Chapter 16
Olivia finds herself queuing, buying lunch for herself and the kids.
She can’t help feeling it would make more sense to eat at the hotel, to have someone bring it to them while they sit under the shade of a parasol, but Bella and Drew love to be by the beach.
By the time she has stood in line for what seems like an interminable period (of course she was left as the placeholder while they drifted off to enjoy the water) and paid what seems like a ruinous amount of money for three sets of tacos, she is ready for a siesta.
Checking her watch, however, she makes an excuse to her children that she must double-back to the town centre where she has forgotten something.
She knows neither of them will be bothered about accompanying her, so she leaves them on the beach with full bellies, iced lattes and instructions to meet her back at the hotel later.
As she makes her way along the seafront, she is aware of how busy the beach has become.
Barely a square inch appears to be vacant as families of all ages spread themselves out on towels, deckchairs and underneath erected gazebos.
She really can’t wait to come back here out of season when things will be quieter and all the tourists will be gone.
Right on cue her eye snags on a familiar figure; the dark, pixie cut of the woman next door.
She is dressed plainly in a simple sundress, with her husband and that adorably chubby toddler of theirs.
The three of them cut an interesting trio amongst the rest of the beach’s occupants.
None of them are tanned for a start, and they look bleached in comparison to the variegated shades of pink and brown bodies, the bright array of swimsuits and wide-brimmed sun hats, the sleek torsos of surfers, the teak coloured skin of those who have wintered abroad.
They huddle together, finding solace between themselves, nibbling on homemade sandwiches eaten out of tinfoil, while sipping from a flask.
The central focus of the couple seems to be the child as they both watch him intently; one adjusting the sunshade over him, the other entertaining him with a bucket and spade.
Her heart goes out to them a little, she doesn’t mind admitting.
They look pretty miserable, and she feels a pang of guilt for the noise and disruption taking place next door to them.
But then she looks again, and the thought is replaced with a different emotion – one of envy.
She sees how they lift their eyes from the child and smile at each other.
The love they feel for their son reflecting back at each other.
The way she offers him another sandwich, the way he carefully pours out another measure of tea for her.
It is tender and she acknowledges with a lump in her throat that she and Tobias have never had this kind of relationship, even when their own children were that small.
Trudging on through the hot sand, her feet gritty and chafed now, her skin sweaty, Olivia’s resolve hardens.
She is heading to meet the estate agent at the site of the former fishmonger’s shop and she knows that she is doing the right thing.
Too much of her life has already been wasted on other people who don’t appreciate her.
This is her time now. When she gets to the dilapidated old shop, the agent is there waiting for her, standing in the shade and holding a large bunch of keys.
‘Hello, Mrs Woolf?’ she asks and Olivia hurries apologetically.
‘Have you had many enquiries about this place?’ she asks breathlessly, which she is sure makes her sound too eager and desperate.
‘No, you’re the first, actually,’ replies the young woman, introducing herself as Beth. ‘But then it did just go on the market last week.’
‘Oh really?’ asks Olivia, ‘That’s amazing!’
She is aware she is being far too keen and if Tobias were here he would be chiding her and taking over the negotiations immediately.
‘Shall we?’ asks Beth, turning to the property with her keys and beginning to do battle with a rusty padlock.
Inside, it is dust-laden and the smell of fish still pervades. The old refrigerators, also showing signs of corrosion, lie abandoned and silent.
‘It’s been listed as a retail space so the property is already well set up with the necessary utilities and suchlike,’ says Beth. ‘It’s an older building as you can see and the exterior is protected so you can’t make too many changes that aren’t in keeping with the local area, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh that’s okay,’ says Olivia in awe. ‘I love the original features. I’d definitely want to retain the window frames and the old stained glass. Maybe some more modern lighting though?’ she adds, looking at the old strip tubes on the ceiling that have gathered flies and grime.
‘What did you have in mind for the place?’
‘An arts and crafts gallery. Maybe a little studio too?’ replies Olivia, beaming at the agent.
‘Well, that sounds nice. It will certainly make a change. And it would go down very well with a certain type of visitor we get here. And of course, all the second-homers will be interested in buying decorative pieces too, I expect?’
‘Yes, exactly,’ says Olivia, her excitement growing exponentially. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, right there.’
Beth smiles back at her, nodding, and begins to rattle off some details about rent and rates, the minimum tenancy agreement.
But Olivia isn’t really listening. She is imagining herself here, behind a beautiful old reclaimed wooden counter, packaging up one of her paintings or ceramics.
Walking to the rear of the shop, and looking into the back room, she is checking that it is just right for a studio, has enough natural light and ventilation, space for her own easel and canvases.
Drifting back into the main area, she claps her hands together in excitement, spinning about the room, disregarding the cobwebs and damp, the tattered old posters advertising catch of the day and the local tide times.
She is mentally planning where she can put a butler-style sink so she can wash out her brushes, where she might place a couple of chairs for customers alongside a discreet coffee machine perhaps.
The estate agent clears her throat. ‘We would require a deposit of six months’ rent in advance to secure the property, if you’re interested? And of course confirmation of a guarantor plus references.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s fine,’ says Olivia. Her brow puckers slightly at the thought of who that might be.
She wants to do this without Tobias’s intervention.
It is to be hers alone and she craves independence.
At least she can get referees easily enough; she knows enough teachers and doctors and lawyers through the kids’ school.
It doesn’t matter that she has no prior experience as a business owner.
She has worked in a gallery before, albeit a long time ago. How hard can it be?
‘Okay, wonderful. Well, I’ll report back to the landlord and get the paperwork drawn up for you.’ Beth steps towards her then and reaches out a hand. ‘Congratulations on the start of your new venture, Mrs Woolf.’
‘Thank you,’ says Olivia and trembles with happiness.
They shake hands again outside the shop, in view of the many people who continue to meander up and down the cobbled street.
No need to advertise, she muses, the news will probably be all around the town soon.
But she is proud of herself for the first time in forever and nothing can diminish this feeling.
She sways down the street in the direction of the hotel, her new hair weave swinging over her shoulder.