Chapter 20
TWENTY
Rita stood in the driveway, waving Sennen off in the Uber she had been adamant on getting to the train station, and watching as Thom loaded the last of Poppy’s bags into his Porsche.
‘I might come down again soon,’ Thom said, giving his mum a tentative grin once in the car. ‘Err… I mean in case you need me to help more or anything.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Rita said, trying not to show her surprise.
‘Oh, but we’re still going to Westfield this weekend, aren’t we?’ she heard from the passenger seat as the engine roared into life.
As the car pulled away, she spotted Teo walking towards her. She called over, ‘I said have a day off, didn’t I, senor Serrano?’
‘And I said I would take everyone to the pub.’
‘You are a bloody angel, that’s what you are. Are you joining us?’
‘Yes, and Jude. I said he needs to check out Cass’s biceps.’
Rita laughed. ‘What are you like. And oh yes, by the way, did you happen to go in the Nook store any time today? The lock didn’t seem right. I meant to go and check it earlier but then forgot.’
Teo cocked his head. ‘No, that’s odd. Did you ask Zen?’
‘She said no, too.’
Unease prickled again as the pair of them headed to the outhouse. Rita’s heart sank slightly when she noticed the metal on the lock was bent, as if someone had tried to force the padlock, but failed. Leaving the door looking like it was slightly ajar.
She went in tentatively and looked around, but nothing appeared to be missing.
‘Hmm. I guess the storm could have caught it and bashed it backwards and forwards?’ Rita questioned.
Teo looked slightly perplexed. ‘I think we need more security and some lights, at least, Rita.’
‘Yes, I think so too. I’ll talk to Stan.’ Rita checked her watch. ‘Shit, it’s gone six already; we’d better see who wants to join the party.’
Zenya appeared from the orchard. ‘I do, for sure. I really fancy a huge plate of Pete’s chunky chips.’
With its perpetually creaking sign of a cartoon pilchard giving a mischievous wink, Seahaven Bay’s oldest hostelry, the Winking Pilchard, was more than just a pub, it was a local deity.
People quietly worshipped in it with its ever-changing selection of local beers and harbourside views.
Riptide Red and Dockside Doom, and a strong, cloudy cider called Bramble Biter – a pint of which could wobble even the hardiest of drinkers – were the flavours of the month.
A chalkboard announced, QUIZ NIGHT – WEATHER DEPENDING.
Nobody ever asked what that meant. The food menu boasted an award-winning crab sandwich and the best salty, thick-cut chips in town.
If Seahaven Bay had a town hall, a confession box, and a therapy couch all rolled into one, it would look suspiciously like this place.
Pete the Pilchard was at the helm. Barrel-chested, with grey sideburns so thick seagulls could nest in them, he knew every regular, every order, every relationship that had launched itself under his roof.
His grin widened as he spotted Rita approaching the bar. ‘Rita Jory, long time no see. Your usual? I’ve got a lovely new French sauvignon in, actually.’
‘Um…’ Rita hesitated; why was everything she was hearing about lately French!
This was the first time in decades she’d have to refuse her favourite tipple.
‘I’m driving, so… what zero drinks have you got?
’ Choosing to drive as well as Teo so the whole gang could come down in one go, she was secretly relieved to have an excuse.
‘Shame on you,’ Pete said fondly, giving her a cheeky wink. She’d hosted Archie’s wake in this very pub, the same pub where the couple had first met, and had always had a friendly rapport with the affable landlord.
Cass was busy pushing two small wooden tables together, while Rita, insisting the first round was on her to thank everyone for helping during the storm, scrolled through the notes section on her phone for their orders which she knew she’d never remember without writing them down.
‘So, hmm… zero Heineken, I’ll take one of those. Cass and Davie want to try the Bramble Biter. Pints, please.’ Pete raised his eyebrows. Rita smiled. ‘Yes. I warned them, it’s strong.’
She looked to her phone again. ‘Appletiser for Priya, large Merlot for Imogen, large G be careful with it.’
Davie’s eyes lit up at the further eye candy and Rita suddenly realised why Jilly was never down. ‘Oof. Cider goggles on maybe, but where did he spring from?’ Davie laughed.
Imogen shook her head. ‘You’re like a bloody dog on heat, you are.’
Davie rolled his eyes. ‘Just being a hot-bloodied twenty-something actually, thank you.’
Rita tilted her head, giving the woman a careful smile. ‘So… tell me more about this HR role of yours, Immie?’ The woman’s eyes blackened. ‘I mean, Imogen,’ Rita corrected.
Imogen blinked, a fraction of hesitation. ‘Oh… um, well, mostly I make sure people follow the rules. Policies. You know… health and safety, interviewing staff issues, that sort of thing.’
Rita raised an eyebrow, just enough to be slightly teasing. ‘Interesting. And would that involve, say, advising people on client relationships? Managing tricky situations… like weddings, perhaps? I could do with all the help I can get on that front.’
Imogen’s eyes lit up. ‘Well, yes… Details, logistics… all the behind-the-scenes stuff people don’t see. Do you think you will be able to pull it off at yours, the one in the summer, I mean?’
‘Of course she will,’ Zenya piped up. ‘Rita is capable of anything, especially under pressure.’
Rita felt her chest warm. ‘I’m more interested in what you do, though, Immy.’ Rita slipped purposely. ‘The classic interview question, isn’t it? Strengths and weaknesses?’
Imogen leaned back, took a deliberate sip of her wine, which gave a faint flush to her cheeks, trying to look professional. ‘Strengths… I’m good at reading between the lines.’
Rita frowned slightly. ‘And weaknesses?’
‘Probably that I’m too much of a perfectionist,’ Imogen said, with a little shrug. ‘How about you?’
‘Right,’ Rita said thoughtfully. Then she met Imogen’s eyes.
‘Mine… hmm. Strengths, I’d say I’m reliable.
People can count on me, even when everything’s messy.
’ She felt a pang of nerves thinking of the baby and the pressure she was under.
‘And adaptable. I can roll with whatever or whoever life throws at me.’
Imogen tilted her head, clearly intrigued. ‘And weaknesses?’
Rita hesitated, choosing her words carefully. ‘I take on too much and forget to look after myself.’
Her mind flicked briefly to Jago. Oh, how she wished he would just call to say that Elodie had left, that this whole sorry event was over.
One more day she was giving him and then giving up on him.
There was no excuse with the weather now and as much as she said she had no money, it was not his responsibility to throw that at her either.
Imogen was undeterred. ‘So, tell me one detail about this wedding of yours. Seating plan drama? Flower meltdown? Bride screaming at the venue change.’
Rita tried to laugh, tried to be light. But all of this had become too much for her. This woman’s constant questions. The room suddenly felt too hot. The air too thick. Something churned, cold and wrong, low in her stomach.
Cass noticed instantly. ‘You OK, Rita?’
‘I just… just need air.’ Rita pushed back gently from the table. ‘Just… a bit dizzy.’
Rita slipped through the revellers, the door thudding behind her as cool night air hit her like a splash of saltwater. The harbour smelled of seaweed and vinegar. A lone gull screeched as she leaned against the wall and tried to steady herself.
‘Rita?’ Cass’s voice came, casual but soft, as he appeared behind her. His eyes sharp with concern. ‘You look pale. Like a Victorian heroine about to swoon at the handsome suitor about to catch her.’
Rita gave a short laugh mixed with a groan.
Cass led her towards the bench by the sea wall. ‘Talk to me. What’s up?’
Knowing it was a combination of stress and tiredness, Rita shook her head. ‘Nothing. Just… too warm inside.’
Cass studied her, expression softening. ‘You don’t always have to be the strong one. It’s fine to wobble. I’m an expert in that, as you know.’
Rita blinked, surprised by the honesty. Before she could answer, he leaned closer. ‘Also… your face is extremely annoying right now.’
‘What?’
‘You know… the kind of face that makes me want to do something very stupid.’
Rita’s breath hitched. Surely he didn’t mean… ‘Cass…?’
‘I know, I know,’ Cass said, laughing nervously. ‘You’re sensible. I’m… not. But I thought you wanted this too. I pushed you away, remember? And then when you hugged me on that same night at the beach… well.’
His hand touched Rita’s cheek, warm and insistent. Then, before she could say anything, he leaned in and his lips brushed the corner of hers, soft and loving.
Rita froze for an instant. Then jumped back, eyes wide. ‘Cass! No… look, I wasn’t… I’m just… I was being motherly, kind, someone who cared. I’m so sorry if I gave the wrong impression!’
Cass blinked, a little deflated. ‘Right… got it. But, uh… wow. Rita, you are so hot.’
Rita took a shaky breath, trying to settle her racing heart. ‘And you are full of seven per cent cloudy cider.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ Cass said quietly. ‘But I’m so sorry if I offended you.’ He walked back toward the pub, panic flashing. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’
Rita froze. For across the street, under the neon glow of Batter Days, stood Elodie. Perfectly still. A white fish-and-chip parcel in one hand, her phone raised in the other. Eyes bright, mouth curved in a slow, deliberate smile.
Lowering her phone, Elodie tilted her head, her expression remaining perfectly calm, perfectly knowing.
And as Rita watched the French intruder stride toward the car park, if her stomach had been doing somersaults before, it was now performing a full-on gymnastics routine.