‘Hello? Kate Tremain speaking.’
‘Oh, hi, um, I’m not sure you’d remember me, but I stayed at your house a few years ago.’
‘OK. What’s your name?’
‘Sarah. Sarah Lint.’
There was an awkward, almost imperceptible pause on the other end of the line before the woman gathered herself. ‘Sarah, of course I remember you. How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. The reason I’m calling is I saw your post on Facebook about the job.’
‘Job?’
‘Yes. You shared a post about a waitressing job in the woods.’
‘Oh, that. I’d forgotten. Yes, lovely place to work.’
‘Well, I’ve got an interview there on Saturday, and I was wondering if you had any room at your place for a night or two?’
‘Hmm,’ said Kate. ‘I don’t think we have any bookings. Have you checked on our online calendar?’
‘No, um, I was kind of hoping I could go direct through you. You know, avoid the extra fees.’ In the silence that followed, Sarah wished she’d just sucked up the extra cost and booked through the conventional route. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just I lost my job, my dad left my mum, then Mum moved to Spain and… and…’ To Sarah’s horror, she found herself choking back tears. The last time she’d seen the Airbnb host she’d been a snotty mess. Now here she was, confirming the impression that she was emotionally unstable.
‘Oh no, that all sounds awful. I’m not supposed to take private bookings, but I guess there’s no harm just this once. Do you know what time you’ll be arriving?’
‘Not yet,’ said Sarah, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper. ‘I need to book my train tickets. Can I message you when I know?’
‘Yes, no problem. It will be lovely to see you again.’
Liar, thought Sarah as she put down the phone. She knew Kate hadn’t liked her the first time they met, and there was no reason to assume she’d reconsidered in the intervening years. Sarah didn’t dwell on it, though. For the first time in days, something had gone her way. By Friday she’d be on a train to Cornwall, and if she was lucky, a whole new life.
Chapter 12
Sarahwriggledinherseat, trying to find a comfortable spot. She should have been travelling by train, but after checking the cost of fares, had settled for a bus. And this wasn’t just any bus, at a whole ten pounds cheaper, the night bus was the obvious choice.
Beside her, a plump middle-aged woman let out a snore, a trickle of saliva creeping down her chin. Sarah shuddered. She’d tried to claim the seat beside her with her large holdall, but with the bus full, she’d had five minutes to herself before being forced to give the spare seat up.
At least if she was sleeping, the woman couldn’t talk. She’d been bending Sarah’s ear from London to Exeter, only submitting to sleep when her watch hands passed one a.m. Sarah had tried every trick in the book to avoid conversation: headphones in, book in hand, eyes closed. None of it had worked. In the end, Sarah’s patience had snapped, and she’d told the woman to shut up. Thankfully, the frosty silence that ensued ended with the woman’s drooping eyelids.
Sarah ground her teeth. The snoring was worse than any amount of inane chatter. Two rows back, an elderly gentleman was singing to himself, whisky bottle in hand. Four rows back, a woman threw up at regular intervals. Sarah bristled. Why would you travel by coach if you suffered from motion sickness?
It wasn’t only the bus making Sarah uncomfortable. Memories of her last encounter at the burger bar made her insides squirm. Nuts had been upset at her leaving, the boss angry. They spoke of her letting them down, leaving them in the lurch. Anyone would think she’d been a doctor, abandoning patients. Sarah tried to bring perspective to the situation, telling them a crappy minimum wage job would be easily filled, but that hadn’t gone down well. The only comfort was picturing Miriam and Cathy turning up to gloat, only to find Sarah gone. With the thought of their disappointed faces in her mind, Sarah drifted towards sleep.
When the bus pulled into Bodmin at six a.m. Sarah had endured two hours of fitful sleep and felt like death warmed up. As she stood to disembark, every bone in her body clicked, her limbs stiff after ten hours in a cramped seat.
What a relief it was to be out in the fresh air. Sarah stood for a moment, enjoying the light sheen of drizzle settling on her face. The bus creaked away and Sarah prayed she’d never have to experience it again.
With her bag hauled on her back, Sarah walked through the quiet Bodmin streets, desperate for a bed and a cup of coffee. The town was sleeping, not a car on the road. Despite the mizzle hanging in the air, Sarah compared the town to that which she’d grown up in and found Bodmin won hands down. It might be grotty in places, with several empty shops, but each building on the high street differed from the last, freshly painted shop fronts and houses popping with colour on the grey day.
On reaching the Airbnb, Sarah dumped her bag down on the floor and pulled out her phone to find the code Kate had sent. She removed the key from the key box, opened the front door, and crept into the house.
The house was smaller than Sarah remembered, a floral scent coming from a vase of flowers in the fireplace. Any nerves at returning to a place from her past dissipated as the warm colours and cosy furniture enveloped Sarah’s tired brain. Last time she’d been here, Mark had carried her heavy bags for her. On this occasion, she carried the holdall upstairs herself, struggling for breath and deciding to begin a fitness regime as a priority.
The bedroom was as pretty as Sarah remembered, the large, old bed calling to her from the middle of the room. Sarah kicked off her shoes and climbed between the covers. Hadn’t she complained about the mattress the last time she was here? Either she’d been in a bad mood back then, or the bus had lowered her standards, for on this occasion she snuggled down, more comfortable than any time she could remember.
Sarah’s alarm blared out from the pillow beside her. Ten a.m. Good. Three and a half hours’ sleep was better than no sleep. She pulled off her crumpled clothes and headed to the shower. Downstairs, the sound of a radio playing and a man’s deep baritone singing along reached her. There was no man on the scene the last time she was here. Sarah was curious to see what Kate’s type was and meet the tuneful man downstairs.
She showered, towel drying her hair and climbing into the black skirt and white shirt, which she hoped looked the part for a waitressing role. In the guest sitting room, Sarah made herself a coffee and took advantage of the croissants her host had left for her. The diet could wait until tomorrow.
