villain? Romantic lead or mass murderer? I weighed up the possibilities and decided I was game for either. I could run quickly and that black belt I had in Karate had to come in useful at some point, didn’t it?

“Run into some trouble, have you?”

The man, who happened to be about six foot something tall and four feet wide, with light brown hair and a face that could stop traffic for all the right reasons stared at me.

“You could say that. Do you happen to have a phone with reception? I need to get to Puffin Bay before eight and have to call a taxi.” He shifted from one foot to the other, looking inhumanly awkward. “Thank you for stopping.”

“No problem for stopping, but no, I haven’t got reception. This is a dead zone. I’m from Puffin Bay though, so I can give you a lift. Promise I’m not a murderer.” I kept it chirpy and bright, despite my mood. I was no mechanic, but this man was going to be spending several bushels getting his car fixed. At least I didn’t have that problem.

“That’s a really weird thing to say.” He frowned, which wasn’t a good look on him.

I ignored the look and the word “weird” and shrugged. “I’m a black belt in karate. I can probably put you on your arse quicker than you can open a can of beer. Be thankful I only use my powers for good.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, which was probably wise. I’d had a shitty day but was still happy to do a favour and be kind. Unless the recipient of that favour was going to be an utter bobolyne. Like surfer-hulk might be.

“I’m not a murderer either.” He held out his hand.

I took it. “I’m Clover Carew. Where in Puffin Bay are you heading?”

He took a deep breath. “T? ar y Bont. That’s its name. I’m not sure how to explain where it is - ”

“You bought the house on the bridge!” I laughed, happy with this for some reason. “I wondered who’d got it. Or are you the contractor?” He looked like he could be a labourer.

“Contractor? Does it need work doing? I thought it was ready to live in.” He looked annoyed again.

I shook my head, feeling the need to try and calm him down as he seemed like the type of man who was going to burst a vessel stressing out over everything. “No, no. It’s a great house. It’s just a lot of places near Puffin Bay have been bought recently and people have started doing work to them. T? ar y Bont is great. And you’re not a contractor. Got it.”

“I’m a doctor.” He opened his boot and took out a small suitcase, black of course. “I’ve taken over the practice in Puffin Bay.”

“Oh.” That stopped me. “Oh. I’m Clover. One of your patients. And I really like horror movies, and this feels like a scene from one, you know, where there’s a serial killer and his broken car is all a rouse. Anyway, I’m Clover.”

“Yes, Clover. You already said. Are you sure you’re okay to give me a lift? Are you well enough? You seem confused.” He peered at me as if doing some sort of visual examination. “Have you taken any medication this evening? Prescribed or self-prescribed?”

I narrowed my eyes and tried to look as fierce as possible, which I knew wasn’t very fierce at all. Still, that look had given sparring partners a very false sense of security.

“I’m perfectly sober, if rather tired. If you’d still like a lift, please get in the car.” I turned around and went back to my little bug of a vehicle, clicking the unlock fob.

He didn’t follow me. When I looked at him in my rear view, he was looking at his phone as if willing it to suddenly start working.

When it didn’t, I saw him say something, probably a curse, then he pulled his case down to me, opening the boot and putting it in there, before squeezing himself into my passenger seat.

“This isn’t good for your posture, you know, cars this size.”

His knees were almost round his ears.

“It’s perfectly fine for me, and as this’ll be the only lift you’ll ever have in it, you don’t have to worry about your posture. Let’s not bother exchanging pleasant small talk, by the way. Offering you a lift was clearly yet another mistake that’s been made by me in the last forty-eight hours.” I kept my eyes on the road, an explosion of fireworks going off to my left.

My friends would be at that bonfire on the beach, but it would probably be over by the time I got there, rain due to set in soon. Still, the food would be there, jacket potatoes and treacle toffee, Amelie’s punch and chilli, laid out in the Puffin Inn if the barbecue ended up being rained off. I could go there and tell them about my now lack of employ. Amelie would possibly have some hours she could give me, even if it was housekeeping the rooms she kept above the inn, and I might be able to move into her apartment there too as she’d now pretty much moved in with her fiancé. I would manage.

Something would come up.

It always did.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology took me by surprise. Especially as for the last five minutes neither of us had spoken. He’d also not waved an axe at me either, which was another plus.

“Say what?”

“I’m sorry. You were being kind and I’ve been well, really flipping entitled.”

I felt him glance at me.

“Apology accepted, but let’s still not speak.” I had enough to think about and I was really good at focusing on what wasn’t important. This man wasn’t important.

Which was a point – I didn’t even know his name.

I was about to ask that pertinent question, because after all, it’s probably useful to know the full name of your potential killer, when his phone rang.

“Finally. Reception.” He stared at it like it was radiating something poisonous. “Hi, Mother. Is everything okay with Luca?”

His mother’s voice filled my car, launching into a speech, the sort of which I was very familiar with.

“Hang on, I’m in the car with someone else, and my phone’s not working properly so you’re on loudspeaker.” He shook his head.

I focused on the road. I shouldn’t be listening in, not actively listening in. I couldn’t help but hear, could I? But I didn’t need to take note. This was our new doctor, an upstanding member of our community and I shouldn’t know anything about his personal business, and even if I did hear something, I definitely shouldn’t share it with Amelie and Ruby.

“Who are you in a car with?” His mother’s accent was English rather than Welsh. “I thought you didn’t know anyone on that island, Grayson.”

Ah, Grayson. I had a name.

“Long story, you don’t need the info. What time will you and Luca be here tomorrow? The removal van’s getting here at eleven, so I’ll get your room and Luca’s ready first.” He sounded tired. Exhausted. Unlike his mother, Grayson’s accent was Welsh, probably Cardiff or around that area.

“That’s what I’m phoning about. I can drop Luca off and he’s fine, by the way, but I can’t stay. I’m heading straight to Manchester airport. I don’t suppose you could meet me in Chester as I have a flight booked at two. It would be most helpful if you could.”

She sounded like she wasn’t going to accept being told no very well.

“I have the removal vans here at eleven. I have to get them emptied. I don’t have time to drive to Chester and you were meant to be staying with us to help with Luca while I found a nanny.”

A quick glance at him rather than the road showed how defeated he looked.

“Your sister needs me in Paris. There’s been an emergency.” Her voice was stern. “I have to head there.”

“What can possibly be the matter in Paris?” His voice grew louder.

There was no way he could think I wasn’t listening now.

A sigh came through the loudspeaker. “Timothy’s broken his arm and your sister’s struggling to manage him and the baby, so she’s asked me to go over and help so they can finish their holiday.”

“Finish? She’s only just started! Didn’t they get there yesterday? How the fuck’s he managed to break his arm? Isn’t Hugo with them?”

There was a burst of fireworks not far off the road. The sound of it was smothered with Grayson’s words.

“There’s no need to curse. Hugo’s playing golf as soon as they get to Avignon.”

“How about Hugo doesn’t play golf and helps with his children instead?” Grayson rubbed his face with his free hand. “I could really use some help here.”

“I know. But you know how hard Hugo works and I’ve said I would now - ”

“You said you’d help me for the first couple of weeks. Hugo isn’t the only one to work hard, you know.” He shook his head again.

I could feel the frustration and annoyance rolling off him. He was a powder keg about to explode, I’d just rather he didn’t do it in my car because it definitely wasn’t big enough for that.

“I know, but you can manage. You always manage and Luca’s such a good boy. He’s so much like you were at that age. You’re doing such a good job with him.” Her tone was softer now, clearly trying to placate him. Obviously this sort of situation had happened a few times before.

“I can’t take him to work with me, can I? Or nip out during an appointment to pick him up from school. For fuck’s sake, Mother. Can’t you tell Megan she’ll have to manage for a week?”

So Megan was his sister, Hugo her husband, they had a child called Timothy and a baby whose name I didn”t know, and Grayson had a son called Luca. This was useful information.

Probably useful information. I had no idea what I’d need it for.

“I’ve said I’ll be in Paris by tomorrow evening. I can’t not go. I’m sure someone will be able to help you with Luca though. When does he start school?”

I could tell this was definitely information she’d already been told but hadn’t bothered to remember. Her question was too firm, too precise.

“Next week. I wanted you here to help him get settled. This is a big thing for him, moving here.” Grayson sounded resigned. “Anyway, you’ll have to bring him here. My car’s broken down and I won’t be able to get it until after the removal men have been, so sorry if that ruins your plans.”

“It does, really. Anyway, I’ll rearrange things. Don’t you worry about me.” She carried on talking about Timothy and the broken arm, asking Grayson about fractures and breaks and healing time.

She received one word answers until the phone call was ended, which was about the same time we arrived in Puffin Bay.

“Where are you meeting the estate agent?” Who I knew would be Huw Bellis. The town only had one.

“At the house on the bridge. My new home.” He really was having a sulk, but I could understand why, really.

“I’ll head straight there.” I sighed and shook my head at myself. I shouldn’t get involved. I shouldn’t try to solve other people’s problems when I really had enough of my own right now. “If you give me your car keys, I’ll sort out getting it to the garage here. It sounds like you have enough to do.” There was no way he couldn’t have expected me to not listen in. I wasn’t a taxi driver.

“It’s okay. I’ll sort it.” He glanced at his phone again. “I’ll find a mechanic online.”

“Aron’s the person you want, Garej Aron. Look for that.” I wasn’t going to persuade him to let me help. If the idiot didn’t accept it first time, then I wasn’t going to any more effort.

“He could be some scammer. I’ll do my research, thank you.” His expression was angry enough to make me consider the possibility of an axe.

“He isn’t and the next nearest garage is two towns away, which will cost you more. Plus, when you say you’re the new doctor, Aron will help sort your car quickly because you’re one of us in Puffin Bay. That won’t happen elsewhere.” I was cross now. Aron was a decent bloke and charged a fair price. I’d gone to school with him and we’d been on a few dates when we were in our early twenties but nothing had ever happened. There hadn’t been any chemistry. He’d taken over his dad’s garage when his dad’s arthritis had gotten worse and was doing a good job.

I pulled up at T? ar y Bont, which translated from Welsh to English as the house on the bridge, which is exactly what it was. A short bridge crossed the narrow river which ran from inland into the sea. It was a pretty house, five bedrooms and with a nice garden, part of which was overlooked from the bridge itself, but there was another area that was private. It was one of the nicest houses in the town with lots of tourists taking photos of it when they visited, as the pictures easily turned out like something worthy of being on a jigsaw puzzle.

I’d been in the house many times, as one of my best friends from primary school had lived there until her family had moved to Carnarvon. There were lots of little rooms that had been great to play hide and seek in, or pretend we were in Narnia. It was a beautiful home.

“Here you go. Huw’s over there.” I pointed to Huw, who was staring at the fireworks that were coming from the beach. The rain had so far held off. If it carried on that way it would be the most luck I’d had all week.

Grayson frowned at me. Now that the car was stationary, I could look at him properly, especially as I’d pulled up under a streetlight. He was ridiculously pretty. Shoulders as broad as a mountain, light brown hair and a jaw that was firm and angular. He looked like he should’ve been an actor or a stunt man instead of a doctor. He was definitely going to turn some heads on the island.

It was a shame his personality didn’t tally with his looks.

“How do you know who I’m meeting?” He stared at me as if he expected me to confess I’d been stalking him for months.

I shrugged and managed a smile. “Huw’s the only estate agent in the area.”

He nodded as if he’d just realised where he was. “I’ve got a lot to get used to.”

“Maybe. But this is a nice place. You must’ve thought that when you visited.”

He looked at me blankly. “This is the first time I’ve been here.”

“Come again?” That was weird even by my standards. “You’ve bought a house and a doctor’s practice in a place you’ve never been to?”

He rubbed at his face with both hands this time. “It looked pretty in the pictures.”

“It is. It’s a great place, that’s why I’ve never left.” Even I could hear how weird that sounded. “I mean, obviously I’ve left the island, like today, I mean I’ve never moved away.”

“Gotcha.” He was looking at me as if I was the one wielding an axe now. “Small town, one of everything, everyone knows everyone’s business.”

“Especially you. You’ll be the doctor. You’ll see everyone’s business.” I laughed at my own joke.

Grayson scowled.

That hadn’t gone down well. Note to self: the new doctor has had his sense of humour amputated.

“Anyway, you’d best meet Huw. I’m Clover by the way. As in four leaf.” I could do with some of that luck.

“You’ve already said. Probably the right name for you. Thanks for the lift, Clover.” He got out of the car and slammed the door a little too hard.

I drove off, imagining his body under my wheels.

For the last few years, I’d lodged with Mrs Bettany, a lady in her eighties who liked company and had a spare bedroom. She also tolerated cats, which was fortunate because I had one.

What Mrs Bettany also had, which wasn’t as fortunate, was a grandson, Owain, who’d been working somewhere on the east coast for the last four years. Also unfortunately, Owain had decided to move back to Anglesey, and while he found his own house, he’d be moving back in with his grandmother.

My second blow – if you don’t count picking up a possible axe-murderer – was finding Owain lounging on the sofa when I walked into my home, my cat Moonshine sitting on top of the old TV unit, watching Owain with some disdain. He didn’t like people in his territory, especially men. Moonshine considered himself the alpha of the house and that was that. It was his territory only and everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier.

“Owain, how are you doing?” I actually liked Owain. He was a nice guy who was easy going and had never been a sleaze bag.

He responded with sneezing. I’d forgotten he was allergic to felines.

“Sorry, my antihistamines haven’t kicked in yet.” He got up off the sofa and gave me a big hug. “Things are good. It’s good to see you again, Clo. How’s it going?”

Shit. It was going shit.

“Oh, okay, you know. How are you? Back for a visit?”

He looked embarrassed. “Actually, I’m back for good. I was owed some holidays, so I decided to not stay on at my rental. I’ll sleep on the sofa for now though.”

Mrs Bettany came in, a tray set with a teapot and mugs with a jug of milk in her hands. “Clover! How was London? I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back.”

“London was not great, but it doesn’t matter.” I noticed there were only two mugs on the tray. “I’m going to head to the Puffin Inn for the rest of the bonfire. Do you want to come, Owain?”

He shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow if you’re free. It’ll be good to meet people. I’m going to chill here with nan tonight. Join us – I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you out.”

He really wasn’t. Owain was lovely, and I knew if I said I needed another six months to find somewhere to live, he’d sleep on the sofa and not complain about it, but the cottage was tiny. “You’re not, but I promised Amelie I’d go there when I got back.” I managed a smile. “I’ll be quiet when I come in so I don’t wake you.”

“I sleep like the dead so don’t worry.”

I hadn’t even taken off my coat, quickly feeding Moonshine which cheered him up, and checking that I didn’t look too much like a leftover from Halloween.

The Puffin Inn was less than a two-minute walk away, a walk I could definitely do blindfolded. The inside of the pub was cosy and warm, the two big fires blazing, Amelie’s dog stretched out in front of one of them, but it was only half full.

This was because everyone else was outside in the beer garden which led straight onto the beach, a bonfire still in full force although it looked like the fireworks had finished.

“Clover! You’re finally here.” Amelie headed right over to me, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve had an awful day.”

“Doubly awful. Owain’s already back living with Mrs Bettany.” I’d phoned Amelie before I’d left London to tell her about my job. She’d been pragmatic about it: I had savings and friends, so I would be okay, and I’d get another job, maybe something better that would challenge me more.

“I thought you had another four weeks.” She frowned. “Why’s he back so soon?”

“He had holidays to take so he’s early.” I shrugged. “He’s sleeping on the sofa until I move out and he’s allergic to cats.”

“Poor Moonshine.” Amelie led me back into the inn and headed behind the bar, pouring me a large glass of red wine. “Drink this. What are you going to do?”

“Could I rent the apartment above here?” Amelie ran a Bed and Breakfast in part of the inn, but she also had an apartment where she’d lived for the last few years.

Her smile was erased. “I’m sorry, Clo, but we’ve agreed that Caleb can live there.” Her expression was a combination of guilt and sympathy. “I mean, there’s a spare bedroom and I know he wouldn’t mind you taking it, but I’m not sure you’ll want to live with a walking hormone.”

“Oh.” I took a good big mouthful of the wine. “Oh bugger. How come he’s moving in?” Caleb was the almost grown-up son of her fiancé, Roman.

Amelie shook her head and looked slightly irritated. “There was a problem at the university and they double booked his accommodation – he let the other boy stay there because he could commute while the office sorted out an alternative. That’s not looking like it’s happening and well…”

“Well what?”

“Roman walked in on him with a girl yesterday evening. I think all of them are now scarred and need therapy, so we decided that I’d move out properly and Caleb can live here. Sorry. If I’d known you’d need something this soon, I’d have put it off for another month or so, but you could have the spare room upstairs.” She took the seat next to me at the bar. “I am sorry, Clo. You’re also welcome to stay with me and Roman.”

“And walk in on you and Roman? I heard about your afternoon delight from the postman.”

“As has all of the town.” Amelie wasn’t in the slightest bit mortified that she’d been caught sat on her fiancé’s knee with no clothes on by our postie when he’d taken a shortcut past the big window that overlooked the sea and got an entirely different view. “Which was pre-revenge on Caleb.” She looked over at her almost stepson. “The offer’s there if you want it.”

“Thank you. If I’m desperate I might have to take you up.” I noticed my wine was going down quickly. “The job is more of a problem. I can’t sign a rental or apply for a mortgage if I’m not permanently employed.”

“How desperate are you for money, sugar?” Amelie topped our glasses up.

“Not really. I don’t spend much so I’ve got a decent nest egg. The difficulty’s going to be finding a job where I don’t have to leave the island. I need something remote.” Which was why my job had suited me. While hybrid working was common, especially for my editing job, some firms wanted you to be in London frequently.

“Could you freelance? You’re always being asked if you can.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’d had clients who’d decided to self-publish who’d asked me to edit, and other publishers reach out, especially if they were working with someone I’d edited before and they were a bit on the awkward to work with side. But I’d been happy with my salary from Hive House Publishers and hadn’t wanted to take on any work, preferring to have time to read and be around the town with my friends.

“That means it’ll be longer before I can get a mortgage.” You needed three years of accounts if you were self-employed. “I’ll need to rent somewhere long term. If I can find somewhere for six months, that gives me a chance to get things set up and I’ll be able to settle somewhere more permanently.” I hated change. My stomach rumbled. It’d been a long time since I’d last eaten. “Is there still food?”

“Loads of it. The outside kitchen is still overflowing. Go and help yourself. Oh, did you know the new doctor’s moving into Puffin Bay?” Amelie slid of her barstool. “He’s bought the house on the bridge.”

“I’ve met him. He’s a sulky poen yn y gwaelod.” I was fond of cursing in Welsh.

Amelie frowned. “How do you know that?”

I smiled. “I’ve spent half an hour with him in my car this evening. Let me get fed and I’ll tell you what I know.” At least one part of my day would be enjoyable.