I sleep so soundly that I wish I’d set the alarm, as I don’t wake up until just after eight a.m. this morning. Going to bed on a full stomach and with all the fresh air, I can barely recall my head hitting the pillow.
As soon as I finish washing up the breakfast dishes, I settle myself down to work. Hayley hasn’t been in touch to confirm any more interview slots, so I have uninterrupted time to concentrate on fleshing out the first article.
By lunch time I run out of steam, or maybe that’s the ability to continually enthuse about a couple who are high achievers and have the enviable quality of making it all seem so easy. Their ability to hold down lucrative careers, travel the world and have almost constant fun together, without making a wrong decision, seems too good to be true. Unless either one of them comes to feel, at some stage in the future, that something is missing. They will reach a time, no doubt, when they have to slow down and what then? Will a more normal, day to day existence be too mundane to keep their relationship alive and spontaneous?
I find myself thinking about Max. Disowned by his family, he said. That’s harsh and yet he’s happy enough – or seems to be.
I decide to forego a walk on the beach, not wanting Max to feel I’m always going to be turning up on his doorstep now I know it’s his domain. But without a vehicle I feel disadvantaged here. Then I remember the receipt for the taxi and I go in search of it. On the reverse side is a mobile number and the words ‘24-hour Taxi Service – no trip too small.’
‘Hi, I wondered if it was possible to book a taxi for about an hour’s time.’
I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy who dropped me off before.
‘Yeah, I can do that. Beach View?’
‘Um, yes.’ That’s a little unnerving.
‘It’s the accent. Where are you going?’
‘Well, I don’t know the area, but on the map there’s a place referred to as Mumbles. I want to look around the shops for an hour and then perhaps you could pick me up at some convenient point and bring me back?’
‘See you in an hour, then.’
*
It turns out that Mumbles is less than a couple of miles away and only a ten-minute drive. Five pounds covers the fare and a small tip. We don’t make any small talk and it’s a relief, as I want to concentrate on the scenery and try to get my bearings.
An hour isn’t enough to do Mumbles village justice, as it’s larger than it looked when I Googled it. A lovely mix of coffee shops, high-end fashion, arts and crafts shops, and the usual takeaways and restaurants, is a delightful surprise.
When I arrive back at the car park, I see the taxi is already waiting. The engine is ticking over and even from a distance I can hear the radio blaring out some music with an ominously thudding beat. The driver catches sight of me in his rear-view mirror and the noise disappears as I open the rear passenger door.
‘Do you do tours?’
He spins in his seat. ‘What sort of tours?’
This guy isn’t exactly easy to talk to, that’s for sure.
‘The route between Caswell Bay and Langland Bay looks like it has amazing views. Is it possible to take a detour and go back that way?’
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Whatever you like.’
As he pulls away I settle back, looking forward to a leisurely drive along the scenic route. Except that I don’t even catch a glimpse of the sea until we are literally back at Caswell Bay. As we drive past the small promenade, then take the next turning on the left down to Beach View Cottage, I’m feeling cheated.
‘Is that it?’
The taxi pulls up alongside the cottage and he kills the engine. We’ve been in the car for about fifteen minutes, tops.
‘Yep. The scenic route has to be done on foot. It’s a walk along the limestone cliffs. That will be eight pounds fifty.’
Really? I mean, he couldn’t have explained to me that the road goes inland through housing estates, rather than hugging the coast?
‘Keep the change.’
‘Thanks, here’s your receipt.’
I try not to snatch it out of his hand, although I’m sorely tempted to do so, as I feel annoyed and a little silly. Maybe I should have zoomed in on the map and traced the road. But he could just as easily have enlightened me.
‘How would I get to Caswell Bay if I was on foot?’
‘There is a path through the woods, but I wouldn’t recommend it for someone who doesn’t know the area.’
Helpful. Not. Oh, well.
He’s staring at me. What have I said, now?
‘I’m about to clock-off as the dog needs his walk. I could be back here with him in fifteen minutes and you’re welcome to tag along.’
Oh, maybe I was a little too quick to judge him, after all. I’m a customer going from A to B and I can’t expect him to act as a tour guide; so this is a kind gesture.
‘Thanks. I gather there’s a café at the Langland Bay end, so the coffee and cake will be on me.’
‘No problem. See you shortly.’
*
I scan my emails and check my phone, but there’s nothing there that can’t wait. I still seem to be out of the loop a bit, and that suits me at the moment. I don’t feel I have to respond instantly, or that anyone expects me to do so.
A quick brush of my hair and I tie it back, as no doubt there will be quite a breeze on the cliff tops. I change my jeans, dig out my walking boots and pull on a medium weight sweatshirt over my teeshirt. Grabbing a lightweight jacket on my way out, as I’m locking the front door the taxi is already back. The driver opens the rear door and a reddish-brown and black ball of fur dashes out of the car and disappears into some low shrubs.
‘Sid, come back here, you daft mutt!’
Great, I know the dog’s name but I have no idea about his owner’s name.
‘What breed is he?’ With his little pointed ears and short tail, he definitely isn’t a mongrel but I can’t place the breed. He looks a bit like an Airedale.
‘I believe he’s a Welsh terrier. I’m not sure he likes me too much, to be honest. And he needs a lot of walking.’
Did he steal him, I wonder? I guess not, because Sid comes haring back, wagging his little tail. He seems happy enough to wait while his collar is attached to a retractable dog lead. I give him a gentle rub on his back, noticing that the soft, fluffy top coat has an inner, more wiry layer beneath it. He’s a lovely dog and obviously demands a lot of attention.
‘He’s not yours, then?’
It’s awkward talking to someone when you don’t know their name, or anything about them and you are just about to enter the woods together. But Sid is straining on his leash, impatient to run on ahead and I speed up to tuck in behind them.
‘No, he belongs to a friend.’ The guy half turns his head as he speaks so that his voice carries over his shoulder.
After a minute or two, Sid settles down and his pace begins to even out.
‘Try to create a little slack on the lead; it will make him less anxious and less inclined to pull.’ We had a short-haired terrier when I was a child, Miffy we called her. She was always overexcited at walk time, but usually settled down pretty quickly.
He adjusts the leash to allow Sid to dictate the length and once he realises he’s not being held back, he slows to a trot and his interest turns to scanning the area for wildlife.
‘Great tip, thanks. I’m repaying a big favour, so aside from doing some odd jobs around the farm, I’m also the newly-designated dog walker.’
It’s the first thing he’s said so far that makes him sound reasonably pleasant. As we’re now totally surrounded by quite dense woodland, at least I don’t feel quite so uncomfortable in his company. We pass a sign that says private property.
‘This isn’t exactly a path, is it?’ I ask, curious as it’s very apparent there is no well-worn track to guide us forward and the sign indicates we’re trespassing.
‘No. It’s a short-cut through to Caswell Bay, which is the other side of this cove. Only the residents of Beach View Cottage would be likely to walk through here. Holly Cove is private and there’s nowhere to park, except for alongside the cottage. Strangers to the area would never be tempted to stop and investigate. Besides, it’s not named on the map, but if you look closely you will see it is there. If it wasn’t for the way the headland juts out here to cut it off, it would adjoin the beach at Caswell.’
It doesn’t take long before we’re descending quite a steep bit of track and as soon as we are clear of the woods, we have a spectacular view looking out over Caswell Bay.
Sheltered beneath limestone cliffs and with holly and pine-clad slopes, the large swathe of sandy beach is picturesque. Visible on our left, I recognise the small promenade and the cluster of huts and kiosks you see when driving along Caswell Bay Road. What you don’t see from that viewpoint are the giant fingers of rock that extend out onto the beach in several places. One particular stretch seems to almost divide the beach into separate coves. At high tide, it would make access between the two impossible.
‘Now that’s what I call a view,’ I say, just a little breathlessly.
Sid is straining on his leash again. I carefully follow on behind them until our feet are finally resting on the sandy beach.
‘Do we need to worry about the tide? I mean, our path won’t be cut off, will it?’
‘No, it’s low tide now and high tide isn’t until after eight tonight. So, this is your first time here?’
We walk in step quite comfortably, now, side by side. Sid is happy to trot along a few paces in front. His head darts back and forth as seagulls swoop and land on the muddy flats before us. There are quite a lot of people milling about, but because the expanse is so vast it still looks empty.
‘I’m Tia, by the way.’
He turns his head to look at me. ‘I know. I’m Nic.’
Well, that kills the conversation for a while and I’m glad when we reach the end of the beach and begin the long climb up to the cliff path. My head is buzzing with questions. If Max owns Holly Cove, did he sell the cottage to Nic? How long has Nic lived there? And why on earth didn’t Nic say something on the day he picked me up from the station?
The climb isn’t arduous, but you do find yourself puffing and panting a bit. Certainly, of the straggle of walkers heading in both directions, most are walking in silence and in single file. Here and there are benches for people to stop and catch their breath, or simply enjoy the view.
Right up on the top of the headland the ground is covered with low-growing gorse and bracken. Rabbits skitter through every now and again, their little white tails bobbing up between the wind-blown shrubs.
Nic shortens the leash and nods in the direction of a seat looking out to sea, a few feet away from the cliff edge. The wind is battering my ears, but it’s blowing against us and it’s a bit of a fight to push forward. We sit and he pulls a shallow container filled with water from his pocket, taking off the lid and placing it on the floor next to the bench. Sid’s tail wags as he starts to lap it up. This man can’t be all that bad to be so considerate.
‘That’s Caswell to the right and to the left is Langland Bay. It’s always windy here because you catch it from two directions. It’s something, though, isn’t it?’
My eyes squint a little, as the sun is bouncing off the white crests of the waves and sending out blindingly sharp glints of light. It must be magnificent in winter, although dangerous if the wind is in the wrong direction, or after heavy rainfall when the grass was slippery. I can’t even begin to imagine how far the cliff drops down to meet the sea beneath our feet. If someone strayed too close to the edge, would it be possible to survive a fall like that, I wonder.
As soon as Sid has finished, we move on. The path dips and climbs as it winds its way around to the next bay. From some of the lower spots you can see the water up close, as little inlets where the rock has worn and fallen away over time have eroded the cliff inland. In those places the drop is probably only twenty, or thirty, feet. Then you find yourself climbing again and the sea is way below you, the sheer cliff face dropping steeply away, out of sight. But for the most part the path is a very safe distance away from the edge. Although it looks a long way, it only takes about forty-five minutes before a place called the Langland’s Brasserie appears, rather welcomingly, in view.
The last part of the trek is a comfortable slope and before we know it, we’re walking across the terrace and collapse, with a sigh of relief, into the bistro chairs.
‘They do a great afternoon tea; fresh scones, cake and Earl Grey.’
Hint taken and when the waiter appears I place an order for two. Sitting back in my chair I keep my eyes straight ahead, desperately trying to appear as if I’m concentrating on taking in the surroundings. This bay is much smaller and the Brasserie sits lower within it. It’s also rather conveniently sheltered by the land that rises up behind it. It’s quite busy and we were lucky to find a table.
‘Most popular time of the day,’ Nic offers. ‘People tend to set off for a walk either after lunch, or mid-afternoon and then head back. The seafood is good here and it’s worth booking a table and doing dinner.’
I’m not sure how to handle this now he’s lost his reserved, rather frosty attitude. I sneak a glance at him while he’s leant over giving Sid a pat.
He’s tall, six-foot-one maybe, with short dark hair and pale blue eyes. I mean, he’s a good-looking guy and I’m guessing he’s probably late twenties, early thirties. He’s the sort of guy you wouldn’t expect to be living on his own.
‘OK. I know this is kind of awkward and I do owe you an apology,’ he admits.
He catches me staring at him and it’s too late to pretend that wasn’t precisely what I was doing.
‘I think that maybe we started off on the wrong foot, that’s all, so no apology needed. It’s taking me a while to get used to my new environment and it’s quite an adjustment. I’m… um… a little sensitive, at the moment.’
Oh no, why did I say that? Too much information, Tia. Keep it simple.
‘Same here,’ he laughs. ‘I’m not sure farm life suits me, if I’m honest, so major adjustment for me, too. And, no offence meant, Sid, but dog walking isn’t my favourite pursuit, either.’
He pats Sid affectionately, or maybe, a little apologetically. He doesn’t have animals of his own, then, but I already knew that as the cottage is way too pristine.
‘I feel bad, knowing I’ve thrown you out of your beautiful cottage. It’s a lot to give up for six weeks and I really appreciate it.’
I mean what I say, I know it’s a transaction but it’s still a hardship by the sound of it.
‘Well, that’s generous of you. But I need the money as the roof needs some attention before next winter and the central heating boiler won’t creak along for much longer.’
‘Ah, I see.’
The waiter returns with a large tray and what looks like way too much food for two people to eat. Nic pours the tea, while I arrange the various plates on the table and dispense with the tray.
‘Looks delicious,’ I remark and see that Nic has already piled a spoonful of strawberry jam onto his scone. He begins ladling on some clotted cream.
‘Thanks for the treat.’ With that he lifts it to his mouth and takes a huge bite. Sid looks equally happy as he takes the small piece of dry scone from Nic’s other hand which he has slipped, rather discreetly, under the table.
‘My pleasure and thank you for allowing me to tag along.’