‘No, he’s a decent bloke. And a hugely different man sober.’
‘He did have a lovely face; it was just the belly that put me off.’
‘That’s very shallow of you,’ Rita said in mock seriousness.
‘Especially as mine is nearly the same size.’ Kelly laughed. ‘I keep having inappropriate dreams about Pete the Pilchard – maybe he could solve my sex drought. I reckon he’d be really filthy.’
‘I can see you as a buxom landlady.’
‘Oh no. I’d never leave my Ron… I adore him. It’s just his meat and two veg have turned vegan. He is the epitome of a wet lettuce in the bedroom and ironically that’s all I’m asking for.’
Rita’s shoulders were rocking. ‘When did you get so disgusting?’
Kelly guffawed. ‘I know, vile, right. I blame an all-girls’ school. Anway, Reet. Any more fellatio on the beach or is the musician too busy writing you a love song?’
Rita groaned. ‘No, that was a one-off and it’s a busy old week here at the Seahaven Bay Retreat, I’ll have you know. I will be saying goodbye to them all soon. And as much as I have enjoyed having them, I cannot wait to have a bit of time to myself before the next one, to be honest.’
‘Are Zenya and Teo going to stick around in between?’
‘Yes, I think so, they are so happy with food and board, and I just pay them for their time, so it works nicely. Stan is being an angel too.’
Kelly softened. ‘You are so loved, Reet, and I meant to ask, how is the delicious Jago? You haven’t mentioned him for a while.’ Kelly paused, then, rising a decibel, ‘Oof! Can you just imagine whatthatsex on a stick could do for you on the beach? You’d need resuscitating by the coastguard.’
At the mention of Jago, Rita felt slightly sick. ‘Right, I’d better get on, I have work to do. I need to set up the art class and a final moonlight mantra before they all head home. Zenya is cooking a proper last night feast for them too.’
‘They’ll be eating your profits with all your generosity and an art class?’ Kelly laughed. ‘Love you, mate.’
‘Yes. I promised a monthly guest and activity and I’ve found somebody very cool to run it. Love you back, mate, and I will need you here to keep me sane, soon.’
‘When you light the fuse on the inheritance fireworks, you mean?’
‘Let’s hope it’s not that bad.’
‘Keep me posted, Reet. Remember… I’m always here with an ear.’
THIRTY-NINE
Glanna Pascoe, Seahaven Bay’s visiting artist and bohemian beauty, stood with her back to the amazing view in the barn in her usual attire: a linen smock streaked with every colour of the rainbow, gold hoop earrings, a red lip and battered Doc Martens. Her cropped blonde hair was perfectly cut and at her feet lay Banksy, her graceful whippet. All slender limbs, soft black fur, and liquid eyes that held the kind of wisdom most people didn’t inherit until their last decade. He blinked slowly at the gathered group staring at him and his owner, the very embodiment of calm resignation that he was about to be subjected to a lot more scrutiny.
Glanna had driven over from the south coast town of Hartmouth that morning, where she still ran her art gallery in Ferry Lane Market. Though she rarely mentioned it, rumour had it that a very well-known film star once bought three of her trademark rainbow paintings after her exhibiting alongside famous Cornish artist Isaac Benson.
After Rita had welcomed Glanna to the group, the attractive artist cleared her throat and smiled widely. ‘Welcome, everybody: reluctant artists, wannabe artists or maybe we have a Rembrandt amongst us. I just wanted to say a few words before we start.’
She was quiet for a second before she began her soliloquy. ‘Why does art matter? I find it’s not just about learning to paint or draw pretty pictures. It’s about reconnecting with a part of us that can get lost in all the noise and the mess of life. Art gives us a way to breathe, to feel, and sometimes to heal. It reminds us that creativity and hope live inside us, even when things are tough.’
‘Hallelujah,’ Michael shouted out. Amazingly, there wasn’t a murmur from anyone else.
‘So, whether it’s an object, or an animal or just a splash of colour on a page, every stroke is a little act of courage. And here, in this space, we can all be brave together.’
Rita saw Emily take a huge breath, then, as Glanna clapped her hands to start the class, she noticed that despite her wedding ring, Paul was checking the artist out with an intensity that was hard to miss. For a moment, she expected to feel something, jealousy maybe, or that familiar twinge of being overlooked. But nothing came. Just a quiet, unexpected sense of peace.
She wasn’t bothered. And more than that, she was glad that she wasn’t.
Becoming aware of her own wedding ring, she began twisting it, the gold warm from her skin. Ten months. Was that long enough to start letting go? She had already let herself go a little bit on the beach with Paul and the feelings she had for Jago, although confusing, were far from chaste.
She didn’t feel ready to take it off, not exactly, but she also wasn’t sure what she was still waiting for. Some sign? Some thunderbolt moment of permission? She knew that grief didn’t come with a checklist and “till death us do part”, that oft-recited wedding vow, had not made much sense to her before, but today, with everything that was going on, it glaringly did.
She turned the ring once more, slowly, then let her hand fall back into her lap. Not right now. But maybe soon.
