Sunday's Child (7 page)

She smiled, and pulled his camera from her bag. “OK, Mr. Anonymous Hero, my lips are sealed.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.

Flustered, she looked at him. It should be her thanking him for his help, not the other way around.

“I'll go before someone sees me and then you can ring the bell for dinner. The meat is in the trolley keeping warm.”

“Thank you.” She watched him leave, her hand covering her cheek. She could still feel the imprint of his lips. He made her feel like a normal person and even though she was working, time with him had flown by and she'd loved it. It was just a shame it could go no further.

 

 

 

 

6

 

By the time his two week holiday was over and it was time to go home, Cal was convinced his trousers were a little snugger around the waist. He'd certainly eaten better than he had in a long time, and far more than he'd normally eat. But that's what holidays are for, right? He could easily lose any excess weight when he got back in the gym.

He was going home both spiritually and physically refreshed. He was going to miss the Steeles—Hattie in particular and not just her cooking either. If only things were different. He'd enjoyed the Sunday afternoon they'd spent together immensely. In fact, he'd go as far as to say it was the highlight of his time there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been with a woman and not wanted anything more than just friendship. Not that he'd turn away anything else if it came along, but the likelihood of seeing Hattie again, was microscopic.

Cal pulled himself up short. That sounded wrong, even to him and he was the only person privy to his thoughts. Well, that wasn't true either as God knew what he was thinking. He didn't mean the kind of relationships he'd had before. His whole life had changed since then. He was a new creation and proud of that fact.

He'd hoped to say goodbye to her in person, but Steve had been there and said Hattie was out. So he would write instead. On the station concourse, he spent ages looking at the cards, so long in fact that he almost missed his train. He chose one of the weir, paid and then got on the train with seconds to spare. He stored his large case in the luggage rack by the door and then made his way down the swaying carriage to his reserved seat.

For once there was no one sitting in it. Putting the small case in the overhead rack, he set his rucksack on the table and then slid into his seat. He looked out of the window as the train pulled out of Headley Cross. Once the houses were replaced by countryside, he set the card on the table and pulled out a pen.

By the time he got further than
Dear Hattie
, he was half way home and the lid of the pen was chewed beyond recognition.
Oh come on, Cal. At this rate you'll be home before you say anything. How hard can it be?

Very
he replied, before deciding he was clearly insane for having a conversation with himself.

He glanced down.
Thank you for a wonderful time
he wrote.
Definitely the best holiday I've had in years. I will be back. Cal Trant.

Then he closed his eyes, knowing he couldn't sleep past his station as he lived at the end of the line. He woke just as the carriages rattled over one of the twin bridges that separated Penry Island from the mainland. The locals called the rail bridge Nessie, after its humped high girders and the road bridge Spiky after its suspension pillars.

He gazed from the window as his island home grew nearer. He'd lived here all his life and loved it. One of the bigger islands off England's south coast, the sea around the northern edge turned to mud flats at low tide. The rest of the island had an idyllic mix of both sand and shingle beaches, incredibly good for surfing, but hid a rip tide and sadistic current, which caught many a sailor and swimmer unawares.

Cal lived in one of the smaller villages on the eastern edge of the island, within sight of the bridges, where everyone knew everyone else and all the small details of their lives. Most times he hated it, but it did have its advantages. If someone hadn't been seen for a day or so, neighbors checked on them. That level of care and friendship had saved several lives last winter.

The train was buffeted by the wind and Cal glanced up at the sky. It looked as if a huge storm were building. He'd best drop off his case, then drive down to the lifeboat station and pick up his pager.

Although he wasn't on duty until Tuesday morning, it wouldn't hurt to let them know he was back on the grid.

The carriage was empty as he pulled down his small case and went to retrieve the larger one from the luggage rack. Rain pounded the windows as the train halted and he quickly stepped down onto the platform.

Carter stood waiting and enveloped him in a manly hug. “Missed you, bro.”

“Nah. You just missed having no one to tease.”

“You know me too well. Come on, there are heaps of things to tell you.”

“Heaps?” he asked, amused. “I was only gone two weeks. How can heaps possibly happen in a dead end village like this one?”

Carter took one of the cases and started walking. “Joanne in the post office is expecting again. So is Mrs. Firth. Peter Johansson had a heart attack, but he's doing better now and should be home next week. Dr. Kneebone, my orthopod, says my knee is fine now. So I can start training again tomorrow.”

Cal trundled the other case behind him, stifling the grin at the doctor's name. So apt, but Carter never got the joke. “Can we go via the base and pick up my pager. I'm back up crew until Tuesday and there's bound to be a call out tonight.”

“Blue Watch is on duty until Tuesday at 0700 and you're still officially on leave.”

“I know, but old habits—”

“Speaking of old habits, how was your holiday?”

“It was really good. You'd love it there. There are plenty of places to go riding, including some fairly steep hills called the Downs. And the lodge was amazing. The woman who helps run it and does the cooking—”

“She's pretty. Harriet Steele, blonde, bit younger than you, of Rainbow Lodge, Headley Cross.”

Cal stopped dead under a shelter. How did he know? “I'm sorry?”

Carter pulled a folded newspaper cutting from his pocket. “
Lifeboat hero is never off duty
,” he read. “
Found on Eliza Craig's blog, and printed with her permission, these photos show the dramatic moment that one of our dedicated lifeboat crew, and former England footballer, Callum Trant, leapt into a weir to save the life of her six year old son, Thomas Craig
.”

“
What
? Let me see that.” Cal snatched the paper and read the rest of the article in dismay. There were pictures of him in the water, one with Thomas and one with Hattie.

“So? What's the story behind the one in the paper then?”

“You read it here. There's nothing much else to tell.” Cal gave the paper back. “We went for a walk after church, the kid fell in the water, and I pulled him out. End of story. Can we go home now?”

“You wanted to pick up your pager.”

The change of subject wasn't going to fool him for an instant. He hesitated. “Has everyone seen this?”

“Oh, yeah. Jim from the
Courier
made sure of that. And Alba helped a lot.”

Cal sighed. Jim was a member of White Watch, which meant everyone at the station would have seen it. And then some. Probably also framed it and put it on the noticeboard for good measure. And Alba ran the village store and spread the local news faster than a speeding bullet, jungle drums or the internet. “Then, no, I don't want to pick up my pager. Like you said, I'm on holiday until Tuesday.” He ignored the stunned look on his brother's face and headed back out into the rain towards his brother's car. “They can tease me about it then.”

Carter followed him. “You like her.”

“I
like
a lot of women.”

“No, Cal. She's different. I can tell.”

Cal stopped, the driving rain sticking the hair to his head. “It's not like I'm ever going to see her again. It was a few conversations as she served meals and one walk that got interrupted.” And one afternoon spent cooking in her kitchen, but he wasn't going to mention that. She also had a very protective older brother.

“And…”

“Yes, OK, fine. I admit it. She's not like any of the others. She's different.”

Carter smirked. “I think you've finally grown up, little bro. Women are not objects to be desired and used and thrown aside.”

Lightning split the sky and thunder crashed overhead almost immediately. It was as if a cosmic light bulb switched on over his head like in the cartoons he'd watched as a child. Lost for words he just nodded.

Carter thumped his shoulder. “That's great. Now, let's get out of this storm before we drown. I want to see your photos. And I don't care what you say; I want to know what this Hattie is really like. You can also tell me all the details about the rescue you did. And more importantly, those cycle routes. Maybe you and I go check them out.”

“Me? On a bike?”

“Yes, you, on a bike.” Carter laughed. “It'd be just like when we were kids.”

“OK.” Cal followed him slowly. He'd just have to make him promise not to tell anyone. The last thing he wanted was anyone else finding out. Though on reflection, if it was all over the internet and in the
Courier
, that would be like shutting the barn door after the horse had bolted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

7

 

Hattie sat in the kitchen nursing her tea, the menu for the coming week on the table in front of her. It had been a month and she still couldn't get Cal Trant out of her mind. What was it about the former footballer that held her attention after so long? There was no chance she'd see him again, not unless he rebooked for next year. And even then, Steve would prevent her seeing him. He'd probably refuse the booking.

She just wished she knew what her brother had against her dating, or just seeing a bloke as a friend. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was trying to set her up with Markus Kerr. She hadn't seen him in years, not since the last family holiday to Penry Island to stay with her aunt. Now, Steve managed to bring Markus into the conversation at least twice a day. And his name didn't even start with a P.

The postcard Cal had sent of the weir was still attached to the fridge with a magnet. Alongside one Aunt Laurie had sent of the local lifeboat station. She looked down at the menu again, only glancing up as Steve came in and called her name.

“Hattie, when do you go away again?”

“Day after tomorrow,” she replied. And it couldn't come soon enough. She loved her job, but needed a break. Plus, Steve had been on her case ever since Cal left. She put this down to him being his normal irritating self. She'd never known anyone to sulk and hold a grudge the way Steve did. She hadn't even had an afternoon off in the last month. “You know that very well. You've only got two rooms booked, that's a total of four guests. I've done your menus to fit around the shopping you've already bought. You'll be fine.”

“That's the thing. I've just got off the phone with a late booking. A returning client wanted to bring a small conference or house party. He'd been let down by the hotel he'd originally booked and needed somewhere quickly. We had the rooms vacant, and somewhere they could use for the talks, so he took them.”

Hattie stiffened and her grip tightened on the mug. She hadn't heard the phone ring, but this was just typical. “I knew you'd do this,” she hissed, trying not to let her anger erupt.

“What?” Steve looked at her innocently, but she wasn't falling for it. Not this time. “The rooms were empty,” he continued, “and the church needed them and—”

“They were empty for a reason, Steve!” she yelled. “I need a holiday. I've already cancelled it once. I have put eighteen months solid into this place whilst you and Penny have been away for days on end at least three times this past year, if not more than that. I do the lion's share of the work around here and I'm worn out.”

“That's not fair. We work just as hard as you do.”

“That's codswallop and you know it! I'm not cancelling again. I'm not going to lose my holiday, forfeit my deposit, travel costs or anything else any more. If I could go early I would.”

She barely paused for breath. “I am tired of being taken for granted. You assume I'll just forgo my holiday to run around after you time after time, when you both go away and don't bother to arrange any extra help at all. You drop additional guests on me, expect me to make some marvelous meal out of nothing and work three hundred and sixty-five days a year for what amounts to pocket money. I'm tired of it.”

Steve looked stunned that she'd finally snapped and let him have it with both barrels. His jaw dropped. Then he put his hands on his hips and glared at her belligerently. “What am I meant to do? I can't let them down, not after one hotel has already cancelled on them. I promised them those rooms. I need your help.”

“You should have thought of that when you saw the weeks blanked off with
Hattie away
across the top of the pages.” She took a deep breath. It was time she put her foot down and stood up to him. “Hire someone.”

“Where from?”

“I don't know and I don't care.” She slammed the cup down. “You know what? I'm going to leave now. Well, as soon as I've packed. I'll drive and find a Travelodge or something for the next couple of nights.” In reality, Aunt Laurie wouldn't mind her going a couple of days early, but if Steve knew that's where she was going, he'd badger her until she relented to remain here and work. She pushed the chair back and stood.

“What about dinner?”