Ed threw his head back and let out a hoot of laughter. ‘I can just imagine it. No doubt Jazz was the worst.’
‘You’re not wrong there, she can be a right wind-up merchant when she gets going.’ She chuckled, remembering the impish look on her friend’s face the previous evening. It was one Florrie had seen many times when they were children and Jasmine had been up to mischief. ‘Mind, I have no idea why I convinced myselfwhat Leah was told was true, but anyroad, the lasses assured me I was way off the mark, which is a massive relief.’ Florrie would usually be keen to share such an entertaining conversation, knowing how much Ed would enjoy hearing it, but this morning, she was reluctant to head down that route since she was unsure when they’d get a chance to discuss his mum’s ‘suggestion’ – not to mention what other gems she’d hit him with last night. Florrie was eager to tackle it before they reached the bookshop and was frantically searching for the right words to bring it up without sounding like she was being critical. She was conscious that Ed would find himself in a difficult position, potentially being stuck between his fiancée and his mum.
The pounding of feet behind them made Florrie turn to see Davy Cropton on his morning run, his springer spaniel, Kev, trotting along beside him, bouncy with typical spaniel enthusiasm.
‘Now then, folks,’ said Davy in a familiar Yorkshire greeting, his face ruddy. ‘Grand morning.’
‘Hi, Davy,’ Florrie replied, marvelling at his dedication; Davy was known for running come hail or shine.
‘Hi, aye, it’s nice and fresh,’ said Ed.
Before long, they’d arrived at the wooden bench the couple had funded in memory of Ed’s grandparents and Florrie’s former beloved bosses, Bernard and Dinah Harte – or Mr and Mrs H, as she’d known them. It bore a brass plaque with a dedication engraved into it. Florrie and Ed had been thrilled to have it located in the very spot that looked out over the elderly couples’ favourite view of Thorncliffe, the iconic, glowering bulk that dominated the seafront at Micklewick Bay. The landmark sat at the head of a precipitous line of cliffs that ran along this part of the North Yorkshire Coast. The seat was where the Hartes used to stop and take a moment on their daily trip along the prom, savouring the view which Mr H used to say looked different every day, depending upon the weather and the shadows that were cast over the clifftop and the broad expanse of sea. The elderly couple had continued their ritual when Mrs H had been forced to rely on a wheelchair toget about. They’d become a familiar sight, with Mr H pushing her along, chatting away.
It was easy for Florrie to understand why they’d loved the view so much; it was breathtaking and she adored it herself. And now she and Ed were continuing in his grandparents’ tradition, taking a moment to sit on the bench every morning on their way to the bookshop, or even on Gerty’s walk on the days the shop was closed. The couple agreed it was where they each felt closest to Mr and Mrs H, whom Florrie had regarded as honorary grandparents.
She slipped her backpack off and leant back into the seat, blinking as the wind rushed over the sea, making her eyes water. It didn’t take long for the cold of the bench to start seeping through her trousers. She drew in a lungful of chilly air and cast her gaze along the long arc of golden sand. To the left was the newly created marina, the boats glittering in the spring sunshine. What would Mr H make of that? she wondered. He’d never been a fan of change, and the marina had certainly changed the fortunes of that once less than salubrious part of town. Her eyes travelled along the panorama, arriving at the pier, dark waves washing against its gangly metal legs, a handful of people taking a walk along the wooden planks, getting buffeted by the wind. Her gaze continued its travels along the rest of the beach, lingering on the cluster of characterful fishermen’s cottages that made up Old Micklewick. They nestled together in the shadow of Thorncliffe where the town had its origins. It’s where Lark’s quirky home, Seashell Cottage, was tucked away amongst the ancient, cobbled streets. Occupying a prime position there was The Jolly Sailors inn, stoically facing out to sea and bearing the brunt of the inclement weather, just as it had done for the last four hundred years. It had a wealth of intrigue and skulduggery imbued in its walls, not to mention its rumoured secret tunnel to the grand home of local wealthy gentleman, Benjamin Fitzgilbert, who’d purportedly been in cahoots with Micklewick Bay’s band of ruthless smugglers. The area around Old Micklewick was steeped in history, with its smuggling heritage – as the aptly named Contraband Cove around thecurve of Thorncliffe was proof, along with the tales of the area’s most notorious smuggler of them all: Jacob Crayke.
A building hidden beneath a network of scaffolding, with a variety of construction paraphernalia on the flagstone pavement before it, drew Florrie’s gaze. It had a been a hive of activity for a good six weeks or so. ‘It’s great to see how quickly the work’s coming on with the heritage centre,’ she said, vocalising her thoughts, breaking the silence between them.
‘Aye, it is.’
‘Louisa told Lark it’s ahead of schedule and should be finished a couple of weeks early,’ Florrie added. The Micklewick Bay Heritage Centre, which was housed in the old chandlery building on the seafront, had originally been a small, uninspiring affair, but under the guidance and care of its new curator, Louisa Norton, it had been given a grant and had approval for its extension into the cottage next door, where she had plans for some exciting new exhibitions and displays, including one dedicated to Jacob Crayke.
‘Louisa’ll be chuffed about that, she’s itching to get it up and running,’ Ed said with a chuckle just as a herring gull started screeching from its perch on a nearby rooftop. ‘And it’s good to see her relationship with Lark’s dad is still going strong. The last time I saw her with Silas, they were looking pretty loved up.’
‘Yeah, Lark’s so happy he’s finally been able to move on from his grief for Greer. She was saying just last night how he has no regrets about moving back to Micklewick Bay, and how he’s loving being a volunteer at the heritage centre.’
‘He’s a nice bloke; he deserves to find happiness again – Louisa, too,’ Ed said softly.
‘I agree, they seem well-suited.’ She stole a sideways look at her fiancé, taking a moment to admire his handsome profile as he looked out to sea, her heart squeezing with love for him. Florrie knew he’d be as conscious of the fact that they’d been avoiding bringing up the subject of his mother as she was, finding anything to talk about but that. And, though she was reluctant to chase his smile away, she needed to know, needed to ask the question or itwould torment her all day until Ed brought it up, which he would have to at some point, however disinclined he was. She knew he’d be mindful of upsetting or worrying her, but Florrie would rather know what she was up against. That way, she’d be able to deal with whatever it was, tackle it head on and be prepared for what Dawn was going to throw at her.
‘So, how was your evening? How did things go with your mum?’ She held back from asking him directly whether Dawn had touched on the subject of her accommodation, hoping he’d bring it up, but the anticipation of his response still caused her pulse to up its pace.
Just as she expected, his smile fell and he released a heavy sigh. He stretched out his long legs in front of him, his feet reaching the railings that acted as a barrier to the steep drop down to the bottom prom. He switched his attention to Gerty who was busying herself, sniffing the ground with great interest, and gave her a pat which was received with a wag of her tail. Behind them came the whirring sound of bike wheels as someone whizzed by in the cycle lane, causing Ed to turn. Florrie knew he’d be using these delay tactics to give him time to get his words in order; he’d be mindful to deliver them as softly as possible.
‘Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, it wasn’t the most relaxing Friday evening I’ve had.’ He gave a wry laugh and rubbed his brow with his gloved fingertips. ‘And, if I’m being completely honest, I actually can’t ever recall having such a lengthy conversation with my mother, so that was kind of weird in itself.’ He paused for a moment, as if contemplating this. ‘As you know, she usually only gets in touch when she wants something – particularly so in recent years, what with the bookshop and everything… And it inevitably ends up with her ranting and shouting if I don’t say what she wants to hear.’ He paused again.
Knowing how long it could sometimes take for Ed to get to the point, Florrie held back from adding anything, waiting instead for him to continue when he was ready. She reached over and squeezed his hand, giving him a sympathetic smile. He turnedto her, the corners of his mouth tipping up before he huffed out another big sigh. ‘I felt bad, I mean, she’s my mum, at the end of the day, but… I, um… I didn’t know what else to say; it was so hard. I mean, the way she and my father have treated you is totally unforgivable, which makes it nigh on impossible to work out why she’s got it into her head that we need her help in organising the wedding. Ugh!’ He ran his hand over his face.
‘Yeah, I have to agree, it is a bit puzzling.’ She made sure to keep her voice neutral, though it wasn’t easy, playing down how she really felt. Dawn’s reason was absolutely baffling, not to mention worrying.
‘We should be looking forward to getting married, not dealing with this, especially when I told her not to put herself out, that we had everything under control – which is true. I’ve told her we’re keeping everything low-key so organisation has been more than manageable.’ He brushed his hair back off his face. ‘And on top of all that, I’ve no idea why where she’s staying has suddenly become our problem.’
‘No, neither do I.’ Florrie had to agree. And it particularly rankled since up until fairly recently, Dawn Harte hadn’t wanted to know her son and had treated him and Florrie with contempt.
Like her, Ed wasn’t a fan of confrontation; they both preferred a quiet, peaceful life, rubbing along easily with everyone. Though, Florrie had to admit, she wasn’t averse to standing up for what she believed to be right or if an injustice had been done, particularly if it involved supporting her family or one of her friends. But right now, she couldn’t work out what Ed was trying to tell her. Had he taken the path of least resistance and told his mum what she’d wanted to hear and agreed to her staying with them? Her stomach started churning.Please don’t let Dawn have worn him down.After all, his mother had been at Samphire Cottage for hours while Florrie was at the Jolly with her friends, which meant she’d had plenty of time to work on him. But surely, he’d run it by her first before agreeing to anything as monumental as his mum staying with them for who knew how long?
Ugh!Just thinking about it sent anxiety churning up her insides even more. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Florrie had a nagging doubt Dawn’s reason for coming to Micklewick Bay had nothing to do with helping them prepare for their wedding. Such an offer was so far removed from the woman she’d heard nothing good about from as far back as she could remember, not to mention her own experience of her since Ed had settled in Micklewick Bay a couple of years ago. There was no way it could be true. She’d be a fool to think so.
Florrie drew in a deep breath, secretly crossing her fingers and hoping with all her might Ed had been firm with his mother and told her she couldn’t stay with them. ‘So why do you think she didn’t rant or shout?’
He turned, locking his eyes on hers. The look she saw there told her what she was about to hear would be the truth, though his troubled expression suggested he’d been wrestling with the question just as much as she had. ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure, to be honest. Maybe she’s realised that her old ways don’t work with us and arrived at the conclusion that it’s time to try a different tack. Maybe it’s her way of building bridges.’
‘You think?’ Florrie was unable to keep the incredulity from her voice. If that was the case, Dawn Harte had a gargantuan task on her hands. And she wasn’t so sure Ed really thought that, either. Old habits die hard, after all; she couldn’t see either of his parents going to such lengths any time soon.
‘I mean, both her and my father seem to have lost a fair bit of their steam since the diagnosis of his heart condition and their move back to the UK – I’m still puzzled as to why they’ve been reluctant to share details about what the condition actually is, though knowing them, it shouldn’t surprise me. I got the impression they’d accepted my grandfather’s reasons for bequeathing the bookshop to us and not them.’
‘Hmm.’ Florrie couldn’t argue with that. She turned her gaze back to the sea, mulling over Ed’s words. His parents had definitely gone unexpectedly quiet after a sustained and relentlessbombardment that included browbeating phone calls, demanding that Ed hand over the bookshop to them, telling him in no uncertain terms they were the rightful owners. At one point, they’d even enlisted the help of local unsavoury businessman, Dodgy Dick, to assist with their fight. But Florrie had just put them going quiet down to them finally getting the message that she and Ed were going to respect his grandfather’s wishes and retain ownership of the bookshop.
