Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Two minutes later the train pulled into the quaint station at Sea’s End, picture-perfect and exuding warmth and charm.
The station was small but vibrant, with bright hanging baskets overflowing with petunias and geraniums in a riot of pinks, purples and reds, swaying gently in the breeze.
The whitewashed station building, with its cheerful yellow trim, stood against the backdrop of a sparkling blue sky, accented by the sound of waves crashing in the distance.
The platform was dotted with benches, all freshly painted, and a couple of friendly station staff waved as the train slowed to a stop.
Gulls flew overhead, their calls mixing with the scent of the sea that filled the air.
All she needed to do now was catch a bus across the causeway, and though she was three hours later than planned, she held on to the hope that the tide hadn’t turned yet, and she could still make it to the island.
She made her way to the bus stop just outside the train station entrance, where a small group of disgruntled passengers had gathered.
After a couple of minutes, the verdict was clear: the bus had broken down.
The next one wouldn’t be there for hours, and by that time the causeway would be submerged under the rising tide. And Fern? She’d be stuck in the town.
Her fingers moved automatically, pulling out her phone to check for an Uber. A couple of hopeful taps and … nothing. No cars. No drivers.
She turned to a woman standing nearby. ‘There don’t seem to be any Ubers in the area?’
‘Ubers haven’t found their way here yet,’ came the reply.
‘Really? No Ubers?’
‘The causeway is walkable, if you don’t mind the unpredictable terrain, the encroaching tide or the ever-present chance of being pooed on by the gulls.’ The woman cackled with laughter.
This wasn’t how Fern had imagined her arrival, but she had no choice, she would have to embark on a potentially soul-crushing odyssey across the causeway. She set off, her suitcase bouncing painfully over the rough ground as she trudged forward, the causeway stretching endlessly before her.
* * *
When she finally stepped onto Puffin Island, Fern stopped and stared. The Google photos didn’t do this place justice. It was Instagram-perfect, the beautiful rainbow cottages and pretty shops she’d seen online stretching along the cobbled high street with a stream running at the side.
‘Hello, you look a little lost. Can I help you at all?’
Fern blinked and looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway of a quaint little bookshop, her expression warm.
‘Could you tell me how to get to Anchor Way?’
‘Straight down to the bottom of Lighthouse Lane, then turn left. You can’t miss it.’ The woman smiled.
‘And is there a B&B around here?’ Fern had just realised she’d never even thought about accommodation, and with the train having been over three hours late, she hadn’t much time to find a bed for the night.
The woman pointed in the same direction. ‘Once you’ve turned left, it’s just a short walk. Staying long?’
‘Not too long,’ Fern said vaguely, unsure of what she was walking into.
‘I’m Amelia, the owner of The Story Shop. If you need anything, you’ll find me right in here.’ She pointed over her shoulder as she gave a welcoming smile. ‘I’m always around.’
Fern offered a grateful nod. Amelia’s easy smile made her feel like she’d stepped into another world. A welcoming one. She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘I’m Fern. What’s Puffin Island like?’
Amelia’s face softened. ‘A wonderful place with just the best kind of community. Everyone looks out for each other.’
‘Do you live here?’ Fern asked, curious to know more about the little island.
Amelia pointed to the upper floor of the bookshop, where a row of windows overlooked the bay. ‘Right up there. Best view on the island, especially on a day like today.’
Fern followed her gaze, imagining waking up to the sight of the sea stretching endlessly into the horizon. Even the idea of it – the salt in the air, the quiet lull of waves, the leisurely walks on the sand with a coffee in hand – was a stark contrast to her life in London.
Amelia’s friendly welcome made Fern feel unexpectedly at ease. In London, the only person who would greet her with such a smile was Ella. ‘It looks a wonderful place to live.’ She turned to leave, but then the words slipped out. ‘By any chance, did you know a woman by the name of Matilda Hartley?’
‘Oh, yes. She passed away recently. Owned No. 17 Curiosity Lane, a wonderful little antique shop, full of the strangest things.’ She paused, then leaned against the doorframe of The Story Shop and grabbed a folded local newspaper from a nearby stack.
‘Here you go. There’s a write-up about her.
Lovely tribute, really. No one’s quite sure what’s going to happen to the shop, though.
’ She hesitated, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
‘There’s a rumour going around that she had some sort of relative that’s on their way from London.
I’m not sure how they’re going to fit in here, as they’re no doubt the sort who drinks overpriced lattes, wears designer coats and will probably see inheriting the shop as a massive inconvenience. ’
Fern bit back a grin and saw a flash of panic go across Amelia’s face.
‘Oh no,’ Amelia said, briefly closing her eyes. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re that relative.’
Fern gave a sheepish shrug. ‘I am. But to be fair, I am a little stuck up, drink overpriced lattes and love a good designer coat.’
‘Sorry,’ Amelia apologised immediately, scrunching up her face in embarrassment.
‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. I know nothing about this place or my great-aunt Matilda.’
‘She was one of a kind and she will be missed. You’ll be able to read all about her on page five.’ Amelia gestured towards the newspaper.
They stepped inside The Story Shop to shield the newspaper from the breeze and Fern opened it up.
Legendary Antique Dealer Matilda Hartley Passes at 85
Puffin Island has lost one of its most cherished figures with the passing of Matilda Hartley, the eccentric and beloved proprietor of No. 17 Curiosity Lane. Her tiny shop, brimming with forgotten treasures, was a haven for collectors and wanderers alike.
Her passing at the age of 85 leaves a void in the heart of Puffin Island. The world seems a little dimmer without her bold presence, but her legacy lives on in the countless treasures she preserved and the stories she safeguarded…
Fern found she felt a little sad, which was daft, given that she was reading about a relative she hadn’t even known she had. There was much more to the article but Fern was keen to see the shop for herself, so she looked up at Amelia and asked, ‘Can I keep this?’
‘Of course, and I’m sorry about what I said before.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I may have been travelling since eight a.m. this morning but I do have a little sense of humour left.
’ She smiled to herself. That was primarily down to Daniel.
If he hadn’t made her train journey so enjoyable, she’d undoubtedly be in a right bad mood by now!
She waved goodbye to Amelia and walked down the lane.
After she located No. 17 Curiosity Lane, she was heading straight to the B&B in search of a bed for the night.
And there it was, right in front of her – No. 17 Curiosity Lane.
It looked exactly like the pictures online.
It was in need of paint and repair, but the old stone building had a fairy-tale charm, with ivy creeping up its walls and the crooked wooden sign swaying gently above the door.
Fern stood outside, suitcase at her side, staring at it with a dazed sort of disbelief.
She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact she’d inherited an antique shop.
An actual, real-life, full-of-old-stuff antique shop.
She was about to chalk this up as yet another bizarre twist in her life when something caught her eye, a light flickering inside the shop.
Her heart pounded. Was someone inside? A squatter?
A ghost with a taste for ambient lighting?
Steeling herself, she gripped the handle and pushed the door open.
It creaked, releasing a thick, nostalgic aroma comprising dust, polished wood, old books and that distinct air of things with stories to tell.
Then she saw him. She couldn’t quite believe her eyes.
Leaning back on the chair behind the cash desk, one leg resting over the desk itself, chewing on a pencil, looking entirely at home, was him.
The gorgeous man from the train. The one who smelled out of this world.
The one who had handed over half his sandwich with a grin, shared his KitKat without hesitation and let a starry-eyed little boy strum his guitar like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Daniel.
Her heart was now pounding for all the right reasons.
What were the chances? Slim. Non-existent. She had spent the rest of that train journey quietly wishing she’d asked for his number, convinced she’d never see him again. Yet here he was, grinning at her like the universe had decided to play matchmaker after all.
Fern couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face.
He took his leg off the desk and leaned on the counter, arms folded, eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Well, well. If it isn’t my favourite train companion. What are the chances?’
Her laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. ‘I cannot believe this.’
‘Neither can I,’ he admitted, his lopsided grin doing something ridiculous to her stomach. ‘But I’m thrilled about it.’
She shook her head, giddy. ‘This is surreal.’
‘Or,’ he said, ‘it’s fate.’
The way he said it – so easy, so sure – made her pulse race.
She tilted her head playfully. ‘What exactly are you doing in my shop?’
‘Your shop?’ He raised an eyebrow, grinning wider.
‘It was left to me by my great-aunt Matilda … whom I actually didn’t know existed until twenty-four hours ago.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s our shop.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Explain. Quickly.’
He clapped his hands together. ‘Right. So, funny story…’