‘No. Tyler wanted to go surfing at Perranporth and I didn’t, so he flipped out and refused to move from the TV.’
‘Sounds fun.’
Chas comes over to say hi.
‘Is this one bothering you again?’ he asks me jokily, nodding at Finn before shaking his hand.
There’s a girl in my area waiting to be served, but when I make a move towards her, Chas pats my back to let me know that he’ll handle her order.
He has really looked out for me since Easter, when I returned to work at Seaglass. I guess you could say that I was over the worst of my grief by then, but it still knocks me off my feet sometimes and Chas is always sympathetic. I’ve often found myself having a chat with him after service. He’s been a rock. I always used to think of him as being like a cool uncle to the young people around here, but in the last few months, he has genuinely felt like family.
‘Did Shirley say yes?’ Finn asks me.
Finn and I caught up two days ago for a coffee and I filled him in on the situation with Michael’s personal assistant.
‘She starts Monday,’ I reply with a resigned smile.
‘Have you two seen each other already this summer?’ Amy interjects, joining us.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
She looks taken aback. ‘When?’
‘A few days this week. Why?’ Finn asks.
Amy’s eyebrows jump up and she glances at Rach, who’s looking equally surprised.
‘No reason,’ Amy replies with a bright smile.
I frown at her before turning back to Finn.
‘Can I get you something?’
‘Déjà vu,’ he replies with a grin.
‘You’re telling me.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Amy and Rach are still glued to our exchange. I flash them a perturbed look, wondering why on earth they’re looking so pleased with themselves.
Rach is still working at the surf shop up in the village and spending most of her free time swimming and surfing, so not much has changed where she’s concerned, but at the end of last summer, Amy landed a job on the neonatal unit at the Royal Cornwall Hospital.
It felt strange agreeing to come back to Seaglass when Chas asked me – especially when I knew Amy wouldn’t be joining me behind the bar. But I like it here. I feel safe with Chas and I enjoy the buzz of being rushed off my feet; it doesn’t allow time for thoughts.
I haven’t felt any compulsion to sculpt since losing myparents. I still remember those hours I spent with my grandmother at the kitchen table, creating creatures out of plasticine. I used that type of non-drying modelling material and wax for years, but the first time I pushed my hands into a mass of soft real clay straight out of the earth, it was as though something inside me settled.
Sometimes I have an inner restlessness, a snake that slithers and twists and can wrap me up in knots. But when I’m sculpting, when my fingers are enveloped by this cool material that I can manipulate and bend into shape and press into form, that snake coils itself up and goes to sleep.
Clay will help soothe my soul when I’m ready, but I don’t want to rush it. Art isn’t something that you can force. Sculpting is my passion, not my duty; it will come back to me when it’s ready.
In the meantime, I plan to work as many hours as I can and save enough money to see me through the winter once the tourists pack up and go home.
It’s not a long-term plan, but it’s the only plan I’m capable of forming right now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I push the key into the lock and turn, entering with a loud exhale. The silence and stillness are unnerving. There was a family of four staying here this week, and for a moment I allow myself to picture what that must have looked like: the sunshine spilling through the window onto the kitchen table, a mother and father and their children eating their breakfast, beginning their day in the most mundane of ways. Showers running, people getting dressed, the sounds of talking, giggling and complaining reverberating along the corridor and hallway.
I need to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
