Hannah is in a foul mood. She’s had to work three double shifts thanks to one of the barmen coming down with some godawful bug that he’d better not have given her. She hardly had the energy for the poker party. Then things had got a bit out of hand and she’s now hanging by a thread.
Of course, Vlad and his pals are so much younger than her and that stings, which isn’t the only thing. She has violent cystitis – the honeymooner’s curse. Too much to drink and too much catching up with Kit over the last couple of days. She’d not seen him for five weeks – the longest they’ve been apart.
When he’s on the mainland, he calls her every day. He tells her how much he misses her. But this morning, he was furious with her, which isn’t like Kit at all. He’d been ridiculously angry about the poker game, and then he’d stropped off while she was in the shower, leaving her to go to bed alone.
Now she’s finally emerged, she’ll have to go over to St Mary’s 224at some point to get antibiotics. She can’t wait for the doctor to come over – there’s a vet on call here, but no resident GP. If she’d been a cow in distress she’d have got treatment quicker.
Last night she’d been necking cranberry juice and bicarbonate of soda like it was going out of style. Okay, there was vodka in it as well and they’d also done more than a fair amount of weed.
She’d laughed when Vlad asked her straight out, ‘Not drinking for two are you?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she’d replied. But then he’d told her that was the latest rumour doing the rounds, which was insane.
Kit had asked if she wanted children when they first got together.
‘Not yet,’ she’d replied. ‘You need to be settled, emotionally and financially, before you bring a kid into this world.’
‘We could have that,’ he said. ‘I’d look after you.’
It was so sweet she kissed him and said, ‘One day. Perhaps.’
She saw what his face did. He’d obviously sensed her hesitation and seemed hurt.
‘Look, it’s a nice dream, Kit, but you need to make dreams happen. A dream is worth—’ she snapped her fingers, ‘fresh air. There needs to be something solid behind it.’
He came up behind her and said, ‘Here’s something solid for you!’ and they’d laughed.
Afterwards, he said, ‘Kit the drone – my only role to mate with the queen.’
‘Do you feel used?’ she grinned.
He looked like it stung a little. 225
*
But now she and Kit aren’t talking, as far as she can make out. She sent him a text as soon as she woke up this afternoon, but he hasn’t replied. Stuff him, then.
She glugs down a coffee and finishes what’s left of the bread before walking down to the Estate Office to see if Bobby wants her to do anything for him before her evening shift at the pub. She is tasked with taking a batch of new crockery and ceramics to Hawk, Tern and Falcon.
The cottages all have a similar vibe – upmarket holiday chic. The colour palette consists of clean blues to suggest the sea, pale woods to evoke the beaches, plus a few individual prints of seascapes and the birds the properties are named after. The shipment of new plates, cups and vases had been delayed. It was all supposed to be done and dusted before the influx of guests for the gig championships, but it is what it is.
Hannah loads the golf buggy with the heavy boxes and as she pulls away, Bobby sticks his head out the office to call after her, ‘Oh, and Alison needs to see you soon as, to reorganise the shifts for this weekend. She still needs you to pull a few extra to cover the illnesses.’
‘I’ll pop in after I’ve finished this,’ she promises wearily.
The afternoon is wild. A gale is gathering strength and there’s the smell of rain on the wind.
Hannah parks the buggy against the cottage wall of Falcon and hoicks one of the boxes onto her hip. She knocks as a courtesy, waits a few seconds, and when there’s no reply, opens the back door. Her heart sinks to see Charlotte sitting slouched 226over the kitchen table. She looks up at Hannah as if she’s come to steal the family silver.
‘Alright, Charlotte?’ tries Hannah. ‘I’ve brought over the new place settings,’ she explains.
‘Should you be carrying that box in your condition?’ sneers Charlotte.
Hannah bristles at the dig. She thought she’d put on enough foundation and concealer to disguise the ravages of the preceding night.
She bites back any comment, to keep the peace for Bobby and Kit’s sake, and places the box on the counter.
‘Is it even his?’ hisses Charlotte.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You won’t trap him like this. His mother will make sure he gets a DNA test.’ Charlotte reaches for her mug, which very obviously does not contain a nice cup of tea and Hannah finally twigs what she’s implying.
‘You’re off your head,’ she laughs.
‘And you’re a fat, common whore, trying to drag Kit down to your level!’
The atmosphere coagulates. ‘Say that again, and I’ll wipe that smile off your face,’ warns Hannah. She has an immediate urge to take the flower vase out of the packing case and fling it at Charlotte’s head.
‘We saw you all over that man last night! Kit was thrilled when I told him. And Beatrice can’t wait to tell him about the other chap she saw you with after I’d left. One’s a mistake. Two’s a habit.’
Hannah recalls giving Vlad a kiss for his birthday. Later she kissed the sailor who is Isak’s latest squeeze, not that it has 227anything to do with bloody Charlotte and bloody Beatrice Wallace.
‘So what? Kit’s cool with it,’ she says, with a good degree more confidence than she feels. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you? Keep your nose out of my business!’
Charlotte’s lovely face spasms with rage.
Hannah leaves to avoid a fight. She doesn’t bother unpacking the box. If Bobby says anything, she’ll tell him that it’s above her pay grade to deal with drunk, aggressive guests. Unless she’s behind the bar.
When Hannah pulls away on the buggy she passes Beatrice, who looks to be heading towards the Flying Boat Club. The filthy look Kit’s mother gives her makes Hannah’s spirits wither further.
After dropping off the crockery at the other two cottages, she dumps the buggy back at the office, and sends another text to Kit. No reply. Sod him then. She heads back home and sets about doing her laundry. And as she scrubs her smalls in the sink – the good bras and knickers that only come out when Kit’s around – she can’t help thinking how much easier life would be if bloody Charlotte just disappeared.
She thinks of hanging her handwash on the small rotary washing line in the yard outside, but it’s blowing a hooley, so she loops it over the shower rail instead. Then she makes herself a cup of coffee and takes out her tarot cards. Her spread has nothing of note. The Three of Swords in her immediate present, obviously, signifying sadness, disappointment and miscommunication – because he won’t answer her bloody texts! She shuffles again to read for Kit, cuts the deck into three, turns over the top one. The Fool again – a young man smiling as he 228steps off the edge of a cliff. It’d serve him right.
She makes another coffee, sits for a while, and finally, a ping. Halle-bloody-lujah!
Meet me up the North End. 4pm. I have a BIG surprise for you!
That’s a relief. But she’d rather not traipse all the way up there because she’s knackered and she feels the storm coming, a taste of rage in the air. The clouds scudding outside are now so low, they make her feel claustrophobic.
She types, Why? Where are you? Can’t you meet me back at the cottage?
He replies, Don’t want to spoil the surprise!
She’s irritated. But … she’ll be working later. She might not get a chance to make up properly if she doesn’t see him this afternoon and she doesn’t want to let it fester. It’s a waste of their time together, especially as she’ll now be working pretty much all weekend.
She sets off to the pub, planning to sort out the shift rota with Alison before she goes to meet Kit.