What? What did come next? Most of her friends had moved on now, to other parts of England, to sun-kissed terraces in Marbella, or Benidorm, or Italy. Some were donning Mickey Mouse ears and TENA Lady to attempt the big thrill rides of Florida with their children, and grandchildren. Some were gone too soon, and that made her think of Charlie again. She’d bared her soul to him that afternoon, even more than usual, and the guilt had lain heavy ever since. She hoped that when she saw him next, he would be as understanding as she thought he was in her own head. She’d washed the man’s pants for over forty years. She knew the beat of his heart as well as her own, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that a man, even a dead one, couldn’t still throw a mood swing or two.
Her feet kept moving, one in front of the other, till she reached the main street. The shops were all closed up, shutters down, a few muted display lights lighting up the different wares. Fat Willy’s Surf Shack, a family-run bakery, a charity shop showcasing clothes worn once and discarded like holey socks, and the art gallery. The walls of the gallery were all glass, giving it a goldfish bowl look compared to the rest of the shops with their neat, bare windows. It looked like it belonged there though, the floor of the shop display covered with sand, shells, and props sticking out as a kind of real-life beach backdrop to the art. In the main window, one white easel stood, with a plain white canvas sitting on top of it. It read:
Coming soon
Local artists welcome to submit
She used to sell her work here, before the owner moved on to the next challenge, and the shop stood empty. Another business she loved left to dwindle and die before her eyes. Another piece of her past altered, destroyed, and removed. She pressed her face to the window, but couldn’t see anything else. The space had been cleaned out till it was a blank canvas, ready for the new owner to make their mark. She’d have to come back when it was open, but she didn’t know when that would be. Her nerves were shot already.
She huffed to herself, pulling her thin jacket around her that bit tighter and stamping her feet on the pavement. From annoyance as well as to get the blood flowing back through her half-frozen toes.
‘Hello, can I help?’ a voice said at her side. A voice that she knew. One that she thought she’d never hear again. She wanted so much to turn, to look, but she found herself turning away instead, back up the street, towards home. Away from the gallery and the ghosts.
‘No thank you,’ she said in as posh a voice as she could muster and she kept walking, as fast as she could without breaking into a petrified bolt. ‘Tourist,’ she threw at them by way of explanation. She didn’t draw breath till she reached the taxi rank on the corner.
‘Taxi please, Shady Pines.’ She fell into one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area, suddenly exhausted and depleted. ‘Please hurry, if you can.’
It felt like forever before the man behind the glass motioned that the taxi had pulled up outside. She smiled weakly at him, gathering her things around her and heading back out into the night. Just outside, a car’s headlights framed a shadow set back against the buildings on the corner. Martha kept her head down, not wanting any light to show her face. She practically threw herself into the back seat, hunkering down. She ignored the twinge in her knees as she bent herself double to stay out of sight. The startled driver looked at her, shrugged and started to drive.
Martha hugged herself tight, trying to stop the shakes that were rippling through her body. She was already denying to herself what had just happened. She’d felt sure when the voice spoke that she knew just who it was, but what were the chances? Playing it back in her head, she wasn’t so sure now. Unlikely, wasn’t it? It was just her, making things up in her head. It was stress, she was sure of it. All the upheaval at the chalet park, and now the gallery having a new owner, new possibilities. She should just get over herself, she knew, but the more things changed, the harder it was to ignore the fear.
Since Charlie passed, and she’d sold up and moved to Shady Pines, she’d felt a little lost. Blocked. She wasn’t even able to paint anymore. Not like she used to. Her gift was diminishing, and she felt the loss acutely. She had just started to sketch again, but now what? After this, would that be shed from her psyche too? She felt wretched. More than a little nostalgic too.
‘Love, you all right?’ The taxi driver brought her back to the present. She nodded slowly, offering him a weak smile to reassure the pair of worried eyes in the rear-view mirror.
‘I’m fine thanks, it’s been a little bit of a day,’ she said honestly. He nodded, turning the radio up just a touch and focusing back on the street-lamp-lit road.
‘Tell me about it. Soon be feet-up
