ChapterEleven
Bea could not believe how swimmingly her day had gone. She had enjoyed every second of working at The Little Blue Boathouse. The afternoon had been as busy as the morning and after Julia had shown her how to cash up and to clean down the boats, life jackets and hired wetsuits, they locked up and walked back along the river path towards the B&B.
‘The takings are up and excursions are booking up in advance. Flynn and Roman will be chuffed.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ replied Bea, taking a swift glance over towards The Hemingway as they turned the corner, but there was no sign of Nolan.
She knew that it wouldn’t take long to pack up her belongings at the B&B. There was a parking space for her car at the back of the Boathouse, and Julia had given her directions to a dirt track that would provide access past The Old Bakehouse and the Clover Cottage Estate. There was something appealing about the thought of waking up to the sound of the river and the gulls circling above. Within the next hour, Bea was setting up home in the attic room.
Julia had kindly given her some plates, cutlery, mugs, a couple of pans, towels and the most beautiful shabby-chic floral cushions that Bea had ever seen, which were now propped up in the middle of the bed. Bea had kicked off her shoes, hung up her clothes and pushed her suitcase under the bed. Also included with Julia’s kindness was a box of essentials packed with tea, coffee, milk and cereal for breakfast.
Now lying on her bed and contemplating whether to give Emmie a quick ring, Bea felt her eyes closing and soon dozed off. She was only asleep a matter of minutes, though, as a loud bell sounded and she bolted upright. There it was again. She looked all around her room and couldn’t work out what the hell it was. Poking her head down through the hatch she listened again and prayed it wasn’t some sort of intruder alarm. She shouted, ‘Is there anyone there?’ but thankfully was met with silence.
Then she heard a short burst of tapping on the window. What the heck was that? Maybe a gull had flown into it. Then she heard a voice she recognised.
‘Bea, Bea, wherefore art thou, Bea?’
Smiling, she threw open the window and took in the sight of Nolan grinning up at her.
‘I didn’t know you were a fan of Shakespeare.’
‘Huge fan,’ he replied, holding up a white carrier bag. ‘I’ve brought you chips from the fish and chip van. But don’t worry, if you don’t want them, I’m sure the gulls will be happy for another meal.’ He looked over to the flock of gulls scavenging in the nearby bin.
‘Do not feed my chips to the gulls!’
‘You’d better come and get them then. I already rang the bell but there was no answer.’
‘You wait there, I’m coming down!’
Quickly slipping on her trainers and grabbing a jacket, Bea slid down the ladder as fast as a fireman down his pole and locked up The Little Blue Boathouse behind her.
Nolan had pulled his rowing boat right up to the entrance and chained it to the rack and was now sitting on a huge rock, balancing a tray of chips smothered in curry sauce. ‘Here you go. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you the same as me – chips with extra salt and vinegar.’
‘Exactly the way I like it. Thank you.’
‘Shall we head to the cemetery?’
‘Ooo, chips and graveyards, you do know how to give a girl a good time.’
‘You better believe it. Everyone’s dying to go there, you know.’
Bea groaned and rolled her eyes, taking the tray of chips off Nolan. ‘I actually feel like I’m on holiday. Chips, the water, fantastic scenery … and the company isn’t bad too.’
‘I was just thinking the same, but I’ll warn you now, where we’re going, the people aren’t that talkative.’ He gave her a lopsided grin as he jumped down from the rock and began to take the path towards the bridge that would lead them to the bottom of Love Heart Lane.
Bea shook her head and pointed in the opposite direction. ‘That dirt track leads to the far end of the village and Primrose Park. The church isn’t far from there.’
‘Perfect, let’s walk that way then.’
Stabbing a hot chip with the small wooden fork provided, Bea blew on it and began to eat as she followed Nolan.
‘It’ll be your turn to wine and dine me tomorrow.’
‘I don’t see any wine,’ replied Bea.
‘Two bottles of beer in my rucksack.’
Turning left on to the dirt track, Nolan stopped and pointed over to Bea’s car where it was parked at the back of The Little Blue Boathouse. ‘You drive a battered old turquoise Fiesta with psychedelic flowers painted all over it?’
