Chapter 4
Tilly sat by the window of a random bar in Fiji airport with a glass of wine that had cost her an arm and a leg and no real feel for what time of day it was.
Somewhere behind her, a barista was steaming milk, further off, a woman was laughing into her phone in a language Tilly couldn't place and out on the concourse, a baggage trolley was moving in slow motion under floodlights from above.
Tilly had changed her clocks and was already on UK time.
She hadn't even left yet, but after a horrible few days, felt as if she hadn't slept properly for what felt like ages.
The best thing about the situation? She was on her way home.
The wine had arrived with a small dish of cashews and, unbelievably, Tilly was gearing herself up for a call from a person going by the name of Margery, the woman who owned the Boat Shed.
She'd had a message come through just before she'd started her last shift and had arranged a time to chat.
Now, with a notebook open on her lap and a piece of paper with a very neat list of the things she wanted to ask by her side, she tried to keep her eyes alert and her brain in gear.
Turnover. Freehold or leasehold? Why are you selling?
Reading through her list, Tilly had no idea why she’d sent the DM in the first place, but something was driving her to follow the calling from the ad.
She’d heard her dad’s voice in her head and remembered how he’d always chased after a lead like a dog with a bone.
That had been half his success, he’d always told her.
Reading through the post again and turning her phone sideways to look at the building, she shook her head.
Honestly, who in their right mind would answer the ad?
Something about it spoke to her, though.
A calling which Tilly knew was a sign. Her dad had always reiterated that the calling was the most important part of finding a business in need of help.
Wondering what she was doing, Tilly considered sending a message to say something had come up or perhaps she'd just ignore the call if and when it came in.
Why would she even consider going to Darling Island?
At best, a sleepy summer town that beat to its own drum, at worst, full of no-hopers and dead ends with no prospects and even fewer jobs.
Deciding she had nothing to lose as the time clicked over, she drained the glass of wine, ordered another one and waited.
Not this time was she waiting for a man or an entertainer, but for something that might possibly change the trajectory of her life.
Ten or so minutes later, as her phone buzzed in her hand, Tilly pressed the green button before she could think too hard. She’d have a quick chat, read the room and let fate do its thing.
'Hello? Tilly? That's what the message said. Is this Tilly Bloomwood, was it?'
Tilly pursed her lips at the sound of an older woman's slightly out-of-breath voice. There was the sound of a tannoy in the background, footsteps on hard floors and banging. 'Yes. This is Tilly. Hello. Yep. Thank you for calling.'
'Sorry, love. Yes, it's Margery from the message you sent me. DM, is it called? I'm just coming out of the ward. Hang on a tick. There's a chair down by the window. I'll go down there where it's quiet.'
Tilly waited. There was a bit of muffled distance, the tannoy noises faded and then a small sigh. 'Right. There. That's better. Sorry, love. It's chaos in there today.'
'Not a problem. Are you okay?'
'Yes, well, no, sorry, sort of. My husband's here in hospital. Bill. They've found a rare cancer, and we're a few weeks in. He's having a bit of a kip, so this is a good moment, actually.'
Tilly put her wine down on the little table next to her without taking her eyes off her notebook. 'I'm sorry. I, err, I didn't realise. Would you like to reschedule?'
'Thank you, love. No, no. Anyway, yes, the Boat Shed. You messaged me, that's right, isn't it? You're abroad, didn't you say in your second message? Fuerteventura, was it? Tell me a bit about you.'
Tilly wasn't really sure what to say, and she was certainly a very long way from an island in the Canaries.
Suddenly, she realised she was barking up the wrong tree.
What was she actually enquiring about? Deciding she might as well not bother, she started to chat, telling Margery that she was English, had been working on cruises and in hotels abroad for a few years and that she was on her way home.
That her dad had bought and sold small businesses years before, and that she'd grown up around that sort of thing.
Not mentioning Lennixx or her ex-husband, she heard herself saying that she could move quickly.
Margery listened all the way through without interrupting. 'Well. You sound nice, love.'
Tilly closed her eyes briefly. You sound nice, love.
She hadn't been spoken to like that for a very long time.
'Thank you. I'm flying back to the UK currently, and I'll see what happens when I get there.
My mum's in France at the moment, she goes every year with my aunt.
They've been renting the same villa for fifteen years, and she Airbnbs her house out for the season while she's gone, so yeah, my plans are up in the air.
' Tilly paused. 'I haven't told her I'm coming back yet.
I didn't want to disturb her summer until I'd worked out what I was doing, if you see what I mean. '
'Where are you planning on going then, love?' Margery asked.
Tilly wasn't actually sure of the answer to that question. 'Honestly. I think probably a Budget Inn somewhere on the south coast for a few nights while I work out what I'm going to do. I, well, I, err, something happened here, and I just want to get home. I’ve been really homesick.'
'A Budget Inn?'
'Yes.'
Margery let out a small noise that was almost a laugh but a commiserating one. 'Oh, love. Surely not?'
'I know. It’s not the best plan, but it’ll do. I might even stay at the airport first off and take it from there.'
'Right. The Boat Shed. What do you want to know?'
Tilly had forgotten that she was enquiring about a business. 'Err, yes, umm. It wasn't actually clear what, you know, what the boat shed is?'
'What it is?'
'The business?'
'Oh, love. Well, back in the day, it was a bit of a, you know, a bit of an everything shop. Before the internet and all that.'
Tilly looked at her list. 'It says about turnover on the post?'
'Turnover! Ahh, Bill wrote that years ago when we were thinking about selling it back in the day.
But, yup, certainly turnover was reasonable on a summer season in those days, I think, not sure.
To be honest, we've not been open for a long time.
The last summer years back before we closed was a good one.
The summer before wasn't, but that was the weather. I don’t really know a lot about the accounts.
Bill's done all that side for years, but I can ask him when he wakes up. '
'And the building? Is it freehold?'
'We bought it outright in nineteen ninety-three.
There's the Shed itself, the flat above and a bit of pontoon and decking.
It's been shut up since we started going to Ibiza, you know, for the sunshine.
Some people rented it for a bit, but they left it in a tip.
Boating types they were. They used it to fix boats, I think and sell stuff.
Something like that. I know the roof needs work.
I believe the freezer's packed up, but the flat's liveable.
All the utilities are still on. Since Bill went in, I just haven't had the time to even think about it. '
'Right. So, sorry, did you live there?'
'Oh, God no! We have a beautiful detached place on the mainland and a house in Spain. Before all this, the plan was to, well, you don't need to hear all that.'
Tilly wasn't sure what to think, but she could almost hear her dad's voice willing her on. Margery’s words hinted at a distressed sale, which was the nuts and bolts of her dad’s businesses. 'I see.'
Margery made a funny half-chuckle, half-cough sound.
'I'll be honest with you, love. Whatever happens with Bill, I won’t be back on Darling to run the place.
I love it there, but I'm too old for it now, and my life's here in London with him for the foreseeable. The best-case scenario is that I’ll be a carer from now on.
I need it gone. I'd rather it went to someone who'll love it than someone who'll knock it down.
I can tell you I've had enough developers on the other end of the phone.
My Bill would have none of it then, and it's not changing anything now.
I have to say, I've just left it and hoped for the best.'
Tilly looked at rain on the window, which had started without her noticing and heard herself saying things she hadn’t thought through. 'I'd be interested.'
Margery laughed. 'What? Would you, love?'
'Yes. I've been looking for an opportunity for a long time, and well, I need a new start. It could, umm, kill two birds with one stone.'
'Okay, look, make me an offer, and I'll consider it properly. I'm not in any state to haggle, but I'm not in any state to be silly about it either. Send it to me in an email, and I'll come back to you in the morning. Do you do email? I prefer it to the Facebook stuff. How does that sound?'
'Umm, yes, okay, will do.'
'Lovely. Good. Right. I'd better get back. Bill'll wake up wondering where I've gone. Thank you. Speak in a bit.'
The line clicked off, and Tilly sat very still for a moment with the phone still in her hand.
Outside, the rain had picked up, sheeting across the apron, the baggage trolley still moving through cats and dogs of rain.
Tilly picked up her wine, glugged it and then opened a new page in her notebook and wrote, at the top, the asking figure from the Facebook post. Underneath, she wrote a question mark and thought about her dad.
Roy Bloomwood at the kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon, paper open on the Businesses for Sale pages, half-drunk cup of tea, biro behind his ear, muttering about what the seller would never get.
Make an offer that'll make them laugh, Tils. The worst they can do is laugh back.
Tilly wrote a number underneath the asking price, looked at it and doodled little flowers all around it.
Then she wrote one a bit lower, crossed that out, wrote one lower still, the sort of number that would have made her dad snort into his tea.
Opening the email app on her phone, she found Margery's address from the message and typed.
Hopefully, Tilly Bloomwood had begun a new journey.
One that would whisk her off to an old boat shed by the sea.