Chapter 26
Abigail glanced across the river at the orange Beetle parked by The Anchor Inn. ‘Would you like a lift to the guesthouse?’
Joss grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ His smile faltered. ‘Unless you had other plans?’
Abigail shook her head. Of course she didn’t have other plans. ‘Come on.’ They crossed the bridge together, Joss asking her how the visit went.
She hadn’t told him much about the cottage and the fact that it was her husband who had acquired it, or anything about her background, either. She presumed Lili hadn’t told him much beyond the fact that she was a widow. ‘It was good, actually. Ray gave me a new perspective on my … problem.’ She didn’t like to call Toby a problem, but her unexpected inheritance was. She just didn’t fancy telling Joss all about it.
‘Well, I’m glad Ray could help out.’
Abigail felt there seemed to be a silent understanding between them that they didn’t ask searching questions – or any questions, for that matter – about their past.
They reached her car. Joss opened the passenger door, tilted the front seat forward and flung his rucksack onto the back seat. He got in next to Abigail, and they set off. Abigail decided it wouldn’t hurt to look in on her mum and sayhi.There was another reason she thought giving Joss a lift wasn’t a bad idea. Toby’s parents had retired to Shingle Cove. The village was only one street, leading down to the sea, so they’d had to wait for a house to come on the market. But they had been happy to wait; they’d fallen in love with the little-known hamlet a few miles up the road from Southwold. Its sandy beach had reminded them of Cornwall, but with the advantage of not having the crowds, or the eight-hour journey from London to get there.
It had not surprised Abigail that they’d chosen the area to move to when Joyce had retired from nursing. Peter, a window cleaner, had picked up a round when they’d moved. His first job, and the one he’d kept in retirement, was a little round of local houses, including the guesthouse at Shingle Cove. But now that retirement idyll was just a memory. Joyce was in a care home, and Toby’s stepdad, Peter, was living in a small three-bedroomed terraced cottage with two grandchildren and Clarissa, his daughter, who had split up from her husband. The one consolation for Abigail was that at least she could talk to Peter and Clarissa together if they were at home.
She wasn’t sure how she would start the conversation. Would she just come right out and ask,‘Was Toby Joyce’s biological son, or did she adopt him?’What if Peter and Clarissa had no clue what she was talking about?
Abigail turned off the main road, down a country road with sand dunes on one side and farmland on the other. A few miles on was the village – a single street with cottages either side, leading to the largest property on the left before the road ended in a cul de sac and a path led to the pretty cove. She passed Peter’s red-brick terraced cottage with its little front garden. It was quite old-fashioned to find all the properties had not paved over their frontages in order to park cars. They all had their little front gardens, and everyone parked on the street. Abigail drove down the centre of the narrow road, between parked cars, and stopped outside a double-fronted gabled property with ivy creeping up the outside walls, old-fashioned leaded windows and pretty window boxes full of the flowers her mother enjoyed planting. There was parking for several cars in the driveway, if people didn’t mind double parking.
Abigail parked on the street. Joss followed her through a gate into the front garden, which had a large apple tree, a small lawn and borders brimming with autumn colours. They walked along the cobbled path in the centre of the garden to the front door. Abigail glanced at the house name, which had been handmade years ago during a holiday up north to the Lake District. White lettering etched in a grey quarry stone readThe Guesthouse at Shingle Cove.Abigail smiled. She’d always thought it was a bit of a mouthful.
She lifted the large brass knocker and knocked on the door. Her mum answered, wearing an apron over her tight-fitting jeans and turtle-neck jumper, and with a duster in her hand. Abigail knew she had always prided herself on keeping the guesthouse spotless. She wore her short bobbed hair, coloured with auburn highlights, tied up in a bun. It did not surprise Abigail to see her wearing full makeup, either; she always made sure she was presentable to make a good first impression when holidaymakers arrived at her door. In her early sixties, she had kept her slim figure, once boasting she could still fit into her original wedding dress – the one from when she married Abigail’s father.
‘Hi, Mum. I thought I would pop along and say hello.’
‘Abigail! I didn’t expect to see you today. I’d have set an extra place for dinner.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s kind of you, Mum, but I can’t stay.’ Abigail winced. That was a lie. She could visit Toby’s family up the road another time – but she wanted to do it now.
‘Who’s this?’ She spotted Joss standing behind her.
Abigail caught the surprised look on her mum’s face. She knew what she was thinking;you’ve met someone else already?
Abigail stepped to one side. ‘This is my friend who needed a room.’
‘I see.’
Abigail gave her mum a look. The words were heavy with innuendo. No, she didn’t see. Abigail reiterated, ‘He was my neighbour at the cottage, and we work together at the Hall.’
‘You work at the Hall, Joss?’ She beckoned her new guest inside. ‘What do you do?’
Abigail stepped to one side and let Joss pass her as he said, ‘I’m helping Abigail’s friend, Lili, in the grounds.’
‘Oh, I know Lili – lovely girl.’
Abigail stood on the doorstep and watched her mum lead Joss down the hall. She was relieved that her mum hadn’t asked her how she was. But then why would she ask? Abigail was recently widowed, and if anyone knew what that felt like, it was her mum.
As she stood on the doorstep, a memory came to mind. It had been a weekend, and all Abigail had wanted to do was to play with her friends. But guests were arriving, and everyone had to muck in and get the place ship shape – bedrooms and bathrooms had to be cleaned, communal living areas hoovered and dusted. Part of Abigail had loved growing up in the big old house, had adored the views out over the cove from her attic bedroom, but she had hated mucking in, as her mother called it, for the guests who invaded her home. She’d always wished she’d grown up in an ordinary house, like Toby. That might have happened if her father had still been alive. She knew her mum had got a sizeable insurance pay out after his death; that was how she’d bought the place.
Abigail stood there, frowning.Why did she have to run it as a guesthouse?she wondered.Why couldn’t it have just been a family home?Staring into the house, she saw Joss stop and turn around, while her mum walked on, talking, not realising he was no longer following. Joss retraced his footsteps. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’
She shook her head. ‘Best not. I’ve got things to do.’
‘Oh. Your mum seems nice.’
Abigail whispered, ‘Just don’t stand in one place too long, otherwise you’ll be dusted or hoovered up. And don’t bring muddy shoes into the house either.’ Abigail wasn’t joking.