The Little Kiosk By The Sea: A Perfect Summer Beach Read. Jennifer Bohnet

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      ‘So far,’ Harriet said. ‘I haven’t been out yet though.’

      ‘I’ll be there in two of days. You could stay in the B&B until I get there if you want. Read a good book.’

      ‘No, it will be fine. I’ll be fine,’ Harriet said. ‘Have you heard from Ellie? I was thinking about ringing her.’

      ‘Got a text to say she was busy at work, that’s all. Don’t worry, we’ll talk to her together. Give her my love if you speak.’

      ‘Will do. See you soon.’ Harriet switched her phone over to messages and saw Ellie had sent her a text, as well, saying she was okay. Harriet sighed. Hopefully Frank was right, saying that Ellie would be fine when they talked to her. If only she hadn’t had this dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach ever since she’d opened the letter last month. She should have struck through the address on the envelope, marked it ‘Not Known at this address - Return to Sender’ and put it straight back in the post. Definitely not opened it.

      The wording in the brief paragraph from a firm of solicitors had been innocuous in the extreme. Just a request for Harriet Lewis, formerly of Dartmouth, South Devon, to visit their offices in the town as soon as possible. And no, they weren’t prepared to discuss the matter over the phone. When she showed the letter to Frank he immediately said they’d go down together, find out what it was all about, sort it and come home again.

      ‘Whatever it is, darling, after all this time I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

      Harriet had looked at him and tried to force herself to look at things dispassionately, re-reading again and again the brief letter, trying to work out if there was a hidden message in it anywhere. Her gut instinct was telling her that the letter was about to kickstart something nasty in her life. And tomorrow was the day she’d find out.

      After pulling on her favourite jeans and a sweatshirt, Harriet grabbed her handbag and phone and went downstairs. Angie was playing with a Jack Russell in the conservatory attached to the kitchen.

      ‘Oh he’s gorgeous,’ Harriet said, stopping down to stroke him. ‘What’s his name?’

      ‘Solo,’ Angie said. ‘He likes to welcome all my guests. Are you off out?’

      Harriet nodded. ‘Thought I’d take a stroll round town.’

      ‘Don’t get lost!’ Angie said. ‘If you do, any local will point you in the right direction if you mention my name.’

      ‘Thanks. I’ll see you later.’ No need to tell Angie there was very little likelihood of her getting lost. The town’s ancient streets had once been a familiar backdrop to her life. If asked, she could have drawn a map.

      Late afternoon and the bustle of the town was winding down for the day as Harriet began exploring. Stepping out from The Captain’s Berth, with the river on her right, Harriet walked down towards the town. She hesitated by the steep flight of steps that led down to the fort situated at the end of the town’s ancient quay before walking on. She’d go that route another day. Right now she wanted to wander around the town itself. Acclimatise herself to being here. Take in the changes that were sure to have happened. Re-acquaint herself where things were within the town.

      Wandering along the narrow old streets, many with medieval buildings still in use, Harriet realised while the town had retained its ancient layout, which was still second nature to her, there were subtle differences. Narrow streets were now either one way or pedestrianised, shops with modernised windows, selling touristy souvenirs. She certainly had no difficulty in finding her way to several places she remembered with nostalgia. Her old primary school was still there but converted into flats. The old cinema had gone though, replaced with a modern complex complete with a new library alongside.

      She spent time window shopping in the boutiques in the converted Old Palladium Mews before skirting around the church, climbing a well-worn flight of steps and finding herself at the junction of the steep hill that led eventually out of town to join the coast road and, to the left, the narrow road that wound its way behind the houses on the main town road. No way was she going to walk in that direction today, it was too soon, best left for another day. Harriet turned and made her way down to the quay where, judging by the smell wafting around and accompanying loudly squawking seagulls, the local fishing boats were unloading their day’s catch of crabs and mackerel.

      Watching the plastic crates being swung onto the quayside before being loaded into the pick-up truck ready for delivery to various local restaurants, Harriet looked curiously at the fishermen on board one of the boats. One was about her own age, the other younger. Was the older man a part of her past? An old school friend, maybe? A long-forgotten memory of a secret crush trickled into her mind. Gus was the son of a fisherman. But Gus, as a teenager, had vowed no way was he following in the fishy footsteps of his father and grandfather. There had to be more to life, he maintained, and he intended to explore its full potential.

      The younger of the fishermen smiled at Harriet as he caught her watching them. Harriet smiled back before moving away and wandering in the direction of the inner harbour. Passing the brightly painted closed ticket kiosk, Harriet smiled, remembering the summer she and her best friend Beeny had hung around there for hours longing to be noticed by the Rod Stewart lookalike employed to sell trips up the river to the tourists.

      Another teenage memory from a long-ago summer flitted into her mind as she saw a tourist boat slowly making its way back down river. An illicit June evening trip up river, creeping on board with Beeny without buying a ticket, hoping bad-tempered Mitch Hutchinson wouldn’t notice them and have them thrown off. Beeny French-kissed Owen, his son, for his silence when he found them and realised they hadn’t paid. Funny how it was only Beeny he’d wanted to kiss. She hadn’t cared, though. The only person she was interested in kissing in those days was Gus. Not that she had, of course. She’d been invisible to him.

      Harriet glanced at a blackboard nailed to the side of the kiosk with neat chalk-writing advertising the times of the next trips up the river, gold lettering at the top proclaimed: ‘Hutchinson River Trips. Established 1931.’ Was Owen running the family business now? Did Beeny still live in town? Funny how the old kiosk was kick-starting so many memories. Turning, she crossed the road and walked towards the Royal Avenue Gardens.

      Standing by the inner harbour, its muddy waters crammed with boats small enough to pass under the embankment bridge to reach the river, her stomach rumbled and she realised she was ravenous, Angie’s delicious scones not enough to make up for her missed lunch. She glanced behind her at The Royal Hotel. Time for more nostalgia. Turning, she crossed the road and made her way into the hotel foyer, automatically turning right for the bar and restaurant.

      After ordering a steak salad, Harriet took her glass of wine over to a window table and settled down to wait for her meal. Looking around, she could see the place had been extensively modernised since the last time she’d been there, but had somehow managed to retain most of its atmosphere from the eighteenth-century days when it had been a busy coaching inn.

      ‘Enjoy your meal,’ the waitress said, smiling at her. As she heard the Birmingham accent, Harriet smiled back. An incomer. Not a possible old friend from a past life. Good. She wasn’t ready to meet any of those yet.

      Glancing around at the other people in the restaurant, an elderly couple, a family of six with an adorable toddler, a group of locals having a drink at the end of the working day, Harriet pushed her self-conscious feelings of being conspicuously alone away. She’d always hated dining alone. At least it wasn’t a permanent state of affairs. Frank would be joining her in two days. Tomorrow СКАЧАТЬ