Chapter 4 #4
Nestled neatly on top was a pair of Rose’s trusty high-waisted jeans, already broken in and soft in all the right places.
Underneath were a couple of summer tops, a couple of blouses and one gloriously oversized navy jumper.
There was even a handful of toiletries, makeup, underwear, socks, a bra and a pair of PJs.
To her surprise, she discovered a thick pair of fluffy socks with puffins on them, and a note that looked like it had been quickly scribbled on the back of an envelope:
These were a present from Great Aunt Maureen. I’ve never worn them, but when on Puffin Island! Sorry about the PJs. They’re not very sexy, but I thought you’d be after comfort.
P.S. Please stay out of trouble and don’t shag anyone on the rebound unless it’s really, really necessary. Love you, R x
Pippa laughed out loud. The puffin socks were already her favourite thing, and as for the last bit, well, that was the very last thing on her mind. Or at least it had been … right up until the image of Theo appeared at the front of her thoughts, completely uninvited. She shoved it away at once.
The hastily packed emergency suitcase was a godsend. At least she wouldn’t be attending the Clockmakers’ Convention in Theo’s old uni T-shirt and lounge pants – or, worse still, her wedding dress!
She pulled on a T-shirt then shimmied into the jeans with a hop and a wiggle that would’ve impressed even her yoga teacher.
Just as Pippa was about to leave the bedroom dressed in Rose’s attire, the pocket watch’s ticking caught her attention. She texted her dad.
The pocket watch you gave me has miraculously started working! It must like the sea air!
Her phone pinged almost immediately, but it was Rose.
How was your first night? Did the Dr stay in his own room?
Pippa fired back a reply without thinking.
He’s off limits. Married and I’m not interested.
Rose responded right away.
Things happen for a reason!
She ignored her friend. Rose was a true romantic, the sort who loved love, who believed people wandered into your life exactly when they were meant to.
She didn’t believe in needing time to get over things, or space.
Rose believed in following your heart and trusting the universe.
Pippa did not. She hadn’t just ended a relationship, she’d run from a wedding, and she was still clearing away the wreckage of that.
The last thing she needed was anything complicated, and Theo Blake was definitely complicated.
He had a life that didn’t intersect with hers, a family, and a career that was about to take him to the other side of the world.
Even entertaining the idea of him … romantically – even hypothetically, even for a second – felt ridiculous.
It wasn’t temptation she was feeling. It was irritation.
He was infuriating. Arrogant. Permanently convinced he was the cleverest person in the room. And even if he weren’t married, which he very much was, there was nothing to consider. Absolutely nothing.
She stared out of the window at the rain, willing her heart to get the message her head already understood.
Her phone pinged again, this time with a reply from her father.
Really! How bizarre!
Pippa picked up the watch and turned it over, finding that the back of the case was warm. Not just room-temperature warm, but properly warm. She wasn’t sure who the clockmaker was as there was no stamp, no clue, but it was beautiful, delicate, and alive.
‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ she asked.
It didn’t answer, obviously. It just kept ticking. Like it had all the time in the world.
She wanted to go downstairs and show it to Theo, but she knew he would laugh if she asked if he thought it had started ticking because her new life had started the moment she set foot on Puffin Island.
Or worse, he’d explain it away with something deeply dull about air pressure or residual mechanical inertia or the position of Jupiter.
She popped it into her pocket before bounding downstairs, grabbing her coat from the hook, and pushing her feet into the pair of trainers Rose had loaned her.
‘Right. I’m off to Clemmie’s for breakfast before the convention begins. I’ll see you there.’
‘Are you really going out in that coat? It might be raining but it’s not exactly cold. You’ll melt.’
Pippa looked herself up and down. ‘For a moment there, it sounded like you cared. Anyway, it’s all I’ve got as it was the only thing that would fit over my wedding dress.’
Now Theo was glancing at her footwear. ‘You can’t go out in those either, you’ll be soaked in no time.’
Unfortunately, he was right. Her trainers were half-laced and entirely unfit for a flooding island.
‘Again, it’s all I have,’ she said with a shrug of acceptance.
‘It could be worse, I suppose – I could have travelled in my wedding heels,’ she said.
‘At least this way I’ll make it through the morning without breaking an ankle. ’ She paused. ‘Or my dignity.’
‘You’re going to regret that,’ he said, grinning now.
‘I’ll be fine.’
Pippa pulled the front door shut behind her and took one confident step forward … straight into a puddle far deeper than it had any right to be.
‘Oh!’
Cold water surged straight through the canvas of her trainers, soaking her socks instantly. She froze for half a second, then carried on, shoes squelching cheerfully with every step.
By the time Pippa made it to the bottom of Lighthouse Lane, her socks were thoroughly sodden, and water had soaked the cuffs of her jeans, leaving them dark and heavy.
She hadn’t dared look back at the cottage window, but she could practically feel Theo watching her with smug amusement, probably topping up his coffee and mentally drafting some dry observation about ‘questionable footwear choices during periods of sustained rainfall’.
Still, she’d made it to The Café on the Coast and that, she decided, very much counted as a win.
The café was set in a pink thatched cottage at the foot of the lane.
Clemmie had pointed it out the night before during the impromptu tour.
It looked so cheerful it seemed completely unaware the rest of the country was being drowned by summer rain.
There were fairy lights strung above the door, a chalkboard sign announcing ‘Try Our Legendary Puffin Pancakes’, and the faintest whiff of bacon in the air that hit her with almost spiritual force.
She shoved open the door, grateful to step into somewhere that was dry. A little brass bell tinkled above her, and within seconds, Clemmie’s face appeared from behind the counter.
‘Look what the rain blew in!’ Clemmie beamed, drying her hands on a tea towel, and practically bouncing over. ‘You made it! Minus the wedding dress!’
‘I did, but it would have been easier in a canoe.’ She waggled her sodden feet.
Clemmie gave a theatrical gasp as she glanced down at Pippa’s feet like they were a crime scene. ‘Those are trainers. Are you mad? What size are you?’
‘Six.’
‘Hang on. I’ve got a spare pair of wellies, and you look like you’re going to overheat in that coat.’
‘When I was doing my runaway bride act, I didn’t quite think everything through. But I don’t want to steal your footwear,’ she added, even though the boots sounded glorious.
‘You’re not stealing them. You’re borrowing them until you go home,’ Clemmie shouted as she darted into a back room.
The word ‘home’ flickered across Pippa’s mind like a faulty neon sign.
She hadn’t exactly thought through the whole post-runaway-bride part of the plan, if fleeing your own wedding could even be called a plan, and now, in the comforting warmth of the café with its twinkly lights and smell of fried carbs, the reality hit her square in the gut: she was, technically, homeless.
She’d moved into Rob’s apartment three years ago under the assumption that it was temporary.
They’d look for ‘something together’, he’d said, a place they could make their own.
But time slipped by, the way it always did, and the flat – perfectly minimalist, with its polished marble countertops and aggressively beige aesthetic – just became the place.
There was always something else to save for – a holiday, a wedding…
The sad truth was that every framed photo on the walls had been of Rob’s mates or Rob’s nephews or Rob doing something outdoorsy in a gilet.
The only hint she’d ever lived there at all was a small ceramic clock next to the fruit bowl on the kitchen shelf, which Rob once referred to as ‘that weird ticking thing’.
She had a suitcase, a few summer tops, some emergency knickers, and now, thanks to Clemmie, a pair of boots. But no home. She swallowed. That was something else she would have to sort out on her return. Clemmie returned holding a pair of bright pink wellington boots, a raincoat, and an umbrella.
‘Here. Sorry about the brightness! They’re a bit lived-in, but still very much waterproof. I grabbed you a dry pair of socks, too.’
Pippa smiled, grateful for the boots and the distraction.
‘Thanks, these are perfect. I promise to return them.’
‘Here, give me your coat. I’ll store it for you and you can pick it up anytime. Now, let me introduce you to my granny before I get you your breakfast. Granny!’ Clemmie called out. ‘Come and meet Pippa.’
Pippa glanced around as she peeled off her coat.
The café was cosy, filled with the gentle hum of conversation and the divine smell of frying bacon.
Mismatched teacups and pots lined the bunting-hung shelves like tiny ceramic spectators.
Then she jumped. There, in the corner, stood a life-size cardboard cutout of the late Queen, watching over proceedings like an unblinking regular.