Callie wrinkled her nose, watching as a massive herring gull swooped down and carried off the crab shell. She smiled. Maybe it was just as well only she had turned up at Sea Haven House. What would have happened with the double-booking otherwise? There were only two double rooms. She liked her friends enormously but not enough to share a bed for three weeks. It would have been either herself or Johnny going home.
The thought of turning round and tackling the return journey up the M5 filled her with horror. At least this way she’d actually get a holiday. And sharing with a stranger was turning out to be okay. Uneventful. Johnny had been nowhere to be seen this morning; he must have gone out early. If this carried on, they’d be able to coexist in a civilised manner.
Her stomach rumbled reminding her she’d not eaten, so she made her way back along the harbour, over a wide space in front of gates claiming it was the yacht club and was halted by the tantalising aroma of bacon drifting into the sea air from a café. Going up to it, her stomach protested even more but, as shepeered through the windows, she couldn’t see an empty table. The place was rammed.
‘Going in?’ enquired a friendly voice behind her.
Turning she saw a tiny woman of maybe about her own age. ‘I don’t think there’s room. Shame as I’m starving.’
‘Come in and share my table. Tracey can always find me somewhere to perch. We can’t have you starve. I’m Avril by the way.’
Callie hesitated. The woman could just be friendly or could be another of the town’s odd characters. ‘I don’t know,’ she said lamely.
‘Get away with you. Come on in. I’m only suggesting sharing a table, not proposing marriage. You want to eat, I know there’ll be a space. Solves a problem, doesn’t it?’
Callie’s stomach rumbled yet again. Last night’s omelette hadn’t been very filling. ‘If you’re sure and you don’t mind,’ she began saying and was inside the café sitting at a tiny table for two by the counter before she knew it. Inside, the café was a comforting fug of steamy cooking smells, happy chatter and a radio playing eighties oldies in the background. Hunger overcame any social anxiety, and she began to relax.
‘Now then, what can I get you?’ A curvy woman, with frizzy pink curls and pad and pencil in hand, approached. ‘Hello, Avril, my lovely. How you doing this day, maid?’
‘I’m great, Tracey. Having a rare day of freedom. Day off from work and Merryn is over at Holly’s. This is,’ Avril turned to Callie, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. I was so busy bullying you in here I didn’t ask!’
‘Callie Thorne. I’m staying at Sea Haven House.’
‘Oh, that’s just up the hill from us. We live at Christmas Tree Cottage.’
‘I saw it on my walk down. Lovely name.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Avril beamed. ‘We love it. Don’t know about you but I’m in the mood for a full Lullbury.’
‘A what?’
‘A full English breakfast. The usual eggs, bacon and beans but,’ Avril paused and winked, ‘even more so. Bit like the town itself.’
Thinking of the eccentric Austin she’d encountered on the way down Callie smiled and agreed. ‘Sounds wonderful. I’ll have the same. I didn’t eat much last night.’
‘Coming right up. Pot of tea too?’ Tracey asked. ‘And toast?’
Both women nodded.
‘Are you on holiday, Callie?’ Avril asked, when Tracey bustled off through a door with a porthole window.
‘Yes. Arrived last night. Getting my bearings this morning. I was heading to the Art School, but my stomach had other ideas.’
Avril grimaced in sympathy. ‘I find it almost impossible to walk past the Sea Spray Café myself. It’s murder for the diet. And I advise you to steer well clear of The Codfather. Once tasted, their chips are never forgotten. I swear there’s something addictive in them. My little girl, Merryn, is obsessed.’ The tea arrived and Avril poured for them both. ‘She’s ten now. Going into Year 6 in the autumn. I can’t believe it. They grow up so fast.’
Callie covertly checked her phone. Still no new text from Frida. ‘Tell me about it. My daughter’s on holiday in Ibiza and hasn’t returned my text.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Frida’s twenty-three.’
‘Frida? Unusual name.’
‘I named her after Frida Kahlo.’
‘Wonderful painter.’
‘She was. Unfortunately, Frida my daughter hasn’t inherited any of Frida the painter’s spirit. Don’t get me wrong,’ Callieadded hastily, feeling disloyal, ‘she’s a really lovely girl and I’m very proud of her but she’s quite a young twenty-three. Bit directionless.’
