The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse: The perfect feelgood romance. Cressida McLaughlin
doing great,’ Molly said, clinking her glass against Robin’s, ‘even if your nails are appalling. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’
‘It wouldn’t have been worth it while I was decorating.’
‘But now? That side’s all done with, isn’t it? And if you’ve got other things on the horizon …’ Molly let the sentence trail off and gave Robin a firm look.
It was after eight and they were sitting on the navy sofas in Sea Shanty. The sea was a dark mass with a hint of late-sunset glow, mostly hidden behind the reflection of their interior, the fairy lights that Robin had strung up like constellations on the glass.
Guests were able to use the room when Robin was at home. She had a small living room at the back of the private area of the house, behind her bedroom, but it wasn’t anywhere near as cosy as Sea Shanty, and she wanted her guests to feel comfortable in the house, rather than hide away and leave the downstairs feeling deserted.
‘Other things?’ Robin asked lightly.
‘Don’t think I didn’t notice the chemistry between you and Tim yesterday. I know you were apprehensive about seeing him, but it didn’t look like you were having a totally horrible time. If I lit my cigarette between the two of you …’
‘You don’t smoke.’
‘Just don’t wear hairspray around him.’
‘I’m not going to go back there.’ Robin tried to look out of the window, but was faced with a faded, blurred version of herself. ‘It would be the least sensible decision ever, even if I wanted to – which I don’t.’
‘Not even a little bit?’ Molly asked, holding up finger and thumb close together.
Robin knew her friend was testing her. ‘I can’t forget what he did to me. I know I was in London by then and you didn’t get the full force of the fallout, but you know how much it hurt. You’ve been through it yourself – and you had a baby on the way when Simon left you.’
‘It just proves that teenage guys are unfaithful bastards, and we should never commit to anything until the men involved are at least thirty.’
Robin laughed. ‘The sad thing is, I don’t know if that would help in Tim’s case. He’s so similar to how I remember him. I think anything I am feeling towards him—’
‘Lust, you mean?’
Robin gave her friend her best scowl. ‘It’s just nostalgia. I loved Tim with that wide-eyed, first-love enthusiasm. And he’s still so confident about everything, reminding me of our relationship – the good parts – without any hint of embarrassment or regret. It’s a bit overwhelming.’
‘You’ll get past it. It’s strange seeing him again, I get that, but when you’ve bumped into him a couple more times you won’t feel a thing. He’ll go back to being ex-boyfriend, love rat, arrogant try-hard.’ Molly finished her wine and refilled their glasses.
Robin sighed. ‘I hope so. Tim is in the past. We may manage to be friends in future, but revisiting what we had would be a bad idea.’ She shook her head vigorously, trying not to think about the way he had placed his hand over hers in the coffee shop.
‘So we turn our attention to the rich male pickings of Campion Bay?’ Molly held her glass up.
‘You’re being ironic, right?’ Robin grinned, happy to stop talking about her ex-boyfriend. ‘Or did Campion Bay become a hotbed of male loveliness while I was away?’
‘Oh, you just wait, Robin Brennan. Though,’ Molly added, ‘you might be waiting a long time. I’m going to get another bottle of wine.’
‘No,’ Robin said as Molly stood up, ‘I’ve got to cook breakfast for seven guests in the morning. I can’t be hungover.’
‘You’ll cook a better fry-up with a hangover than without one, because you’ll be more invested in it. It’s the perfect cure. Besides, Paige will be there to help if you need a break.’
‘Molly,’ Robin said, a warning in her voice as her friend, shoes discarded next to the sofa, danced lightly to the door.
‘What? We don’t have to drink the whole bottle, do we?’
‘You’re a bad influence on me.’
Molly waved her away with a hand and disappeared into the hall. Robin sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes, grateful that Molly was there to talk things over with, to make her laugh, and to make light of the worries that she was storing up inside.
A loud bang from outside startled her eyes open, and she sprung up and turned the lamp off in a single movement, pressing her face to the glass. A blue car pulled up between Robin’s Fiat 500 and the Barkers’ Land Rover. Robin squinted. It was an Alfa Romeo; it looked old and rather battered, and not just because of the exhaust fumes puffing out into the night-time air. She watched as the driver’s door opened and a man unfolded himself, then stood and peered up at the house fronts. He was tall and broad-shouldered and probably around her age, though Robin couldn’t see his features clearly. He walked round to open the passenger door and a small curly-haired, caramel-coloured dog hopped on to the pavement. The man wrapped the lead around his wrist, pulled a holdall out of the boot and then, to Robin’s astonishment, walked up the stairs of Tabitha’s house.
Robin’s nose was completely squashed against the glass as she tried to keep her eyes on him, but the angle was too acute and he disappeared from view as soon as he’d reached the top step. She saw the dog’s tail for a few more seconds, and then they were both gone.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Molly asked, returning with a fresh bottle of wine, a lurid pink rosé that had been on offer in the supermarket but Robin hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to open.
Robin rubbed her nose, listened for the sound of Tabitha’s front door closing, and then flopped on to the sofa. ‘Someone just went inside next door. Someone who arrived in a battered old Alfa.’
‘Who?’ Molly asked, sounding as shocked as Robin felt. ‘Squatters? More property developers?’
‘It’s after nine,’ Robin shook her head. ‘He had a holdall and a fluffy dog and … and I don’t know what else. But he’s gone inside, or at least he disappeared up the stairs and I heard the door close.’
Molly made a ‘come on’ motion with her hand and Robin finished her wine, then allowed her friend to refill her glass. ‘Borrow some sugar.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s go round and ask to borrow some sugar.’
‘No. No way.’
‘Why not? I bet Mrs Harris would.’
‘Don’t lump me in with her,’ Robin warned. ‘How would it look? Someone goes into a house that’s been empty for a year, and then someone else who lives in an open, functioning guesthouse asks the new person for a cup of sugar. It’s completely back to front. I may as well scrawl nosy neighbour on my forehead.’
‘So go and say hello. Introduce yourself.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re next door.’
‘You’re on the other side,’ Robin protested. ‘You’re a neighbour too.’
‘But I’m not at home right now.’ Molly clutched her wine to her chest and pulled her legs up on to the sofa.
Robin sighed. ‘I am not going to go and knock on the door. Not until at least tomorrow, otherwise he’ll know I noticed him arriving.’
Molly whooped and let out a loud peal of laughter. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’
‘Shush. Now, how’s this wine? Is it as toxic as it looks?’
It