Follow a Star (18 page)

The woman took an e-reader out of her bag and made herself comfortable while May watched the mesmeric pattern of the waves and let her mind wander as she ate her sandwich. The peace of their cosy nook lasted all of five minutes.

‘I’ll grab us a seat!’ one of the mummy army yelled, knocking the back of May’s new companion’s seat causing her coffee to slop into the saucer, as the neighbouring pair of sofas was rearranged to make way for all the buggies.

‘Oh my god,’ the woman opposite May moaned. ‘It’s like being parachuted into a postnatal class. I must have read the same passage three times now.’

With the noise levels increasing, May glanced over the woman’s shoulder hoping to shame the interlopers into better manners only to be greeted by a nipple blaring at her from across the table whilst one of the babies, who’d got himself into a real temper and was now looking red as well as snotty, calmed down sufficiently to recognise a silencer when he saw it. As the roars of rage turned into slurping and sighing, May hoped that would be the end of it.

‘He’s a little piglet, isn’t he?’ Mummy One observed affectionately, looking down at him.

‘Oh, tell me!’ Mummy Two said with a sigh. ‘He doesn’t know when to stop! He will keep going until he’s absolutely stuffed and then, whoosh, it all comes back again, right across the room sometimes!’

Lovely, thought May, wishing she’d chosen one of the chichi cafés after all.

‘It’s that first feed in the morning,’ laughed Mummy Three, beside her. ‘You know, when your breasts are so full, you just think “give me a baby to feed, any baby!”’

‘Oh yes!’ Mummy Two agreed. ‘That’s when you feel like a human fountain. Milk spurting in all directions! I managed to squirt Ben
and
the baby in the eye yesterday morning.’

In the ensuing hilarity, the woman opposite May lifted her coffee out of range and took a wary sip, as if trying not to imagine any strange taste to it. ‘Too much information,’ she mouthed at May, who nodded in agreement. They pulled faces at each other and giggled, determined to enjoy their expensive cappuccinos despite everyone else’s best efforts to spoil it. Lifting her cup, May returned her gaze to the sea and blocked everything out except for Thelonious Monk’s jazz piano drifting from the speakers. She was about to take a sip when she was hit by a sulphurous wave of full nappy, like rotten eggs scrambled in the Devil’s kitchen, and almost gagged.

The dark-haired woman opposite turned a pale green. Dropping her cup, and shoving her e-reader into her handbag, she stood up and nearly tripped over a buggy laden with shopping bags, which tipped over backwards, crashing into the next table and sending a tray of cups and saucers flying. In a chorus of cries and tutting as she staggered for the door, Mummy One’s voice was shrill above the noise. ‘Well thank goodness Alfie wasn’t still sitting in it! Some people are so rude!’

Noticing the woman had left her scarf behind, May decided she too had had enough and hurried outside to find her. Luckily she hadn’t gone very far, but was outside on a decked area, leaning on a rail overlooking the sea and taking great gulps of air.

‘Are you okay?’ May asked, noting the woman was still very pale and clammy.

‘That eggy poo nappy nearly pushed me over the edge,’ the woman moaned softly. ‘I’ve a nasty feeling that one’s going to remain in my nasal memory for far too long. What with that and the wash of mother and baby body fluids flowing far too freely, it was all a bit much for my personal comfort zone. Urgh! Why are babies supposed to be adorable? Sorry, no offence if you’ve got a family.’

‘Not yet,’ May said with a laugh, ‘but I would like children one day.’ A sudden image of having cherubic ginger babies with Bill popped uninvited into her head. She quickly dismissed it and handed the woman her scarf.

‘Thank you. If you could chose to have children delivered when they’ve reached a sensible age, I might be tempted. Otherwise, I can’t think of anything less welcome right now. I’m Fiona, by the way, Fiona Goodwin.’

‘May Starling.’

Fiona gave her a puzzled look. ‘I’m sure we’d have met before if you were local, and yet I can’t shake off the feeling I know you from somewhere. It might help my concentration if I could only shake off the smell of that nappy. On the bright side, it just goes to show that I’m not completely inured to human nature from running the B&B. Some things can still take me by surprise!’ She cast a quick look at her watch and sighed. ‘And on the subject of the B&B, I’d better get back. My husband will be sending out the search parties if I’m not home soon. Can I give you a lift somewhere?’

‘Thank you, but I’m trying to find my way round the town as I’m staying here for a few weeks.’

‘Oh, whereabouts?’

It couldn’t possibly do any harm to tell her, could it? May decided. ‘Watling’s Boatyard – do you know it?’

‘Know it?’ Fiona laughed. ‘Everyone here knows Harry and Matthew. My goodness, if anyone’s been changed by motherhood it’s Harry! When Paul and I first moved here, I used to feel quite intimidated by Harry.’

‘You and me both!’ May said with feeling. ‘But you run a business too, I thought Harry would respect you for that.’

‘Ah, but it’s just a job for me, whereas it’s personal for Harry. Her father established the boatyard, that’s why she kept her own name when she married, to keep his memory alive.’

May Blythe
, May tried it out. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, wistfully. ‘There’s still something romantic about showing the world you’re a couple.’

‘I think so too,’ Fiona agreed. ‘Of course Harry wasn’t married to Matthew back then and Little Spitmarsh had been completely divided by his plans to drag the place into the twenty-first century.

‘Paul and I decided to support the cause most likely to keep our business afloat – one which Harry had fiercely resisted. And although most people with an economic stake in the town welcomed anything that would see the tide of prosperity turn in its favour, not everyone agreed. Someone even tried to burn Matthew’s restaurant down.’

Great, thought May. Just what she needed to hear when she was already anxious about her personal security.

‘Our Harry’s a far more approachable lady these days, since Georgia came along. Oh, heck – if you’re staying with her you must be a close friend of hers.’ Fiona clapped her hands over her mouth and May laughed.

‘No, it’s all right. Harry’s dropped a few barriers, but I think it’ll be a while before we’re besties. I’m renting the caravan.’

‘Really?’ Fiona looked puzzled. ‘Oh, well, if you get fed up with that and feel the need to use more civilised facilities, pop in any time. In fact, pop by soon. It would be great to have a girlfriend to talk to. As much as I admire Harry, she’s not really up for girlie gossip over coffee and cakes.’ She pulled a card out from her pocket and offered it to May. ‘This is us. Walton House.’

‘Was it very bad?’ Paul asked Fiona on her return, rushing to help her with the shopping.

‘Oh you know,’ she said bravely, with a small martyred smile. If they weren’t always so busy, she could admit that she’d bunked off without feeling so guilty. As much as she wanted to tell her husband about the woman she’d met in the Paradise Café and the invasion of the yummy mummies, she couldn’t because she felt bad about leaving him to do all the work. She’d felt an immediate connection with May Starling, as if she’d known her from way back when, so it was rather disappointing that May seemed peculiarly vague about calling in.

There was too much to do to feel let down for long, though, so she scooped up an armful of towels from the laundry and rushed upstairs with them. Unsure whether or not Mr Cavanagh was in his room, she listened outside Cromarty and was embarrassed when he suddenly opened the door, to be caught still standing there, with her ear practically pressed against the wood. His knowing dark eyes and worldly wise expression gave her the feeling that he could tell just by looking at her what she liked best in bed. She caught his eye and gave him a bashful smile.

‘Sorry, I only wanted to bring you these. Just let me know when it’s convenient to do your room.’

Aiden Cavanagh gave her a long considered look, and although she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, she would not give him the satisfaction of being the first to break eye contact.

‘Oh, Mrs Goodwin, I’m disappointed. I thought for a moment you were going to offer to scrub my back,’ he said softly, with a half-smile that suggested all sorts of wickedness.

‘We do like to offer our guests a high level of personal attention, but that might be taking it a step too far,’ she joked, trying to relieve the palpable tension.

He laughed and moved closer. Leaning one arm out against the wall and effectively blocking her path, he regarded her with impish, twinkling eyes. ‘Are you sure about that now?’ he said softly, making her blush. Ooh, that lovely Irish lilt transfixed her every time, she thought, feeling butterfly wings of desire fluttering in her tummy. He must know what he was doing. She eyed him to see if he was laughing at her, but his gaze was serious as it dropped to her lips.

‘I tell you what you can do for me …’

‘Y-yes?’ she managed to stammer.

‘Just make sure no one’s missed any messages for me, will you? If anyone tries to phone me via the hotel or arrives in reception for me, I want to know immediately. Is that clear?’

‘As crystal,’ she said, feeling utterly humiliated.

‘Hadn’t you better run along, Mrs Goodwin,’ he murmured, since she was still standing there gawping at him, ‘before you get yourself into trouble. I mean, what would your husband think if he knew you were hanging around outside my door like this? You should be a bit careful of your reputation, you know.’

Fiona scurried away, her face flaming. Jeez, the man was a menace, she thought, knowing that she’d come very close to making a fool of herself. Thinking about it, wasn’t his girlfriend supposed to have arrived by now? Perhaps she’d taken a wrong turning and ended up at the boatyard instead? If she had any common sense, she’d find herself a little boat and set off into the sunset. That would take the wind out of Mr Cavanagh’s puffed-up sails.

She flew up to her own room to add the contents of her own laundry basket to the next pile to go in the wash. It was only as she weeded out an assortment of underwear to be washed separately that it crossed her mind that she hadn’t worn her period knickers for a while. Occasionally she ran two packs of pills together and missed a break; that might explain it. But what was long overdue was a holiday, a far more likely reason why she’d been feeling so run-down. If it hadn’t been for the recent exposure to messy babies she wouldn’t even be thinking about the possibility of being pregnant. Brushing the thought away, she rushed back downstairs to put the next load of washing on, then remembered she’d left a bulk pack of loo rolls in reception. Going to retrieve them, she was surprised to see someone standing at the desk. Where was Paul? she wondered. Did she have to do everything? The flash of irritation disappeared as quickly as it had flared up when she realised it was her new friend.

‘May,’ she said with pleasure. ‘How nice! If you give me two seconds I’ll fetch us both some coffee and we can enjoy them in rather more fragrant surroundings than earlier. Unless, you’ve come to take me up on my offer to use the facilities …’

‘Thank you,’ said the other woman nervously. ‘But actually, I’ve come to see one of your guests. I think he might be expecting me. His name is Aiden Cavanagh.’

Bill hadn’t expected to feel May’s absence so keenly. He’d hoped that by burying himself in his work, he’d be too busy to miss her and too exhausted when he went home. It hurt that she didn’t feel the same way. If only she’d give him another chance, he wouldn’t rush her, he’d try to win her round slowly. He wasn’t perfect, but he had to be better than that ex of hers. And sometimes, he thought, standing back to take a critical look at the red brickwork gable of the restored farmhouse, it was possible to love imperfections.

He crossed the flattened rough grass to get a better look at the roof. If you cared enough, you could find beauty in the least promising material. Imagine how the character of the building would have suffered if they hadn’t been able to salvage those beautiful old handmade red clay tiles, each one unique and with a different story to tell about its maker.

His first glimpse of the project hadn’t been promising either; the farmhouse had been subject to some very clumsy repairs and ugly extensions over the years. Matthew had objected too. ‘It’s got so many grade listings, we won’t even be able to blow the dust away without getting written permission!’ he’d grumbled. ‘And it’s supposed to be haunted.’

That was all right with Bill, who didn’t believe in ghosts, although he’d discovered a spirit or two when he got home after May had walked away, the ones that filled your glass and emptied your mind. A passing cloud casting him in shadow, darkened his thoughts. So now it was back to business as usual.

He let himself in to attend to a few snags and carry out a final inspection. Standing in what would have been the all-purpose living room of the original fourteenth-century building, he cocked his head to one side. In the vacuum of silence after all the traffic noise, something creaked above his head. Bill shoved aside the feeling that the hairs on his neck were standing on end. There was certainly evidence of something weird going on, but it was all in his head because he hadn’t been thinking straight since he’d met May. The dead didn’t scare him, but the living … the living could really hurt. Just the upstairs timbers, he reckoned, stretching themselves stiffly in the sun. It was too easy to assign some supernatural presence to these old buildings which had an atmosphere all of their own, unlike the soulless clusters of modern homes and spanking new estates.

Once some of the building’s worst features, like the ghastly reproduction Tudor window – probably added by some well-meaning Victorian – had been carefully removed, the bones of original structure revealed it could still be lovely, for all the neglect. With sensitive handling and painstaking rebuilding using traditional materials the house was not only breathing but living again.

Only the attics to inspect, accessed by a narrow flight of stairs behind an original blackened door. Noticing for the first time that something was scratched into the wood, he crouched down to take a closer look. Running his fingers across the graffiti, he felt a sense of connection with the hand that had scored those words so many centuries before. ‘Remember Me?’ some tortured soul had pleaded. Another frustrated, heartbroken sod, he guessed, feeling their pain.

Straightening up, he was conscious of his spine tingling and an almost overwhelming urge to look over his shoulder to make absolutely certain he didn’t have company. Sheesh, if he let himself get this spooked out simply because he was alone in an empty property, he’d have to look for a different job, and he was getting a bit long in the tooth for that. There were ghosts about all right, but not here in this rather charming old house. He’d always be haunted by May, but he didn’t need an exorcist to tell him she was presently beyond the realm of his everyday life.

Asking for space was like asking to be friends, wasn’t it? But if that’s what she wanted, he had to accept that his May, the May he’d grown so fond of on the boat, was lost to him.

‘I win again,’ said Aiden, his dark eyes darting to her in triumph as the fruit machine lit up and started pumping coins into the tray. Not this time, thought May, who felt she’d already outmanoeuvred him twice; once by picking a time to call on him while he was still considering his next move, and then by rejecting his overtures to persuade her up to his room. She was grateful to Fiona Goodwin for her help with that, since the other woman seemed to sense May’s unease and hovered in the reception area checking the computer screen – to Aiden’s obvious irritation.

Little Spitmarsh pleasure pier – which, she noticed in passing, had a flourishing bill of old rockers still doing the rounds as well as the ubiquitous tribute band – was busy with sightseers, so it seemed a safe enough place to walk with him, but she still had to be wary. Aiden fed more coins into the machine, happy to make May wait until he was ready. She glanced towards the amusement hall’s square doorway leading out to the boardwalk which framed the seascape and provided a nearby exit.

‘I didn’t come here to play games,’ she said, ‘so you’re about to lose the chance for a grown-up discussion before I seek legal advice if that’s all you want to do.’

Aiden, in black, looked at ease against the frenetic backdrop of jangling slot machines and flashy fairground rides. With his sloe-eyed insolence and lean, snake-hipped body, he could almost have been one of the boys weaving between the dodgems promising danger and cheap thrills to the prettiest girls. A twitch of his lips as he cocked his head to look at her showed his interest had been piqued; a stray cat coolly assessing a timid pet.

Scooping up his winnings, he followed her outside. May kept walking, inhaling salt air and the cloying sweetness of hot, sugary doughnuts. Along the rails, fishermen were casting their lines for bass and sole. May had no intention of allowing herself to be reeled in, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy to resist Aiden. The sea breeze was chilly towards the end of the pier, so few summer visitors in their light clothes were inclined to linger. May let them pass, waiting until she and Aiden were alone before speaking.

‘We can’t go on like this,’ she said, turning to him at last. ‘I’ll always be grateful to you for the good times, but surely you can see we’ve reached rock bottom both personally and professionally. Let’s do something about it now before we hurt each other even more.’

Aiden spun round to face her, backing her towards the rails as he moved closer and spread his legs either side of hers.

‘I know,’ she said taking a deep breath, ‘that I’m not what you want me to be at home or at work—’

He made a dismissive sound. ‘Do you now?’

‘But there have been faults on both sides, I think you’ll agree,’ she hurried on. ‘Maybe we would have been better off not getting involved, but we did. It’s too late to change the past, but for the sake of what we had, let’s sort this out between ourselves.’

She waited to let the idea take root. If she was being honest with herself, she couldn’t regret the early days of their relationship. Aiden would always be a bittersweet love, but her biggest mistake was not falling for him in the first place, but being stupid enough to believe she could change him.

‘Here’s the thing,’ he said, dropping his voice as if he was talking to himself. ‘If I let you go just like that, my lawyers might be inclined to remind me of the heavy investment I made in your career …’

‘And mine might argue that you’re sitting on a wealth of unreleased material,’ she countered. ‘Going through the courts would be a waste of money for both of us. Unless you’re determined to destroy everything we ever had.’

He made a restless gesture and stepped away from her. May began to feel optimistic. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘I’m willing to guess that taking into consideration your behaviour and the detrimental effect on my health, most courts would rule that if anyone had breached the contract it was you.’

Aiden’s eyes narrowed. ‘So this isn’t about our professional relationship, it’s revenge. Are you’re threatening me?’

May bit her lip and struggled for a quick response. ‘Aiden, it’s over! I can’t work with you and I don’t want to live with you. I know you’ve been seeing someone else, so why try to hang on to me as well? Just let me go.’

‘You’re imagining things.’ He caught hold of her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze.

‘No.’ She stood her ground. ‘Don’t waste your breath. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to Molly.’

May reached for her phone and showed him the text that had arrived just hours before her big moment at the Ferrington Farm Festival, sent possibly in error, but probably as one of his nastier ploys to keep her on her toes, and not to Molly, his most recent signing, but to May. Written in highly explicit language making it absolutely clear about the intimate nature of the relationship, it was the straw that had finally broken her back. She’d gone to the loo, vomited copiously and walked out.

Aiden shifted from one foot to another as if pacing a cage too small for him. ‘All right,’ he admitted, ‘I
have
been seeing her, just to help her along at the start of her career, that’s all. You’re blowing it out of proportion, May. She doesn’t mean anything to me, not like you. Give me a chance to sort it out and I’ll prove it to you.’

‘I don’t want proof,’ May insisted. ‘I want out. And remember this is nothing to do with my family, so stop using them to get to me.’

‘Aah! You got the sob story, did you?’ He came over and stood beside her, and leaned back against the rails. ‘It’s easy to fix, May. The sooner you’re back in my bed, the sooner your mother gets her shop back.’