There was an ambulance parked on the forecourt but no sign of any paramedics so presumably they were inside dealing with the swimmers. Jed and I made our way round the stalls and, looking at the signage, it appeared that each was being run by a different charity. There were several tombolas, stands selling cakes, sweets, pre-loved toys and games, and a bookstall. Spotting the branding for The Hope Centre above the bookstall and Jim behind the table, I led Jed over.
‘You’ve just missed Zoe,’ Jim told me after I’d introduced Jed.
‘Bad timing! Will she be back?’
He shook his head. ‘She had to be somewhere else but Ipassed your message on. If she doesn’t stop by in the next week or so, let me know and I’ll give her a nudge.’
Zoe had captured my attention yesterday when I’d been helping out with Christmas dinner at The Hope Centre. Physically, she looked a little like I had in my late teens but there was something about her expression – a lost, haunted look – which resonated with me, reminding me how I’d felt after fleeing from my past and landing in Whitsborough Bay. Jim had told me that he didn’t know Zoe very well as she’d only started going to The Hope Centre a few months earlier but he’d learned that she was seventeen and had left her home in Teesside three years before. He suspected abuse but I knew from previous conversations with him that he never pushed service users to share anything about their past. He made it clear that his team were there if they wanted to talk but they were never obligated to do so. He’d told me that it could take years to build enough trust for them to open up and some never did. I’d felt compelled to do something to help Zoe and had asked Jim to encourage her to stop by the café for a hot meal when it suited her. I didn’t know what I could do but something in my gut told me I had to help her.
Jed and I bought several tickets for each tombola and won a box of chocolates and a bottle of children’s sparkly unicorn bubble bath which he said Lucy would love. As we moved away from the lifeboat station, I noticed several people crouching down and placing something along the kerb.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘That’s the mile of pennies although there’s usually other coins too. They start it from outside Pleasureland and people add coins to it across the day. The hope is that they’ll stretch as far as the Bay Pavilion, although that’s further than a mile.’
‘I’m assuming the moneygoes to charity.’
‘Yes, volunteers collect the coins during the football final and they go to a different local charity each year.’
I rummaged in my purse for change and laid down all the coins I could find. How had I lived in Whitsborough Bay for fourteen and a half years and missed all of this? There was such a lot happening for great causes and the atmosphere was so friendly. It saddened me that I’d shut myself away for so long but that wasn’t who I was anymore and there was no benefit in dwelling on regrets.
‘I don’t envy the job of picking all of them up,’ I said, wiping my sandy fingers down my jeans.
‘Me neither,’ Jed said after adding the coins from his pockets to the row, and wiping his fingers down his jeans too.
Suddenly he grabbed my arm, pulling in a sharp intake of breath.
‘That’s Billy by the ambulance,’ he murmured. ‘Which means Aaron must be nearby.’
5
JED
My mouth felt very dry and my stomach was in knots as I scanned the lifeboat station forecourt, seeking out Aaron.
‘Do you want to go and say hello to Billy?’ Tara asked.
I wasn’t sure. I had a great relationship with my former in-laws so I normally wouldn’t have hesitated in approaching either of them, but I didn’t want to cause Billy any awkwardness if Aaron was around and I certainly didn’t want to cause Aaron any problems.
‘It’s just a hello,’ Tara said, her voice encouraging.
‘You’re right. If Aaron appears and doesn’t want to speak to me, we can leave.’ Although I really hoped he did want to speak to me. He used to be such a chatterbox – just like Lucy. I’d hated how quiet my life had been when neither of them were around and how, even when my girls were back with me permanently, the volume control had forever been dialled back. Was Aaron a chatterbox now? Did he still give a running commentary on everything he saw or felt or thought?
Tara followed me across the path and up the lifeboat stationforecourt to the ambulance where Billy was chatting to one of the paramedics. He spotted us approaching and put his arms out.
‘Jed! Happy Christmas!’ He patted me on the back. ‘Great to see you.’
‘And you.’ We stepped apart, smiling at each other. ‘Billy, this is my girlfriend, Tara. She owns The Chocolate Pot.’
Billy shook Tara’s hand. ‘You’ve done wonders with that place. Pam and I have been in there a few times and it’s unrecognisable. Day off today?’
‘Yes. Town’s too quiet to justify opening. I think most of the locals are down here. Loving your hat, by the way.’
Billy was wearing a beanie hat decorated like a Christmas pudding with a sprig of holly at the top.
‘Thank you. Our Aaron bought me it as a joke, but it’s the warmest hat I’ve ever had, so the joke’s on him having to wander round today with me wearing it.’
‘Where is Aaron?’ I asked, glancing around me, feeling more than a little apprehensive.
