Follow a Star (17 page)

Bill nodded and reminded himself that Cecil had especially requested this visit. Anything that helped lift the old man’s spirits was good. He just wished he could say the same about his own prospects. He took a deep breath and braced himself to ask another favour.

‘Would you mind?’ he said, offering her the box containing the little silver starfish pendant his uncle had sent her.

‘Ooh, you’ve got a bloody nerve,’ she tutted, thankfully not looking too annoyed. ‘Just remember I’m doing this to help Cecil. Here, give me a hand with it.’

She turned her back to him and lifted her heavy hair, and Bill had to fight every fibre in his being not to rain kisses on the soft, adorable nape of her neck. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasp, but at last it was done.

‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘I’ll give it straight back to you afterwards. You can always call hospital security if you’re worried about me making off with it.’

‘I asked for that, I guess.’ Great job, Bill. ‘May, I—’

‘Joke,’ she said, touching his arm lightly. ‘I think the way you look after your uncle is lovely. Cecil’s lucky to have you.’

And May could have him too, any time she liked, he thought. If she’d only give him the chance.

Cecil was at the far end of a four-bed bay where all the patients were elderly men and, at first sight, looked similarly insubstantial and silver-haired. If the window suddenly opened, Bill thought, it was hard not to imagine them being blown away like seed heads on the breeze. May was lifting their spirits, judging by the bright eyes following her as she passed by looking fresh and wholesome in skinny jeans and a white lace cardigan over a denim-blue vest top.

His uncle, who had been dozing, looked startled to find May beside his bed. With her hair freshly washed and falling in soft, fluffy waves around her shoulders, he must have been worried an angel had come for him. This evening, Bill noticed, she’d even applied a slick of lip gloss and mascara, though there were dark shadows under her tawny eyes.

‘My dear girl – at last,’ Cecil said, brightening up when they were introduced. ‘Well, this is a pleasure.’

Bill raised the end of the bed so his uncle could sit up. He was happy to see a little more colour in Cecil’s face and a spark of liveliness in his faded blue eyes. His uncle had been a sprinter in his youth and, until his sudden illness, deported his rangy frame with a square-shouldered strength and grace suggestive of a much younger man. It was hard to see him so helpless.

‘I hope you didn’t take offence at my little gift,’ Cecil told May. ‘It was a small gesture to thank you for making it possible for my dream to come true. I’m afraid one becomes so reliant on other people as one gets older and everyone leads such busy lives, that sometimes one has to rely on the kindness of strangers. And I knew you would be a kind person with a sense of humour from your response to my silly little advertisement. Dear me, some of the other replies made me blush. Some of them seemed to have a very strange idea of what was involved. I was so looking forward to our little trip, but alas it was not to be.’

‘They’ll get you better in no time,’ May assured him. ‘Then you’ll enjoy the boat even more. She’s lovely – and so is this, thank you.’ She held up the pendant which twinkled in the light.

‘It’s only a little thing,’ Cecil smiled, ‘but I’m pleased you like it. It seemed so appropriate.’

Bill leaned forwards with his iPad. ‘I’ve taken some photos of the boat. She looks settled in her new home, doesn’t she?’ he said, wondering if Cecil really would regain enough strength to sail her.

Cecil ran his fingers over the screen and immediately started asking lots of questions about the boat, making it clear that he was in no doubt about his prospects. So far as he was concerned he was planning to take the boat out at the earliest opportunity.

‘Her weather helm’s heavy,’ Bill warned him. ‘You might want to wait for some light winds so you don’t overdo it.’

Cecil brushed this aside as if Bill was still the little boy in his care, rather than acknowledge their changed roles. ‘You coped with her, did you, May?’ he said, with the obvious implication that if a mere woman could do it, so could he. Bill shook his head. Fond as he was of Cecil, he remained totally unreconstructed.

‘I had a wonderful time on her.’ May smiled. ‘It was an experience I’ll never forget.’

‘Good, good. I’m looking forward to having a go myself. First I have to get out of this wretched place,’ Cecil’s voice trailed off and he sunk back against the pillows. Bill could see him struggling to keep his eyes open.

‘They’ll kick you out when you’re well, don’t worry.’ Bill smiled, smoothing the floppy silver hair back from his uncle’s forehead. ‘I think you’ve had enough for one day, we’ve tired you out.’

‘A little,’ Cecil admitted, ‘but in a good way. We’ll talk some more next time, eh, May?’

‘Definitely,’ she said, with an assurance that made Bill a bit cross.

Cecil’s eyelids fluttered again, but as Bill bent to kiss him, Cecil caught hold of his hand. ‘We’ve both found the right girl now. I’ll see to
Lucille
and you make sure you take care of May. Don’t let her go, will you, Bill?’

Too late, thought Bill.

‘Don’t worry about anything,’ May said, patting Cecil’s arm. ‘Just rest and get better. I’ll see you again soon.’

Back in the van, Bill finally flipped. ‘What the
hell
do you think you’re playing at, May?’ I know the old boy’s not exactly compos mentis, but he hasn’t lost all his bloody marbles. It’s one thing mucking me about, I’m big and ugly enough to take it, but don’t think you can string Cecil along too. Can you imagine how disappointed he’s going to be when he finds out you’ve only told him that to keep him happy? It might amuse you, for some perverse reason, to make commitments you’ve no intention of keeping, but what about the rest of us who have to pick up the pieces when you bugger off again? It’s plain cruelty.’

She turned a white face to him. ‘Why do you always think the worst of me, Bill? I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Of course I’ll carry on visiting your uncle. Unless of course, you’re giving me specific instructions not to see him.’

Bill gave a short laugh. ‘I’m just being practical. How are you going to be able to visit Cecil when you disappear back to wherever you came from?’

‘I’m not about to disappear,’ she protested.

‘Oh really?’ he said, clutching the steering wheel tightly. ‘Your so-called ex has arranged a nice little romantic holiday up here for you, has he? I mean, this may be the arse-end of the world, but even Little Spitmarsh has seen something of revival in boutique hotels. We’re practically Kensington-on-Sea now. And how will’—he could barely spit the word out—‘
Aiden
feel about you trotting out to visit Cecil? Perhaps you thought you’d bring him along too?’

‘Bill!’ she yelled at him. ‘I’m staying here alone. Harry’s caravan was available, so I’ve taken that for six weeks.’

‘Harry doesn’t have a caravan – not one that she lets out, anyway,’ he snapped. ‘Well, technically, she’s got one, but she’s never got as far as advertising it. It hasn’t been used since she had it renovated, and no one’s stayed there since—’

‘Bill!’ May folded her arms. ‘She offered the place to me herself. I do know what I’m talking about!’

‘She did?’

May glared at him.

Bill fell silent as he let the clutch out and set off on the return journey to Little Spitmarsh. The caravan sat on the fringes of the boatyard. For many years it had been home to Harry’s beloved old assistant, George, who had stoutly refused all offers to upgrade his accommodation. In the weeks after his death, the place had almost become a shrine to his memory, especially for Harry, who had struggled to come to terms with her grief.

Matthew had been frantic with worry about his wife and confided that he thought it was only having Georgia that had made her get up in the mornings. When Harry surprised them, one week in late spring, by clearing the caravan and sprucing up the interior, everyone took it as a sign of her recovery, but no one seriously expected anyone to stay there again.

Now this? Bill dared to smile to himself. No way would Harry allow May anywhere near the place that was almost sacrosanct to her if Harry didn’t trust her. And for the entire summer holiday, too. Whatever was going on between May and her ex, she wasn’t about to disappear from his life – or what passed for a life, given how busy he was – completely. The winding road which cut its way through the flat, watery landscape leading them back to Little Spitmarsh narrowed ahead of them. Bill pulled closer to the side of the road to let an oncoming car pass. ‘You must have a very understanding boss,’ he ventured, thinking of the number of clients who were anxious for him to get back to them.

‘Yes, me,’ she said wryly. ‘I’m self-employed.’

‘That’s handy, then.’ Somehow they hadn’t got round to the subject on
Lucille
. Either because they’d been too busy or too exhausted. It just proved how little he really knew about her. They had reached Sea Lane and Bill drove into the boatyard. He started to think about suggesting something more pleasant they could do together, like that meal at Samphire, where they could talk in peace. At worst, maybe they could come out of the whole experience as friends? And what a thoroughly depressing thought that was.

But before he could ask, May spoke. ‘I meant what I said about being happy to visit Cecil. I can always keep him company while you’re at work. It’s simple enough for me to catch the bus.’

He managed a weak laugh. ‘Why would you want to do that? We’ll go together, of course. You don’t need to lumber yourself with my uncle.’

He watched her gaze drop to her hands folded in her lap. ‘Bill,’ she began at last, ‘you were right about emotions being heightened on the boat. I was running away from real life when we set sail together, but even then, as it turned out, I didn’t manage to run far enough because the person I’ve been too weak to face is myself. Thanks to Harry, I’ve got some breathing space and a chance to clear my head. I can’t keep making mistakes. I have to be able to live with myself. Everything’s happened between us so quickly, that I don’t know if I can trust what I’m feeling or not.’

‘Then, let’s give it a try.’ Bill was desperate.

She looked up and gave him a rueful smile. ‘Whatever I do next, it’s got to be right for me or it’s not fair on you. Otherwise, there’s a danger we’ll just plough on and end up hurting each other. Let’s just slow it down, give each other some space and see where we land. And hey, whatever happens, we’ll always have those memories of
Lucille
.’

She jumped down and took the path beside the waterfront leading to the far reaches of the boatyard, her bouncy hair shining in the evening light.
Don’t let it be over,
he silently begged, waiting for her to turn and smile over her shoulder at him.
Give me a sign
. But he watched until she was out of sight and she never looked back.

May was getting used to the caravan and was beginning to feel relaxed in her new surroundings. After a rare night of uninterrupted sleep, she was just coming to when she was jolted by a heavy thud on the thin roof, swiftly followed by another. Aiden? Had he discovered her hiding place? Two days, he’d said, but was he about to bully her into early submission? Listening intently while her sleepy brain scrambled for a plan, her fear turned to relief as the thudding became a scampering then a loud squawk as war broke out between two seagulls.

‘Running away from your troubles is a race you’ll never win.’ That’s what Harry had told her. May sat up in the narrow bed with its cheerful bedspread of knitted coloured squares and looked around. She liked how the space had been sympathetically refurbished without losing its unique character. There was a neat galley kitchen with painted pale green units running along one length, at one end a compact seating area, again kitted out in cool, sea greens, with stunning unbroken views across the creek and, at the other, a minuscule bathroom.

What she liked best, though, was the atmosphere; a strange sense of serenity and sanctuary that made her feel as if the previous inhabitant had handed it on with love. May guessed that some people might have been spooked by that feeling and the secluded location, but it made her feel stronger. She felt safe in this small caravan, isolated as it was. Instead of sitting there waiting for Aiden to make his next move, could she take Harry’s father’s advice and come out fighting?

Rather than waste any more time worrying about what she couldn’t change, May decided it wouldn’t hurt to put herself first for a day. Although her break was only a temporary reprieve, every hour away from the pressures of her previous life would give her time to regain sufficient mental strength to face the future. Answerable to no one for the first time in far too long, she relished the thought of some time to herself to wander and explore. Later, if she felt like it, she
would
ring Bill, just to see how his uncle was faring – that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, wasn’t it?

Right now, she had practical matters to attend to. Like silencing her groaning stomach and doing some shopping. The contents of her rucksack had been enough to see her through a week or so but needed supplementing for a longer stay. She’d look out for a new notebook too, just in case she was tempted to start writing again.

Little Spitmarsh, she was quickly realising, was a town of two halves. Towards the seafront, developers had restored many of the lovely Victorian villas, a cluster of cutesy shops selling vintage tat or cupcakes and a smattering of galleries created an illusion of prosperity in the most picturesque part of the town, but the tide of gentrification spluttered to a halt further along the high street, leaving a depressing wasteland of charity shops, the remnants of national retail chains and empty spaces.

Ignoring the rather chichi cafés in the old town, May chose the Paradise Café, with its amazing views across the muddy North Sea. In Cornwall it would probably have been swallowed up by a TV Chef’s empire, but here, thankfully, its refurbishment was comfortably low key with stripped floorboards, shabby-chic sofas arranged in pairs and free Wi-Fi. Whoever owned the Paradise Café seemed to be of the opinion that heavy-handed interior design was an unnecessary distraction from the hearty food on offer and the superb views. It was an approach May rather applauded.

Fully equipped with a chunky bacon sandwich and a large cappuccino, she had just settled herself into a sofa with stunning sea views and was looking forward to enjoying the peace and quiet when the doors flew open and what felt like a small army of mummies and babies marched noisily in. May looked at the vacant sofa opposite protectively, wondering what would be regarded as reasonable defence of her territory, when a tall, attractive woman with dark hair approached her.

‘Is this seat taken?’ the woman asked.

She was several years older than May, she guessed, with a warm, intelligent face. She wore the off-duty clothes of an office worker. A look the older women’s magazines called ‘weekend casuals’. May made sure that coffee was all that the woman was carrying and wasn’t about to spring a noisy baby on her. ‘Be my guest,’ May said with a smile.

‘It’s not that I don’t like children,’ the other woman said, leaning forwards conspiratorially, ‘but this is my treat to myself. It’s one of the few chances I have to enjoy a quiet coffee and a good read, and it helps keep me sane. My husband and I own a B&B, you see. We wanted to work for ourselves, but it’s like being on stage twenty-four hours a day giving a command performance, if that makes sense. Sometimes I need time out.’