Chapter 37
Lottie listens to the clap-suck sound of her flip-flops as she and her family walk down into the town.
The streets still radiate with heat, bouncing up from the concrete, the tarmac almost running to liquid in places.
It feels as though everyone is waiting for the biggest night of the summer to begin.
She allows her arms to swing by her sides, her clothes light and loose on her skin.
They have already eaten – a simple tea of pasta and salad at the holiday rental.
While Tim cooked, she and Josh had watched the increasing activity visible from the picture window.
Now the sun is finally beginning to slink down low over the bay, turning the water to fire.
It is unusual for them to keep Josh up so late but tonight feels like a special exception.
Tim had commented that they would have a ringside view of the fireworks right there from their lounge but Lottie had demurred, suggesting there would be much more atmosphere down in the town, enjoying it shoulder to shoulder with the local community.
Apparently everyone turns out and besides, their apartment is still so hot, despite the fact they have flung all the windows wide open since the builders finished.
She had been surprised at that; the men downing tools, stopping work so early.
Lottie didn’t have Tobias Woolf down as a fair and lenient boss.
More the type to extract his pound of flesh out of any employee.
But she is glad of it for everyone’s sake and it has worked in their favour.
They were able to sit outside to eat, enjoying their small garden area without the usual disturbances.
The architect had turned up at one point, but he didn’t stop long before he emerged from the house, locking up with a big bunch of keys and calling goodnight, though she wasn’t sure if it was directed towards them or not.
It was even quite pretty (if they turned their backs on the site and looked the other way). The dust had settled. They could hear themselves properly, murmuring to each other in the soft evening dusk. It had almost felt like a truce after their horrible argument the other day.
Now, she walks hand in hand with Tim and Josh, taking her time rather than hurrying on.
Perhaps this holiday was just what she needed after all.
A chance to slow down, breathe, and appreciate how lucky she is.
A lesson in forbearance that her younger self had never been able to learn. She turns to Tim, smiling.
‘Thank you,’ she says simply.
‘What for?’ he asks in surprise.
‘For being so kind, so patient, so understanding this week. For everything.’ Tim drops his head, as though bashful at this rare compliment.
‘I mean it, Tim. I know it hasn’t been easy but I appreciate how hard you’ve tried to make the best of this holiday.
And, well, I’m sorry if I haven’t always been …
’ She trails off, searching for the right word to express how she feels.
Tim is quiet for a moment but then finally replies.
‘It’s okay. You have nothing to apologise for Lottie. You haven’t done anything wrong.’
He continues to stare at the road as they walk slowly, allowing Josh to toddle at his own pace. They have brought the backpack in case the streets are too busy and he needs a carry later.
Lottie waits to see if Tim will say any more in response.
He is quiet tonight, unusually so. He is always the one brimming with enthusiasm.
Throwing himself into every activity, geeing them all up.
But he doesn’t seem excited about tonight, the fireworks or the big party.
He is not rising to the occasion and Lottie finds it is she who is having to compensate, talking to Josh in what she sometimes thinks of as her children’s TV presenter voice.
Oh well, it’s probably just the strain of a difficult week taking its toll, she decides.
What they say about holidaying with a young child, and it not really being a holiday at all, is so true.
And they hadn’t expected this heatwave, even in August. So she jollies them all along and Josh is buoyant enough, talking at intervals about the party, whether there will be cake or ice cream, and asking repeatedly, ‘When? When will the big fire start, Mama?’
‘Soon,’ she promises him. ‘Very soon.’
Down in the town, they gather by the harbourside, which is already filling up with tourists and locals alike.
And yes, Lottie can tell the difference.
It is a game she likes to play with herself.
The tourists are easy to spot. Men and women in top-to-toe Boden?
Check. Children with the voice of a choirboy or a head girl, walking around in mini-me duplicate outfits?
Check. And Breton stripes. So many of them.
Yet not a single one of them has any real claim to this sailor-like garb.
Not like the locals and their long-held industry.
It makes Lottie chuckle to herself, the irony of it all, though she knows Tim would say she was being mean.
She looks about her, aware that space is already at a premium.
People are now spilling out of the bars and restaurants, having staked out their place some hours earlier.
Others are lolling against the metal balustrades of the harbour wall, sitting atop them or on the ground with coats and blankets spread upon the concrete.
Lottie recognises one or two faces from the last week though.
She spots a bunch of lads, bronzed and ebullient.
She has seen them working on the beach. One is still wearing a T-shirt from earlier in the day with the logo ‘The Taco Lads’ emblazoned in a colourful roundel across his chest.
Through the clamour of bodies she is also surprised to see Old Ted, standing with his cronies, nursing a pint.
He has even taken off his thick fisherman’s sweater in view of the simmering temperature.
Lottie didn’t suppose this would be his cup of tea but then it really does feel like everyone is here tonight.
She raises her head to acknowledge the woman standing beside him, drinking shandy; the local shopkeeper, Jan.
She is with a couple of friends, looks happy and relaxed as the low sun illuminates her crow’s feet and laughter lines.
Even the older couple who own the B mermaids and selkies, a young man at sea, lost to the waves.
But louder pop music is blaring out of some of the other bars, competing with it until all that’s left is a bizarre mash-up of sound, jarring and dissonant.
As the last of the sun recedes over the water and darkness encroaches, the lights along the water twinkle and shine like tiny beacons.
There is talk of lighting the bonfire soon, further along on the beach where it sits, patiently waiting to be ignited.
So large that everyone will be able to see its glow and feel its heat, adding to the prickle and swelter of the evening.
And then, when the sky is properly dark, the fireworks will be set loose as eyes are raised to watch them, faces turned to see the sparks fly.
For just one evening in the year, Lottie thinks, the whole town will be together, looking the same way.