The Summer Theatre by the Sea

Dusty smiled. ‘Nice to meet you. Pardon me for saying, but you have cheekbones to die for.’ When Charlotte stopped unlocking, Dusty must have sensed her alarm, because she added, ‘No need to panic. I bat for the other team, if you get my drift.’

Charlotte laughed. Satisfied she wasn’t about to be attacked, she removed the handcuffs.

‘Free at last.’ Dusty rubbed her wrists. ‘How can I ever thank you?’

‘Well, you could direct me to Penmullion. I’m a bit lost.’

‘That I can do.’ Released from the tree, Dusty circled her arms. ‘Reverse back up this lane. When you reach the crossroads, go straight over. You’ll see a sign for the town at the bottom of the hill.’

‘Thanks.’ Charlotte was about to walk away when she added, ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’

Dusty smiled. ‘Kind of you, sweetie, but I’m good.’ She kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for rescuing me. You’re an angel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in desperate need of a pee.’ She disappeared into the hedgerow.

Cornwall was an odd place, Charlotte decided. If it weren’t for the silver handcuffs lying on the ground, she might have thought she’d hallucinated the whole thing.

Thirty minutes later, having scraped her car trying to reverse back up the narrow lane, she found the town of Penmullion. The view coming over the hill was delightful. In the distance, she could see the sea, the tops of the white cliffs merging into the clouds above. The sharp descent into the town made driving conditions precarious, so she decided to leave sightseeing for another time and focus on arriving in one piece.

Posh Joanna sprang back into life, directing her through the town to where her sister lived, announcing excitedly, ‘You have reached your destination.’ Except there didn’t appear to be any houses along Dobbs Road, only shops.

She pulled over and checked the address. She was definitely in the right place. She got out of the car and rolled her shoulders, trying to shift the ache in her back.

According to the sign hanging above the entrance, number fifteen wasn’t a residential property but the Co-op supermarket. Lauren must live in the flat above. Not exactly what she’d expected.

It took a while to find the entrance. The door was concealed within a set of giant gates leading to the loading area behind. Things became more surreal when she spotted a sign with an arrow directing her up a wrought-iron staircase. Experiencing an instant flood of panic, she walked around to the back of the building, hoping to see a lift. No such luck. She was going to have to climb the staircase, wasn’t she?

The tremors in her legs began long before she took her first step. Her breathing grew shallow, and the dizziness caused black spots to appear in her peripheral vision. The gaps between the steps meant that there was daylight between her and the concrete below. If she’d known where Lauren lived, she might have reconsidered coming to stay. But then she remembered that she had nowhere else to go, and kept climbing, willing herself not to look down, hoping this holiday would prove to be a cure for acrophobia as well as anxiety.

By the time she reached the top, she was shaking. There was a gate, followed by two further steps down onto the rooftop. She looked around. There were large pots filled with flowers, and a table and chairs set up by a swing set. Ahead of her, a green door had the number 15a attached to the front. Trying to slow her breathing, she walked across and knocked on the door. Loud music emanated from inside. After a few minutes of knocking, she gave up and tried phoning Lauren, only to get her voicemail. Her sister probably couldn’t hear above the noise.

She tried the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. When the door swung open, the music hit her with force, exacerbating the throbbing in her head. She stepped inside the small, dark flat. The hallway opened into the lounge-cum-diner. The walls were covered in mock-wooden cladding, the carpet brown and threadbare. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, shining a dim light on the orange and burgundy sofa. It looked like a set from a 1970s sitcom. But it wasn’t. It was where her sister lived.

She’d imagined Lauren’s life as being like something from Escape to the Country, where people moved to chocolate-box cottages with fishponds and surrounding fields … not dirty dishes in the sink, laundry scattered about the place, and a broken blind hanging from its hinges.

And then she heard voices. The sound of running, screaming and laughter. Her niece appeared first, wearing an electric-blue polyester dress, her long red hair plaited into bunches. Behind her, Freddie danced into the room wearing an equally cheap metallic outfit, his red hair disguised beneath a long white wig. They appeared to be dressed as characters from Frozen. Charlotte wasn’t sure which was more disturbing: their lack of fire-retardant clothing, or witnessing her nephew dressed as Elsa. Maybe cross-dressing was a requisite of living in Cornwall?

When the music cut off, she was about to alert them to her presence when a man wearing a white sheet jumped out from behind the sofa, making her scream. With her heart thumping erratically in her chest, she rounded on the man. At least, she assumed it was a man. ‘Who the hell are you?’

He removed the sheet from his head, revealing a shock of jet-black hair. Definitely a man. He couldn’t be more than late twenties. He was also extremely good-looking. But that was beside the point. He’d frightened the life out of her. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

She was saved from answering when both kids ran at her. ‘Auntie Charlie!’

Amongst hugs and kisses and jumping up and down, she was dragged further into the room. ‘Okay, okay, calm down. I’m pleased to see you too.’

The man ran a hand through his static-ridden hair, easing it back into shape. He looked like a big kid: his blue T-shirt tired and worn, his jeans ripped and low-slung.

She forced her gaze away from his shapely arms. ‘Where’s my sister?’ she asked, her tone pricklier than she’d intended, but she was still reeling from being startled.

His face was flushed, no doubt from the exertion of running. ‘She’s working at the café. I’m keeping the kids occupied until her shift finishes.’

Florence enveloped Charlotte in a hug, her tiny arms gripping her aunt’s waist. ‘Do you want to play Frozen with us, Auntie Charlie?’

Charlotte patted her niece’s head. ‘Not just now, Florence. Maybe later.’

The man extended his hand. ‘I’m Olaf,’ he said, making both kids squeal with laughter.

Charlotte looked at him quizzically. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘And failing, obviously.’ His hand was still outstretched. ‘Barney.’

She accepted his offer of an introduction, ignoring the warmth in his grip. ‘Thank you for minding the children, but I’ll take it from here.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d prefer to wait until Lauren gets back.’

She felt herself frown. ‘And I’d prefer it if you left.’ Again, she sounded rude, but she didn’t appreciate the way he was checking her out … at least, she was pretty certain she didn’t.

He let out a low whistle. ‘Are you sure you’re Lauren’s sister?’

Ignoring what she suspected was an insult, she removed herself from Florence’s grasp and unzipped her handbag. ‘How much?’

Barney, or whatever his name was, looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry?’

She opened her purse. ‘I don’t know what the going rate is for childminding.’

He laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. ‘Are you kidding me?’

Charlotte rubbed her temple. God, her head hurt. She should have stopped off to buy more painkillers. ‘Do I look like someone who kids?’

He shoved his bare feet into a pair of flip-flops. ‘Nope, can’t say that you do.’

She caught a glimpse of Calvin Klein boxers when he hoisted up his jeans.

He beckoned the kids over and gave them a hug. ‘See you soon, trouble-twins.’

‘Not if we see you first, Hubble-trouble,’ the children chorused in unison.

Charlotte couldn’t follow what they were saying. Were they speaking Cornish?

Amongst laughter and play-fighting, the children waved him off, his popularity evident. Hers, she suspected, was still in doubt.

When he was gone, she moved to unbutton her jacket … only to discover it was already unbuttoned. When had she done that?

Straightening her shoulders, she mentally ticked off all the jobs that needed doing in the flat. ‘Good, well, now he’s gone, why don’t we tidy up ready for when Mummy gets home?’

Both children swivelled to look at her, their mouths open, their foreheads creasing into frowns like something from The Exorcist.

What had she said …?

CHAPTER FIVE

Monday, 30 May

Days like today reminded Barney why he was resisting a return to London. Penmullion beach was busy with visitors enjoying the spring bank holiday. The sun had been growing steadily hotter all day, not scorching, but warm enough to encourage holidaymakers onto the beach. A few brave souls were in the water. Some walked their dogs. Others hired out boats. Most were gathered near Piskies café at the far end of the cove, enjoying the view.

When the last of the fish surfboards were returned to the rental kiosk, he closed up for the afternoon, hoping to enjoy one last surf before the tide turned. Attaching his leg rope, he picked up his longboard and jogged down to the water. The wind had picked up, swirling gusts across the water, creating top waves. Ideal conditions for a battle with nature.

Despite spending most of the day in the water, the sting of the cold still shocked his skin as it seeped under his wetsuit. Positioning himself on his board, he paddled out to sea. This was why he loved Cornwall. With the wind whipping against his face, and the splash of the water licking his feet, he could forget his troubles and just feel.

Not that he had many troubles. For the most part, he was happy, satisfied to live each day as it came, in control of his destiny … well, almost. There was still the issue of his career, which was currently on pause, but other than that, he enjoyed a carefree existence.

Barney angled his board towards the beach, waiting for the next wave. From this distance, he could see the RNLI boat station next to the surf kiosk, and Piskies café. Across the other side of the cove, the cliffs rose upwards past Smugglers Inn to where Morholt Castle and the Corineus Theatre jutted out against the skyline. He never grew tired of the view.

As a wave approached, he pushed up using his hands, and then leapt to a standing position. Bending his knees, he lifted his arms, trying to maintain his balance as he rode the wave. It was exhilarating.

He’d fallen in love with surfing aged seven, whilst holidaying in Hawaii and visiting his mother’s family. But it was only when he’d moved to Cornwall that he’d been able to master the art.

Surfing wasn’t possible in East Dulwich where he’d grown up, but thanks to Grandma Maggie, he’d enjoyed many other hobbies. He was naturally good at studying, so, for the most part, he’d met his parents’ high academic expectations, which allowed them to ignore his other more creative desires such as music. His parents hadn’t always approved of his gran’s preference for fun rather than study, but they also knew that without her help they would have had to pay for childcare, so they indulged her more relaxed style of co-parenting.

His upbringing hadn’t been unhappy by any means. His parents adored him – a little too much at times – but spending his days on the beach felt far more rewarding than stitching up a head wound ever had … which didn’t bode well for a future in medicine.

The wave died beneath him, tossing him into the sea. The familiar rushing sound of water filled his ears as he was dragged under. He gave in to the momentum, waiting until the wave fizzled out so he could kick his way back up to the surface.

Satisfied that he’d caught the last of the decent breaks, he paddled back to shore and carried his board up the beach to the kiosk. The best of the day’s sunshine had faded, but there were still a few patrons outside the café, enjoying the late-afternoon glow. Among them was Lauren’s sister, sitting on a small section of beach, staring out to sea. Talk about a fish out of water. As he neared, he could see she was wearing dark, tailored jeans, a white shirt and a tan-coloured leather jacket. Her handbag was tucked next to her as though she feared someone might nick it. She looked as stiff as his surfboard.

She was quite a contrast to Lauren, who appeared from the café at that moment, carrying a tray of drinks, her hoodie tied around her middle, her sunglasses pushed onto her head. The sisters had the same slight frame, the same brown eyes and the same dark hair, but whereas Lauren wore hers long, Charlotte’s barely touched her shoulders. She kept tucking it behind her ears as if trying to keep it neat. No chance: the wind was too unruly. Her curls danced about her face as if taunting her. If Lauren was carefree, enjoyed a beer and a laugh, and loved life by the sea, then her sister was the polar opposite. All buttoned-up and rigid. Still, he shouldn’t judge. She might be allergic to sand, or something.

Their brief encounter last Friday hadn’t gone well, but it wasn’t fair to judge a person based on one prickly exchange. After all, he’d taken her by surprise. Jumped out on her. No wonder she’d reacted badly. He needed to try again. He’d head over there and properly introduce himself.

As he struggled out of his wetsuit, changed into cut-off jeans, and shook the sand from his ‘I love a Hawaiian honey’ T-shirt, his phoned pinged. Kayleigh. She wanted to hook up. Christ, she really wasn’t taking the hint, was she? Since going on a few dates with her earlier in the year, he’d been struggling to shake her off, and it was now May. He’d tried being polite, mentioning their ‘friendship’ whenever he could, in the hope she’d get the message, but it hadn’t deterred her. He wanted to ignore her, but that didn’t seem very gentlemanly, so he sent a ‘sorry can’t, I’m busy’ reply in the hope she’d take the hint and leave him alone. It wasn’t the best plan, but he was at a loss as to what else to try.

Bending forwards, he shook the wet from his hair.

History had shown he wasn’t very good when it came to ending things with women. He’d had a couple of relationships while at university, but differing life goals and a lack of free time meant pursuing them was pointless. He’d been accused of being ‘commitment-phobic’ and ‘immature’ on both occasions. He hadn’t disagreed. Was it such a crime to want something casual and relaxed? Medicine had been depressing enough. He hadn’t needed the drama of girlfriends wanting to know ‘where the relationship was going’ all the time. He’d just wanted a bit of fun.

But since moving to Cornwall, his aversion to relationships had been softening. His previous life had been all about work, and his social life – well, what he’d had of one – had been spent playing at being a ‘grown-up’. He was an only child, so his experience of hanging out with ‘little people’ was limited. But as the surf kiosk was situated next to Piskies café, he often kept an eye on Lauren’s kids after school. At first, he’d done it out of friendship – he liked Lauren, she was a good mate – but then he found himself anticipating their arrival, checking how long it would be before school broke up and they’d run onto the beach and jump on him. It’d taken a while to realise what he was feeling. When he did, he couldn’t have been more shocked. He wanted a family. And no one could have been more surprised than him.

Shoving his flip-flops into his backpack, he jogged across the sand to the café.

Spotting him approach, Lauren waved, her smile welcoming. They’d initially met via the drama group, but their friendship had developed when he’d started working at the kiosk. She was a good laugh, easy to get along with, popular with the customers. Hopefully her sister would turn out to be just as affable.

But things didn’t get off to the best start when he inadvertently kicked sand over her handbag. She brushed frantically at the leather, trying to clean it. Anyone would think he’d set fire to it. He waited until she looked up.

‘Hi. Charlie, isn’t it? We met at Lauren’s last Friday. I was the one under the sheet.’ He hoped his laughter might break the ice.

It didn’t.

She stopped shaking her bag. ‘My name is Charlotte.’ The bite in her words matched the venom in her glare. ‘I don’t like my name being shortened.’

Okay, strike two. He tried again. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.’ Her lack of warmth failed to detract from the appeal of her beautiful chocolate-coloured eyes. ‘I’m Barney.’

She glanced away, as though looking at him caused her discomfort. ‘I remember who you are.’

Christ, this was going well. ‘Lauren tells me you’ve come to stay for the summer?’

Shielding her eyes from the sun, she blinked up at him. ‘I’m planning to return to London as soon as possible.’

Another snub. He was running out of pleasantries, but decided to give it one last shot. Not that he was swayed by her good looks, or anything. ‘Lauren says you’ve lost your job. Bummer.’

She stiffened even more, if that was possible, her glare switching to where her sister was currently serving ice creams to a family of hikers across the other side of the café. ‘Did she now?’

‘She didn’t go into details,’ he added, worrying he’d just unwittingly dropped his friend in the shit.

‘Yes, well, it’s a temporary situation. I’m sure it’ll be sorted soon.’

For a moment, he thought he caught her checking him out. He felt stupidly flattered when her eyes dipped to his chest, a faint hint of colour forming on her cheeks. Things might be looking up – and then he realised he’d forgotten to put his T-shirt on. Shit. He was standing in front of her bare-chested. No wonder she was staring. She probably thought he was a right poser.

‘And what do you do for a living, Mr …?’

He dragged his T-shirt over his head. ‘Hubble.’

Her expression switched to confusion. ‘Your surname is Hubble?’

He nodded, flattening down his T-shirt. ‘Yep.’

‘Your name is Barney Hubble?’ A frown formed on her perfectly smooth forehead. ‘Are you deliberately toying with me?’

He sighed. ‘No, that is actually my name.’ He shrugged, used to disbelieving looks and piss-taking about his name. ‘What can I say? My parents never watched The Flintstones.’

She smiled, which might have eroded all her other flaws if he wasn’t the subject of her mirth. So, she found his name funny, huh? She hadn’t found it so amusing when he’d called her Charlie, had she? Talk about double standards.

Making no effort to hide her amusement, she brushed a speck of sand from her pristine jeans. ‘You were about to tell me what you do for a living?’

His enthusiasm for winning her over was starting to wane; he really didn’t like being laughed at. Not by a woman. Not by a hot woman. ‘A bit of this and a bit of that.’

He needn’t have worried. His answer killed her smile quicker than if he’d said, ‘I eat people for a living,’ which told him everything he needed to know about her. Who the hell was she to criticise what he did for a living? She might be beautiful, but looks didn’t count for much if she was a judgemental snob.

If Lauren hadn’t appeared next to him at that moment, he might have walked off.

‘I see you’ve met my sister.’ Lauren gave him a hug, and then turned to Charlotte. ‘Barney’s a really good friend of mine. He’s an amazing singer. You’ll have to come and watch his gig tonight at Smugglers Inn.’

Charlotte didn’t look impressed. ‘I have plans. Maybe another time.’

Lauren gave her sister a pointed look. ‘Surely nothing that can’t wait. It’ll be good for you to meet a few of the locals.’

Charlotte looked as if that was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘I need to do some research. If my claim for unfair dismissal is unsuccessful, then I’ll need alternative employment. And I can’t expect to find a proper job if I sit around socialising all the time.’

Her emphasis on the word ‘proper’ sent flares of annoyance shooting up his spine. Sod her. He didn’t need another person in his life telling him to grow up and get a proper job. He had enough of that from his parents.

It was time to leave before he said something he’d regret. ‘Well, this has been fun.’ He made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. ‘I hope you enjoy your holiday. Good luck with the job hunting.’

Poor Lauren squirmed next to him, making him feel a tad guilty. It wasn’t her fault that her sister was colder than ice. He blew her a kiss. ‘See you later, Lauren.’

Leaving the beach, he fought against the shame battling inside him. It wasn’t important. Charlotte Saunders was of no consequence to him. He shouldn’t feel so rattled by her blatant dismissal of him. Everyone else in Penmullion thought he was a cool guy. Someone who’d got life sorted. They envied him. It shouldn’t bother him that one highly strung, opinionated, gorgeous woman looked down her nose at him … but it did … and it really pissed him off.

CHAPTER SIX

Thursday, 2 June

Charlotte had only been in Cornwall for six days, but she was already tearing her hair out – literally, the moisture in the air making it curl, no matter how often she straightened it. Her headaches weren’t easing, and she was fidgety and restless. She guessed her body had become acclimatised to working long stressful days and was unaccustomed to lazing about doing nothing.

The employment tribunal had advised that there was a backlog of claims, so it might be a few weeks before a date was set. She had planned to look for another job while she was here, but then realised that the likelihood of being offered another position, when she’d been fired from the previous one, was remote. She was better off waiting until the outcome of her claim was decided before contemplating her next move. Until then, she needed to find something to occupy her time.

Her attempts to keep busy by helping Lauren around the flat hadn’t worked out either. When her offer to contribute to the rent had been refused, she’d figured that she needed to earn her keep by doing chores instead. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Lauren was struggling financially, but her sister was determined to manage on her own and didn’t want to be seen as a ‘charity case’. Charlotte hadn’t meant to cause offence, so by way of an apology, she’d blitzed the flat from top to bottom, scrubbing the bathroom until her arms ached and removing all the mould from the discoloured grout. She’d mended the blind, sorted the children’s books into alphabetical order, and boxed up their toys to avoid any unnecessary accidents. But far from appreciating her efforts, Lauren had seemed more annoyed than grateful. It was all very confusing. Especially as it was obvious that Lauren could do with the help.

For the past seven years, Charlotte had foolishly believed that her sister lived an idyllic lifestyle, but she’d discovered the reality was quite different. Lauren worked part-time in a café, relied on benefits, and left her kids with all manner of childminders. But Lauren seemed to like her life, claiming to be happy existing at a slower, less material pace, placing value on free time, socialising with friends, and partaking in hobbies such as amateur dramatics.

Their dad was the same. Charlotte had imagined an emotional reunion, whereby Tony Saunders enveloped his eldest daughter in a bear hug, told her he’d missed her and everything would revert to how things had been before her mum had died. Instead, she’d spent one brief evening with him before he’d had to rush off, something about a fishing boat caught on the nearby rocks. It was all highly depressing. All she’d been able to glean from Lauren was that he lived on a narrowboat, worked for a local fisherman, and spent his free time manning the local RNLI boat station.