Page 69 of My Summer of Magic Moments

A chilled glass of wine on a summer’s day. Yes, she remembered sitting chatting with Lynda out the back there, overlooking the beach, white wine and friendship, a perfect combination.

The smell and taste of freshly baked bread – well, a whole new delicious hobby had grown from that one.

A small deed to help someone else – they’d done the crazily muddy Race for Life, which would hopefully help lots of people, and she’d helped that teenager, Reece, with his own charity publicity. She’d been very happy recently to hear that he was now in remission. And she would keep looking out for others, finding ways to help if she could.

And, she wouldn’t forget to keep enjoying the simple things in life, to be grateful for every day, every moment she had, and to live them one magic moment at a time.

Her column had grown and all those other lovely magic moments sent in by her readers filled her thoughts too – special places, a favourite walk, meeting a new grandchild for the first time. She was proud of her column. And she would make every day count. Winter was on its way, autumn already here, but she could still find calm, feel the sun on her face, wrap herself up and go for a walk, enjoy the log fire, a mug of soup, a hot chocolate piled with cream and marshmallows. In fact, she could whizz up some soup for lunch tomorrow before heading back – leek and potato was calling. Served with the rest of Lynda’s deli bread – scrummy. Then, after she got back to Newcastle, where her flat was starting to feel more like home, it would be the Christmas season soon enough – woolly jumpers, giftwrap and bows, cinnamon scents, gaudy lights in the city centre, crowded shops. Life rolled on.

She felt tired this evening; the walk really had taken it out of her a bit. But it was a nice tired, an exercise-type tired. She went up to bed with a cup of camomile tea beside her, and couldn’t help but think about the man next door. And yes, although it had been a little awkward with Ed earlier, it was kind of nice knowing he was just there. She sent him a mental hug, whispered ‘Night, Ed’, then drifted into a restful sleep.

She thought she was dreaming at first. The sound of barking and barking, with a whiny pitch that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She bolted up in bed, startled. It didn’t seem that far away. She registered the grey early-morning light at the window, got up, shoved on her dressing gown and ran out on to the balcony with wobbly legs that were trying to acclimatize to the sudden start.

The sound was coming from next door. Bess, it had to be Bess. But where was Ed? The dog didn’t normally bark, she’d only ever heard a pleasant ‘ruff’ in greeting. She shoved on her slippers and dashed down the stairs, running out across the drive. The barking was frantic, getting louder as she neared Ed’s house. She was halfway across the drive when she noticed the weather – the winds had really picked up. One of Ed’s plant pots had toppled, leaving a small shrub strewn on its side. It began to spit with rain.

Claire got to the door of the other cottage. Heard the scrabbling of claws against the inner wood. It wasn’t locked. She poked her head in, shouting ‘Ed? Ed?’, to be blasted by a powerful black lurch of fur and legs bounding past her for the beach. The beach. Claire turned – the waves were pounding the shoreline. Her soul chilled. Clothes. Dammit, she hadn’t thought to look out from her balcony. Were there clothes on the beach? Bess was running straight for a little mound of something further away on the sands. Oh fuck.

What time was it? How long had she slept? She glanced at her watch. Eight fifteen. He usually went out just after dawn, and yesterday that was around seven o’clock. Oh God, if he’d been in the water that long …

And the water – this wasn’t the usual waves, the gentle surf. This sea was mean and dark and menacing. She felt sick.

She ran out of his house, up the dunes. She might see better from there. Nothing, nothing, bloody nothing, just the boil of surf – even the sea birds had disappeared. They knew better than to be out on a day like this. Why the hell had he even thought of going swimming? Was he really out there? Or was the mound just something washed in on the tides, an old coat or blanket or something? But Bess’s reaction …

She’d been wasting precious seconds. She had to phone for help, right now. Get the coastguard or whoever out. Why the fuck hadn’t she thought of bringing her phone with her?

Bess ran up to her, circling her. ‘It’s okay, Bess. I’ll get some help.’ Claire ran back to her cottage. Bess lurched off in the opposite direction back to the mound on the beach. It had to be his clothes. The dog kept looking to sea frantically, then jerking her glance to Claire, who was now distant. Still the constant barking. There was no one else around. No one mad enough to be out on a morning like this. No one to ask for help.

She ran inside, grabbed her mobile from where it was charging on the kitchen bench and ran back out. No signal as ever down by the cottages; she’d have to run back up the dunes. Her legs kept sinking in the soft sand, snagging on the roots of the spiky marram grass. Hang in there, Ed.

One bar of signal, shit. She stood still, keeping it pointed inland to the best spot. Dialled 999. The ring tone. Answer. Answer. Please.

‘Hello, which service please?’

‘Ah … coastguard, I think … and ambulance.’

‘What’s the nature of the problem?’

‘A friend, he’s in trouble, swimming … in the sea.’

‘And where is your location, madam?’

‘Bamburgh … umm … further down the beach … halfway to Seahouses?’ Why was she being so bloody vague? A landmark … something. ‘The cottages. There’s two cottages. One’s called Farne View.’

‘Okay, thanks, that’s great. And what’s your name?’

‘Claire. Claire Maxwell.’

‘Okay, Claire, please stay on the line. Don’t hang up.’

Claire prayed that her signal would hold out.

‘I’m going to put you through to the coastguard.’

‘So you say there’s someone lost at sea? A swimmer?’ A male voice took over. ‘Let me just clarify your position and the last position this person was seen. You’re at Bamburgh, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And when and where did you last see the person you believe is lost?’