Summer at 23 the Strand. Linda Mitchelmore

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      Martha had a feeling that, with this remark, he was subtly letting her know he was unattached at the moment.

      ‘What was she called? Your long-term girlfriend? If you don’t mind telling me?’

      ‘No. I don’t mind. Abby. Abigail. Losing her was like losing Harris all over again but time has healed me more quickly there. And I realise now she could have been more understanding. Harris had only been gone three months when she walked out. And so, here I am, trying to put all the pieces of my life back together, along with my broken leg. Doing my best to live again. But I’m being a right bloke, aren’t I, talking about me all the time?’

      ‘I did ask you to,’ Martha said. ‘And besides, you must know a fair bit about me if you’ve ever watched TV or been to the cinema. Or read the newspapers.’

      ‘Yeah, that must suck at times, too, having every bit of your private life splashed across the media.’

      ‘It does. But I don’t have to take it any more.’ The restaurant was beginning to fill up now and people had come to sit at tables either side of Martha and Hugh. She couldn’t risk anyone overhearing what she was saying. ‘Shall we order now?’

      ‘Good idea,’ Hugh said.

      ‘And then we can think, perhaps, of something we can do that will put our respective lives back on track.’

      Running, it seemed, was the activity that suited them both. Hugh ran on the beach at least three times a day, while Martha preferred to run along the promenade, but only twice a day. If they saw one another in the distance they waved, but Hugh hadn’t issued another invite to lunch, or dinner. And Martha wasn’t entirely sure she wanted another invite because she still wasn’t entirely convinced Hugh wouldn’t suddenly send photos of her to some agency. She’d told her parents she was staying with a friend until the hullabaloo had died down, and that she was fine, and would call them soon. Friends texted her and left voicemails but she didn’t reply to them either, having told anyone who needed to know the same story she’d told her parents. Sometimes she saw Hugh on the beach, bending to photograph something lying in the sand, or focusing on something out at sea. A couple of times she’d got that feeling a person gets when someone is looking at them and she’d turned to look up at the headland above the chalets, and Hugh had been there. There was a wonderfully panoramic view of the bay from up there and he’d probably been taking landscape, or seascape, shots. He’d obviously seen her, because he’d waved to her as she turned.

      But here was Hugh now, walking towards Martha’s chalet where she was sitting on the deck, hat on to shield the low light from her eyes, reading in the late-afternoon sunshine.

      He had a bottle of wine in one hand, and two glasses hanging from the fingers of the other.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Hugh said, walking up the steps of Number 23. ‘But my motto these days is never to drink alone, and I fancied a drink, so I hope I can persuade you to join me.’

      ‘Is the sun below the yardarm?’ Martha said, smiling.

      ‘It is somewhere in the world.’ Hugh laughed back. He set the bottle and glasses down on the patio table and took a corkscrew from his jeans pocket. ‘So, can I pour?’

      ‘You can,’ Martha said. ‘I might have some nibbles to go with that – some crisps and savoury crackers, and two or three varieties of cheese.’

      ‘Sounds divine,’ Hugh said.

      Hugh had poured her a very full glass of wine when she got back with the nibbles.

      ‘To you,’ Hugh said, handing the wine to her.

      ‘Cheers,’ they said as one, chinking glasses.

      ‘I’ve come to thank you,’ Hugh said.

      ‘For what?’

      ‘For having lunch with me the other day. I’d never have been able to go in there had you not been waiting for me. I was hiding behind a pillar waiting for you and watched you go in. But now I’ve faced my demons and I’ve been in there alone. Just coffee and cake, but I did it. I sat where we sat having lunch and, really, it was fine.’

      ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Martha said, cradling her glass in her hands. ‘Unless it’s that I was happy to join you, and I’m glad you’ve faced that particular demon.’

      ‘We’ll drink to that then,’ Hugh said, holding his glass out towards Martha to clink again.

      ‘Onwards for us both!’ Martha said, holding her glass high as Hugh reached over to touch it with his. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but when I’ve been running I haven’t worn my hat. And my hair’s been tied back at the nape of my neck.’

      ‘And no one came up and accused you of anything? Not that anything you may or may not have done is anyone else’s business.’

      ‘No. No one. I think there might have been two or three people who recognised me because, when people do, a sort of disbelief that it could be me running towards them, or in the queue for an ice cream, comes over their face like a veil. And then, when I’ve gone, they whisper to their companion, only often it’s louder than a whisper and I catch my name on the breeze… Serena Ross.’

      ‘Be careful who you pretend to be or you might forget who you are.’

      ‘Gosh, that’s a very profound statement,’ Martha said.

      ‘Not mine, I’m afraid. I’m quoting, only I’ve forgotten who for the moment. Is that how it’s been for you for a while? With the acting name, I mean.’

      Martha nodded. ‘I see that now. These past few days have been good. Since you showed me the shells on the beach and pointed things out to me, I’m seeing more, if that makes sense.’

      ‘Perfect sense. And “seeing more” is my cue to come in with a suggestion. My mission here is twofold. There was the chance to share a bottle of wine, of course, but it was also to tell you there’s a small boat that does wildlife trips, coast-hugging. It leaves from the harbour early. Would you like to join me? Can you do early?’

      ‘Ah, so you’ve noticed I don’t emerge for my run until after coffee time?’

      ‘I have. Would eight o’clock at the harbour be too early? The carrot here is that there’ll more than likely be dolphins off Berry Head.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘The boat leaving at eight bit, or the dolphins bit?’

      ‘I can do early if I’m going to see dolphins.’

      ‘You’re on,’ Hugh said. ‘My treat.’

      Martha was up at six o’clock the next morning. Hugh had said it might be an idea to wear a jacket with a hood if she had one with her, and a scarf, because it was still only May and, while the forecast was good, it could be a lot colder on the water than it was sitting on the decks of their chalets in the shelter of the cliff behind them.

      He’d said it in a very non-bossy way as though he really was concerned СКАЧАТЬ