My breath caught in my chest as I stepped out of the lane and on to the seawall and I allowed myself time to absorb the beautiful view I had been craving in recent weeks.
‘You’re here, Tess,’ I whispered, a smile slowly spreading across my face. ‘You’re actually here.’
The tide was out so far the sea was hardly in sight and the beach seemed to stretch into the distance forever. I rushed down the steps, on to the pristine sand and pulled off my sandals. I didn’t care about the chill beneath my feet, I wanted to let my toes sink into the silky sand. The heady cocktail of pure and wholly natural sensations surrounding me and the plethora of emotions rushing through me, brought a lump to my throat. Standing there, taking it all in, I felt proud that I had put myself first for once, taken the plunge and run away to the seaside, rather than resolutely powering on at work.
I instinctively turned left, shielding my eyes from the welcome glare of the sun and spotted the rockpools not too far away and the tops of the beach huts in the distance beyond them. It was all still here then and, at first glance, exactly as I remembered it. I pictured Mum, wearing her sundress and reading in a deckchair as I explored the pools, and Dad poring over the newspapers beneath the shade of a striped beach umbrella.
Everything had seemed so simple then; we were a happy family with uncomplicated lives and we might not have had much money to throw about, but it never mattered, not to me anyway. As I imagined my pre-teen self skipping about and yelping as I darted in and out of the chilly sea, I knew these happy memories were made long before Mum had written her heart-wrenching diary. How I would have loved to turn back the clock and warn her of what was to come. I would have given anything to keep things as they had been before the business, among other things, became the focus of my father’s ambitious attention.
I gave myself a little shake and turned away, striding out towards where I knew the sea was waiting, picking up the odd bit of litter and stuffing it in my pockets as I went. I would explore the pools when I had purchased a bucket and net. With two weeks at my disposal, there was absolutely no need to rush to discover every delight Wynmouth had to offer on my very first day.
With no phone glued to my hand, I had absolutely no idea what the time was. It felt strange, deviating from my self-imposed strict schedule and, if I was being completely honest, a little unsettling not having that uninterrupted connection to the wider world, but I pushed the feeling away and carried on.
Sometime later, with my pockets pleasingly weighed down with pebbles and smooth fragments of soft green sea glass, I left the beach and made for the pub, purposefully ignoring the call of my mobile as I walked by the cottage door. It thought it wouldn’t hurt to introduce myself to Sam, the landlord, and I wanted to leave thanks for Sophie for both the welcome pack and the delicious dinner.
I found the pub door open, but it looked so shaded inside after the brightness on the beach, that I couldn’t make out if I could go in or not.
‘Are you open?’ I called through the door and into the darkness within.
‘If the door’s open,’ came a man’s deep voice in quick reply, ‘we’re open.’
‘Great,’ I said, taking a step inside but finding my way blocked by the owner of the voice who was carrying a large chalkboard sign in his arms.
‘I was just about to put the board out,’ he elaborated, squeezing tightly past and treating me to a delicious breath of woody aftershave before I had a chance to step out of the way. ‘I’m doing breakfasts today, if you fancy a bite?’
What I fancied, I quickly discovered, when I saw him in the light of day, was him. His sun-streaked blonde hair, ready smile and sparkling green eyes caught me off guard and I suddenly felt far hotter than I had from the brisk walk back from the beach.
‘I really just wanted a coffee,’ I swallowed, pressing myself back into the wall so he could get by again. ‘If that’s okay?’
‘Of course,’ he nodded, stepping up behind the bar and turning to look at me properly.
Was it my imagination, or did he, just for a second or two, seem to be caught off guard too? His eyes certainly seemed to widen as they lingered on my face and the flush spreading across his tanned features almost matched my own. He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to change his mind and cleared his throat instead.
‘Personally, this sea air makes me want to eat for England,’ he finally said, his composure apparently recovered, ‘but one coffee coming right up. Americano?’
‘Please,’ I said, looking about me while he had his back turned. ‘That would be great.’
Even though my eyes had adjusted to the change in light level, the inside of the pub was still shadowy and completely unknown to me as I had never been inside before. The interior featured a lot of dark furniture, an immense fireplace, tall ship paraphernalia, tarnished tankards hanging above the bar and deep windowsills piled with artful arrangements of old books and stoneware beer bottles. Nothing looked as if it had been touched in years, but that all seemed to be part of the place’s traditional charm. Without the distraction of a screen in front of me, I was able to take in all of the tinier details and they were lovely.
‘One coffee,’ the guy smiled, putting a cup and saucer down in front of me. ‘And are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’
Now I thought about it, my time out in the sea air and on the beach had given me a bit of an appetite.
‘I’m doing sausage sandwiches and baguettes today,’ he added temptingly.
‘Oh, go on then,’ I caved. ‘I’ll have a sandwich, please. On wholemeal, if you have it.’
‘Of course,’ he said approvingly, ‘and you won’t regret it. Wynmouth has the best butcher for miles around.’
He was certainly right. The sandwich was delicious, and I felt pleased that I had spotted a couple of packets bearing the butcher’s logo in the fridge after Sophie had stocked it. Which reminded me of my original reason for popping into the pub. I wasn’t in the habit of letting a good-looking guy throw me off course, but then I was on holiday, so anything was possible, wasn’t it?
‘I meant to say before,’ I explained as I swallowed down the last delectable mouthful. ‘I’m Tess Tyler. I’m renting the cottage next door.’
‘Yeah,’ said the guy, shaking his head and sounding every bit as remiss as I felt. ‘Sorry, I guessed as much. My head’s a bit all over the place this morning.’
I wondered if that was as a result of the look he had given me when I arrived or, assuming that he was Sam the landlord, if it was because of the last-minute appointment Sophie had mentioned which had thrown this schedule.
I would have liked to flatter myself by thinking that it was the sight of me which had elicited his muddle-headedness, but realistically I knew if he was the man in charge, then it was more likely to be the appointment. Any deviation from my weekly work pattern could play havoc with me for days. There was no telling how I was going to cope now I had thrown my regimented hour-by-hour routine by the wayside.
‘I’m Sam,’ he then said, confirming my assumption. ‘The landlord here and the guy you were emailing about the cottage.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Sam,’ I smiled.
The brisk tone of his emails in no way matched his laidback, casual look. I would never have put him and his writing style together.