As far as Callie could see, families had set out their patch with rugs, plastic tubs of food, beachballs and the clutter necessary for a day on the beach. A pang of longing assailed her for the time when Frida was small and enjoyed such simple pleasures. There was a time when she was all her little girl needed or wanted. Even when Frida had gone to university, she’d enrolled in the one in Worcester, living at home to save money. But this latest venture of her daughter’s seemed so much more dramatic. Maybe, by jetting off to Ibiza, Frida was finally asserting some independence?
‘Be sensible, little one,’ Callie murmured. ‘Keep safe and come back in one piece.’ She needed to let her daughter go but when she was all she’d had for twenty-three years that was easier said than done.
‘Hello there.’
It was Johnny, looking cool in a short-sleeved linen shirt and shorts.
‘Hello.’ Callie felt suddenly shy and slid her sunglasses back on from the top of her head.
‘Isn’t it amazing?’ He gestured to the beach scene and came to stand beside her, resting his arms on the railings. ‘I can’t count how many times I’ve done exactly what they’re doing.’
Callie eyes him curiously. ‘You don’t strike me as the sort to be content with an English beach holiday.’
‘And sometimes I’m not,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve been lucky enough to travel for work and seen some extraordinary countries and–’ he paused, on the verge of saying something, then changed his mind. ‘And experienced many things,’ he blew out a sigh, ‘not all good. But it’s the simple joys of a sandy sandwich and a kickabout on this beach I remember with most pleasure.’
His words were casual, almost throwaway, but Callie noticed his knuckles were clenched to white. She wondered why. ‘Is your family from here?’
He shook his head. ‘No. We’re from Exeter.’ He grinned. ‘Crossed the border from Devon into west Dorset clutching our passports every year for a family holiday. And trust me, with my family that was quite the holiday. My youngest sister, Jess, loved Lullbury Bay so much she’s ended up living here. Married. Baby. Living the dream.’
Did she imagine it or was there an edge to his voice?
‘And, besides here, where’s your favourite place for a holiday?’
He glanced at her quickly, sadness shadowing his eyes. She thought he’d come up with somewhere exotic or far flung but all he said was, ‘Anywhere peaceful.’
‘Sounds good. I could do with a sunbed and a good book myself. Or somewhere quiet to paint. Sounds like heaven.’
‘You paint?’
Callie nodded. ‘When I have the time. That’s where I’m heading for. The Art School. It’s putting on an exhibition of amateur painters as part of the Art Festival. It’s a competition. Winner gets display space in a London gallery. I’m going over to introduce myself to the school owner and check they’ve hung my paintings correctly.’ This time it was her turn to sigh. ‘It would be my dream come true to have them in a proper gallery.’
‘Then I wish you luck. And I’ll be certain to come along to the awards ceremony.’
‘Thank you.’ Callie almost embellished her thanks with,It’s a date,but stopped just in time. How crass would that have been? God, she was rusty at talking to anyone male who wasn’t a pimply teenager or the parent of said pimply teenager. A man in her life was a complication she definitely didn’t want, despite Frida’s encouragement. ‘I’ll let you know the day.’
‘Do that. Drop me a note on the kitchen noticeboard.’
This made her giggle. She went to go. ‘I will. Oh, and if you’re looking for an amazing breakfast, try the Sea Spray Café. I’ve just come from there. That’s the reason I need the walk to the Art School. I’ve got to burn the eleventy-million calories off.’
She walked off, certain, for some deep instinctual reason, that Johnny was watching her. Suppressing the urge to wiggle her hips, she nearly slipped on the sandy concrete.Get a grip woman,she admonished herself.Behave.
What with the eccentric Austin, a road named God Almighty Hill and a friendly café serving gut-busting breakfasts, she was beginning to like Lullbury Bay. She was beginning to like it a lot.
She nearly missed the Art School after taking a wrong turn. Having puffed up the steep, narrow lane which ran parallel to the main shopping street, she’d stopped a group of teenaged boys carrying skateboards who pointed her back in the right direction. They’d done a graffiti painting course at the school recently and were full of praise for it.
Spotting the tennis courts, she turned a corner and came across the building suddenly. It wasn’t what she expected. A great white block of a place, run-down looking and accessed over a pot-holed car park. Her heart sank. She’d entered thecompetition in great faith and blind optimism, hoping it would all be a little more prestigious.
The front door was open so she walked in and announced herself at the reception desk housed in a cubbyhole of an office. The interior of the school was more reassuring. A corridor stretched either side of her along the building’s length, painted white and hung with framed photographs and artwork. While she waited, she examined a few. They were excellent. As the familiar scents of paint, varnish and clay tickled her nostrils she began to feel at home. Her hopes began to rise.
‘Calliope Thorne?’ a voice boomed from the furthermost end.
A stocky man of medium height and dressed in paint-stained dungarees and beret approached her. He clasped his hands around one of hers. ‘Good to meet you, my friend. Welcome. I’m Dave Wiscombe.’
Dave Wiscombe was the owner of the school and organiser of the competition, and emails had been flying between them for some months.
‘Hi. Nice to meet you in person at last,’ she replied as her hand was pumped vigorously up and down. ‘And it’s Callie, don’t forget.’
‘Then it’s definitely Dave.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘Can I make you a cuppa? Would you like a look around or do you want to go straight into the exhibit space to check on your bad boys?’
