“Do you swim there?”
“People do, but I’m more of a runner. I like routine, and if you swim that’s dictated by the tides.”
“You run every day?”
“Yes, whenever I can. This is the reason I can eat my dad’s lasagne and the cinnamon buns from the bakery.” Evie clipped the lid back on her bottle. “I need to show you where that is. You’ll thank me.”
“I’m already thanking you.” Abby gazed at the view. “This is spectacular.” She dug her phone out of her pocket and took a few photos.
Rugged cliffs plunged steeply into the sparkling sea, calm now but she could imagine how wild it could get when the weather changed.
The cliffs were jagged and unforgiving, the channel into the harbour narrow and curved.
“Were there many shipwrecks around here?”
“Oh yes, plenty. It’s a diver’s paradise. The views are even better from the top.”
Abby followed Evie along the trail that hugged the coast-line, mindful of the steep drop to her right. The path wound through long grasses, through carpets of wild flowers shading the cliffs purple and pink.
They passed a couple of other people but apart from thattheir only company on the cliffs were sea-birds and butterflies. They ran to a viewpoint high on a headland where Evie stopped to take a breath.
“You get a good view of the beach from here—” She gestured to a smooth crescent of creamy sand far below them. “The tide can come in fast, and there are sometimes rip currents, so you need to be careful. I’ll take you there at the weekend if you like. Do you swim?”
“I love to swim, although normally it’s laps of the pool where I live or whichever hotel I’m staying in.”
Evie sat down on the grass, keeping a respectful distance from the edge of the cliff. “So how does that work? You travel a lot?”
“Not always. Sometimes I’m in one place for a while. It’s the way I like it.”
“You don’t want to put down roots?” Evie took another glug of water. “Settle somewhere?”
“Home is Boston. I have an apartment.”
“But you don’t want to take a job where you’re in one place? Travelling must be fun, but also exhausting. I’m not sure it would work for me.” She pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her damp hair. “Do you have family in Boston?”
Abby was beginning to wish they hadn’t stopped for a rest. “My mother.”
“That’s nice. You see a lot of each other?”
Most days at work.
“We often meet up on Friday nights. Dinner.” That was true, after all.
“That’s great. I meet up with Edward—I mean Dad—” She grinned. “Sorry, even I get mixed up sometimes, particularly after a long working day. It’s complicated working with a parent!”
Tell me about it, Abby thought. She almost acknowledged how hard it was but managed to stop herself in time.
“You see each other a lot, I guess.”
“Yes, but we’re a bit more spontaneous than you and your mother. It’s easier to be spontaneous when you live next door.”
Her mother was the least spontaneous person she knew, but Abby was keen to move away from that topic of conversation.
“You did a lot to the house when you moved in?”
“I lived in it for six months without changing a thing because I felt guilty about erasing my grandmother from a place she’d lived all her life. But then I pulled myself together and gutted it. New kitchen. New bathroom. French doors onto the garden.”
“You did it yourself?”
