Avril added milk to their mugs, nodding in sympathy. ‘I can’t claim my Merryn has a lack of spirit. Rather too much to be honest.’ She sighed. ‘You never stop worrying about them, do you? I’ve a boy too and he’s married, and Istillworry about him.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Bit of a gap between my two offspring. He and my daughter-in-law are in Scotland at the moment. Honor’s the deputy head at the primary school in town so she has to grab her chance for a holiday in August.’
‘Same here.’ Callie stirred her tea. She was warming to Avril. ‘I’m an art teacher. Secondary for my sins. Have you always lived here?’
‘No. Haven’t lived here very long at all.’ Avril sipped. ‘But there’s something so welcoming about the place it didn’t take us very long to feel at home. My son volunteers for the RNLI and Merryn’s very happy at school. She’s with her best friend today.’ She pulled a comical face. ‘Holly has horses so we find it hard to compete.’
Callie laughed.
‘I have a job at Bee’s Books and I run a community group there. I love it. You’ll have to pop in, it’s a real old-fashioned book shop with a community space attached.’
‘Sounds wonderful. And what does your husband do?’
Avril’s face clouded, all merriment gone. She looked into her mug. ‘I’m a widow,’ she said eventually, looking up to give Callie a tight smile. ‘It’s taken me a long time to say that without crying. I’m on my own with Merryn now Jago’s married. It’s just the two of us. Oh, and an assortment of Merryn’s animals.’
Callie gasped and put a hand up to her mouth to cover her embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no right to pry.’
‘You didn’t pry, my lovely.’ Avril shrugged softly. ‘We were making small talk, getting to know one another. After all, we’ll be near neighbours for a while.’
There was a pause while the women drank tea, lost in their thoughts.
‘It’s just the two of us as well,’ Callie said eventually. ‘Me and Frida. Always has been. I got pregnant young and the father slid into the night never to be seen again.’ It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was the one she told.
Avril put a hand over Callie’s. ‘That must have been so hard. However did you manage?’
‘Had to, I suppose.’ Callie was beginning to like this woman a lot. Her sympathy was genuine and came from a place of understanding. ‘Didn’t help that my family more or less disowned me. I didn’t like their way of parenting, so I was determined to be different with Frida.’ She pulled a rueful face. ‘I worry I’m too overprotective though.’ She nodded to her phone, remaining stubbornly silent. ‘Like this holiday. She was supposed to come with me here but decided to go off to Ibiza instead. It’s not like her. We’ve always holidayed together in August, even if I could only afford a long weekend. I was looking forward to spending a few weeks with her. School’s been so busy this year I worry I’ve neglected her and wanted to reconnect. It’s not only that. Something’s wrong and I don’t know what it is.’
‘Hard when she’s so far away.’ Avril leaned back. ‘From experience all I can say is they share their worries when they’re ready. And I’ve learned nagging does nothing.’
‘So I shouldn’t keep texting her?’
‘Probably not a good idea. I’m sure she’s fine, having an amazing time with her friends and sleeping it off on the beach. Is she a sensible girl?’
Callie nodded as their breakfasts arrived. ‘She is. Bit immature, bit easily led but I can trust her to do the right thing. I think. Thanks, Avril.’
‘For what?’ The woman arched a surprised brow.
‘Listening to a stranger witter on.’
‘You’ll find you won’t be a stranger in Lullbury Bay for very long. The town has a way of reaching into your heart and it doesn’t let go.’ Avril cut into her fried egg. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘Three weeks.’ Callie mumbled through a mouthful of the most delicious bacon she’d ever eaten. Salty and crisp and cooked to perfection. Dipping a corner of her toast into her sunny-orange egg, she almost moaned. ‘This is so good.’
‘Three weeks? That’s a long time. My goodness, Callie. You’ll be a local come the Bank Holiday!’
Four
Gustav Klimt 1862–1918
Known for his paintings, sketches and murals. Painter of women and eroticism. Teaching point: design element and enigmatic nature of work. Discussion point: is there something hidden?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Callie was almost too full to move but she had to. Having paid for breakfast, she promised Tracey she’d be back for another soon and received an invitation for coffee from Avril. Emerging from the cosy fug of the café into the bright sunshine, she wobbled along Lullbury Bay’s promenade in search of the Art School.
Avril and Tracey had told her to head eastwards and to follow signs to the tennis courts. The school was hidden away in a residential area of town, well away from the touristy attractions.
Callie paused for a moment, feeling too full to hurry. She leaned on the railings that divided the promenade from the levelbelow, which was crowded with the beach huts she’d spied from the harbour.
Looking over the hut roofs, she admired the beach scene. It was crowded with holiday makers. All sorts of accents drifted up, along with the hot smell of suntan lotion, vinegary chips and salty air. Liverpudlian and Scottish, London and Birmingham, one or two French and a smattering of Italians. A small boy ran along the water’s edge trying to raise his kite and someone bellowed a howl of outrage as a seagull swooped to steal a pasty.
