Chapter 17
Meg did a double take, realising that she was holding the leash, but there was no dog to be seen.
‘Eliza?’
There was no sign of her. She must have headed to the beach.
‘She’s taken herself for a walk,’ Gabe said, laughing.
‘I’d better go find her,’ Meg said, feeling torn. Half of her – a half she’d forgotten existed, it had been so long – wanted to stand there chatting to the handsome Gabe and ask him how he’d found himself up here working in Applemore. The other half, though, won.
‘I’d better get on as well,’ said Gabe, checking the time on his phone. ‘I’ve got to get up the mountain and check everything is under control before lunch.’
Meg set off for the beach, the wind blowing her hair into her face until she pulled a band from the pocket of her jeans and looped it back in a ponytail.
When she returned, having discovered Eliza dancing with excitement at the edge of a rock pool where a tiny crab was lodged in some seaweed, she felt a bit deflated to come over the hill up from the beach and see that his truck had gone.
Back at the house she dusted sand off her jeans and headed inside, giving Eliza a snack and putting the kettle on for a coffee.
What on earth was Helen thinking, forgetting to mention that there was work planned up at the lighthouse? She couldn’t feel angry at her, because years of friendship had taught her that Helen was just… Helen.
Her phone buzzed as the kettle came to a boil.
Hope everything is going okay. My baby girl is enormous.
There was a photo of Helen with her arms wrapped around a glowing Phoebe, who did indeed look as if she was about to pop.
Everything is fine, typed Meg. Give P a kiss from me.
She looked at the message then pressed send. A moment later, thinking about what the therapist would have said about allowing her feelings, she tapped another message.
Woke up this morning to two random men noodling about outside… which was slightly unexpected?
The therapist would have probably pointed out that she should be clearly expressing her dismay, but – Meg shrugged to herself as she scooped coffee into the pot and poured the hot water on top – nobody’s perfect.
Oh god, I knew there was something I meant to tell you, came Helen’s reply.
Meg’s mouth curled up in a smile. Three little dots danced on the screen as her friend wrote a response from the other side of the world.
There’s a notebook on the mantelpiece with stuff I knew I’d forget written in it!
So you forgot to tell me you’d written a list of things you were going to forget to tell me?
That’s pretty much it,replied Helen, as Meg snorted with laughter. She carried her coffee and the phone through to the sitting room, Eliza trotting along behind her.
I tidied it, Meg said, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situation.
Q.E.D. Helen sent a row of laugh emojis. If that doesn’t sum us up, I don’t know what does. Now, I better go. I’ve got a hot date with Phoebe’s in-laws.
Meg sat down on the sofa with the little green hard-backed notebook. Inside, in Helen’s distinctive artistic writing, was a list of reminders. Bin collection, the number for the local health centre, where she’d find the fuse box and the water stop-cock.
She’d written down Kathleen’s phone number in case of emergencies… or if you fancy a coffee and a chat.
She felt quite good seeing that. Knowing her of old, Helen had tried to bolster her in case she spent the whole time she was there house-sitting completely alone. Instead, she’d been out to Pilates, met Gabe – well, that wasn’t exactly deliberate, but she was going to take it as a win – and had bumped into Kathleen as well. Not bad, she told herself, not bad. Maybe she really was making changes. She curled her feet up underneath her and pulled out her laptop, opening it up to search for information on free libraries, hoping for some inspiration.
She headed down later that afternoon, bringing Helen’s wheelbarrow and one of the plastic storage crates. She’d loaded it with cleaning products, which she took out when she got to the little wooden structure, unloading them onto the grass and pulling out all the books along with a large quantity of sand and some dried sea-grass. Once she’d wiped down the four shelves and polished the little glass windows in the doors, she stood back, biting her lower lip and frowning, thoughtfully.
‘Nice to see someone hard at work,’ said a man in a flat cap with a grizzly little terrier trotting at his heels.
‘Thanks,’ said Meg, turning to say hello.
He gave her a nod and paused for a moment while she bent down to say hello to the dog. He had a kindly face, lined and weather-beaten under his cap.
‘I’m giving it a bit of a clear out.’
‘That’s never a bad thing. I’ll have to come by afterwards and see how it’s looking once it’s had a spruce up.’ He glanced up towards the lighthouse. ‘Settling in okay up there?’
Meg felt herself smiling. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Glad to hear it. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you in the next few weeks when we get going on the visitor centre.’ He put out a hand. ‘Murdo. My wife Greta said she met you at the keep-fit class the other day.’
‘I’m Meg.’
‘Nice to meet you, Meg. And welcome to Applemore.’
She wheeled the books back up to the house, having resolved to sort them out properly. Helen had so many books – not just fiction, but books on crafting and yoga, the history of the area, and lots more. She’d been quite insistent that Meg pass them on.
Meg put on some music and made some little stacks, sorting out any of the books from the shelves which looked too battered and worn to be of much interest to anyone. Then she got some old brown paper from Helen’s art room, and copying the idea she’d seen online, decided to wrap up ten of them so their covers were hidden.
She wrote a brief one-line description on the spine of a thriller, then tied the book up in a parcel with some string, putting it to one side. For a romance, she wrote the first line of the book. Someone had donated a copy of Pride and Prejudice. It would be far too obvious to write the famous first line on the brown paper, so she thought for a moment, tapping her pen on her chin.
She’d carefully written the words don’t judge a book by its cover on the spine when a knock at the cottage door sent Eliza into a frenzy of excited yapping. She straightened up, brushing little pieces of brown paper onto the floor. This quiet life in the countryside she’d been expecting was proving to be anything but.