Chapter 17
Bill hadn’t been to the seaside for ages because although he had been to the coast several times since he’d retired from the Merchant Navy, none of those trips had been particularly memorable.
Today, he felt, would be different because Fiona was accompanying him.
Porthcawl was where they were headed, and Bill was looking forward to it immensely. Even the one-and-a-half-hour drive to get to it (mostly along the busy motorway) proved to be enjoyable. With the windows down (not too far because of the wind drag) and music from the 70s on the radio, which they sang along to (mostly out of tune but with great enthusiasm) the journey was over in a flash.
‘I can see the sea!’ Fiona squealed as the car crested a hill.
Sure enough there was a sliver of blue in the distance; and a state of excitement akin to that which he used to feel when he was a child, hit Bill in the chest. All that was lacking was a bucket and spade, and some pocket money to spend on the slot machines in the arcade.
Bill didn’t head for the town centre or popular Sandy Bay Beach, but instead drove to Rest Bay, where it was quieter and dogs were allowed on the sand all year round.
Fiona stayed by the car with Patch as Bill went to the machine to buy a ticket, but when he got there he happened to glance back, and the sight of her made him pause.
She was standing by the car, her face turned up to the sky, the sun highlighting the silver in her hair and making her skin glow. It struck him yet again that she was a fine-looking woman. Not that her physical appearance made any difference, because she was equally as lovely on the inside as out. More, actually.
Returning to the car with his ticket, Bill thought how lucky he was to have such a friend.
‘How long have we got?’ she asked, as he placed the ticket on the dashboard.
‘All day. We don’t have anything to get back for, do we?’ Yesterday had been very hands-on, with the pair of them ferrying umpteen boxes from Fiona’s house to the cafe, and then having to find homes for the various plates, cups, saucers, cutlery, pots, pans and numerous other pieces of equipment that were needed. Now that everything was in place (Fiona was expecting a delivery of dry and non-perishable goods tomorrow afternoon, and fresh stuff on Friday), today seemed an ideal day to take a break.
‘Not that I know of,’ she replied.
‘Excellent!’ He offered her his arm. ‘I thought we could go down to the beach, then have a walk along the front.’
Fiona took it, threading her arm through his, and the three of them made their way out of the car park and down a little path which led past the lifeguard station and onto the sand. Once they were on the beach, the dog scampered away, running exuberantly in this direction and that, overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells.
Bill felt a bit like Patch himself, as he breathed in a deep lungful of brine-scented air. God, he’d missed the smell of the sea! The sight of it, too.
The tide was going out, the breakers small, exposing more rippled sand with each retreating wave. Holidaymakers had staked their spots on the damp sand, and several were paddling in the shallows. Children (and some adults) wielded buckets, spades and nets, and there was a lively game of volleyball going on.
Patch danced about, running up to other dogs and saying hello before racing off again. There was simply too much going on for him to settle on one thing.
Fiona slipped off her sandals and wiggled her painted toes. ‘Ooh, that feels so good. Can we walk down to the sea?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Are you going to take your socks and shoes off?’
‘I wasn’t planning on it.’
‘How will you paddle?’
‘I wasn’t planning on that, either.’
‘Go on, I dare you. Or have you got ogre feet and you don’t want anyone to see?’
Bill barked out a laugh. ‘I do not have ogre feet.’
‘Prove it.’
He did, taking his shoes off and shoving his socks into them. ‘There. Satisfied?’
‘That wasn’t so hard, was it? Go on, admit it – you like the feel of sand between your toes.’
‘I do, but not when I put my socks back on.’
‘I saw a standpipe by the lifeboat station. We can wash our feet there.’
‘They’ll still be wet,’ Bill pointed out, before realising that he sounded incredibly wimpy. He felt the need to explain that he’d had more than his fair share of wet feet over the years, but before he could say anything Fiona produced a small towel from the bag she carried over her shoulder.
‘Ta-dah!’
‘You’ve brought a towel?’ He was incredulous.
‘And sun cream, and wet wipes, hand gel, plasters, paracetamol, hankies, sunglasses…’
‘Good grief! Why?’
‘You never know when something will come in handy.’
‘But… a towel ?’
‘I don’t normally carry one,’ she admitted. ‘I popped it in my bag this morning, in case it was needed.’
Bill shook his head in disbelief as she folded it up and put it away. This woman never ceased to amaze him!
After Bill rolled his trousers up to his knees, he and Fiona strolled down the beach arm-in-arm, and he marvelled at what a lovely time he was having already. If he had been on his own with Patch, he had no doubt he would have had a perfectly pleasant time but being able to share it with someone made it even nicer.
‘It’s cold!’ Fiona squealed when the first wave trickled over her feet.
‘You’ll soon get used to it.’ Bill took a couple more steps, halting when the water lapped around his ankles. Shading his eyes, he gazed out to sea.
A cargo ship was on the horizon, heading towards one of the docks near Bristol, presumably. Then his attention was caught by Patch chasing through the wavelets after a seagull. The dog’s alarmed expression when he suddenly realised he was out of his depth, made Bill laugh.
After a bit more splashing about, they decided it was time to retrace their steps up the beach and walk along the coastal path instead.
After Bill had rinsed his sandy toes under the tap, Fiona handed him the towel, a smirk on her face. He took it with feigned bad grace, and she wrinkled her nose at him.
‘Told you so,’ she crowed. ‘Sun cream?’ She held out a bottle of Factor 15.
The day was getting warmer, so he thought he better had. Smearing it over his face, he asked, ‘Has it soaked in?’
‘Nowhere near. Here, let me.’
He held his head still as her soft fingers rubbed the cream into his cheek. It was strangely intimate, and it left him feeling all at sea for a minute or two. Luckily, he was able to compose himself while she put her sandals back on, and although he wondered what had caused him to feel that way, he pushed it to the back of his mind.
Between the sea and the road leading from Rest Bay to Porthcawl town, was a strip of grassland lined with sandy paths winding through wildflowers and low-lying gorse bushes. It was the perfect place to walk a dog, and Patch couldn’t contain himself. He was almost frantic with joy, and when Bill spied evidence of rabbits, he realised why the dog was in such a state of hyper-excitement. By the time they had reached the end of the grassland and had stepped onto the promenade, the terrier’s tongue was almost dragging on the floor.
Nearby was a kiosk selling ice cream, tea, coffee and so on, so Bill bought a bottle of water, then produced a flattened bowl out of his back pocket which he promptly popped open into the required bowl-shape with his thumbs.
‘That’s clever,’ Fiona said. ‘I wondered whether I should put a little ramekin in my bag for Patch, but I assumed – rightly, as it turns out – that you would have it covered.’
‘What’s a ramekin?’
‘A small dish for baking individual portions.’
You learn something new every day, he mused.
She said, ‘How about a big metal dog bowl for outside the cafe? When people stop to give the dogs a drink, they’ll be able to see inside, and it might encourage them to come in.’
‘Good thinking.’ Now that Patch’s thirst was quenched, Bill said, ‘Do you want a coffee before lunch?’
Fiona checked the time. ‘It’s twelve-thirty already. Maybe afterwards?’ She gave him a stern look. ‘If I remember rightly, I was promised fish and chips.’
‘And fish and chips are what you shall have! Not far from Sandy Beach is, what I’ve been reliably informed, the best chippie in the area. They even have a sit-in service, but I’m afraid they don’t allow dogs.’
‘It always tastes better eaten outside,’ Fiona said. ‘I’m sure we can find a nice bench somewhere.’
‘There used to be a park opposite. I wonder if it’s still there?’
Fiona caught his eye and beamed at him. ‘A park would be perfect.’
Two portions of fish and chips, a small sausage (for Patch) and two cans of fizzy lemonade later, saw Bill and Fiona polishing off the final scraps of vinegar-drenched chips, and licking their salty fingers. They were sitting in the park opposite to eat their lunch under the shade of one of the many trees, and Bill’s tummy was now full to bursting.
Fiona groaned. ‘You weren’t joking when you said it was the best fish and chip shop around. That was yummy.’
‘Room for an ice cream?’
Another groan. ‘Not yet. I think I need to walk this off first.’ She indicated the empty wrapper on the picnic table in front of her.
‘Tell you what, how about if we carry on around the headland? We can let Patch off the lead again and have a sit in the sun. Then on the way back we’ll have a coffee and an ice cream on the esplanade. It’s a bit of a trek, though.’
‘I don’t mind. All the exercise I’ve been doing lately has done wonders – I haven’t slept this well in years.’
Bill knew what she meant. Being busy most days had done wonders for him, too.
But little did he know that tonight he would have one of the worst night’s sleep in years.
***
Fiona gazed enviously at the grand houses facing the promenade. Many of them, she noticed, had been made into flats, and as they strolled along the front, back to Rest Bay and the car, she imagined what it would be like to live in one. It would have to have windows which faced the sea, and a terrace or a balcony would be even better.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t bought yourself a little place on the coast,’ she said. ‘One of these would be lovely.’
‘I did consider it, but Sweet Meadow called me back. I also thought about selling up and buying somewhere smaller, but I moved into my mother’s house when I retired and I’ve stayed there ever since.’
‘Because of the memories?’ That was the main reason she hadn’t moved out of the house she’d lived in with Bradley. Plus, it was David’s childhood home. Also, where would she have moved t o? It would have had to have been somewhere in Sweet Meadow, because it seemed senseless moving to another area, then having to commute to Clover Cafe every day, so in the end she decided that moving was pointless. After she’d sold the cafe, she had briefly considered buying one of the retirement flats in the new complex on the other side of town, but she couldn’t face the hassle. Besides, she was perfectly comfortable where she was, and she didn’t feel the need for a retirement place just yet. Maybe when she became less mobile she would revisit the idea. But not now, especially with Sweet Meadow Cafe just around the corner. She could almost fall out of bed and roll into it.
‘Because of laziness,’ Bill said, in answer to her question. ‘Inertia, mainly. I couldn’t be bothered to sell up and buy somewhere else. It was easier to stay put.’ His pace slowed even more, as he turned to look at her. ‘I’m glad I didn’t.’ His voice was soft, and it sent tingles down her back.
Unable to help herself, she leant into him, her shoulder resting against his. ‘Me, too.’ Her voice was equally as gentle. If it wasn’t for Bill, she wouldn’t be about to take on Sweet Meadow Cafe.
If she was honest, she still wasn’t entirely sure she was up to it, but with Bill’s encouragement, support and help she was sure she would manage.
Fiona wasn’t under any illusion that it would be easy – she knew she would find it tough – but she hoped she would enjoy it as well. No matter what happened, she would give it her best shot, she was determined about that.
But strangely, she had the feeling that what she was going to enjoy most of all was seeing Bill on a regular basis. She had grown accustomed to his presence. More than accustomed, if she was honest, but that was something to think about at another time. Not right now. She had the rest of the day to enjoy first. And even when she gratefully sank into the passenger seat of Bill’s car, with her feet aching and her face glowing from the sun, she wasn’t ready for this lovely day to end.
‘I know we’ve had a big lunch,’ she said, after Bill had strapped an exhausted but very happy Patch into his harness on the back seat and got behind the wheel. ‘But would you like to pop back to mine for a spot of supper? By the time we get home it’ll be gone seven and I, for one, will need a little something before bedtime.’
‘As will I, so yes, please.’
The homeward journey was less lively than the outward one, but the car was filled with quiet contentment, and Fiona guessed that Bill must be as tired as she, so she refrained from talking in order to allow him to concentrate on the road.
Patch, the exhausted little pup, slept all the way back to Sweet Meadow, while Fiona spent the journey watching the scenery and debating what to make for supper. Sandwiches were out of the question because she had a feeling that she would be sick of the sight of them by this time next week. Neither did she fancy anything with eggs, so she wouldn’t be making an omelette. Pasta was probably too heavy after the lunch they’d had, although she did have ham and cheese she could add to it.
Her mind drifted to the contents of her freezer, and she remembered there were at least three portions of homemade tomato soup in the middle drawer. Today mightn’t be soup weather, but she had eaten soup in forty-degree heat in Turkey one year, so perhaps the temperature outside didn’t matter. And as for Patch, she had begun keeping a tin or two of dog food on hand in case it was needed, so the terrier wouldn’t go without.
Whilst Fiona warmed the soup, Bill fed a sleepy Patch, then when the soup was ready she served it up with rustic bread and salted Welsh butter.
It was a perfect end to a perfect day.
‘My goodness, this is delicious!’ Bill exclaimed after his first mouthful.
Fiona had to admit that it wasn’t bad, even if she did say so herself. Not only was it tasty, it was also healthy and nutritious, packed full of roasted ripe tomatoes and with absolutely no additives or preservatives whatsoever. She had made the bread herself as well, although most of the hard work had been undertaken by the breadmaker.
After a cup of tea and a slice of rich chocolate cake, both she and Bill were replete.
‘I suppose I should make a move,’ he said.
Twilight was descending and it would be dark soon, and Fiona was almost ready for her bed. It had been an exciting day, and she was pleasantly tired. With the prospect of another busy day ahead tomorrow in the cafe, she needed her rest. As did Bill, especially since he’d had the added strain of driving to Porthcawl and back. He must be absolutely shattered, the poor man. She got to her feet to show him to the door.
‘See you tomorrow for the delivery,’ he said, pausing on the step. ‘Thank you for today.’
‘What do you mean? I should be thanking you . It’s been wonderful.’
‘It has. We must do it again.’
‘I certainly hope we will.’ Impulsively, she stepped towards him. Her intention was to give him a hug, but somehow when his arms came around her waist to hug her back, her mouth accidentally brushed against his, and suddenly their lips met and he was kissing her. Or she, him. She didn’t know which.
All she knew was that her heart seemed to stop, at the same time that her pulse throbbed in her ears. A trembling started in her knees and worked its way up her body until she felt so weak she thought she might keel over if it wasn’t for Bill’s solid embrace.
Lost in the kiss, the world beyond ceased to exist, as unfamiliar sensations swept through her.
But suddenly she was abruptly brought back to earth by Glenys’s voice saying, ‘I’ll pop by in the morning after I’ve fetched your shopping, Mrs Pemberton,’ and her neighbour’s answer, ‘You’re a love. Drive safely.’
Tearing her lips away, Fiona released Bill and leapt back, dismay coursing through her as she heard Glenys walk to her car.
What had she done? What had she been thinking? Without doubt, she hadn’t been thinking at all. Oh God!
Then Fiona’s horrified gaze met Bill’s and she saw her own shock and chagrin reflected in his face, and all she was capable of was a muttered, ‘Goodnight,’ as she closed the door.
***
Patch didn’t want another walk, he was too tuckered out. But Bill couldn’t settle, and there was no way Patch would let Bill go out without him, so the dog reluctantly scrambled to his feet and allowed his master to attach the lead to his collar.
‘Sorry, boy, but I can’t— I have to— Oh, dear.’ He had only just got in, having managed to find a parking space right outside his house (a miracle in these narrow, terraced streets), but the short journey from Fiona’s house to his had been undertaken on autopilot. He couldn’t for the life of him remember a single thing about it. His thoughts had been too full of Fiona and the kiss they had just shared.
A walk around the park might clear his head a little. But even if it didn’t, it was better than staring mindlessly at the TV, or tossing and turning in bed. He would only get cross and he’d learnt long ago that physical activity was better for him than doing nothing when he was upset, so he left the house and made his way to the park.
Night had fallen and for once the park was silent. No teenage high jinks from the bandstand, no lingering smell of cigarette smoke. Not even a rustle in the undergrowth from a mouse or a hedgehog, although at one point he thought he heard footsteps as he neared the cafe, and Patch also barked once, so someone might have been hanging around, but when the cafe came into view there wasn’t a soul in sight and the night was calm once more.
However, the tranquillity failed to soothe him or make him forget the feeling of his lips on Fiona’s, or the softness of her as he had held her in his arms. And it did absolutely nothing to quell the longing he felt to kiss her again.
His heart gave an irregular beat as he recalled the panicked look in her eyes, and he was filled with dismay at the thought that he might have destroyed their friendship. He wished he could remember which of them had made the first move. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought it may have been Fiona.
Surely he hadn’t? He’d had his heart broken once and he was adamant it wouldn’t happen again.
Which was one of the reasons he was in such a quandary now. As much as he loved being with her, he didn’t want Fiona to get the wrong idea.
Bill froze. What if she already had ?
He was mortified. Oh heck, he should never have allowed this to happen. It was his own fault.
No more, he vowed. He would be friendly and polite, but reserved. He had let his guard down but it wasn’t too late to put it back up. And none too soon, either – because he realised that it wasn’t just Fiona’s feelings he needed to worry about. It was his own.
His feelings for her were bordering on serious.
And that would never do.