My Summer of Magic Moments: Uplifting and romantic - the perfect, feel good holiday read!. Caroline Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ awaited her. She didn’t have to go to work, she didn’t have to get to hospital appointments. The world and this crazy run-down cottage were her oyster. She was determined to make the best of this escape time. What was she going to do with it? She decided to go for a walk along the beach to find the village of Bamburgh. It shouldn’t be that far.

      She headed left onto the sands from her beachside garden, a scrubby patch of grass with a battered wooden table and four chairs. As she strolled, she remembered childhood holidays spent in the area with her parents and older sister years ago. It was why she’d chosen this place – happy memories: salt and sand and shivers, warm-towelled hugs and eating yummy-drippy 99 Flake ice-cream cones from the Mr Whippy van that parked in the car park just above the dunes.

      She began to feel that familiar tug in her chest. Her lovely dad wasn’t here any more. He had died five years ago, bless him, a heart attack snatching him from his family at only sixty-two. She missed him so much, even now. How life changed. Her own illness had shaken up her life in ways she could never have imagined. She was close to her sister and mum; they’d been so supportive through her treatment. In fact, both had offered to come and stay during her break to keep her company, but she’d just wanted to be on her own, have a bit of time out, so she’d politely but firmly refused their well-intentioned offers.

      She slipped off her deck shoes as the sand started creeping in around her ankles, and enjoyed the feel of warm, soft grains beneath her bare feet. The sun was climbing in the sky, sending glints of gold off the lapping waves. Dog walkers passed her, their charges dashing about with glee, tumbling with tennis balls, bounding into the sea, coming out matted and shaggy then shaking arcs of glittering water around them. She’d have liked a dog. They’d had Millie, an affectionate Labrador, when she was a child at home. She’d been part of the family. But Paul, her ex, had never been keen on having a pet, preferring a tidy house and order. Damn it – what was he doing creeping into her thoughts? Push those thoughts aside right now, she told herself. Bury all the hurt he caused in a great big hole in the sand.

      Today was about her. And her life from now on. Onwards and upwards. She was going to have a look in the village, get some nice local provisions, then head back, make a salad or something for lunch, chop some veggies for soup, and later she intended to sit and chill in a chair in the garden in the sunshine, reading her latest book and generally pleasing herself. She hoped the family next door wouldn’t appear noisily at that point. Oh well, she chided herself, she wouldn’t be an old misery of a neighbour. Kids would be kids, and they were on a beach, after all – let them play. Oh yes, that was another thing Paul wasn’t keen on: having children. It had never been ‘the right time’, or maybe, she mused wryly, she was just never the right person. The bastard.

      The day stretched before her much as the beach did far ahead. She’d been wandering for a while. Exactly how far from her cottage was the village? She knew the towering castle set on the dunes marked the village area, but now she’d turned into the next crescent-shaped bay she still couldn’t see it. It must be bloody miles away.

      But she was here to relax, so strolling along the beach on a mild June morning was fine. She was in no hurry. To slip routine, work, the wearing rituals of chemotherapy, radiotherapy – was bliss. She’d made it through – she was a survivor. And she knew full well there were those who hadn’t; she felt a tight knot in her throat just thinking about them, those lovely ladies she’d sat next to for their hour-long chemical shots in the bank of chemo chairs as if they were at some kind of weird hairdressers where they stole your hair instead of tended it. She didn’t want to waste another day, though she didn’t know yet what it was she really wanted. A rest and a bit of time out had been the only things she’d realized she’d needed for now.

      One day at a time, Claire. Feel the sun on your skin. Daylight, fresh air. The warmth of a cosy bed, be it a rickety one. Sip a cup of fragrant tea, a glass of chilled white wine or warming Merlot whilst looking out to sea. Hah, or even better, looking at a toned male torso. The memories of this morning’s vision rose in her mind, making her smile.

      A man’s body. She hadn’t felt a man’s touch for a long time. Things had started to go wrong between her and her husband even before the cancer. And then afterwards, once she’d been given the ‘all clear’, she’d learnt how very wrong. Nothing like being kicked when you’re down. But no, she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on that this morning. Today was about new starts, fresh hope and enjoying being alive. She’d think about the hunky swimming guy instead.

      She picked her way over a cluster of rocks, the lime-green seaweed slimy under her bare feet. The stones, seemingly slick-black in colour, were, under closer inspection, riddled with navy and iron red. She remembered rock-pooling with her gran, dipping in those cane-stemmed fishing nets, trying to catch a shrimp or tiny silvery fish – they were fast, those ones, wriggly little numbers, nigh on impossible. It kept her and her big sister, Sally, entertained for hours. Gran sat watching them from her blanket on the dunes, a book in hand and a huge picnic of goodies stowed in the cool box. They’d stayed, the four of them, Gran, Mum, Sally and her, crammed into a caravan down the coast – five of them once Dad turned up after work. Fish and chips with lashings of salt and vinegar eaten from the newspaper wrapper as they sat on the harbour wall at Seahouses. She could almost smell them now – maybe it was just the salt in the sea air. Yes, she’d have to make a trip there. Happy days! When life was so simple.

      The rhythm of her steps took over. Sometimes the sand was grainy, rough between her toes, then it was smooth, moulding to her feet. There were other footsteps in the sand too: shoe prints, paw prints, the tiny slats of a sea bird’s feet, and a mild breeze rippled through the spiky dune grass. Claire sighed, stood for a moment and breathed in the fresh sea air. This was why she was here. It felt good to breathe, to walk, to be.

      She turned another corner and there at last was Bamburgh Castle towering in the distance. It was a bit of a relief, to be honest: though she was enjoying the walk, she was beginning to tire. Her energy levels weren’t yet back to normal ‘AC’ – after the chemo. Her cancer nurse had warned her that it could take up to a year to feel back to her old self, and it had only been five months so far.

      The castle dominated the skyline, powerful and stunning, perched on its rock base in the dunes. She wondered how long it had been there, what it had been built for? She’d heard something about the Northumbrian kings centuries ago. She’d have to brush up on her history, find out more and do the castle tour one day. The stone of the castle walls was an unusual salmon-pink colour, unlike the cottage she was staying in and the others nearby, which were more honey-coloured with tones of flinty grey.

      This part of the beach below the castle was busier, being nearer the village and the car park; there were families on a day out, children building sandcastles and splashing at the shoreline, a couple of young lads kicking a football about. She spotted a teenage girl tracing her initials in the sand with a stick, then adding a ‘4’ and another set of initials with a big bold love heart around them. She smiled. Ah, the easy love and hope of youth. If only life and love were that simple. Claire knew only too well how the waves would come in and wash it all away soon enough.

      A track led into the dunes from the beach. Claire decided to follow it, hoping to find a way through to the village. She’d need to buy some provisions to keep her going. Having come on the train in the end, she’d only brought some tea bags, coffee, a couple of apples and a pack of Jaffa cakes. She wound up and through the dunes, following the sandy pathway, spiky marram grass pricking at her bare legs. She sat to put her deck shoes back on, dusting her feet off, but she could still feel itchy grains of sand between her toes as she set off again – a hazard of beach life, she supposed. There was an opening, and she found herself coming out onto a cricket pitch at the far side of the castle. Pretty stone cottages lined the hill, clustering the quaint village green.

      She was on a bit of a budget till next week’s pay day now that much of her spending money had disappeared СКАЧАТЬ