Chapter Twenty-Eight
Eloise had always thought of Boxing Day to be like a cleanup the morning after a party, when one was eager to remove all trace of the event and get back to normal.
Boxing Day usually meant she could breathe again; remnants of Christmas lingered, but the focus had shifted to sale bargains and booking summer holidays.
Not this Boxing Day. Today her chest felt tight with misery, her breath catching in her throat at the thought of her imminent departure, at the thought of never seeing Bart’s handsome face again, and of never again hearing his voice.
She had no alternative. If she stayed, she’d only prolong the heartache. Being with him every day, knowing there was no possibility of him loving her, would break her—and she was broken enough already.
Her soul heavy, she packed her suitcase, leaving out the clothes she would wear for her journey home.
But after a brief hesitation she removed her hiking boots and placed them alongside the less-sturdy ankle boots which were better suited to driving.
Before she left Honeycombe Bay for good, she wanted one last walk.
It would be her way of saying goodbye to the little seaside village she’d fallen in love with—along with the man who’d stolen her heart.
With her coat, gilet, hat, scarf, and gloves laid out on the bed, Eloise checked the room over, making sure she’d packed everything.
It now bore little trace of her stay. With a change of sheets and a quick clean, no one would know she’d ever been there.
It would be ready for the next guest, and Eloise had no doubt that there would be more of them now that Bart had resurrected his business.
Having guests gave him purpose and meaning, and had brought colour and light back into his life.
It would be a new chapter for him, albeit one without Penny.
Whereas her own story now had a broken heart written into it.
When she got home, things would have to change. She needed to find purpose too, but right now all she could think about was how desolate she felt.
The illuminated bedside clock flicked to eight-thirty. It was time to go down for breakfast and tell Sarah and Mitch she was leaving.
Sarah and Toby were already at the table, and as Eloise took her seat at her customary place, Bart appeared in the doorway. They locked eyes, and Eloise hastily looked away.
“What can I get you?” he enquired formally.
“Just toast, please. And a pot of tea.” Her reply was equally formal, and Sarah’s head shot up.
“Are you okay?” she asked her.
Eloise glanced at the doorway. Bart had returned to the kitchen. “I’m fine, thank you.” She inhaled deeply, drawing a lungful of air in through her nose, then letting it out in a rush as she blurted, “I’m going home this morning.”
Sarah gasped. “Why? I thought you were staying until after New Year?”
Eloise smiled politely and changed the subject. “What are your plans for today?”
Sarah blinked, then rallied as realisation dawned in her eyes. “Ah, I see.” She pressed her lips together. “I’ll miss you. We both will. Toby will be sorry to see you go.”
“Go where?” Mitch’s presence filled the room. He’d trimmed his beard, Eloise noticed absently.
Sarah told him, “Eloise is going home today.”
“Today?”
Mitch’s dismay was flattering. It was nice to think he didn’t want her to leave. Unlike Bart, who’d accepted her announcement last night with a mere nod of his head. That nod had stayed with her all night. It had cemented her decision to leave.
Toby, who had been hungrily consuming his cereal, dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter, and slid off his chair onto the floor to hurry around the table.
Throwing his arms around her, he buried his face in her lap. “I don’t want you to go, Nana Weez,” he said, his voice muffled by her jumper.
Tears welling, Eloise stroked his curly hair. She was going to miss this little boy so much. Yet another reason for her to go home today: If she became any more emotionally invested in this family, she would risk even greater hurt.
And that certainly wouldn’t do, because she was hurting enough already.
In the chilly light of a late-December morning, aside from the unlit Christmas illuminations adorning the Victorian lampposts and the naked bulbs strung above the promenade, there was little to indicate that Christmas had taken place at all.
Doubtless the ice rink was still in the heart of the village, as well as the wooden chalets and the enormous tree, but from Eloise’s viewpoint on the promenade, they weren’t visible.
There was only a handful of people around, and she suspected most were on their sofas, lethargic and exhausted from the indulgence and celebrations of the day before.
The few who had ventured out were wrapped up warmly, walking their bounding, waggy-tailed dogs, or following shrieking children as they raced across the beach.
Turning her attention to the harbour, she scanned the boats lying low in the water, some of them actually aground since the tide was out, tilted over on their keels. Seagulls swooped and screeched, ever alert to the possibility of a meal. One landed nearby and eyed her speculatively.
“I’ve got nothing for you,” she said to it, taking her hands out of her pockets to show the bird she wasn’t fibbing. With a disappointed squawk, it took off, and she followed it with her eyes until it joined some others and she lost track of which one it was.
This was more like the Honeycombe Bay she’d signed up for. Quiet, calm, Christmas-less.
She hadn’t felt able to leave without one final stroll across the front, one final view of the sea, and she would drink her fill of the place and bank it in her memory, because she wouldn’t come here again. Of that she was certain.
The air was cold and sharp, tangy with brine, and she breathed deeply as she marched along the promenade.
Even with her woolly hat pulled firmly down over her head, her ears were cold.
They would be colder still on the headland, but she didn’t care.
Part of her welcomed the discomfort; it might take her mind off her raw emotions—for a short while at least.
She passed a young couple strolling hand in hand. They had a toddler with them, a little boy bundled up in a blue snowsuit. He had a pair of wellies on his feet.
Remembering Bart’s face when they’d all gone shopping for new wellies for Toby, Eloise gulped down the threatening tears as sadness engulfed her.
Her heart aching, Eloise put her head down, hunched her shoulders, and increased her pace. She wouldn’t go all the way to the top of the headland; she would climb up to the bench. That would be high enough to give her a good view of the bay.
When she got there, her chest heaving and her calves burning, she discovered she had a view of something else too: Sea View Guest House. And as she sat on the bench, the tears she’d been denying welled up and spilled over.
Giving in, she let them fall.
So, she’s gone, then, Bart said to himself as he entered the empty bedroom.
The only sign that Eloise had ever been there was the rumpled duvet and the damp towels in the bathroom.
And the scent of her perfume. It lingered, but would soon fade, replaced by the spray he would use to clean the shower, and the polish he favoured when he dusted.
Bart’s gaze fell on the pillow. There was the smallest of indentations where her head had lain. Reaching out, he touched it, his fingers tracing the faint outline, and his chest tightened.
She’s gone…
Stupidly, he hadn’t actually believed she would leave. He hadn’t wanted to believe. He’d held on to the slim hope she might have realised she had feelings for him after all, enough to persuade her to stay. But she hadn’t, and he had to face the knowledge that she didn’t care for him in that way.
She liked him—he was fairly certain of that—but liking and love were poles apart. He also thought she might fancy him, else why return his kiss with such fervour? But desire didn’t go hand in hand with love.
Suddenly anxious to escape the poignant scent of her perfume, Bart hurriedly stripped the bed, bundling up the sheets and duvet cover ready to be washed, and remade it with fresh bedding.
Now the room looked exactly as it had done before her phone call, before he’d opened the guest house and invited Eloise to stay for Christmas.
Downstairs, he shoved the bedclothes into the washer-dryer and switched the machine on, then turned around as a figure appeared in the doorway.
“Need any help with anything?” Sarah asked.
“All taken care of.” His reply was chirpy.
“Are you okay?” The false cheerfulness hadn’t fooled her, it seemed.
“I’m fine. No need to worry about me.”
“Mitch and I thought we’d take Toby for a walk. See if we can burn off some of his energy. Want to come?”
“I won’t, if you don’t mind. I’ve got things to get on with here.”
“I’ll stay and help,” she offered.
“No, you won’t. You go out for that walk. Besides, I’m going to Barnstaple to see Ross.”
The sooner he mended this bridge, the better. He might be disappointed and cross with his son, but Ross was his son, his only child, and if this Christmas had taught Bart anything, it was that family was everything.
“Grandpa!” Kelly cried, yanking open the front door and seeing him standing on the step. She flung her arms around him and hissed, “Dad’s in trouble.”
But that was as far as she got, as Bart heard her mother say, “Kelly! What have I told you about answering the door? Oh, hello, Bart.”
Amy appeared momentarily flustered but quickly rallied. Stepping forward, she held out her hands, catching hold of both of his and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Come in, come in,” she urged. “We didn’t expect to see you today.”
“You probably didn’t expect to see me any day,” he replied dryly.
Her expression became concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better,” he admitted.