Tomatoes sliced without further mishap, she ripped large leaves off the lettuce’s stem and carried them over to the sink. She flicked the cold tap on and washed the soil off the lettuce. Her gaze drifted to the view through the kitchen window to her garden, decadently rich with ripening tomatoes, raspberries, runner beans, courgettes, and blackcurrants. It was a labour of love and easy to dedicate the hours needed when there was just you. When was the last childhood holiday she’d had with the whole family? She thought back and growled. That hideous week in a cramped cottage somewhere unpronounceable on the Pembrokeshire coast. It’d rained incessantly and they’d been bored senseless. Her father had let her three brothers go to the travelling funfair in the closest town but not her or Caroline. That still rankled, despite it happening more than thirty years ago. Not much had changed. Her brothers were still the apple of his eye. Caroline was more forgiving of him, blaming their father’s misogynistic attitude on his generation’s upbringing. Nell disagreed, but there was no point in calling him out on it. At eighty-three, he wasn’t going to change, and she wasn’t one to rock the boat.
Nell dried the lettuce leaves and chopped them. She peeled carrots in long, even strips, loving their sharp and fresh aroma. Chunks of cucumber would work, too. She gripped the knife but her wandering thoughts stalled her.
Mattie checked me out.
Her eyes had travelled from her face to her feet and back again, lingering in certain places. What a thrill! Not that she’d let on. She’d slid her poker face into place, the austere one that convinced people she was cold or unapproachable. Safely ensconced behind the mask, she’d surreptitiously observed Mattie in return. Tomboyish but still distinctly feminine becauseof her carved cheekbones, slim hips, and high breasts. She was demonstrative as she spoke, hands flying around as she emphasised her point. The skin on her palms looked soft and smooth, no calluses or rough skin caused by digging over the vegetable patch the way her own were. How would they feel brushing against her skin? Perhaps smoothing in sun lotion?
That’s enough!
Nell glared at the pile of chopped salad and vegetables. She’d prepped enough for an army. There were at least three hearty portions. So be it. Ronnie would enjoy some. She’d pop next door and share it with him. No radish though, because it gave him heartburn. Normally, his vegetable patches would’ve been burgeoning, but they were barren this year. He’d been too consumed by grief following the death of his wife of thirty-seven years to toll in the garden. Maybe he’d like blackcurrants and raspberries too. Nell had plenty to spare, and sharing the excess produce was something all the neighbours enjoyed doing.
Armed with a plastic box, she threaded her way through the fruit vines. Plump raspberries still held the heat of the day, and some of the blackcurrants were already past their best. Jam-making was in her not-too-distant future. Angie was always willing to take jars of it for her guests, and they’d indulge in their annual game of Nell refusing to accept payment, and Angie finally giving in and saying that meant Nell had to come over for dinner whenever she wanted to. It was win-win. Nell glanced up at Cove House. Which room was Mattie’s? One on the upper floor presumably, seeing as Angie designated the ground and middle floors as accessible and family rooms. The balcony door of the top floor room at the back of the house was ajar. Was Mattie?—
No! She had no business wondering about her. What she needed to be focusing on was her own life, keeping it calm and steady and safe.
She turned her back on Cove House and methodically harvested the rest of the ripe fruit. Back in the kitchen, she swept the chopped salad into three plastic boxes, snapped the lids on, and slid them onto the middle shelf of the fridge. The cool air fanned her overheated cheeks until she closed the fridge with more force than was necessary.
A cold shower.She’d have that first, then pop round to Ronnie’s. Afterwards, she’d spend the rest of the evening doing admin as part of her volunteer charity role. She would’ve loved to be able to fill the befriender or counsellor vacancies, but her police job meant she could only do a hands-off role. So instead, she applied her skills to building corporate partnerships, networking, and fundraising events. That included everything from an auction to a quiz night, and a raffle to a company sporting event such as a charity bike ride.
Yes, that’s where she’d focus: holding people at arm’s length and keeping everything on a professional level. It was safer. There was less danger of being hurt or having her trust broken again.
Chapter 3
Mattie adjusted her sun hat as she set off along the track to the water’s edge with a spring in her step and a full belly. Angie’s breakfast had been plentiful, easily enough to fuel the ten-mile hike along the coast path on her quest to find the childhood guest house. She’d slept well too, which was fairly unusual these days, what with intermittent nightmares. She’d forced herself to linger over another pot of tea instead of rushing off. She was here to relax, and guest houses were so much more intimate and cosy. Hotels reminded her too much of work, something she needed to be far away from for a while. There were the instantly forgettable hotels, which had the same room layout regardless of their location, overpriced pretentious ones, and then, the luxurious hotels caught in the crossfire of a civil war and used as a base for a posse of journalists eager for both a good story and to still be alive at the end of the day to tell the tale.
Pure joy filled her at the sight of the rocky coastline stretching to the popular fishing town of Brixham with its harbour and fancy fish restaurants. That was tomorrow’s destination. Today she needed the route to her left, towards the commercial and family-friendly resort of Paignton with its pierand seaside attractions. Beyond the swathe of verdant ferns, the landscape curved into a natural sandy bay. Dotted along the promenade was a handful of traditional beach huts, uniformly white but for the colourfully painted doors. Only a few were in use, lending an air of solitude to the cove.
She followed the dry track across the bay and around the next headland and couldn’t stop her audible gasp at the aftermath of a landslide. Nature had torn off a strip of rock and dumped the debris in a haphazard heap at the foot of the cliff. Erosion was affecting this part of England as well as the eastern coastlines. Climate change and rising sea levels would only make it worse, according to an environmental scientist she’d interviewed for a story earlier this year.
An unfamiliar but recognisable sound tugged at her memory: a whistle. The steam train chugged its way along the railway, visible for a few minutes until the track turned inland. Ah, if only Dad was here to see it. He’d be in his element. She texted a photo to Simon:Eight carriages today! #wishyouwerehere.
Actually, she really did wish that. When was the last time she’d seen Simon and his family in person? His birthday, surely. No, she’d had to fly to France to cover the asylum seekers story. Easter, maybe? No, there’d been the oil-rig drama. It must’ve been last Christmas and even then it was a snatched visit. Family was so important yet she’d neglected the little of hers she had left. Her niece and nephew were growing up and she’d been missing out. But that was the profession she’d chosen. She knew the score, and it meant sacrifice. She frowned. Why did that sit poorly with her today?
The sun blazed, and Mattie was sweating profusely when she arrived on the outskirts of Paignton a few hours later. The coastal path leading into the western part of the town was familiar, as was the view of the small harbour. It was low tide and the sea had receded so far out that there was barely achannel of water left, leaving boats grounded on their bellies. She turned her mobile phone forty-five degrees so that the Google Maps display faced the same direction as her. None of the road names triggered any distant memory. According to Angie, this part of town was where many of the B&Bs and guest houses were situated, so it was a good place to start. She’d printed off a list and Mattie had highlighted the ones withviewin their name. She remembered their family’s guest house was set over several floors and that the building looked bigger from the back than it did at the front because the building was set on the side of the cliff. How far up? Enough that it’d made their legs ache by the time they'd arrived, especially when carrying beach paraphernalia like buckets and spades with them.
She stared at the bay below. This angle wasn’t quite right; she needed to be higher up. Her calves groaned as she followed the steep path. Seagulls squawked. She loved the sound because in her child’s mind, it meant they were at the seaside. For long joyful moments, she was twelve years old again.
She sniffed. What was that smell? She sniffed again. Her nostrils flared in recognition.
Fire.
The smell of burning was too overwhelming to be from a garden bonfire. Its source was something bigger, more substantial. A building of some kind. Fear and dread ignited memories she’d struggled to keep at arm’s length during the past fifteen months. The tips of her ears simmered as her senses recognised the smell and what it signified. Instinctively, her fingers fumbled for the silver feather charm hanging from a delicate chain around her neck.
Run, run, run.
She froze.
Raise the alarm.
She shuddered.
Think.
There was no point in ringing 999 until she knew where and what exactly was on fire. She looked up at the sky. To her right, grey-black tunnels of smoke blemished the backdrop of clear blue sky. Heart thumping, she ran up the incline towards it.
At the crest of the slope, she found it. A double-fronted house on a corner plot at the junction of two roads. Flames licked voraciously along its roof and the top floor of what, three storeys? It was big enough to look like it might be a conversion with several flats. Some residents were likely to be home. She fumbled with her phone. It slipped in her trembling grasp. Somehow she managed to open a Sudoku app and the camera. Fuck. Yet another random, blurred picture of her feet.Pull yourself together. Open phone screen. Press nine three times.
A man answered. “Emergency services. Which service do you require?”
