Rita couldn’t help but laugh.
Betty lowered her voice again. ‘So, forgive me for being so ancient, but what exactly is it? I’ve heard of Pilates, of course, but the “Reformer” bit makes it sound even posher. I was going to say I’d better get with the lingo if they are going to be coming in here,but the people who go there will probably only eat tofu and drink milk straight from the teat of a donkey like those Egyptians used to do.’
‘Machines.’ Rita shook her head at Betty’s bluntness and grinned. ‘Apparently, it’s all about strengthening your core and stretching muscles, but with a bit of fancy equipment.’
Betty raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I tried one of those wobbly plates once. My tits went so berserk I had to get off for fear of giving myself two black eyes.’
Rita laughed again. ‘What are you like! It’s meant to be brilliant exercise. I might try it when I get some time.’ Rita didn’t dare add ‘and money’ for fear of the Seahaven Bay Facebook Gossip Group getting hold of that news flash.
‘Fortunes to be made in this fitness lark now, aren’t there?’ Betty said as she stood up slowly. ‘Maybe it’s timeIgot into Lycra and started flogging glutes instead of gluten.’
Rita’s shoulders shook. ‘Please don’t do that.’
Betty was undeterred. ‘Evidently, charging twenty-eight quid a session, they are. I could use something to straighten this old back of mine. Do you think they’d let me come along for a trial?’
Rita nodded. ‘I expect they’ll be keen to get locals through the door.’
Betty’s eyes shone playfully. ‘I’d be better off getting my Derek to strap one of those physio resistance bands to the clothesline and shout encouragement at me from the patio.’
And with that, both women burst into fits of laughter – even the doe-eyed couple looked up to wonder at what was so funny.
TWO
Rita had told herself the trip into Seahaven was for a bit of human contact and some basic supplies: eggs, butter and teabags, for her, and apple cider vinegar for the chickens. But deep down, she knew the real reason for her visit: she needed a book.
Lately, her mind had been so jumpy. She’d started to read three novels and finished none, each one abandoned for a worry or dark thought and left dog-eared beside the bed. Reading used to soothe her, help her feel like herself. It was the quietest kind of healing, the kind that asked nothing, expected nothing, just let her rest inside someone else’s world for a while.
The bell above the door of Sail Away chimed as she stepped inside, the hush of the little bookshop soothing her as it always did.
Jude Finch looked up from behind the counter, his half-moon glasses sliding down his nose in a way that somehow felt intentional. His hair, already silvering, gave him a gravitas beyond his thirty plus years. Today, he wore cropped navy trousers, vintage trainers, and a Breton jumper, making Rita’s indigo jeans, black hoodie, light rain jacket and muddy trainers look especially scruffy by comparison.
He’d arrived in the village six months ago, and as quite often happened in Seahaven Bay, his story quietly passed around thelocals. Big London job, big flat, big break-up with a long-term boyfriend. Burned-out and broken-hearted, he’d packed up his curated coffee table books and swapped Soho for the sea.
And now he ran Sail Away, a bookshop stroke literary hideaway, with handwritten recommendations, a back corner that perfectly fitted two immaculate Lloyd Loom chairs, and a fancy coffee machine.
The locals had taken to him with curious affection. He was clearly not a local, but there was something about Jude’s presence that made people instinctively soften. Maybe it was the way he listened. Or maybe it was the quiet sadness he carried, the kind worn by people who’d left their old lives hoping to outrun their feelings, only to find they’d packed them too.
‘Long time, no see, Rita. I can’t even guess what you’d want to be disappearing into at the moment,’ he offered gently.
Brushing a crumb off her jacket, she smiled weakly. ‘Something not too heavy, as yes, I’m finding it hard to concentrate for long on anything at the moment.’
He tilted his head. ‘Leave it with me.’
He disappeared into his neat shelves, returning a moment later with a copy ofWildby Cheryl Strayed.
‘It’s not a recent release. It’s about walking.’ He handed it to her. ‘But really, it’s about grief and losing your way, and then clawing it back through nature, solitude, and sheer bloody determination.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’ Rita turned it over in her hands. ‘Reese Witherspoon was in the film adaption wasn’t she? It’s been on my virtual list of must-get-round-to-reading for years.’
‘Then take this as a sign.’ Jude smiled.
Mrs Munroe, Rita’s former cleaner and Queen of the Seahaven Bay Facebook Gossip Group, had said in her thick Cornish accent, ‘There’s a smell of a past unknown about that lad.’ But Rita, not one for gossip herself, always took Jude as she had found him. Past or no past he was polite and an incredible bookseller. It was thepersonal touch that always got to her. It was the way she believed all bookshops ought to be.
She was just heading back up the hill to the car park when her eyes and ears were drawn to a bunch of neon pink balloons and the thumping music being piped from the external speakers of the Seahaven Bay Reformer Studio.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Rita pushed the door open to be immediately hit by two things: Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’ blaring from hidden speakers, and the gleam of a fully mirrored studio. One wall was boldly branded with a LONG SPINE, STRONG MIND slogan, scrawled like it had been written in pink lipstick. Inside, four red-faced Pilates devotees lay on their backs on Reformer machines, looking one shaky exhale away from total collapse as they finished their session.
‘Engage your cores, you floppy tarts! You’ll thank me when your arse looks like Margot Robbie’s!’ a Liverpudlian accent instructed.
