Page 14 of The Seaside Supper Club

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s been lovely to catch up. You take care.’

‘Will do. And you. And once I get settled in more and find my feet here, I’ll have to make another trip up to good old Tilldale.’

‘You know you’re always welcome here, any time.’

‘Cheers, Ma. Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

And knowing that Adam was happy and doing well career-wise, her heart felt like it had been topped up. Even when your children became adults it didn’t stop you worrying about them, or wondering how their lives were panning out in their new roles and residences far away. Parenthood was a permanent and precious thing.

*

‘I can get the keys … tomorrow. Do you fancy coming along to view the beach hut with me?’ Will’s voice came animatedly down the line. Crikey, her phone was a hotline this morning.

‘Oh, yeah, absolutely. What time are you thinking?’ She wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity.

‘Well, my mate Josh has offered to help out in the cycle shop in the morning, and we can fetch the keys from the solicitors any time from 9 a.m. So shall we leave around a quarter to?’ He sounded excited about the imminent viewing of his seaside inheritance. ‘I’ll come and pick you up.’

Cath’s response echoed his buoyant mood. ‘Yep, of course. Great. I can’t wait to see it.’

She loved that part of the coast; it held some cherished memories. Walking at Low Newton and Embleton Bay on family holidays, then this summer’s picnic with Will sat in the dunes, followed by that almighty downpour and the mad dash back to the car, holding hands in the rain. It was already a special place, and now it was lovely to think that lots of new memories might soon be made there, too. Hopefully, together.

It was Will’s beach house, of course, but a part of her couldn’t help but hope they might be sharing a future of some kind. That they’d be having more time as a couple, and what an amazing place to spend time getting to know each other.

Chapter 6

The keys were in Will’s hands. Two of them hung on an old-fashioned leather fob, both for the front door, apparently. They’d just left the solicitor’s office in the main square in Alnwick town, and were heading back to Will’s car.

‘That’s it.’ He grinned. ‘I’m the proud owner of a beach hut.’

‘Or a “beach bungalow” as Mr Wright advised is the appropriate name,’ added Cath.

‘Beach bungalow 12A. I’ll have to take some photos for Mum and Dad to show them what it’s like now.’

‘Oh yes, and for the girls. I bet they can’t wait to see it, too.’

‘Ahm, I haven’t actually mentioned it to them, yet. Wanted to see what kind of condition it’s in, before I go getting them all excited about it.’ He seemed cautious in sharing this news with them, but perhaps he just wanted it to look the part before surprising them, and fair enough.

‘Yeah, perhaps that’s wise.’ The excitement about the location had perhaps meant she’d got her rose-tinted glasses on.

The drive from Alnwick to Low Newton-by-the-Sea was a journey of winding lanes, the occasional sharp bend, hawthorn hedges and stone walls, with the odd tight squeeze past a touring caravan or tractor. As they neared the sea, with glimpses of it shimmering a metallic blue-grey on the horizon, there was a sense of anticipation building.

‘Nearly there.’ Will glanced across at her momentarily, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

‘We are.’ Cath gave a hopeful smile.

‘I wonder what’s it like?’

‘We’ll soon find out.’

They travelled through the upper village, passing The Joiners Arms pub, on past the little corrugated steel church of St Mary’s, and were now coming up to the brow of the hill where Cath well knew the view that always took your breath away for a second. Looking out as the road dipped down the hill, ending at the original white-painted fishermen’s cottages, the view then stretched along the golden-sand bay which curved in and on in an arc to the far headland where the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle stood in rugged fingerlike peaks of majestic decay.

This trip really did feel momentous. Very different from coming here for a stroll, or a pint at the historical and quaint Ship Inn which nestled in the corner of the three-sided square of coastal cottages. Ooh, their new ‘local’ to be.

With the huts literally being built in the middle of the marram grass dunes, there were no parking spaces next to them, nor even a road or track to take you directly to them in a vehicle. Will had been advised by the solicitor to use a small private parking area down a narrow lane, that was behind the pub and before the dunes.