Coming Home to Wishington Bay Read online

  How many times had I sat here with my grandmother, my beloved Gigi, talking things over? Crying, laughing and feeling something I’d never felt anywhere else – home and loved. Gigi wasn’t her real name. That’s why it had taken me by surprise when Gabe McKinley had used that particular moniker. Her real name was Betty and to the village, and the rest of the world, that’s who she was. Gigi was the nickname she reserved for very special people, those absolutely closest to her.

  I knew my grandmother had become very attached to her neighbour. She’d been lonelier than she’d ever admit once Grandpa died, but her spirits had lifted shortly after letting next door to Dr McKinley. She’d even had the leasing agreement rewritten to allow him to stay there as long as he wanted, even once the property was sold. Or, as it turned out, inherited. Gigi was always singing his praises to me – this wonderful doctor – and I knew she wanted me to meet him. My own choices in men hadn’t exactly been stellar. She’d always said I could do better, and that she knew someone who would be perfect for me, hinting at her apparently attractive neighbour.

  But it never happened – the one and only time I hadn’t had a chance to think up an excuse during an impromptu visit I’d made, she’d called round to his place only to find he was on shift at the local hospital. I could remember feeling both a little relieved and a little disappointed at the time. I trusted Gigi implicitly, and she certainly couldn’t have made a worse decision when it came to men than I’d already accomplished with my past relationships. Although, if the man I’d met this morning really was the one she’d been trying to set me up with, then it looked like – for the first time in her life – Gigi might have been way off base. How dare he accuse me of not caring about my grandmother, or this place! He knew nothing about me and had no idea that she, and this place, had in fact meant everything.

  Reaching over, I pulled my bag towards me across the coffee table. I slid my hand inside, unzipped a slim inside pocket and pulled out a single piece of rose-coloured notepaper. After unfolding it, I ran my fingertips over Gigi’s flowing handwriting, all loops and swirls. Her writing, as with everything about her, was ebullient and glamorous, written in blue ink with the mother of pearl fountain pen Grandpa had bought her a few days after he’d met her – so that she would always have a pen to write to him with, he said. The engraving read Today, Tomorrow, Forever followed by a swirly heart. The inscription was still as clear today as when he’d given it to her in Paris all those years ago. I looked at the writing now, wishing more than anything that she was here. But at least I still had her words.

  My dearest, darling Holly,

  As you will now know, I have left the house at Wishington Bay to you. I know your first thought will be that it should have been to both of you, but I have explained everything to Ned in his own letter. Both of you have been left things of the same value, but in different ways that, hopefully, suit you best.

  I know that Ned and Carrie will soon be blessed with the children they so wish for and I do not want them to ever have to worry about providing for their education, or find themselves having to work such long hours that they never see them. Therefore, this has been taken care of. Of course, there is a little extra as well – strictly to be used just for fun!

  I smiled as I read that, feeling Gigi all around me, laughing and insisting on us doing something else ‘just for fun!’ Feeling my eyes dampen, I rubbed them with the heel of my hand and continued reading:

  For you, darling girl, I had to think a little harder. Unlike Ned, I’ve never quite known what it is you want from your life, and I think that’s because you haven’t yet discovered it either. But, don’t worry, you will. And, what better place to think about all those sorts of things than here, at Wishington Bay. The house is yours to do as you wish with, so don’t feel any compulsion to keep it if that’s not what you want.

  I have so many wonderful memories of you all in this house. You were always so happy here, and I hope that you will be again – even if you just stay for a weekend.

  I am so proud of you, Holly, my darling. I hope I told you that enough. You’re so bright, and beautiful and your heart, even though you keep it guarded, is of the kindest type. I only wish your mother could have seen what a wonderful woman you grew up to be. But rest assured, we are all together now, looking down over you and wishing you everything your heart could want.

  With all my love, now and forever, Gigi.

  I put the letter on the table in front of me, tucked my knees up to my chest and sobbed like a child.

  As my eyes dried, I leant over and picked up the letter once again. Her name was signed with a big flourish, as always. She was the queen of the single name long before Kylie, Beyoncé and anyone else who tried to claim it.

  ‘My grandmother had you all beat,’ I said aloud to no one. Carefully I refolded the letter and slipped it back into the pocket of my handbag.

  ‘Right,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s start ticking things off this to-do list. And then I’m going to make a big, bugger-off chocolate cake and eat it all. Possibly in one sitting.’

  From outside I heard the throaty roar of a motorbike. A proper bike. The noise that emanated from it definitely didn’t sound like one of the Vespas that sometimes buzzed about the village with teenagers aboard, acting like they were cool, hip Italian types going off to meet up by the Trevi Fountain. In reality, they were more likely to be nipping down to the local Spar because they’d run out of toilet roll.

  Hurrying over to the window and concealing myself behind the heavy drapes, I peeped out and saw a large bulk encased in leather swing one long leg over the burbling bike, adjusting his foot as it settled on the pedal. He moved his right hand on the handlebars and the engine revved briefly. Flicking a hand up to close the visor on his crash helmet, he blipped the throttle again and the bike pulled away, his other leg folding up to perch on the opposite pedal. I watched him disappear up the road, out of sight, and hoped that he’d stay that way for a long time to come.

  Just knowing he was no longer next door helped me relax a tiny bit. Admittedly relaxation wasn’t exactly my forte. That was partly how I’d ended up back here in the first place. As a top Discretionary Fund Manager in London, I’d worked hard and done well. I had a swish flat in Canary Wharf that had a view of the river and was perfect for the short commute to work at Canada Water. It was sleek and modern, and stylish. My brother had called it ”soulless” but then Ned never was in the running for any prizes for tact. Admittedly it didn’t have the warmth that Gigi’s house had, or that his and Carrie’s did. But then my life was very different to theirs too. And the fact that I started work early, and often didn’t leave until ten or later, meant that keeping it easy to maintain was important. Really the thing that was most important to me was that my bed was comfortable, and my coffee maker worked. Everything else was just window dressing.

  Nothing about Gigi’s house was just window dressing and there was certainly no way anyone could call it ‘soulless’. I stood and walked to the patio doors, pulling them back to let in the warmth of the morning and the sound of the sea washing the beach. It was still early in the season but looking further along to where the beach became public, I could see a few holidaymakers setting up towels and parasols on the soft, pale sand. After listening to the calming sound of the sea for a few more moments, I turned back to the house and set my coffee cup in the dishwasher.

  The kitchen had been revamped a few years ago and now had shiny white units and fancy worktops that sparkled when the light caught them. Gigi was like a magpie when it came to sparkle but I loved that she’d chosen it. It was so her. And while the units might have changed, this was still the kitchen where Ned and I had learned to cook, the same table where he and I had sat thousands of times, being fed and comforted and made to feel loved by Gigi and Grandpa.

  Letting my hand drift across the doorway, I moved back into the living room. I pulled back the curtains I’d hid behind earlier. They were heavy velvet in a deep shad
e of plum and really had seen better days. They were on my list of things to assess but right now I was just enjoying the tactile feel of them against my skin and the theatrical reminder of Gigi’s taste. Turning, I whipped off the last couple of sheets that had been covering the furniture, piled them on a chair and moved towards the stairs.

  I’d removed the sheets from the guest room I always stayed in last night and had claimed that as my room for my sabbatical stay. It was a beautiful room overlooking the back of the house and the beach beyond, its large windows flooding it with light. The décor, like all the other rooms, had a slight theatrical bent – but that was Gigi and right now, the familiarity of that was comforting.

  The other two spare rooms were mostly unused and one appeared to have developed into a bit of a dumping ground for things my grandmother had never quite decided on a place for. I pulled the sheets off everything, swallowed back a moment of feeling overwhelmed at just how much stuff she had acquired and the fact that I needed to sort through it all in the relatively short space of time I had, and then I moved on. My hand rested on the handle of the fourth and final bedroom. Gigi’s bedroom. But I didn’t go in. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  From the back pocket of my shorts, my phone made a ping and I pulled it out immediately, opening the email app only to find another spammy newsletter from a company I hadn’t bought anything from for the last three years. I really ought to get around to doing some unsubscribing. Something else to add to the list. Opening my To-Do app, I did just that, gave the markets another quick scan and checked my work email again before putting the phone back in my pocket.

  I’d planned on spending the day going through boxes and making a start on getting the house into order for sale. That was, after all, the plan. The thought of keeping it was wonderful but I knew in reality it wasn’t a viable one. The idea of a beach retreat in a place that held such happy memories – really the only place that did – was perfect. But it was just a daydream. I knew that, with me working the amount I did, it wouldn’t get used – at least not in the way it should. Even if I did manage to get away from London, I would only end up bringing work with me. I barely looked out of the window of my flat, even though the view of the Thames and the city could steal your breath away, especially at night. Why would it be any different here? Better to sell it to someone who would appreciate it. And I would ensure that was the case. This was going to be a family home. Not an opportunistic investment for some businessman who already had a second, third and fourth home.

  If Carrie and Ned weren’t so settled and in love with their own house, I’d have insisted they have it but that wasn’t an option. The thought of turning it into an Airbnb had crossed my mind – albeit only fleetingly. Ned and I had been enveloped with love here, and the house was a part of that. I couldn’t bear the thought of it becoming a place where people just dropped their luggage. Four walls and nothing more. It had meant so much to Gigi, and still meant so much to me. It was a house that deserved to be loved. So, I would just have to find a new family to bring to it.

  While the house was beautiful, it was definitely in need of some updating. Gigi had been a showgirl in her youth, performing at top theatres in London and Paris when she met my grandfather all those years ago, and the décor definitely reflected a tendency to draw on that part of her life for inspiration. There were a lot of rich, deep colours on the walls and in the furnishings. I had no intention of trying to get rid of all of Gigi’s stuff so I’d decided to ask my brother Ned what he wanted, choose a few pieces for myself and then sell the house with much of the rest included. But as it was, even though the Thirties’ Art Deco style of the house supported a bit of Gigi’s style, with my business head on, I knew it wasn’t as attractive to a modern buyer as it could be, so I needed to think up some tricks for adding in a bit more of a contemporary look.

  Of course, I’d also have to work on a strategy that would help sell the sitting tenant next door – something I wasn’t terribly thankful to Gigi for, knowing that without that particular fly in the ointment, I’d be looking at a far quicker turnaround. But, as it was, it seemed a good time to take some leave from work anyway. Well, that and the fact that my boss had told me I was wound tighter than a Swiss watch and if I didn’t take a break he was going to fire me and blacklist me for six months just so that I had to. All of which was really Gerald’s way of being a sweetheart. He’d watched me working long hours for years, and then of course, after the break-up with Paul, something pretty much everyone in the company had seen, I’d only increased my workload. If I was thinking about work, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. But everyone, apparently even me, has a limit and Gerald knew I was burning out.

  The ultimatum had come after I’d gone off the deep end about a report he wanted. One that, despite practically living at the office, I still hadn’t had time to get around to. As I’d begun assuring him that I’d have it done by the end of the week, without having the faintest idea how, my chest had got so tight I could barely breathe, the room had begun to swim and I’d ended up sliding down the side of Gerald’s desk in what I don’t imagine to be the most elegant of ways, getting more and more panicky as I found I had less and less breath.

  At this point, Gerald had had a little panic of his own and in my fuggy, lack-of-oxygen state, I’d heard him on the phone, trying to find out who the First Aider was. With the tiny bit of energy I’d had left, I’d flung my tingling arm out and yanked the phone away from him, and the desk, cutting off the call as I shook my head. This was already an embarrassing enough situation without more people coming in to gawp at me and comment as to whether that particular shade of waxy white my face had taken on was really my colour.

  Gerald had tried to wrangle the phone back from me but I’d kept him at bay and instead flapped my hand about on his desk until it had reached his paper lunch bag from the posh sandwich shop just down the road. Scattering the contents across Gerald’s desk, I’d quickly shoved the paper bag up to my face. After a few breaths in and out, the room spun a bit slower and I’d focused on trying to calm my racing mind. The pain in my chest was still there but it would go in time, like it usually did. Although, this was by far my most spectacular, and most public, experience of it. I hadn’t admitted it to anyone – and barely to myself – but I was terrified.

  Gerald had been my boss, and friend, for over ten years. Once I’d calmed down and returned to a much more normal colour, he’d sat me down and given me the ultimatum, telling me that with the way I was going, my next position was either going to be a sabbatical at the seaside, or a stay in hospital. Put like that, the decision was kind of made for me. I arranged for my post to be forwarded to Gigi’s place, packed a suitcase and drove down. The further I got from London, the more I had tentatively started looking forward to it. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to cope without going into the office every day but I had my phone and laptop so it wasn’t like I was going to be cut off from civilisation entirely.

  That night, I’d gone to sleep surrounded by peace and quiet and woken to the sound of real waves gently washing over a real beach. I’d lain there feeling a little of the long-held stress leave my body with each return of the tide, confident that this little break was all I needed to see off the attacks I’d had.

  And then Gabe McKinley had appeared at my window, seen me in my scrap of silk undies, and spoiled it all.

  * * *

  I’d succeeded in accomplishing very little today. The morning’s encounter with my neighbour had put me out of sorts and disrupted my equilibrium. I hadn’t felt able to concentrate on anything after that, which wasn’t like me at all. I’d fiddled about, moving bits from one place to another before moving them back again, looked half-heartedly over paint charts, and wandered out into the garden to deadhead a few flowers before finally giving up. Pulling out a big box of photos I’d found in a sideboard, I sat on the overstuffed sofa, tucked my feet up underneath me and proceeded to lose the next two hours looking through them.
br />   Many of them I hadn’t seen for years or had never seen. I smiled at a photo of Gigi and Grandpa laughing together and cried at one of my dad and me building a sandcastle on the beach outside this very house. For once, he actually looked happy. Eventually deciding I’d had enough emotional pummelling for today, I gave my phone another quick check for market news and possible emails then headed out and took a long walk on the beach, making some notes on my phone about jobs I needed to get done in the house as I did so.

  It was nearly three hours later I returned to the house, feeling both mentally and physically calmer. Even just approaching the house from the beach, knowing that was where I was headed, had sent a ripple of calm through me that I couldn’t remember feeling for many years. And not one I could remember ever feeling anywhere else. Thankfully there seemed no signs of life from next door and I settled down on one of the steamer chairs on the patio with a stack of interior design magazines to study for ideas for the house. The huge UV protective sail that stretched across both sides of the house provided perfect shade – which was just as well because the next thing I knew it felt cooler and there was a large shadow over me. I opened my eyes to find Gabe McKinley back, and loitering by my patio door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I snapped, waking properly and pushing myself into an upright position.

  He jumped and spun around. ‘Oh God! I thought you were asleep!’ he said, his words slightly muffled because his face was all squished up by the crash helmet he still wore.