She yawned. She was weary after the motorbike ride down from Bristol. It had been a long day and was now almost midnight. She really needed her bed. She’d wheeled her bike into the front garden – which was nothing more than a small, tiled patio – and parked it against the wall, taking off the top box containing her necessary clothes and possessions and leaving it in the hallway until morning. Hattie toyed with the idea of wheeling her bike into the more secure back yard but it seemed too much effort.
She’d packed the rest of her belongings and left them with her best friend Mali, who’d promised to bring them with her when she drove down next week, with her six-year-old daughter Lou, for the end of May half-term holiday. Mali was a teacher, and luckily her holidays coincided with her daughter’s so they could get away together. Hattie had planned to travel down next week too. She, Mali and Lou had been going to spend a few days at the cottage, tidying it up a bit, but then Hattie had been made redundant and homeless within a couple of days, so had decided to come down earlier.
She finished her water, picked up her toiletry bag, flicked off the light and headed off for the stairs at the end of the hall. She’d forgotten how narrow and steep the staircase was, and held tightly to the wooden rail as she climbed up, the dim bulb above not helping much to light the way. How had Uncle Albert managed? He was twenty years older than her dad, which was one of the reasons they hadn’t been particularly close. Uncle Albert’s dad had died when he was a young boy, and his mother had remarried again years later then Owen, Hattie’s father, had been born, so Uncle Albert was actually his half-brother.
After stopping off at the dated bathroom to go to the loo and clean her teeth, Hattie continued up the other flight of equally steep stairs to the attic bedroom where she and her parents had always used to sleep – it didn’t feel right to sleep in what had been Uncle Albert’s bedroom. She pushed open the creaky door and groaned in dismay when she saw that both the double bed, and the single bed by the window that used to be hers, had only a mattress on them. Of course they wouldn’t be made up! She cursed her impetuousness in coming down tonight. Why hadn’t she waited until the morning when it would be light? She could have stayed with Mali.
There hadn’t seemed much point in waiting, though. There was nothing left for her in Bristol. Once the keys had been handed over to her landlord, who had decided he was going to let his recently separated daughter live in the flat that had been Hattie’s home for the last three years, she had set off. Originally, Hattie had intended to sit out her month’s notice and look for another flat, but when she lost her job, too, she decided that getting away from it all and going to Cornwall while she sorted out her life was the best thing to do. The flat had been furnished, so she hadn’t had much stuff to pack up, and Mali had been happy to take the few boxes of items Hattie couldn’t fit on her bike and then bring them down to her. The landlord had been so grateful – his daughter and baby were temporarily staying with him and his wife – he’d returned her deposit immediately and let her off with that month’s rent. So, here she was. Jobless, homeless – well, once Uncle Albert’s cottage was sold – and boyfriend-less, since her lying, no good ex, Adam, had cheated on her a few months ago and she’d told him where to go.
It can only get better, she thought, determined to remain positive. Now, where did Uncle Albert keep the bedding? She was so tired, she felt as though she could fall asleep on the spot. She glanced around, then spotted the huge dark-wood wardrobe across the far wall. She vaguely remembered her mother getting bedclothes from there. She walked over to check inside, but the doors wouldn’t budge. There was no sign of a lock, so she tugged hard. Still they wouldn’t budge. She held the handle with both hands and tugged again. The door sprang open with such force she fell back onto the wooden floor. Ouch! Scrambling back up and rubbing her tender – and probably bruised – bum, she checked out the wardrobe, and to her relief, folded on the bottom, was some bedding. Thank goodness! She pulled a clean pillowcase onto the feather pillow, threw a sheet over the bed, and a bedspread over that – nothing as modern as a duvet for Uncle Albert! – then pulled off her motorbike leathers, draping them over a chair, and got into bed naked: she hated wearing pyjamas, they always seemed to tangle around her in the night. She was so exhausted, her eyes closed as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Chapter Two
Sunlight streaming through her window woke Hattie up the next morning. And it sounded as though the seagulls were having a party on the roof.
