I really hope to see you soon, Kiddo.
All my love, Aunt Morgan.
Pippa folded the letter and slid it back inside the envelope, returning it to the safety of her bag. She inhaled a deep breath and pressed the start button to turn the engine back on as she exhaled loudly.
From her parked viewpoint on the hill, she could just make out the bundle of houses and business in the distance below, surrounded by a patchwork of fields and hills. Some were still green, others had turned brown, and some even had patches of snow, which had been trying to fall again since she left the ferry, even though it was unusual to see snow at this time of year.
A few rogue snowflakes flurried in through the small gap at the top of her window, making Pippa shiver and close it. Fatter flakes fell on the window screen, instantly melting on the warm glass after being continuously blasted by hot air from the car heating. Ginger barked and Pippa laughed, happy to be distracted from her current thoughts.
‘I know you love snow Ginger, but I can’t let you out here. Just a few more minutes and you’ll be able to find a patch to roll around to your heart’s content.’ Ginger tilted his head, listening intently to Pippa. ‘Come on, boy... Let’s go home.’
Pippa lifted the indicator stick and edged out of the layby, making sure the road was clear before continuing on to Seagull Bay.
She lowered the window on the passenger side another inch, letting more of the fresh salty sea air infiltrate the car. There just wasn’t any other smell like it.
Ginger stuck his wet black nose up against the window, wagging her tail furiously, and Pippa glanced across at her beloved pet and smiled. She pressed the button on the main control panel on her door and the passenger window rolled down a few more inches.
Cold air with the distinguishable aroma of the sea blasted in, and Ginger thrust his nose out through the larger gap, sniffing loudly.
It had been an age since Pippa had been back home. Ginger had been just a pup when she was last there. Now he was fully grown. He barked his excitement. He hadn’t forgotten the smell of home...Pippa certainly never would.
The last time she was there, Pippa and Ginger had spent practically every spare minute at the cove in Seagull Bay. It was her favourite place on the beach and just a stone’s throw from the family pub.
She had returned home for a wonderful two-week stay in the pub’s best hotel room. Her father had questioned why she hadn’t wanted to stay in her own bedroom, but she couldn’t exactly tell him seeing all the photos of her mum covering every wall and surface of their home was too painful. Instead, she’d opted for a white lie and had told him she wanted Ginger to experience a proper holiday—hotel room included.
Thankfully, her father hadn’t caused a fuss; he’d insisted they stay in the best hotel room, which had a specially designed mini four-poster bed for dog guests. Her family’s business was, in her opinion, the best dog friendly pub-hotel of any Yorkshire coastal town.
A mile later, Pippa turned onto the road heading to Seagull Bay. Her stomach churned. It was a mix of excitement at being home again and trepidation at seeing how much change there might be in her father.
She passed familiar houses, all painted in different colours, and was amazed to see some rooftops had a smattering of snow. The last time she was here, window boxes had been abundant with flowers, but today they were bare. Just a smattering of powdery snow covered the soil inside them.
Ginger’s head turned excitedly from left to right as if recognising where they were and his panting soon misted the door window and the windowscreen on his side of the car. Pippa had to fully lower the passenger side window to be able to see the cars parked outside the houses they passed in the tight winding main street which descended into the heart of the coastal town.
A unique smell of home cooking wafted into the car, and Pippa inhaled slowly and deeply, prolonging the yummy experience. Her tummy rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten yet today.
The inviting aroma was coming from a small cafe, which her aunt Morgan had enthusiastically told her about. Pippa was yet to sample its wares, as the open day had been just after she’d departed for her new home in Ireland.
Should she dare try it now just metres from her childhood home? Before she’d even said hello to her father? She smiled at Ginger. It was still early. Her father would most probably only just be rising.
The café’s had charming gingham blue curtains, but it was the wooden bone-shaped sign hanging in front of the intricate lace-covered window that sold it to her.
DOGS ARE WELCOME
Pippa turned to Ginger with a grin and ruffled his fur. ‘Hungry boy?’
Ginger woofed.
Driving around the town’s small beachfront, Pippa parked her Mini in the only available spot just outside the small post office shop and turned off the engine. She unclipped Ginger’s safety harness and attached his lead to his collar ready to climb out. But Ginger was eager. He jumped over the gear stick and bounded out of her door.
‘Yes, someone is definitely hungry,’ she giggled.
Locking the car, Pippa walked over to the safety handrail and looked down at the six-feet drop onto the beach below and then out to sea. She’d missed that view. She did a 360-degree turn to take in the cliffs on either side of the small town and smiled up at the seagulls circling.
It looked different, but the last time she’d been here it had been summer. Now the beachfront looked like a scene from a perfect spring-day post card.
The façades of the houses on the beachfront were adorned with charming little garden ornaments on their windowsills and some even had crocheted bunting with different themed pictures knitted into them, strung over their front doors. The pictures on the bunting were of colourful flowers and animals. Her mouth hitched when she saw and recognised crocheted pictures of local food and beverages.
Pippa sighed contentedly. Even the handrail going down on the beach had bunting attached to it. She wondered what was with all the quaint and ornate decorating. There hadn’t been anything like this on her previous visit. Had there been a best dressed house competition or something recently? Or was this the new beachfront norm to attract more visitors to the small coastal town? She hoped it was the latter. She’d had the perfect childhood growing up here.
