‘This family feud has been going on a few months,’ admitted Clemmie.
‘And which side of the camp are you two on?’
‘Don’t ask,’ replied Amelia with a smile.
‘Different camps,’ confirmed Clemmie. ‘But we aren’t going to fall out over it.’
‘Is that why Sam and Pete don’t like each other? You could have cut the tension between them with a knife.’
‘Let’s just say their dislike for each other runs a lot deeper than the causeway.’ Clemmie gave Amelia a pointed look, which Verity noticed, but neither woman elaborated. Verity took it to mean that that was island business and if you didn’t know, you didn’t need to know.
‘My point is that if there were automatic barriers and they were down you wouldn’t have been able to cross the causeway and your lovely travelling van wouldn’t be fighting for its life up at Nathan’s garage,’ added Clemmie, leaving Verity in no doubt what camp she belonged to.
‘Have you been hanging out in the rescue hut all this time?’ asked Amelia.
‘Sam rescued me then he took me back to Cosy Nook Cottage.’ Clemmie already knew where she’d been, so Verity sat back on the bench to watch Amelia’s reaction. It didn’t disappoint. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
‘Really? Why would he do that? There’s a cabin at the coastguard hut for stranded idiots.’
‘Hey, less of the idiot,’ protested Verity, rolling her eyes.
‘Sorry I couldn’t resist.’
‘Yesterday, settling your bill and today…there’s something going on here.’ She waggled her finger in Verity’s direction.
‘There’s nothing going on – and after he’s just stood up in front of everyone and called me an idiot, there definitely won’t be anything going on in the future. I’ve got a few choice words of my own I’d quite like to say to him.’ Verity didn’t share that only last night butterflies had taken flight in her stomach when they’d taken a moonlit dip together and shared a drink before she tucked herself up inside Hetty.
‘Mmm, I’m not convinced. I saw those looks between you both when he was singing in the pub. The electricity sparking between you could have powered the whole of Puffin Island for a week.’
‘You have a wonderful imagination, which is good, considering you’re a writer,’ Verity remarked good-humouredly, but her mind was fixed firmly on Amelia’s words. If she’d noticed the spark between them, it surely had to be real.
‘What’s your plan now?’ asked Clemmie.
‘That’s what I’m just contemplating. I need to find out what’s happening to my van and how bad the damage is. Then I’ll make a decision.’
‘I need to go and open the bookshop.’
‘And I need to open the tearoom, but let us know your next move.’
‘I will. I’ll go now and check up on the van so I can consider my options.’
Verity watched as Clemmie and Amelia headed towards Lighthouse Lane, passing Sam, who was standing on the corner of the lane chatting with Dan and Cora. As she stood up she caught his eye. They stared at each other for a moment before she turned and headed towards the cliff top, knowing she needed to let her anger subside before she said anything to him.
As she reached the cliff top path, the view of the puffins in the distance put a smile on her face. They were all huddled together in their pairs and Verity thought it was comical that each of them knew who their partner puffin was, despite all looking the same. Reaching the top of the cliff, she spotted Pete standing with a group of people outside his cottage. They had an official look about them and were huddled over what looked like a huge map spread out on top of the patio table. Pete was pointing to the map with a long stick but they all looked up as she walked past. Verity gave them a wave without hesitation and carried on walking towards the garage.
Cliff Top Garage was exactly that, a garage on the cliff top. There were a couple of open bays with vehicles on ramps. In one corner was a stack of tyres, a workbench piled with tools, safety signs and oily rags. A small waiting area housed a couple of plastic chairs, and a radio was blaring out. In one of the bays, a man was working under the bonnet of a car.
‘Excuse me,’ she said.
The man looked up, then moved away from the bonnet. At a guess he was in his early thirties, approximately six feet tall and with a chiselled jawline that was just about visible through the grease on his face.
He smiled. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Nathan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hi, I’m Verity, I believe you’re undertaking a post mortem on my van.’
