Ottercombe Bay – Part One: Where There’s a Will...
Bella Osborne
Escape to the Devon coast, with Part One of a brand-new four-part serial from the author of Willow Cottage. Daisy Wickens has returned to Ottercombe Bay, the picturesque Devon town where her mother died when she was a girl. She plans to leave as soon as her great uncle’s funeral is over, but Great Uncle Reg had other ideas. He’s left Daisy a significant inheritance – an old building in a state of disrepair, which could offer exciting possibilities, but to get it she must stay in Ottercombe Bay for twelve whole months.With the help of a cast of quirky locals, a few gin cocktails and a black pug with plenty of attitude, Daisy might just turn this into something special. But can she ever hope to be happy among the ghosts of her past?Authors and readers love Bella Osborne’s gorgeous novels:‘I really enjoy Bella Osborne’s books’ – Katie Fforde‘An absolutely glorious read full of laugh out loud moments and beautifully observed characters who spring to life on the page’ Phillipa Ashley‘A warm and engaging story with relatable characters who will worm their way into your heart. A great read!’ – Talli Roland‘Loved it! Believable characters, a sweetly told, lovely story… a great read’ – Jane Lovering‘Romance, comedy, and mystery abound in this delightful British novel’ – I Read That Book!‘A great read, with some really special moments… so beautiful and romantic’ – Annie’s Book Corner‘A well-written and charming tale.’ – Paris Baker’s Book Nook‘I wasn't expecting a debut novel to be this good’ – The Bookish & The Romantic'Makes me feel like I should be reading it while wearing a tea dress, drinking posh coffee from a china cup and eating Victoria sandwich cake with a dainty little fork. It's charming, adorable, amusing and all those sorts of words' – Escape Into Words'This book is perfect chick lit' – Gidget Girls Reading
Ottercombe Bay
Part One
BELLA OSBORNE
Copyright (#u9ff129b0-15c7-5632-8f17-217c814cc1ae)
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2017
Copyright © Bella Osborne 2017
Cover illustration © Kim Leo
Cover design © Head Design 2017
Bella Osborne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008258153
Ebook Edition © December 2017 ISBN: 9780008258115
Version 2018-05-04
Dedication (#u9ff129b0-15c7-5632-8f17-217c814cc1ae)
For my mum – thank you.
Table of Contents
Cover (#ucf7c3f2e-c640-517e-b6b3-34f8003848fc)
Title Page (#ue3a34a88-a722-5053-86c8-db1815d507f2)
Copyright (#u92cf38d3-a14d-5ab0-90dd-7b7ff89c4f9b)
Dedication (#u685e5c29-f8ce-5c1b-bae3-cf70a538699a)
Chapter One (#u6e1b8f9f-018c-5053-91b8-6957d4939f78)
Chapter Two (#uff1c9c40-7f0d-5919-a626-3d397ecb3c07)
Chapter Three (#ue7de06a7-2702-52d1-9357-78d518a0c7c0)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Bella Osborne (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u9ff129b0-15c7-5632-8f17-217c814cc1ae)
Daisy’s bum didn’t feel like her own thanks to four hours on an old motorbike. A pretty village sign welcomed her, but Daisy felt a long-buried sadness creep over her like frost across a windowpane. Coming back to Ottercombe Bay was a big mistake. If only I had a choice, she thought.
A good-looking man in an unattractive high-vis jacket interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out in front of Daisy’s motorbike. She hastily swerved and braked, and the ancient vehicle spluttered to a halt.
‘You can’t come this way,’ the young man said, his muscled arms clamped across his luminous chest.
‘Please,’ she said, followed by her best cheesy grin; something familiar about the man’s mop of dark hair had her memory working overtime.
‘No way,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders.
Daisy flicked up her helmet visor with an air of defiance; she wasn’t easily intimidated. ‘Don’t be daft. I need to get to Trow Lane.’ She looked longingly down the main road. She was only three streets away.
‘You’ll have to go around.’ The man was peering at Daisy. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, a frown appearing briefly on his tanned face.
‘I doubt it. Look, it’s daft to go miles out of my way. I’m only going down there,’ she said, pointing. Daisy was tired after her long journey and didn’t need this jumped-up workman telling her what to do, especially when she could see no reason why the road was cordoned off on a sunny Saturday evening in late June.
She revved the motorbike back to life but high-vis man stepped up to her front tyre, blocking her path. They glared at each other. Daisy revved the engine again and made the motorbike hop an inch forward. He didn’t even flinch. She was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering nearby. Then she heard it – a distant clanging sound. She frowned and the man glared back. The clanging sound drew closer and Daisy recognised it as drums accompanied by what sounded like someone trying to get a tune out of an elephant. She spotted the bunting crisscrossing the road. The penny finally dropped – it was carnival parade night. He was right, there was no way she would be able to ride her bike through town tonight. She slammed down her visor and grumbled an apology before she skidded the motorbike away leaving the smug-looking high-vis man swathed in a fug of black smoke.
Daisy was still cross when she pulled up at Sea Mist Cottage. She stopped the bike, tugged off her helmet and tore the heavy backpack off her aching shoulders. This was not a good start and it was further confirmation that she shouldn’t have come back. She turned and looked at the cottage. It was like being transported back in time – it hadn’t changed a bit. The ancient building still looked like the sad face Daisy had imagined she saw when she was a child, with its heavy overhanging thatch eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.
‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.
‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.
Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’
At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.
Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.
‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.
‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.
Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.
‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.
‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’
‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily and her mood lifted. She dropped her rucksack and sat down at the small kitchen table with its pristine white tablecloth. She looked about her whilst Aunt Coral busied herself with the tea. It was as though time had stood still. The kitchen was just as it had been when she was a child; the only changes she could spot were that the walls had been painted yellow, when they used to be blue, and there appeared to be the addition of a corkboard with a variety of pieces of paper and notes pinned to it. She spotted the last postcard she had sent from France and her good mood quickly faded when she remembered the disaster of her French boyfriend Guillaume.
Daisy looked down at her rucksack. Everything she owned was in it, apart from the motorbike. That was it. All her worldly goods in one package. She pulled back her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. This was the way she liked it. No ties, nothing to keep her in one place or hold her back. She was as free as a bird and that suited her just fine. Aunt Coral ferried a large tray with a teapot and a pair of fragile-looking cups and saucers to the table and sat down opposite Daisy. She pointed at the rucksack. ‘You’re not planning on staying long, then?’ There was a sadness in her eyes as she poured their tea.
‘No, sorry. I need to leave straight after the funeral.’ Daisy broke eye contact and picked up the delicate teacup. She didn’t know where she was heading next. She had been staying in a hostel in Canterbury, hopping from one job to the next, when Aunt Coral had telephoned. It had seemed like an ideal opportunity to make it a permanent departure from Kent. As to where she was going next, she had no idea, but she wouldn’t be staying in the small Devon town any longer than was absolutely necessary.
‘Well, you can’t leave directly after the funeral, I’m afraid, because there’s the will and—’
A knock at the door was simultaneously accompanied by frantic barking from the garden making Daisy feel she was under attack from two different directions. Aunt Coral calmly got up and headed for the front door. As soon as Daisy heard the high-pitched voice a bell started to ring in the deepest recesses of her mind.
The visitor’s Devonshire accent was strong and her voice got louder and faster as she approached. ‘OhMyGod. I can’t believe it’s actually you. I mean I hoped it was when I saw the bike because I don’t know anyone with a bike like that. Not round here. And it is you, you’re here!’ A young woman with long straight dark hair flung herself at Daisy and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off Daisy, which was quite disconcerting.
‘Tamsyn,’ said Daisy, recognising her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do you still live next door?’
‘Yeah, with Mum and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you too.’
‘Tamsyn has been a wonderful help keeping an eye on Reg while I’ve been at work. Reg has kept every card or letter you have ever sent from all your travels and I think he’s read them all to Tamsyn a few times over. And you know how he always liked to tell stories and you featured in quite a few of those too.’
‘Not the fantasy ones with dwarves. You weren’t in those,’ said Tamsyn, her face deadpan.
Daisy wasn’t sure how to respond, but thankfully Aunt Coral started speaking again. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Tamsyn these last few months. She’s virtually one of the family now. Aren’t you, Tamsyn?’
‘OhMyGod. Does that make us sisters?’ said Tamsyn, jigging about excitedly in her chair – the same action being mirrored at the back door by the dog.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Daisy with a chuckle. Tamsyn was joking, wasn’t she? Here was a prime example why people should leave home and explore the world, thought Daisy. Staying here had turned Tamsyn into Ottercombe Bay’s answer to Phoebe Buffay from Friends, blurring the line between adorable and certifiable.
‘Where are you going next?’ asked Tamsyn, wide-eyed, cupping her tea with both hands. Daisy wished Tamsyn would blink more often – it couldn’t be good for her eyes. Daisy spotted Aunt Coral also looking at her intently; she felt under pressure to say something and oddly the need to impress.
‘Um, I’m not sure. Abroad again probably …’ She didn’t have the money right now but her long-term plan was definitely to travel more extensively. ‘South America,’ she blurted out. It was somewhere she had always wanted to go but living hand to mouth meant it was only ever going to be a pipedream.
Tamsyn’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow, you are my absolute hero.’ She turned to Aunt Coral who gave a proud nod.
Daisy felt awkward and it showed on her face. She dropped her gaze to her teacup. She began to recall more about Tamsyn as her brain rearranged her archived memories. She remembered the little girl who followed her everywhere, who went beachcombing with her and liked to collect shells but screamed if she found a crab. She remembered sitting on the edge of the pavement watching the carnival procession together. She remembered them as gawky teenagers swigging cider behind the beach huts. She remembered a friend.
‘You not going to the carnival tonight?’ asked Daisy.
Tamsyn grinned. ‘I was on my way out when I spotted the motorbike.’
‘Sorry,’ said Daisy. ‘You shouldn’t miss it for me.’
‘Uh, no way. You’re far better than any crumby old carnival. I was only going to get a look at the men in uniform.’
Daisy recalled the officious bloke in the high-vis top. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, yeah. Police, firefighters, lifeboat crew, they all have floats in the carnival now.’ At the mention of lifeboat crew Aunt Coral and Daisy exchanged looks.
‘It’s a shame my brother couldn’t make it for the funeral,’ said Aunt Coral, her nose twitching slightly. Daisy noted the offhand reference to her father.
‘Dad’s really sorry. He sends his love though,’ said Daisy, who had hoped her father would have made the effort to attend but given he lived in Goa it was never really on the cards. Aunt Coral nodded her understanding.
‘Oh, I remember your dad. He rescued me once when I built this amazing sandcastle with a moat and I was so busy trying to keep the water out I hadn’t noticed the tide creep in and it was all around me and he waded out to save me,’ said Tamsyn, as she machine-gunned the story out.
Daisy smirked. ‘I remember that day. It was only ankle deep; you didn’t need rescuing at all.’ Daisy laughed.
Tamsyn pouted playfully. ‘Huh, I could have been swept away – the current here is very strong.’
Before she realised it, Daisy was deep in conversation as the memories flooded back. And for a change they were pleasant ones she was happy to recall. Time seemed to whizz by and Daisy was vaguely aware Aunt Coral was now walking around wearing pyjamas. She checked her watch, causing Tamsyn to look at the kitchen clock.
‘Crikey it’s late,’ said Tamsyn, making Daisy grin at the old-fashioned turn of phrase. ‘Mum and Dad will be wondering where I am.’ Getting to her feet Tamsyn gave Daisy another huge hug. ‘I am pleased you’re home,’ she added, then turned to Aunt Coral and kissed her cheek. ‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, thanks Tamsyn.’
‘Tomorrow?’ asked Daisy as the sound of the porch door being vigorously shoved announced Tamsyn’s departure.
‘She comes around most days.’
‘Doesn’t she work?’
‘Oh yes, good little worker is Tamsyn, but it’s all a bit erratic at the beach café. They have school kids working there in the summer, pay them next to nothing and only have poor Tamsyn for the lunchtime rush.’
Daisy pondered this. She’d always thought her lack of being able to land a decent job was because of her frequent moves but it seemed even if she’d stayed locally she’d have been no better off. Her thoughts were invaded by a disgruntled-looking Bugsy rushing into the kitchen. He marched up to Daisy and shook himself. Daisy offered him a finger to sniff and he promptly wiped his nose on it.
‘Ew!’ Daisy recoiled, pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her hand. Bugsy looked quite pleased with himself, he even gave a brief wag of his curly tail before he turned around and presented Daisy with his bum.
‘Right, I’m off to bed,’ said Aunt Coral, picking up the dog. ‘It is lovely to have you back even if it’s only for a few days.’
‘Oh yeah, that reminds me. What were you saying about me not being able to leave after the funeral?’
Aunt Coral’s eyebrows danced. ‘Oh yes. You need to stay for the reading of the will. Great Uncle Reg has left you something substantial – that was what the solicitor said. Night, love, see you in the morning.’ And with a fleeting kiss on the top of Daisy’s head she disappeared upstairs.
Chapter Two (#u9ff129b0-15c7-5632-8f17-217c814cc1ae)
Daisy was woken by something scratching at her door. She was coming round, whilst wondering where she was, when the bedroom door sprung open and something burst in. Daisy leapt in fright but quickly realised it was only Bugsy. At virtually the same time the dog seemed to spot who was in the bed. He snorted his disgust and strutted out of the room. It seemed Bugsy’s wake-up calls would be a disadvantage of having a bedroom on the ground floor.
It was Monday morning, the day of the funeral. She had tried to talk to Aunt Coral about the will yesterday but she didn’t know anything more than she’d already shared except to say Daisy’s father, Ray, hadn’t been left anything because Reg had helped him out financially in the past and Ray had agreed he’d already had his fair share of any inheritance. This in itself had been a revelation to Daisy, but looking back her father had rarely had a stable job while she’d been growing up so the money they had lived on must have come from somewhere. Reg had always been generous to a fault, one of the many things she’d loved and admired about him.
She wondered what Great Uncle Reg had left her in his will. She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, it had been almost three years ago, shortly after she dropped out of university for the second time and she felt a twinge of guilt. He had seemed full of life despite his advancing years. She recalled his mane of grey hair and wayward beard that always seemed at odds with his otherwise smart appearance, which invariably included a cravat. He’d said something to her then about securing her future but she hadn’t paid much attention – she now wished she had, the suspense was killing her.
A light tap on the door pulled her from her thoughts. ‘Good morning. I’m glad you’re awake. Tamsyn will be here shortly and we’ve got a truckful of sandwiches to make for the wake,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘Or “pallbearers party” as Reg liked to call it,’ she added with a chuckle before she disappeared into the kitchen.
The truckful of sandwiches was no joke, because shortly after Daisy was up to her elbows in a buttery production line whilst Tamsyn did her best to update her on who she may know at the funeral.
‘You remember Max, don’t you?’ she asked.
Daisy jutted out her lip and slapped a piece of ham on the buttered bread Aunt Coral had just handed her. ‘Not sure.’ But even as she said it a picture of a cider-fuelled teenage snogging fest loomed ugly in her mind. Whilst she had left Ottercombe Bay at seven years old she had returned each year for a two-week holiday, giving her a snapshot of the life she’d been pulled away from.
‘You doooo,’ said Tamsyn. ‘Max Davey, he never tucked his shirt in.’
‘Sounds like every boy at primary school to me.’
‘Jason Fenton, remember him?’
Daisy paused with a slice of ham held aloft. ‘Skinny kid, played with trains at break time?’
‘Yes. That’s him. He’s a policeman now,’ said Tamsyn, with a firm bob of her head.
‘Wow, well done Jason. Why would Jason and this Max be coming to my great uncle’s funeral?’
Tamsyn opened her mouth but Aunt Coral was already on the case. ‘They’re both lifeboat crew and your great uncle supported the lifeboat his whole life. He was Lifeboat Operations Manager for many years,’ said Aunt Coral proudly. ‘Max and Jason both used to meet him for a coffee once in a while to hear his stories.’ She paused briefly mid-spread with her buttered knife aloft. ‘There’s lots of people in this town who are going to miss him.’
Daisy patted her arm, Aunt Coral gave her a wan smile and returned to spreading.
Daisy shed a few tears during the service but overall the funeral was surprisingly cheerful, which reflected Reg’s personality. A few people told their favourite stories of Reg – one of them involving a donkey and a top hat, which had them all belly laughing – so as everyone filed out of church most of them were smiling, which was exactly what Reg would have wanted.
Daisy studied the floral tributes and wondered who all these people were who knew her great uncle but who she’d never heard of, especially some calling themselves Bunny and Toots.
‘Hi … again,’ said a deep voice behind her. Daisy turned to see a ruggedly handsome young man. ‘I’m sorry Reg died, he was a sound bloke. You okay, Daisy?’
‘Hi …’ She paused where his name should go as a cavalcade of memories bombarded her.
He twitched his head. ‘Don’t remember me? For one thing, I stopped you riding your bike through the carnival procession on Saturday. Prevented a potential massacre, I reckon,’ he said, his local accent soft and barely noticeable.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Daisy feeling more than a little embarrassed at her behaviour that night. ‘Sorry about that.’ He didn’t look half as aggressive now, with his hair groomed and wearing a smart shirt and tie although he kept running his finger around his collar giving the impression he wasn’t very comfortable in the outfit. ‘You’re Max. You were the boy who always had his shirt untucked at school.’ She was keen to avoid reminding him about their teenage antics.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Yep, that’d be me, all right.’
‘And you were friends with my great uncle?’ It still seemed an odd pairing to Daisy.
‘Yeah, me and Reg used to catch up from time to time. I’ll remember him fondly.’
The look in Max’s eye intrigued her. ‘What will you remember most about him?’
‘He taught me I’m as good as anyone else …’ Max blew out a long slow breath and looked for a second like he was going to get emotional, ‘… and how to judge the tides.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Daisy feeling awkward; her memories weren’t quite as profound. ‘I’ll remember being curled up next to him watching films with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.’ In a flash a memory of the film Bugsy Malone popped up and she had a ‘doh’ moment when she realised where the dog’s name had come from. They’d watched that film many times when she was little.
‘Ah, here you are,’ said Aunt Coral joining them. ‘Daisy, you can come back to the house in car one with the oldies; I’m in car two with the Exeter crowd.’ She turned her attention to Max. ‘Lovely of you to come today, Max. Are you coming back for the wake?’
‘No, sorry, Coral, I’m working. I swapped my shifts so I could see old Reg off. Raise a glass for me at the party.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Aunt Coral gave him a fleeting pat on the shoulder and went to organise some others.
‘I ’spect I’ll see you around, if you’re staying here for a bit,’ said Max.
‘Unfortunately, I won’t be staying,’ said Daisy. ‘But it was nice to see you again. Bye.’
Max paused. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, his eyes warm and intense making her almost rethink her decision.
The next morning Daisy found herself in a warm and stuffy solicitor’s office sipping a strong filter coffee.
‘Do you think he would have liked the party?’ asked Aunt Coral.
It was an odd question, but she knew Aunt Coral had been worrying about giving Reg a deserving send off. ‘He would have loved it. He definitely would have approved of all the port.’ Aunt Coral visibly relaxed and Daisy felt a swell of affection for her. The wake had been well attended and diverse, with some serious talk about coastal erosion and an impromptu singalong. It had been exactly what Reg would have wanted.
Daisy didn’t really want to hear his will read. She didn’t need anything to remember Great Uncle Reg; she had her memories. Although she had to admit she was curious about what he had left her that could be described as ‘substantial’. Cash, perhaps, but she wasn’t sure Reg had a lot of money. She needed some cash; she hated living hand to mouth. Possibly a share in the cottage, which would be very tricky because it was Aunt Coral’s home and she definitely wouldn’t want to sell it. Daisy decided she wouldn’t think about that option as it made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was a family heirloom, although the only items she could think of were pieces of furniture. That’s probably it, she thought. The large clock in the hallway and the dresser in the kitchen could both be described as substantial. Her mind wandered off and imagined her on the Antiques Roadshow trying hard to master her ‘I’m not at all disappointed it’s only worth tuppence’ face.
‘I am terribly sorry to keep you waiting,’ said the solicitor, hurrying into the office with a folder in his hand. ‘Now, I shouldn’t keep you long.’ Daisy was warming to the old gent already; she was keen to get packed up and head off up the M5. She hoped to get as far as Gloucester tonight but she wasn’t sure where she was heading afterwards.
‘This is the last will and testament of Reginald Montgomery Fabien Wickens …’ There then followed a paragraph of formal jargon before Daisy tuned in again. ‘… To my niece, Coral Anne Wickens, I leave the property of Sea Mist Cottage, Trow Lane, Ottercombe Bay, in its entirety …’ Aunt Coral let out a small sob and Daisy took her hand to comfort her. Daisy’s heart was starting to increase its speed. ‘To my great niece Daisy May Wickens, I leave the property and grounds of the former Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and adjoining car park, subject to her being resident in Ottercombe Bay for a full twelve months from the date of the reading of this will. My residuary estate is to be divided equally between Coral Wickens, Daisy Wickens and the Royal National Lifeboat Institution Ottercombe Bay Station. Should any beneficiary fail to meet the conditions of bequest their share will be divided equally between the other beneficiaries. Signed Reginald Wickens.’ The solicitor laid his hands flat on the document and patted it gently. Nobody spoke.
Daisy’s mouth had gone dry, she was baffled and a quick glance at Aunt Coral showed she mirrored how she felt. Daisy put her hand to her necklace and closed her fingers around her locket for comfort. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s left me what exactly?’ she asked.
‘Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and car park.’
‘But there’s not been trains here for years,’ said Aunt Coral.
The solicitor shuffled through a pile of papers and leaned across the desk to hand something over. It was a dog-eared auction notice. ‘The railway station at Ottercombe was decommissioned in 1975 and bought by …’ he checked his notes, ‘… a Mr Arthur Wickens who bequeathed it to your great uncle on his death. There are also some historic planning applications for demolition and site development that were refused in 1989, 1992, 2001 and 2010.’ He removed his glasses and smiled at them warmly from across the desk.
Daisy stared at the piece of paper in her hand. She was looking at a faded photograph of a Victorian railway station building. ‘He’s left me an old railway station?’
Aunt Coral was peering over her arm. ‘Do all those refused planning applications mean there’s not a lot she can do with it?’
‘Not at all. It simply means the council weren’t in favour of it being demolished, although there is a letter here saying they would be open to an application for change of use but it’s dated 2010.’
‘Can I sell it?’ asked Daisy, her voice coming out a little croaky.
‘Once it has passed to you formally following the adherence to the conditional clause.’
Daisy stared at him. Why didn’t these people just use normal words? ‘And when does it pass to me formally exactly?’
The solicitor twitched. ‘One year from today, assuming you have been resident in Ottercombe Bay for the full twelve months. This is also for you,’ he said, handing Daisy a thick cream envelope with her name beautifully written on the front in fountain pen; she recognised it instantly as Great Uncle Reg’s handwriting. ‘I believe this letter will explain things a little further.’
For once Daisy opened her mouth but could not think what to say so she shut it again. What was going on?
‘This may be a stupid question,’ started Aunt Coral, ‘but I’m guessing this is all legal and watertight and there’s no way to get around the conditions he’s set?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the solicitor, who started to discuss paying for the funeral and the process of probate. Daisy thumbed the envelope in her hands and studied the writing. There was a slight wobble in the letters but it was unmistakably Reg’s; she could imagine him sitting in his favourite chair writing it.
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Aunt Coral, as they left the solicitor’s office a few minutes later. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Flabbergasted, but I’m fine,’ Daisy said, when she really felt like running away.
Daisy hardly spoke a word on the way home. She could feel an uncomfortable sensation take hold, a feeling akin to claustrophobia; a sense of being suffocated and chained down that she needed to fight against and escape from. Back at the cottage she changed out of her smart clothes quickly and shoved her things into her backpack.
‘Cup of tea?’ came the call from the kitchen.
Daisy started to panic. She couldn’t stay for tea, she couldn’t stay another minute. This place was simply not good for her; she was uneasy most of the time she was here but knowing it was only for a couple of days it had been bearable. A whole year was unthinkable. She stood for a moment and gripped her locket. As long as she had it she could be anywhere and her mother would be with her. She took a deep steadying breath before replying to Aunt Coral, ‘No thanks. I’m just going out.’ She grabbed a pencil and searched for a piece of paper. She scribbled a note on the back of an old envelope.
She left the note on her pillow, picked up her bag and left the bedroom as quietly as she could. Panic rose as she wrestled with the porch door. It was one thing to run away but to be foiled in her attempt would be excruciating. ‘Bloody thing,’ she grumbled but a whimpering at her feet drew her attention. Bugsy was sitting watching her, his head on one side. He studied her with his abnormally big eyes. She stopped for a moment, for some odd reason she felt she needed to explain to him why she was leaving, although she suspected he wouldn’t be sad to see her go.
‘I have to go,’ she whispered. ‘This place has too many bad memories for me. Too many ghosts.’
Bugsy stood up, turned around and she heard a sort of phht sound, which was followed by a foul smell. Daisy shook her head, gave the door one more shove and slunk out.
She pulled on her helmet, got on the bike and was thankful it started first time. She surveyed Sea Mist Cottage one last time, opened the throttle and drove away. Hopefully this would be the last she’d see of it for a very long time.
Chapter Three (#u9ff129b0-15c7-5632-8f17-217c814cc1ae)
In a few short minutes her breathing had steadied and despite a small niggle she knew she was doing the right thing. She didn’t like not saying goodbye to Aunt Coral but she would only have tried to make her stay. She turned into the high street and pulled up at the traffic lights. Tamsyn jumped in front of her waving her arms.
Oh cock, thought Daisy.
‘Hello. I knew it was you; your bike sounds ropey. Wasn’t it a lovely service? Proper good send off, lots of people, which is really lovely, especially for an old person because sometimes there’s not many people there because all their friends have died, but everyone loved Reg. Why have you got your rucksack with you?’
‘Umm,’ mumbled Daisy.
Tamsyn came to the side of the bike. ‘Are you leaving?’ Tamsyn’s face fell, she looked instantly despondent.
Daisy wished she was a better liar as she lifted her visor. ‘Sorry, Tamsyn, I need to go. You take care now.’
‘No. You’ve only just come back, you can’t leave now …’ Her eyes filled with tears and Daisy felt like she was torturing a toddler.
The traffic lights changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Daisy, she meant it. She flipped down her visor. Someone behind hooted and Daisy revved the engine and started to pull away.
‘Sandy wants you to stay!’ shouted Tamsyn with desperation in her voice.
Of all the things she could have shouted after her this was the one thing that would have the desired effect. The words were still ringing in Daisy’s ears as she pulled her bike into the kerb and switched off the engine. Tamsyn walked over looking anxious.
Daisy felt numb. She pulled off her helmet and stared at Tamsyn.
‘What do you mean “Sandy wants me to stay”?’ snapped Daisy. Daisy’s mother was called Sandy, was this who she meant?
Tamsyn nibbled her bottom lip. ‘You remember my mum, Min?’ she said, sounding like she was saying a tongue twister.
If this was going to be another long drawn out story Daisy was likely to scream. ‘Yes, why?’
‘She kind of gets these feelings. It’s a bit like a spiritual medium but not really the same. They’re like a sixth sense message from those who’ve left us. And she said to tell you but I wasn’t sure if you’d think she was mad or not and I didn’t want to upset you and—’
‘Tamsyn, please spit it out.’
Tamsyn took a deep breath. ‘She felt your mum’s presence. She said she could tell Sandy was pleased you were home and she wanted you to stay.’
Daisy didn’t know what to think. She had seen no evidence herself of life after death so she had no reason to believe in it. But the thought of some sort of contact from her mum had such a powerful draw it wrestled hard with her logical mind. Daisy swallowed. Another car honked at her and overtook, nearly clipping her bike.
‘We can’t stay here. Get on,’ instructed Daisy.
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous without a helmet.’
‘I’ll go at like five miles an hour – it’ll be fine. Or better still, you can have mine.’
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s illegal. Hang on, I have an idea.’ She ran off towards the barbers. Moments later she came out wearing a black crash helmet featuring a bloodied skull design, which looked interesting when teamed with her long flowing summer dress.
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