The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse: The perfect feelgood romance. Cressida McLaughlin
she replied quietly. ‘I gave it up because it didn’t work without Neve. I couldn’t do it. Not just because I missed her, although that was a part of it, but because she was the organized one. She did the planning, made everything run like clockwork, and I kept the clients happy. She said that I was the shiny exterior, putting everyone at ease, and she was the frenetic back office that nobody wanted to see.’
‘You were the serene swan and she was the swan’s legs pedalling frantically beneath the water.’
‘Exactly. I tried to keep it going after she died, but without her to execute her meticulous plans, things went wrong. Sooo wrong.’ Robin winced and tried to shrug away the memories. ‘And London is so well-connected. You can get anything online these days, but lots of the bespoke orders we were placing needed to be negotiated face to face. I’d be starting with too many handicaps if I tried again down here.’
‘All very fair and logical,’ Molly said, waving her glass at her friend. ‘No more Once in a Blue Moon Days, and no more Campion Bay Guesthouse.’
‘Let’s try and keep it positive, shall we?’ Robin elbowed her gently in the ribs. ‘Frame it as an opportunity, rather than the end of everything.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to do, if only you’d keep up. So,’ she spun to face Robin, who jumped and spilled prosecco all over her wrist, ‘you can’t help your parents with the guesthouse any more, because they won’t be here.’
‘Right,’ Robin said, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m still waiting for your positive spin?’
‘But you’ll be here, and so will the guesthouse.’
‘They’re closing it – it’s going downhill, not getting the bookings any more, making a loss. I see it every day. My tomato and parmesan bread is going uneaten, except by me, and that can’t go on for too much longer unless I take up triathlons.’ She sighed and sipped her drink. ‘And I don’t want to take up triathlons – sometimes getting out of bed is hard enough.’
‘Don’t get off topic, Robin. Listen. You see it every day,’ Molly repeated, raising her little finger. ‘And you ran a successful luxury experience company.’ She held up the ring finger. ‘And you have your head around modern marketing and social media; Instagram, Periscope, Twitter.’ Her middle finger came up, and she waggled them triumphantly.
Robin’s stomach did a tiny somersault, competing with the prosecco bubbles. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Three valid points, if you discount the total disaster Once in a Blue Moon Days became when I was on my own.’
‘So take it over.’
‘What?’ She chewed her cheeks frantically as her friend’s eyes got wider, the seed of the idea planted firmly inside both their minds.
‘Take it over – the guesthouse.’ Molly put her glass on the table and clapped her hands together, her blonde curls bouncing. ‘Do all the things you told your mum to do. Give the place an update, refurbish the rooms, launch the new and improved Campion Bay Guesthouse with a killer marketing campaign. They’re not asking you to move, so why not just take over from them and bring the place up to scratch at the same time?’
Robin shook her head, more out of disbelief than refusal. It was a huge decision to make, but instantly she saw the possibility. She’d grown up in the guesthouse; she’d helped out all the time, slinking past strangers on her journey to or from her attic bedroom. She’d seen guests arguing with each other on the stairs, returning home in the dead of night giggling and covered in sand, complaining to her dad that their porridge was more like wallpaper paste. She’d seen it at its most popular and, more recently, at its most bereft. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the table.
‘I see those fingers,’ Molly said. ‘You think it could work, don’t you? I know you could do it. Luxury experiences, but all under the same roof – not to sound like Toys R Us or anything, don’t use that tag line. But it would be …’ Molly stopped, swallowed, held Robin’s gaze.
‘Carrying on Neve’s baby,’ Robin finished. ‘Keeping the idea of Once in a Blue Moon Days alive, but here in Campion Bay.’
‘Her dream, and your parents’ dream. The guesthouse won’t close, yours and Neve’s brainchild won’t be forgotten, and you’ll be making a living, running your own business again.’
Robin stared at her hazy reflection in the window, surrounded by the pre-party scene, the ideas buzzing inside her mind like fireflies. It was obvious when she thought about it. Her parents couldn’t keep the guesthouse going – they didn’t have the will to do it any more – but she did. It wouldn’t be the same as the events company. The groundwork was in place, the booking software, the rules and routines her parents had lived by. She wouldn’t be creating unique experiences from scratch on her own, and so was less likely to cause any disasters. She realized her glass was empty and turned towards the table to find Molly already holding the bottle.
‘Now,’ Molly said, her pink lips smiling, ‘we really have something to celebrate. Let’s get another glass down us before Mrs Harris arrives. I’m not sure I can face her sober, especially knowing that you’re going to crucify her in the local guesthouse scene.’
Robin laughed. ‘I am not going to crucify her, Molly. That’s not fair. But’ – and now she couldn’t help grinning as the idea, out in the real world for a few more minutes, began to take hold – ‘there’s nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition, is there?’
‘The Seaview Hotel won’t know what’s hit it,’ Molly said, draining her second glass. ‘Not now Robin Brennan and her quiet determination are in the game.’
‘In what game?’ Robin’s dad asked, bustling genially into the room with a box of party poppers under his arm.
Robin exchanged a glance with Molly. ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, deciding that pre-party was not the best time to spring this on her parents. She’d wait until the dust and the streamers had settled, and she’d had at least one night to sleep on the idea. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a great party, Dad.’
‘And all the better for having you here to celebrate with us,’ he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. ‘Especially now, with all that’s behind us, and ahead of us.’
‘Hey,’ Molly said, ‘don’t start that. It’s too early in the evening for deep and meaningfuls.’
Robin saluted her friend. For the first time in what felt like ages, and – as her dad had said – despite all that was behind her, she could see a glimmer of hope in what was to come. The idea had been planted, and Robin could tell that it was already beginning to grow in the background, working quietly away in her subconscious. By the time midnight struck and the New Year had dawned, the seed might even have generated a few solid roots.
Robin watched the party guests from her prime position on the top step of the guesthouse. She could feel the warmth of the hallway at her back, seeping out through the half-open door to meet the cold night air, and the solid heat of Molly sitting next to her on the step, wearing Robin’s navy wool coat. She could see the backs of her parents, of Mrs Harris, of Ashley and Roxy from the Campion Bay Teashop, and the couples who had chosen their small corner of the south coast to celebrate the New Year. And then, as the bongs of Big Ben reached her from the radio in the kitchen, Robin watched the night sky light up with the first golden fireworks. She could just make out the boat they were being launched from, the smoke drifting through the air in the split seconds between one burst and the next. The pops and bangs were like a starting rifle in her mind. On Your Marks, Robin.
‘Happy New Year,’ Molly said, slurring slightly, holding her champagne flute up to the sky, the strobes and chrysanthemums and brocade bursts reflecting in the glass.
‘Happy New Year, Molly.’ Robin clinked her glass against her friend’s.
‘I’m envious,’ Molly said. ‘You’ve already got your resolution. I’m still