The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea. Jennifer Joyce
seafront, right in the heart of their seaside town, they’d jumped at the chance. From the outside, the house was beautifully grand with a dove-grey rendering and rows of tall windows either side of a porched front door. Yes, the rendering was starting to crumble, the windows needed a restorative touch and the front door looked as though it would fall off its hinges in a gentle breeze, but the asking price had been an unbelievable bargain and Willow was used to making neglected things shine again.
The inside of the house had been much worse, with rotting floorboards in every room, warped doorframes and damp throughout, but still Willow and Ethan had been undeterred. They’d gutted the house and started again with a clean slate. This way, at least, they could put their own stamp on the place and make it their own.
‘What is it?’ Willow asked now as she returned her builder’s call, the jam-jar lids still abandoned on the counter. ‘What’s happened?’
Willow was thinking the worst: a burst pipe flooding the house, or the foot of one of the builders coming through a newly plastered ceiling, or, most heartbreaking of all, the bathroom tiles she’d sourced online from a reclamation yard being dropped from the van and shattering on the pavement.
Willow’s worst wasn’t even close.
‘There’s a problem with the foundations. I think you’d better come down here.’
‘I can’t,’ Willow said. ‘I’m in the shop on my own today so there’s nobody to cover for me.’
‘What about Ethan? Can he get over here?’
Willow scratched at a small, still-wet blob of pastel-pink paint that had splashed onto the counter. ‘He’s gone away for a few days. Working. I’m not sure for how long.’ She wiped the paint from her thumb nail onto her apron. ‘Can’t it wait until this evening?’
‘Willow…’ The builder’s tone was firm. ‘You need to come down here. We can’t carry on with the refurb until this is sorted.’
Willow straightened, the fingers on her free hand moving to rest on her chin. ‘What exactly is the problem with the foundations?’
‘We’re not entirely sure yet. It needs investigating properly. But what I can tell you is that the whole structure of the house is unsafe.’
Willow’s eyes widened and she had to put a hand down on the counter to steady herself. ‘It’s that serious?’
‘It’s that serious.’
Willow snapped her diary shut and shoved it roughly into the nearest drawer. ‘I’m on my way.’
This was bad. Very bad. Willow and Ethan had sunk their savings into this house, had taken out a massive mortgage and loans for the refurbishment. If this went wrong, they’d be up to their eyeballs in debt. And worse – they’d be homeless. Although the house was nowhere near finished, Willow and Ethan had already moved in, living among the rubble as best as they could. Living onsite while the work was being carried out wasn’t ideal, but at least the money that would normally pay their rent could be redistributed towards the refurb. But there was no backup plan. If the house was unsafe, where would they live?
Her quarrel with Ethan the previous evening filtered into her head.
Maybe we shouldn’t have bought this house. We should have thought about it more. Thought about us, our future.
But that’s what we were doing. This house is part of our future.
Is it? At the moment, we don’t even know what’s in the future for us.
Willow pushed the memory away and scuttled out from behind the counter, throwing her apron in the general area of a chair and grabbing her keys from the pocket of her dungarees as she barrelled towards the door. The house was only a ten-minute walk away, so Willow usually walked to and from the shop, leaving her van parked on the side street next to the shop, but she jumped inside now, slamming the door shut, tugging on her seatbelt and starting the engine in quick succession. The van rumbled into life and she pulled out of the side street and headed down towards the seafront, her heart hammering above the hum of the engine. Within minutes, she was pulling up outside the house. You couldn’t miss it, trussed up with scaffolding as it was, but Willow was glad it was still standing upright. Part of her was expecting to see the house in a heap, bricks tumbling out of the garden and towards the promenade, her hopes and dreams of her future with Ethan buried beneath the rubble.
‘I’m here!’ she called as she sprinted across the garden. The front door was open and she found the builders milling around the foyer, sipping cups of tea and working their way through a packet of custard creams. ‘What’s going on? I need to know everything.’
‘Everything’ turned out to be devastating. Willow didn’t understand a lot of what the builder was telling her, but the gist of it wasn’t promising. The foundations were no longer secure and the house might need underpinning. Willow wasn’t entirely sure what underpinning a house involved, but the builder warned her it could take several weeks to do, eating severely into their budget and extending their timeframe.
‘I’d strongly advise you to find somewhere else to live until we’ve made the foundations safe again,’ he told Willow. ‘I wouldn’t stay and, if you were my daughter…’ He shook his head. ‘There’s no way I’d let you either.’
The problem was, Willow didn’t have anywhere else to stay in the meantime. They’d already given up their rented cottage when they’d moved into the new house, and both sets of parents lived over fifty miles away, which was impractical both for getting to and from work and overseeing the refurb.
But it would be okay. They would work something out. At least that’s what Willow told herself as she walked away from the house and climbed back into her van. She sat in the immobile vehicle for a few minutes, staring out of the open window at the pier and the sea beyond, listening to the cacophony of seagulls, holidaymakers and crashing waves she’d been drawn to. Pulling out her phone, she dialled Ethan’s number but it went straight to voicemail, as she suspected it would.
‘What are you going to do?’ Liam asked, wandering towards the van. Her builder’s face was creased with concern, and Willow was pretty sure it mirrored her own.
‘I don’t know.’ Willow shrugged and started the engine. ‘But I’ll figure something out.’
She had to. With Ethan’s absence even more noticeable now, it was down to Willow to sort this mess out. It wasn’t in her nature to crumble, no matter how tempting it was, and she wasn’t about to let herself – and Ethan – down now. She set off in the van, eyes peeled for the nearest B&B. She knew there were several in the seaside town and she managed to locate one easily, further along the seafront. She parked the van, jumping out and rushing along the pavement when she saw a woman and her child leaving the property. She didn’t know whether the woman was the proprietor of the B&B or a guest, but she didn’t have time to pop inside first. If this woman was in charge, she couldn’t miss her.
‘Excuse me…’ Willow was breathless from her dashes that morning. ‘Is this your B&B?’
The woman was in her late twenties but looked as though she’d been plucked from the wrong decade. She wore a red-and-white polka-dot dress, cinched in at the waist, with matching heeled, peep-toe slingbacks, and her dark hair was pinned back in victory rolls. The style suited her, though, and Willow suddenly felt frumpy in her striped T-shirt and dungarees.
The woman slipped the quirky red, heart-shaped sunglasses from her eyes. ‘It is, but I’m afraid we’re fully booked for the next few weeks if you’re looking for a room.’
Willow’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh.’ Maybe finding alternative accommodation at a B&B wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d thought. ‘It’s just I’m refurbishing a house up the road.’ Willow pointed further up the seafront towards the pier. ‘But there’s a problem with the foundations and it isn’t safe to stay there.’
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