Annie’s Summer by the Sea: The perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Read online

  * * *

  ‘She’s loved it,’ reports Emily when I get home hours later, feeling hot and sweaty. All the windows are flung open but it’s not doing much good. Usually Tregavara House is buffeted by strong Atlantic winds but today there’s only the faintest hint of a breeze, tinged with salt.

  ‘She’s been like the Queen Mother of Salt Bay, holding court from the sofa,’ laughs Emily, lifting up her thick brown plait and fanning the back of her neck with a Radio Times. ‘There’s been a steady stream of visitors and most have brought presents. She’s got enough chocolate to keep Jennifer’s shop stocked until Christmas. She’s had a good day.’

  Later that evening, I pour a glass of ice-cold water from the fridge and take it up to Alice, who’s sitting in her four-poster bed, looking at the cliffs through her window. The house is quiet because everyone’s at choir rehearsal except me – I’m giving it a miss to keep an eye on my great-aunt and spend time with her on her special day.

  ‘Here you go.’ I place the glass on Alice’s bedside table and adjust the rose-coloured counterpane that’s pulled up to her thin shoulders. ‘You really did do well for presents.’ Tubs of Roses, boxes of Milk Tray and fancy toiletries are piled up on the plush, button-back chair in the corner.

  ‘People have been very generous, though they’re trying to finish me off. I’ll overdose on sugar if I eat all that chocolate. Is Coronation Street taping?’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry. Maybe we can get a TV organised in here, actually.’ I glance around the room to see where an aerial socket could be installed but Alice shakes her head.

  ‘No need. I’ll be properly up and about in no time with none of this going to bed at seven o’clock nonsense.’ Her legs shift as though she wants to prove it right now, but I put my hand on her knee through the cover.

  ‘In a day or two, maybe. I don’t want you rushing things and ending up back in hospital. It’s so lovely to have you here on your birthday. Tregavara House wouldn’t be the same without you.’

  ‘I should think not,’ harrumphs Alice, reaching for the glass. I perch on the edge of the bed and put my arm round her shoulders for support as she sips. The wind has picked up and is pushing against the thick brocade curtains which brush the floorboards.

  ‘Thank you, Annabella. You are good to me.’

  She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and settles back against the pillows plumped up behind her head. She’s looking much better these days but so old and worn out it breaks my heart.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, child.’ When Alice smiles and touches her throat, I notice that she’s wearing her pearls in honour of her birthday. ‘My father used to say, “if the wind changes, your face will stick like that.”’

  ‘My mum used to say that too.’

  ‘Did she? I expect she heard it from her father because these silly sayings are passed down through families. No doubt, you’ll say it to your children one day.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I laugh, moving the glass so Alice will be able to reach it in the night. ‘Who says I’m going to have any kids?’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, suddenly serious. ‘I don’t feel grown-up enough and I’m not sure I’d be very good at it anyway. Being a mum, I mean. I didn’t really have a great—’ I was going to say ‘role model’ but stop and chew at my lip. Mum did her best. It wasn’t her fault that she was often unwell and life was difficult.

  ‘You are not your mother, Annabella.’ Alice shuffles in the bed to get more comfortable. ‘Joanna was a one-off, and it would be a shame if the difficulties of your past affected your future because I know you’d be a wonderful mother. Look at how well you’ve coped with Storm and stepped into her mother’s shoes. You’ve given her stability that was seriously lacking.’

  ‘It’s you and Tregavara House and Salt Bay who’ve given her stability.’

  Alice shakes her head. ‘Don’t underestimate your impact on that girl, and I know it hasn’t been easy.’

  Which is lovely of Alice to say – and one hell of an understatement. Storm’s mum ran off a few years ago, leaving her in the care of our dad, Barry, who’s not such a great role model himself. He loves Storm but the life of a wannabe rock star is chaotic and she arrived in Salt Bay angry, undisciplined and, quite frankly, a right royal pain in the backside.

  At first it was awful. I’m surprised we have any doors left with all the hormonal slamming that went on. But over the months Storm and I have grown closer to the point where sometimes I do feel more like her mum than her half-sister – and I quite like it so maybe I am mother material. Surely coping with a baby would be easy-peasy compared to a teenager in a tantrum?

  Alice gives me a none-too-gentle nudge with her shoulder. ‘Anyway, if you are going to have children you’d better crack on because you’re getting on a bit.’

  Cheers, Alice. Just what every thirty-year-old childless woman needs – a great-aunt-shaped biological alarm clock.

  ‘Times are different now.’ I grin. ‘No one has babies until, ooh, at least thirty-five. Some women wait to have their first babies until they’re in their forties.’

  ‘Huh, that’s far too old and their eggs will be good for nothing. The trouble with you young girls is you think you can have it all, but you can’t. Are you sure that you haven’t thought of having children at all?’

  ‘Not really, though I’ve got some favourite names on stand-by just in case I happen to have a child at some far-off stage in the future. Not that I’m planning to,’ I add quickly when Alice’s dark brown eyes flash with excitement. ‘Do you want to hear them?’

  ‘Of course. Just so long as they’re not ridiculous modern names, like Firefly.’

  ‘I’m not sure anyone anywhere has ever been called Firefly but, don’t worry, the names I like are very traditional. If I had a girl, I’d quite like to call her Phoebe Alice Joanna.’

  Alice pulls herself higher in the bed and her broad smile sharpens the cheekbones in her wrinkled face.

  ‘Both your mother and I would be honoured and Phoebe is such a pretty name. I knew a Phoebe once who had a very sad life and ended up in jail for soliciting in Penzance.’

  O-K. Maybe not Phoebe then.

  ‘And what about if you have a boy?’ asks Alice before starting to cough. I pass her a tissue and wait for the coughing to ease before answering.

  ‘If I have a boy, I’d like to call him Freddie.’

  Alice stiffens and, to my horror, tears start spilling from her eyes. They dribble down her cheeks and plop onto the counterpane, leaving dark patches on the silk.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean to be insensitive or upset you but I’ve always loved the name and thought it would be in memory of your little boy.’

  ‘My dear girl.’ Alice sucks her wobbly lower lip between her teeth. ‘Forgive me but I’m annoyingly over-emotional at the moment with everything that’s been going on. It would be wonderful for Freddie’s memory to live on when I’m gone. But would Josh be all right with the name?’

  ‘I expect he would be,’ I tell her, feeling warm and fuzzy at her assumption that Josh will be the father of my children. If I have any. Which I might not. But my life has changed so much in the past year, who knows what will happen in the years to come? Maybe I’ll end up with twins. Or triplets. Eek, I’m now picturing myself pregnant, the size of a beached whale.

  Alice brushes away her tears and gives a little sniff. ‘You’ve become very special to me, Annie, and I’m so glad you turned up on my doorstep last year. You’re a wonderful young woman and my life would have been the poorer for never knowing you.’

  ‘Stop it, Alice, or you’ll make me cry too,’ I wail, clasping her hand and softly rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. ‘One of the best things I ever did was make that journey from London to Cornwall, even though I hated it here at first.’

  ‘Didn’t I know it!’

  ‘Really? And I thought I hid it so well.’ I wink at t
he old lady who has wormed her way into my heart. ‘Better than Storm did at least.’

  ‘That’s true enough.’ Alice stifles a yawn and settles back against her pillow. ‘Though Salt Bay has worked its magic on that girl, too.’

  She’s right. Storm now has a part-time job in Jennifer’s shop, she sings with the choir and she’s settled pretty well into school. She’s even taken a few exams and hasn’t mentioned going back to live in London for ages. I’ve got used to having her around so haven’t mentioned it either. She’d only end up getting in with the wrong crowd while Barry’s away on tour.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ asks Alice, glancing at her bedside clock. Outside her open window, a low hum of conversation is mingling with the dull boom of waves hitting the harbour wall. ‘There seem to be a lot of people heading for the harbour at this time of night. I hope no one’s organised one of those seaside rave things.’

  She frowns as the hum gets louder and the garden gate squeaks open. ‘Take a look, Annabella, and see who’s calling at this late hour. It’s most inconvenient.’

  The bed creaks when I stand up and look out of the window. In the shadow of the cliffs that drop into the sea, a little huddle of people is trudging along the garden path – and I know every single one of them.

  Josh spots me and puts his finger to his lips while he shepherds Salt Bay Choral Society under Alice’s bedroom window. It’s a bit like herding cats but he eventually gets them into a group and stands facing them. Storm, who’s loitering at the back, gives me a shrug, Josh raises his hand and tenor Gerald plays a single note on his harmonica.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ calls Alice from her bed, craning her neck.

  ‘You’ll see.’ I smile at her as the first notes of ‘Lamorna’ waft in through the open window. It’s a traditional Cornish song we performed last year when the choir competed for the Kernow Choral Crown and it helped us to win first prize in the New Choirs category. Josh knows it’s one of Alice’s favourites.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ says Alice, recognition flooding her face. ‘Are the choir here to sing just for me? That’s so kind of them.’ Her smile suddenly freezes. ‘They don’t think I’m dying, do they? Is there something you haven’t told me?’

  ‘Absolutely not, Alice. They merely want to do something special for your birthday.’

  ‘Did you know about it?’

  ‘I didn’t. It must be an impromptu performance.’

  Alice beams when the choir launch into ‘Happy Birthday’ and throws back the covers. She’s looking very chic in the pink satin pyjamas that Emily bought her. ‘Get my dressing gown immediately, Annabella. I want to see this.’

  Dressing gown on, she walks slowly to the window listening to the choir sing ‘Kumbaya’, which is another of Alice’s favourites. Josh must have noticed which songs Alice likes the most, the tunes she hums when she’s shuffling around the house, which makes me love him all the more.

  A loud cheer reverberates from below when Alice reaches the window and looks out. The setting sun is hanging deep red in the sky and its light casts an aura around her as she waves at the choir and blows them a kiss.

  And that’s how I’ll always remember my feisty, funny great-aunt: giving a regal wave in shocking-pink pyjamas to her adoring public from the Salt Bay bedroom where she was born.

  Four

  Alice Jean Gowan – cherished sister, adored wife, firm friend and beloved great-aunt – dies ten days later.

  It’s nothing to do with the urine infection. She recovers from that and I start believing she’ll be with us for a while to come. I let my guard down and feel happy again.

  But her heart is old and tired and simply stops while she’s dozing in her favourite chair that overlooks the harbour. Alice always did hate making a fuss and she slips away without any drama.

  So in the end, there’s no dreaded phone call at work or urgent dash home. I simply take her a cup of tea on a Sunday afternoon and stand frozen in the sitting room doorway, tea dripping onto the carpet when the cup slips in its saucer. Alice has gone. It’s obvious from the way her arm is hanging loose over the side of the chair and the tilt of her head, chin to chest. And when I touch her lovely face, her skin is white and cool.

  Josh rings Dr Rivers and I sit by Alice, holding her hand, and wait for him to arrive. Outside, tourists are walking from the harbour into the village and their snatched conversations drift through the window and hammer home that I’ll never chat with Alice again.

  We’ll never sit in the garden at the end of the day and watch a golden sun sink slowly into the sea. Or roll our eyes in mutual solidarity when Storm flies into a mega-strop and stomps out of the house.

  Emily and Storm are sitting pinch-faced with shock on the bottom stair when Dr Rivers arrives and takes over. He assures us that Alice’s death was peaceful and painless, and that’s some comfort over the next few days as we go about making funeral arrangements. But we’re devastated to lose her and, though the sun is blazing outside, the house is cold with black shadows lurking in gloomy corners.

  We all react to Alice’s death differently. Josh switches into practical mode, which his mum says is how he behaved sixteen years ago when his step-dad died in the Great Storm that killed seven local fishermen. Emily is permanently in tears and Storm won’t admit it, but she’s knocked for six. The usual back-chat stops and she retreats to her bedroom, only venturing out for meals that we all pick at in silence.

  For me, losing Alice has stirred the same ragged, suffocating feelings of grief I experienced when Mum died. I must tell Alice, I think several times a day, when I spot an oystercatcher in the bird bath or Jennifer tells me some juicy gossip or Death In Paradise is on the telly. And there’s always an icy rush of sorrow when it hits home that she’s gone forever.

  But it’s comforting that I was able to keep my promise and she died in Salt Bay among people who love her, rather than in hospital among medical staff who didn’t know her at all. The cycle of Alice Jean Gowan’s life began and ended at Tregavara House – and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Josh is brilliant from the moment the undertaker takes Alice’s body away and I collapse in floods of tears. He holds me while I cry great snotting sobs into his jumper and snivel in the dark hours of early mornings. And he comes with me to discuss plans with the funeral director who also organised the burial of my grandmother Sheila a year ago. She and my grandfather Samuel lie in Salt Bay’s tiny clifftop cemetery which will one day fall into the sea.

  Alice, ever pragmatic and practical, has left detailed instructions with the funeral director and paid upfront. So there’s nothing for me to do except circulate the funeral arrangements around the village and steel myself for our final goodbye.

  * * *

  A strong wind is blowing over a raging sea when we all gather on the clifftop two weeks later. Almost the whole village has turned out and we’re spread like a black carpet along the cliff edge with the cemetery behind us.

  The memorial service in Salt Bay Church, where Alice and her husband, David, were married five decades ago, was a beautiful celebration of a life well lived and a woman well loved. And though Alice would have grumbled at us for making a fuss – I could imagine her standing at the back of the church, arms folded – I think she would have been pleased.

  Jennifer and old boy Cyril, who sings with the choir, were among the locals who stood up and shared their happy memories of Alice. And I did too. Voice shaking, I only managed to get halfway through how Alice welcomed me to my new life in Salt Bay before the lump in my throat threatened to strangle me. But Josh, tall and handsome in his coal-black suit, leapt up and held my hand while he read out the rest of my words.

  Any self-composure I had left finally splintered when Salt Bay Choral Society, conducted by Josh, sang Alice’s favourite hymn, ‘Amazing Grace’. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house and even Jennifer’s solo was wobbly.

  The church service marked Alice’s life anchored in S
alt Bay and now, high above the village, we’re about to let her go. I hug the heavy plastic urn to my chest and deliberately turn into the squall of rain that’s stinging my face. I’m glad the heatwave has finally broken and the sun has disappeared. This is perfect Cornish weather for what we’re here to do.

  Alice left us one last surprise. Everyone expected her to be buried in the clifftop cemetery next to David but she left strict instructions that she should be cremated and her name inscribed next to her beloved husband’s. So a small ceremony was held for close friends and family at the crematorium a few days ago and I collected her ashes this morning, before the memorial service began.

  People were surprised by her choice of send-off but I get it. Alice loved the ever-changing ocean and Cornish countryside and, this way, she’ll be a part of the sea and the wind forever.

  There’s a hush from the crowd as Josh helps me unscrew the lid of the urn and I take a few steps towards the crashing waves far below us. Toby, in a sharp black suit with a tidy goatee, steps forward too and ignores a loud tutting from Florence.

  My distant cousin Toby Trebarwith has been persona non grata in the village since they discovered he fathered a child with Josh’s sister Lucy and then scarpered off to London for years. They don’t mind the sex and illegitimacy – there’s been a lot of it round here over the years apparently – but they disapprove of him not taking responsibility for his own child.

  ‘Christ, it’s a long way down,’ mutters Toby, swallowing hard and inching back towards Josh, who’s helping Alice’s elderly friend, Penelope, stay upright. ‘I’m not great with heights so you might need to do this on your own. The old girl wouldn’t mind.’

  For a moment, I hug the urn to my chest. ‘Goodbye, darling Alice, and thank you for everything,’ I whisper, concentrating hard on not dropping the slippery damp plastic as I turn it upside down.