Chapter 23
The next week and a half flew by as Meg found her feet, taking daily walks with Eliza and exploring the paths and trails around Applemore. They were both getting fitter with each daily hike, marching up the steep heather-clad hills and through the forest tracks that led down to secret coves and tiny white sand beaches. Eliza was delighted to discover that the seals seemed completely unconcerned by her existence, and would lie basking in the late spring sunlight as she stood beneath their rocks looking up at them, her little head cocked to one side in fascination.
Meg took a drive up one day to the farm shop where she met Gavin and Tom, the couple who owned it, and Eliza befriended their cute little sausage dogs.
‘I gather from Dolina you didn’t know anything about the plans for the visitor centre at the lighthouse,’ Tom had said, chatting away quite happily as he operated the huge, sleek coffee machine behind the counter.
Meg had shaken her head, laughing. Dolina had appeared in the middle of a conversation between her and Miranda, inserting herself in comfortably and nodding along in sympathy. Afterwards, Miranda had said, with no rancour, that anything that Dolina overheard would be repeated and have spread round the village faster than you could spread the common cold.
‘I didn’t, no, but it was my own fault. I hadn’t read Helen’s list of things I was supposed to remember.’
‘How is Helen getting on?’ Tom passed over a beautifully decorated coffee, the froth on top swirled into the pattern of an oak leaf.
‘Oh, she’s having a lovely time.’ She was still getting used to the fact that here in Applemore total strangers would strike up conversations with you as if they’d known you for years. ‘Her daughter Phoebe only has a week to go now, so I think they’re just getting everything organised. When I spoke to her the other day they were sorting out baby clothes.’
Somehow it was Thursday again – and time for Pilates class. Meg woke late and took Eliza for a quick run along the beach, promising herself a treat from the café afterwards as a bribe to get herself going. As she wandered back up the beach path with a panting Eliza, a fair-haired girl of about fifteen jogged past, her ponytail swinging jauntily.
‘Morning,’ said Meg, raising a hand in greeting.
The girl darted a quick glance at her and gave a shy half-smile. She was carrying a brown envelope, and when she reached the library cupboard she opened the door as if to look at the books, but then dashed off a moment later empty-handed.
Strange,thought Meg, wandering back up to the cottage. She was just filling her water bottle when she noticed a boy with a tangle of dark hair heading towards the little library, his trainers a flash of white as he strode purposefully. She’d seen a regular stream of people visiting the library in the time since she arrived – from curious tourists to locals out for their daily stroll. So far, though, there hadn’t been many teenage boys taking an interest. Normally, from her limited experience, they were too busy playing Xbox or looking at their phones to be thinking about reading. She smiled as she watched him open the doors, and then close them again and turn back the way he’d come, walking more slowly this time. He wasn’t carrying a book – but in one hand he held the brown envelope and in the other what she presumed must be a letter. He was grinning to himself as he read it, completely oblivious to the two men in high-visibility clothing who’d appeared out of nowhere and who were now measuring something on the grass by the beach path.
‘Morning,’ shouted one, as she locked the cottage – still not subscribing to Miranda’s theory that everyone here left their place unsecured – and headed for the car.
She smiled and waved a greeting, realising as she did that the truck parked near the lighthouse was from Grant Forestry. She turned again, trying to look casual, wondering if Gabe was going to appear out of nowhere once again.
No such luck, Meg was surprised to find herself thinking as she climbed into the car and headed into the village. She’d left Eliza – tired from their walk along the beach – snoozing on the sofa.
It was funny that you could live in a place this small and not bump into the one person you’d quite like to see. She’d loved the walk with Gabe – because he was interesting, and interested in what she had to say, she’d tried to tell herself. But the truth was that for the first time in a very long time he was someone she’d like to spend time with, and she had no idea how that was supposed to happen.
Unless she just parked herself outside the cottage and waited for him to come back and get to work on the landscaping project, of course. That wouldn’t look crazy at all.
She was still laughing at herself as she walked up the main street of Applemore village.
The sweet vanilla scent of the little bakery café was drifting through the air, catching Meg’s nostrils and making her stomach rumble in anticipation before she’d even pushed open the door.
A little bell tinkled to signal her arrival and a woman in her early forties with dark curly hair appeared from underneath the counter.
‘Ooh,’ she said, straightening up with a little groan and a laugh. ‘I think I need to do some stretches or something.’
‘You should try the Pilates class tonight,’ said Meg. ‘I swear I feel better after only two classes.’
What on earth was happening to her? Back in Heatherby, she’d never so much as passed the time of day with someone in a shop, keeping herself to herself and dashing in and out as quickly as possible. Here she wasn’t just chatting, she was volunteering information – and enjoying it.
‘Maybe I will. I was helping make a load of sourdough loaves this morning and all that folding and stretching the dough has left me feeling like I need a hot bath.’
‘Oh no,’ said Meg, putting a hand to her mouth in horror.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve just remembered that blooming sourdough starter. I shoved it in the fridge, and I was supposed to feed it. If my friend gets back and it’s starved to death I’ll feel terrible.’
‘What are you doing in here if you’ve got a sourdough starter on the go?’
Meg looked at her with confusion.
‘You could be making your own bread,’ she went on, motioning to the beautifully shaped loaves which stood behind her on pretty wicker racks.
‘I could,’ admitted Meg, laughing, ‘but my attempt at sourdough looked nothing like that. I think perhaps it’s not my thing.’
‘Well, in that case, that’s probably good news for me. If everyone starts baking their own bread my husband Matt won’t have a bakery business and this café will be up the spout as well.’
‘Everybody wins,’ said Meg, with another laugh. She scanned the shelves. ‘Can I have one of those round ones, please, and a couple of sausage rolls as well?’
‘Of course.’
She chose a sticky, old-fashioned iced bun and some cinnamon and raisin bagels to have the next day for breakfast, putting all the items into her reusable shopping bag and heading for the door with a wave of thanks.
‘Oh, before you go,’ said the woman, holding a blue cloth in one hand and a bottle of cleaning spray in the other. ‘About that sourdough starter – you won’t starve it to death if you leave it in the back of the fridge. It’ll be fine until Helen gets back.’
Meg was shaking her head in amusement as she pulled the door closed behind her. It was the craziest thing to be living in a place where even when you thought people didn’t know your business, they still seemed to have a pretty good idea who you were and what you were up to.
She went into the little supermarket, pleased to see that the lighthouse library offshoot seemed to be a hit. A woman in a red and blue striped fleece was browsing the shelves, a brown and white spaniel sitting patiently beside her wheelchair.
‘Looking forward to Pilates tonight?’
Someone tapped her on the shoulder as she was scanning the shelves looking for olive oil. Meg turned to see Dolina beaming at her expectantly.
‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘Although not looking forward to feeling so stiff that I can’t get out of bed tomorrow morning.’