The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea. Jennifer Joyce

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СКАЧАТЬ the television off before shuffling out of the family room and up the stairs. Hannah was four and already behaving like a teenager – how would Mae cope when hormones set up camp? But Mae didn’t have time to ponder. She had welcome baskets to set out and less than two minutes to do so. She followed Hannah up the stairs, pushing open the guest room they had on that floor, and placed the basket on the end of the bed, smoothing the bedspread with the palm of her hand. The left curtain wasn’t quite even so she moved across the room to open it a little more, smiling at the view as she did so. With the bed and breakfast on the seafront, Mae had the perfect view of the beach, with the pier in the distance, the Ferris wheel already turning slowly. The school summer holidays had started the previous week, so Clifton-on-Sea was jam-packed with holidaymakers hopeful of a warm and dry British summer. Growing up in Clifton-on-Sea, Mae hadn’t always appreciated the beauty of her little town. Building sandcastles with her grandpa, the delicious scent of sweet candyfloss and hot doughnuts mingling with the sea air, eating fish and chips from the paper with her feet dangling over the harbour walls – these were ordinary occurrences for Mae as a little girl, and it wasn’t until she left the town in her late teens, eager to see a bit more of the country, of the world, that she realised what a special place she’d left behind. Or how privileged she’d been to have such an idyllic childhood by the sea. She couldn’t imagine a better place to raise her daughter.

      ‘Mummy!’

      Hannah’s voice broke Mae’s reverie and she backed away from the window, smoothing the bedspread one last time as she passed.

      ‘I can’t find my shoes,’ Hannah said, poking her head out of her bedroom.

      ‘What about the one under the bed?’

      Hannah shrugged. ‘It’s not there any more.’

      Mae pressed her lips together. She didn’t have time to hunt for misplaced shoes. She still had to take the second basket of goodies up to the little room in the attic and drop the keys with Mrs Hornchurch next door (where she would no doubt get caught up in a ten-minute chat while she did her best to politely escape) before ferrying Hannah across town. They were already cutting it fine.

      ‘You’ll have to wear a different pair.’ Mae was already shuffling backwards towards the narrow staircase that led to the fourth bedroom. ‘Your sandals. Or your trainers if you really must.’ Trainers wouldn’t really go with the red gingham summer dress Hannah was wearing, but desperate times called for mismatched outfits.

      Mae scurried up the stairs as Hannah’s head disappeared back into her bedroom. Placing the basket on the end of the bed, she gave the pillows a fluff before heading back down to check on Hannah’s shoe status.

      ‘Wellies?’

      Hannah looked down at the Doc McStuffins wellies and shrugged. ‘They’re all I could find.’

      Mae could have made many arguments against the wellies – not least the ridiculous mismatching and the fact it was a glorious summer’s day – but she really, really didn’t have time to discuss the matter, nor locate more suitable footwear.

      ‘They’ll do.’ With a decisive nod, Mae led the way down the stairs, heading for her desk to grab the keys for today’s guests from the drawer. With her car keys, handbag and sunglasses in hand, she was ready to go.

      ‘Hannah?’ The girl had disappeared. ‘Hannah! We need to go!’

      Mae scurried through the rooms of the house, finding Hannah crouched in the kitchen, her outstretched palm full of Frosties.

      ‘Hannah,’ Mae groaned as the cat nibbled at the proffered cereal. ‘I’ve told you not to feed him. And especially not Frosties. Come on, cat. Out!’

      ‘But he’s hungry,’ Hannah said, hand still outstretched.

      ‘And we’ll be hungry if I’m late for work again and lose my job. Come on.’ Mae swung the back door open and nudged the cat gently with her foot until it slunk away into the back garden. ‘Please stop feeding him. It’ll only encourage him to come back.’

      ‘But I want him to come back,’ Hannah said as Mae closed the door. ‘I love him.’

      ‘He isn’t our cat.’ Mae wasn’t sure he was anybody’s cat, judging by the state of his matted fur and lack of collar. The jagged ears from ancient fights gave him a definite alley cat vibe. ‘Now, let’s go, little lady. Nanny will be wondering where you are.’

      As lovely as the Seafront Bed and Breakfast was, and as busy as it kept Mae, the profits generated from the small establishment weren’t enough to pay the bills, so Mae topped up her income by working part-time at one of Clifton-on-Sea’s pubs. The Fisherman sat opposite the harbour, in the quieter part of town away from the beach, but it was popular with the locals and the holidaymakers who liked to venture a little further afield. Mae had known the owners – Frank and Corinne Navasky – for as long as she could remember, as Frank and her grandpa had been friends since childhood. Mae had fond memories of sitting by the open fire in the pub with a glass of lemonade and packet of crisps while Frank, her grandpa and their friends played dominoes on chilly Saturday afternoons.

      ‘Ah, she’s here. I was about to send out a search party.’ Frank winked at Mae as she burst through the doors of the pub, breathless from the dash from the car. As predicted, she’d ended up chatting with Mrs Hornchurch for a good ten minutes when she’d dropped off the keys, plus she’d had to deal with a lady who wanted to book a room on her way out of the house, meaning she was even later for her shift. But she couldn’t complain too much about Mrs Hornchurch as her neighbour was doing her a massive favour. As Mae needed to work, Mrs Hornchurch often stepped in to help, keeping watch for any guests and showing them to their rooms when they arrived. Mrs Hornchurch was a godsend, so Mae could forgive her chatterbox nature.

      ‘I’m so sorry.’ Mae threw her handbag onto one of the shelves under the bar and rolled the sleeves of her cardigan up. ‘I’ll work through my break to make it up to you.’

      ‘You will not,’ Frank said. ‘There’s no harm done. It isn’t like I’m rushed off my feet.’

      It wasn’t yet lunchtime so the pub was pretty much deserted, with only Tom Byrne, a permanent fixture in the Fisherman, sitting with his pint of bitter. Soon, however, the place would be filled with patrons wanting a pint to go with their fish and chips from the chip shop next door.

      ‘Do you need me to do anything before we get busy?’ Mae asked Frank. ‘Any glasses need washing? Barrels need changing? Do the loos need cleaning?’

      Frank raised his eyebrows at the last suggestion. ‘You must be feeling guilty. But no, love, everything’s in hand. Why don’t we put the kettle on and have a quick game of dominoes before the rabble descends?’

      Mae had learned to play dominoes by watching her grandpa play in the Fisherman, and the clatter as the pieces tumbled from the box onto the table always reminded her of him. Her dad hadn’t been around much when she was growing up, so it had been her grandpa who’d been the father figure in Mae’s life. She’d loved staying with her grandparents by the beach, going for a paddle with her grandpa, their skirts and trousers lifted or rolled up to their knees as the cold water washed over their feet, or sneaking off to the Fisherman with him when it was too cold to build sandcastles. Double trouble, that’s what her granny had called them.

      Mae missed her grandparents, but she cherished the memories she had of them and smiled now as she picked up a cool tile.

      ‘So, СКАЧАТЬ