Bat safety stashed away in its hiding place, Martha carried a cup of Irish’d-up tea and her toast plate through to the second bedroom in the chalet, the one she used as her work room. After the morning she’d had, she felt rather out of sorts, unsure about her future and what the hell she was going to do with the new owner. Truth was, she could have probably bought the place herself, but who’d want to take that on? This April woman had obviously read too many ‘I changed my life forever’ pieces in the women’s magazines and lost her marbles. It was probably a midlife crisis, given her worried and rather sweaty demeanour.
Some people had more bloody money than sense. She should have just bought herself a potter’s wheel and saved herself a boatload of stress and expense. Martha had rather hoped someone with a bit of get up and go would have taken it on, seen the history and simplicity of the place for what it was. What it meant then, and now. If a place could talk … She would love to be able to have that conversation. Either way, the park wouldn’t do well under Miss Statham.
Her car was barely in one piece, let alone her! What would they do now, with her at the helm? Martha couldn’t bear it if the park got worse. The season was opening soon, and things were looking grim. For the first time in her life, she was glad her parents had passed on. That they didn’t have to bear witness to the park’s shabby state, as she did. It would have broken their hearts, given that their summers and family time were intrinsically linked to this patch of beautiful Cornish coastline. Lizard Point was home to them. It was family, and love, and enjoying the holidays that they had saved so hard all year for.
Chapter 4
April stretched her arms wide, sleep slowly leaving her body as her brain whirred and clicked back into life. She smiled to herself as she felt the sun on her face, heard the birds singing to each other in the trees. Bliss, she thought to herself, turning over to feel …
Bang. She hit the deck, having rolled off the sofa in the sitting room of her chalet. The WORST chalet out of them all, bar none. Tim’s old bachelor pad. She’d only spoken to Tim on the phone, but if she had the previous manager in front of her right now, she’d have more than a few choice words to share with him. It looked like a cross between a meth lab and the bottom of a budgie birdcage. It was rank, and when she had opened the bedroom door late the night before, exhausted after a long and frantic first day, she had gagged and promptly closed it again. If she’d had the energy, she would have boarded the door up for good, or petrol-bombed the lot.
She’d brought all her bags and boxes in from the car, and they all sat around her now. She’d have slept in one of the other chalet, had she not felt the need to protect her meagre life possessions. Standing up in the Jungle Book themed short shorts and tank top she had managed to grab out of one of the suitcases last night, she flicked on the kettle, washing up one of the two mugs from yesterday. Cillian had been true to his word, helping her sort the reception hut out and cleaning it up as best they could. He’d been quiet but chirpier than earlier, and she had been grateful for the help, as awkward as it was.
The whole place looked unloved, but April could see the potential deep down, just as she did when she’d read that listing online. It was such a beautiful spot, perfect for family holidays, and her new life. She’d dreamed of living by the coast since she was a girl, and now here she was, where she had first felt safe as a child. Fair enough, she was single, hormonal, flat broke, hiding from all her friends and family, and currently living on a couch, but still. Chin hairs and stocky hips aside, she was the new owner of the Shady Pines, and she was going to make it work or bloody well die trying.
Which was all good talk: I am woman hear me roar! The problem was, before she could actually put her war paint on and get to work on her dream new life, she had to deal with her old one. Which meant turning her phone back on and dealing with the fallout of her moonlight flit. At thirty-five, she knew that she should be feeling rather more adult than she was currently feeling, but that was half the point of her leaving in the first place. People seemed to think her lack of fertility and loss of husband meant that she was a barren, useless husk that would be found crying and sweating in a muumuu in IKEA because she had no significant other to lug the stuff home and put it together. Her friends were all treating her differently.
Angela, one of her old work colleagues, had unfriended her on social media before sharing her baby news, then re-added her once the hubbub had died down. Did she think April was too stupid to scroll down? Did she not realise that her pregnant bump and resulting tiny human would give it away? In all honesty, being ignored or pandered to when she didn’t need or want it just made her feel like a failure, a child even. It made her awkward around children.
The last time she was accosted in a coffee shop back home
