Page 7 of The Summer That Changed Us

I hope this letter finds you well. I’m so sorry to intrude so soon in your new home, but there has been a new development in respect of Myles’s estate. I’ve received a letter from a solicitor acting for Austin and Olivia Byron informing me that they intend to contest their father’s will on the basis that they feel that their share should be equal to yours. I had hoped that my most recent meeting with them had put a stop to this course of action as they have no grounds on which to contest. However, please can you let me know at your earliest convenience whether you wish to …

Contesting the will? Her body tensed as she read the whole thing through twice, her sense of dread deepening with every sentence. She could hardly believe what she was reading. How could Myles’s own children do this to her, and why? They had each already been awarded twenty-five per cent of his estate each, Grace to receive the remaining fifty per cent. He’d been a wealthy man; both Olivia and Austin would be set up for life before they’d even turned thirty. But now, it seemed, they weren’t content with that.

Roger needed her to make a decision: either she had to settle out of court and pay them an amount they were satisfied with, or they would seek to have the will overruled.

‘Shit,’ she murmured under her breath. She could cry, she really could. She put the letter down and shook her head. Myles would have been appalled with them.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. She was tired after that long drive from Birmingham, but more than that, she was exhausted after months of coping with a world that no longer had Myles in it. She decided to postpone unpacking for now; a shower and a strong cup of coffee might help. Positive action was always a good plan.

Come on Gracie, chin up, you’ve got this, girl.

Chapter Three

Robyn woke to the sound of Finn in the kitchen. His customary half hum, half whistle carried up the steep stairs of their cottage along with the crash of pans, slamming of cupboard doors and the slosh of something being whisked vigorously. Her stomach fluttered with love for her husband. He loved cooking, always able to produce a feast no matter how slim the fridge’s pickings. He’d only been off work for a couple of days and already she’d got used to being spoiled with three proper meals a day. As of next week, she’d be back to toast for breakfast and lunch.

The blind was partially open, and through the salt-spattered glass the sun dazzled in the sky. It was a beaut of a day. She sat up and strained to listen for the waves crashing against the harbour wall just a few metres away. The sea must be calm; all she could hear was the tinkling of masts and seagulls mewing in the distance. The winds could be brutal in winter this close to the sea but as soon as the weather was mild enough, she and Finn slept with the windows open. Falling asleep each night to a lullaby of waves and the scent of the fresh briny air was heavenly.

I am lucky, she told herself.

Sometimes, sitting in her attic studio looking out of the window at the sea, or on her way home when the chunky limewash walls and dark blue (Duchess blue; she’d googled it) windows of Admiral Cottage came into sight, she had to pinch herself. This perfect place was her home. Sometimes it felt too good to be true.

She was startled out of her daydream by a couple of seagulls landing on the roof, claws clattering on the tiles above the bedroom, even noisier than Finn. Finn wasn’t a fan of gulls, they were a menace to fishermen, and they made a right mess of the small courtyard at the back of the cottage, but Robyn liked their jerky walk and the comical way they bickered amongst themselves and the sly tactics they used to steal food from unsuspecting passers-by.

A thought took her by surprise: maybe she could draw one? A jolly one with long legs and a plump body? She swallowed hard; for the first time in … gosh, she couldn’t even remember, she reached for her notebook from inside the drawer beside her bed. She drew with urgency, her heart racing, determined not to think too deeply about it in case she gave self-doubt a chance to interfere. With a few strokes a cheeky-looking seagull appeared. Robyn studied it, pleased with herself. It would make a good character for a children’s book, or even a design for a mug. She felt a stirring inside her, a surge of creativity, and gave herself a moment to savour it; how long had she waited for that to come back?

Right. It was a sign. Today was the day. No more procrastinating, no more perhaps I should leave it another few days. The sun was out, the light in her little studio would be perfect and look at her go, not even out of bed and she’d drawn something. How amazing was that? Yes, Robyn McGill, she told herself briskly, today you’re going to be the woman you want to be: positive, proactive and perky.

Perhaps perky wasn’t the best choice. Anyway, moving on.

She rolled her shoulders back, testing her chest muscles for tightness; only the tiniest of twinges, nothing to moan about. OK. First job: her daily gratitudes. Her counsellor had suggested doing this. Counselling hadn’t lasted long. Robyn wasn’t a great one for talking about her feelings, so she’d attended the absolute minimum number of compulsory sessions. And as for going to group sessions, she’d completely vetoed that. The last thing she wanted to do was sit around talking about the thing which united them all. She didn’t like even thinking about that, let alone talking. But gratitudes she could just about tolerate. Preferably it should be written somewhere, but Robyn still felt like a plonker doing it and if Finn were to come across it, she’d be mortified, so she did it in her head instead.

Number one. Her new niece, Elizabeth Alice McGill. Third child to Finn’s brother Callum and his wife Claudia. Robyn smoothed the duvet over her stomach with both hands, remembering how Claudia had lamented her wobbly bits yesterday and told her how lucky she was to have a body unravaged by childbirth. Robyn had counted to ten, wishing that Claudia would, just for once, engage her brain before opening her mouth. Anyway. Elizabeth, or Betty as she was going to be known, was a blessing. Tiny, dark-haired and already ruling the roost in her big noisy household, and because she’d arrived unexpectedly early, delivered by the post lady, no less, her daddy, Callum, was having some time off, which meant that Uncle Finn was doing the same because the two McGill brothers worked together in the family fishing business.

Number two: her boss, Morgan. Technically Robyn was self-employed, but all of her regular work was commissioned by Our Eco Life magazine, and so Morgan was as close to a boss as she had. Robyn had met lots of people since her surgery and heard all sorts of tales about unsympathetic employers. Morgan was an angel by comparison, allowing her the flexibility to work as much or as little as she wanted. And for the last year it had been very little.

Last but not least Finn, the love of her life, by her side every step of the journey which she was still on. She was very grateful to have a husband who cherished her and treated her as if she were made of porcelain. Although – she bit her lip, feeling disloyal – if she was really honest, sometimes she wished he’d come up behind her, wrap his arms around her, his body crushed against hers and breathe hotly into her neck, whispering how much he wanted her … Robyn frowned; somehow, she’d managed to drift off the theme of gratitude.

The eight o’clock alarm on her phone interrupted her stream of thought and she turned it off. There was just one more thing she wanted to do before getting up.

She slipped her hands underneath her pyjama top and laid them on her stomach. Despite what Claudia thought, the flesh beneath her fingers was pillowy and soft. Her hands drifted sideways to her hip bones; she’d never be classed as curvy, but she was no longer straight up and down thanks to a combination of losing her muscle tone from inactivity and the impact of medication which she’d been warned would result in weight gain. The last two years had given her wrinkles, her first grey hairs and a new nervous habit of nibbling the skin at the side of her thumbnails, but at least she didn’t have the torso of a greyhound anymore – every cloud and all that.

OK, deep breath, Robyn. She placed her hands over her breasts. Inhale, exhale. She forced herself to register the sensation of the firmness beneath her fingers, the smooth shape of them.

Hello ladies. Thanks for being here. You still feel weird, but give me time, I’ll get there. I know I did the right thing, but I miss the old ones …

‘Good morning, gorgeous girl,’ came a voice from the doorway.

‘Finn!’ Robyn pulled her hands from under her top and sat up quickly. ‘Jesus! You made me jump.’

‘Whoops!’ He bit his lip sheepishly and she felt bad about her sharp tone. She watched him walk around the bed and felt a throb of desire for him. He was kind and patient, honest and hard-working, beautiful inside and out. She’d fallen in love with his quirky features the minute she’d set eyes on him: angular jaw, lopsided smile, a nose which looked like it belonged to a boxer, not a fisherman, and one grey and one green eye, which to Robyn looked like the sea on a stormy day.

To her relief it looked as if he hadn’t seen what she’d been doing under her pyjamas; not that she was ashamed, but she there were only so many conversations about ‘it’ that she could manage in a day and if they started this early she’d reach her limit before lunchtime.

‘One milky tea, just as you like it.’ He put a mug on her bedside cabinet and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

‘Thank you.’ She held her arms out to him and he leaned closer, kissing her neck, her cheek, her mouth. He was infinitely tender but today she didn’t want tender; she tightened her grip around his neck, pressing her body against his.

‘Now, breakfast,’ he murmured, pulling away gently. ‘How do pancakes sound? Made with maximum taste and minimum cost.’