the Beach Cottage, page 5
“I forgot he was your stepdad,” Bea said. “You mentioned it the last time we looked at these photos. I was going to ask you about it, but didn’t want to pry.”
“In my eyes, he’s my Dad. I can’t tell you who my actual father is, since Mum won’t talk about him.”
“She’s never told you?” Taya asked, her brow furrowed.
“Nope. It’s a family secret.” Penny laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever find out. Mum’s determined to take it to her grave, my stepdad is clueless, and my grandparents are gone. No one else knows the truth.”
Rowan emerged from the galley with a plate of food. He stepped over Penny’s legs, and she scowled at him. Bea covered a laugh with one hand. The two of them were so cute together and obviously into each other, if Penny would push her angst aside for one moment and let herself feel the truth.
“Thanks for soaking me through,” Penny muttered.
He lifted his sunglasses to peer at her. “Penelope, you look lovely today. Did I already tell you that?”
“My clothes are all wet and I can’t find one earring. But thank you.” Her tone was snide, but Bea could tell she was pleased even as she fingered the empty ear.
“I’m sure it will turn up.” Rowan wandered off with a slow wink at Penny, whose cheeks flushed red.
“He’s so full of himself,” Penny said.
Bea bit down on her lower lip.
“With good reason,” Taya added with a sigh as she lay back on her towel. “Did you see those abs?”
Penny grunted. “Who cares about his abs? He could at least pretend to be humble.”
“I think he’s just teasing you. He’s not so bad,” Bea said, lying on her back with her hands linked beneath her head. She stared up at the perfect, cloudless blue sky overhead. It was a beautiful day; she couldn’t imagine any other way to make it better. Except, perhaps, if Aidan was beside her.
Seven
The next day, Bea was miserably sunburned. She’d applied suncream but hadn’t reapplied often enough throughout the day, and now she was as red as a lobster on a buffet table.
She studied her back in the mirror, grimacing at the pain as she turned her head. There was nothing for it but to find some aloe vera to apply. Dad had plenty in his garden, which boasted an extensive collection of herbs and flowers. She could usually find whatever she needed for a natural remedy within his expansive grounds.
She threw on a light dress and an enormous straw hat to protect herself from the already glaring morning sun and padded up the hill to her father’s large house. It looked like a sentinel staring out to sea as it guarded the island headland. Built of weathered timber, it was surrounded by maturing trees and shrubbery. Her father loved to putter around his garden and had a very effective green thumb — everything he grew flourished, while Bea’s attempts always seemed to end in brown, limp plants and spindly trees.
Inside the house, the air-conditioning cooled her overheated skin, and she shut the door behind her, leaning against its smooth surface for a moment. Dad poked his head out of the kitchen, a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“Good morning, love. Care for some pancakes?”
“Yes, please. That sounds delicious.” She wandered into the kitchen, set her hat on the bench and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I got badly burned yesterday.”
He glanced at her. “So you did. I’ve got plenty of aloe in Mum’s garden.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He always called it Mum’s garden, even though she’d been dead for over two decades. Bea’s mother had planted it when Bea was a child. She had fond memories of traipsing through the strawberry patch, stuffing her mouth full of sweet, red berries. “I’ll pick some now and then come back in to eat.”
She went out the back and stuck to the shade along the side of the house as best she could. Any advance into the sunlight was painful on her shoulders. She should’ve left the hat on. Within minutes, she’d found the aloe plant, broken off a leaf and applied it to her skin. She collected a few more pieces and took them inside to put in a baggie to take home.
Dad set two plates of pancakes, along with fresh berries and yoghurt, on the table. She sat opposite him with her cup of coffee.
“This looks absolutely wonderful. You’ve become a real chef lately, Dad. Very impressive.”
“Thanks, love. I was going to eat alone, but I’m very happy to have the company. It’s been so nice having you live just down the hill. I assume you’ll consider staying a while longer, now that you’re opening the cafe.”
She sliced off a piece of pancake and chewed. The freshness of the berries and the creamy yoghurt made her taste buds tingle. She swallowed. “I love it here. The cottage is perfect for me. I’m planning on sticking around indefinitely—I have no desire to go back to Sydney. I miss the kids, of course, but they’re coming home as soon as the semester is over.”
He smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“And how are you feeling, Dad?”
“Good,” he said. “I thought I had a cold coming on yesterday but seem fine today. Why do you ask?” He studied her face, then his brow furrowed. “Oh, you’ve been speaking to your brother. Haven’t you?”
She pushed a smile across her lips. “Sorry, Dad. He wanted me to know.”
“It’s not a big deal. I hope he told you that.”
“He said you’ve been feeling dizzy and unwell for a while. I wish you’d said something.”
“You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about me.”
“I like worrying about you, Dad.” She squeezed his hand across the table.
“Well, I don’t want you to fret. I’m sure it’s nothing. It might be my blood sugar, or perhaps I’m dehydrated. My blood pressure was fine, so I don’t think it’s that.”
“I know it could be nothing, but let’s face whatever it is together. Okay?” Her stomach clenched even thinking about it. The idea that he might be sick, that something might tear them apart after they’d only recently reconnected, made her anxious. “I don’t want…” She choked on a lump in her throat.
“What, honey?”
“I don’t want to lose you. Not when I feel like I’ve only just found you after too many years away.”
He shook his head, eyes glistening. “You’re not going to lose me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Well, no one lives forever.” His voice was soft and his eyes kind, but his words pierced her heart. She did know that; she knew it better than most. But she also knew she’d never recovered from her mother’s death. How could she face another loss? Once again, she was getting ahead of herself. It was how she worked herself up into an anxious frenzy — by imagining things that didn’t happen. It’d been something she’d struggled with ever since her mother’s funeral. Images of that time flashed across her mind’s eye — her father, pale faced and dressed all in black, leading Bradford by the hand through the cemetery; Bea’s red-eyed reflection in the mirror as she steeled herself for the service while her heart pounded with pain in her chest.
Tears snaked down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Dad’s eyes narrowed with concern.
“Thinking about how you might be sick brings back memories of Mum’s funeral.”
Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t go bringing all that back up again. We don’t need to dredge old memories. We’re okay, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we’re okay. I’m happy, really I am. But being on the island again, seeing you, fearing for your health, even spending time with Aidan and my friends — it’s made me think about things I haven’t pondered in decades. Most of all, Mum’s death and what it meant to me and to all of us. How it changed the entire course of my life and the person I became—the daughter, wife and mother I’ve been. I still miss her.”
She went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Dad followed and enveloped her in his arms. She cried against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s silly. It happened so long ago.”
“Not silly at all. I used to have a cry every now and then over her. I let myself grieve, and now I can remember the good times without it hurting that way anymore.”
“I thought I’d moved on as well, but for some reason, it’s coming back to the surface now.”
“I suggest you let yourself face those feelings and deal with them.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, then kissed her forehead. “Let’s finish eating.”
They sat together and ate the rest of the pancakes. They talked about the café and the kids, anything other than his health or their past. By the time they were done, Bea was ready for a run on the beach. She told Dad goodbye and headed back to the cottage to change into a long-sleeved shirt and to apply sunscreen to her face and legs. Then she took off along the beach at a jog.
She rounded the end of the cove and jogged slowly along the beach that sat at the base of the cliff beneath her father’s house. She made her way along the stretching golden expanse of sand beyond. The sun was glaringly hot and glanced off the sand like a bright light.
The depth of the pain in her gut shifted, as though a ball of emotion had been wedged there and was slowly unwinding as she ran.
“Beatrice, are you okay?” Aidan’s concerned voice broke through her reverie. She could barely see, with the glare of the sun off the white sand in her eyes.
She pivoted to look for him. He stood near the water’s edge in a wetsuit that was shucked to his waist. His muscular torso glistened with sea water as he set his surfboard down on the beach and walked towards her.
Tears threatened again at the sight of him. She missed him so much. All these years, she’d pushed her feelings for him beneath the surface. He’d left her — walked away when she needed him most. He didn’t want her, and she’d had to move on with her life. But now she knew better — he’d been just as confused as she was, just as unsure of how to act or what to say. Keeping her distance now felt impossible.
She stumbled towards him and fell into his arms. She pressed herself to his chest, feeling the saltwater seep through her running clothes.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
He studied her face a moment, one hand beneath her chin, then pulled her to him and wrapped his long arms around her. He held her tight until she felt as though she might have to gasp for air. She pressed an ear to his chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It soothed her grief, and slowly she emerged from the pain of her sorrow into the bright, sunny day with the man she loved.
She knew that now. She loved him. Always had. It didn’t take away from what she’d had with Preston — she’d loved him too, but this was different. With Aidan, it was a deep friendship built on a knowing. They’d spent so many of their formative years as friends before their dynamic changed to a romantic one. There was no one in the world who knew her better than he did back then. And in the end, she hadn’t changed much. She was still that little girl he’d carried over the rocks when she’d cut her feet on oyster shells in the cove behind them. She was the girl he’d kissed right there on that beach for the very first time. She felt like a teenager all over again in his arms.
His voice was low, soft. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Dad’s had a health scare, and it’s making me recall Mum’s death,” she murmured.
A headache had begun to pound at the base of her skull.
Aidan pulled back and looked down into her eyes, his own dark with compassion. “Your dad is going to be okay.”
“Do you really believe that?” She wanted it to be true. The adult she was now knew at some level that he was right, but the child inside couldn’t let go of the fear.
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re right. Of course you are. I have to stay positive.” She sniffled again and stepped back.
He caught her by the shoulders, his eyes ablaze. Then he raised a hand to cup the back of her neck and leaned down to kiss her. His lips coaxed hers apart, and warmth spread through her body. She forgot all about her tears and raised a hand to brush along his chiselled jawline. His lips were familiar, yet strange. Sensuous and yet like coming home all at the same time.
He took a step away from her with a pained look on his face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that…” He ran a hand over his hair, forming a row of spikes.
She blinked, stunned for a moment by what’d happened and by his words. Surely he couldn’t believe their kiss was a mistake. It’d been everything she’d hoped for. More than she’d expected. It proved how he felt about her. What could keep them apart now?
He spun on his heel and strode away, picking up his surfboard as he went. He didn’t look back. Not once. And she felt the pain of loss return as it throbbed in her chest.
Eight
The next day, Beatrice felt much better about everything. Regardless of the fact that Aidan had run off after kissing her, he had kissed her, and she was certain it meant more to him than he had let on. The cry she’d had seemed to have cleared out a deeply buried grief that’d been festering for years within the depths of her soul.
She felt lighter and happier than she had in a long time, and she wasn’t going to let anything else get her down. It was a beautiful day, and she intended to enjoy it. Plus, there was plenty to keep her busy and to distract her from the fact that she had been dumped yet again.
She had a café to open and a party to plan, two things at which she thrived and that brought her an immense amount of joy. She threw herself into the preparations with gusto. One of the items on her to-do list she’d yet to take care of was to buy flowers for the grand opening event, and when she drove through Kellyville that morning, she’d noticed a florist shoved between a boutique dress shop and a Thai restaurant. So, she walked over from the café the first time she had a chance to place an order for native floral arrangements.
The florist was called Betsy’s Florals, and it was a quaint little shop. A large picture window with a blue-painted trim showed a sneak peek of the arrangements available and the antique furniture scattered about the place. The shop was narrow and the walls were decorated with antique mirrors and framed local art, each with a price tag hanging from the bottom.
An elderly woman with wild grey curls stood behind a bench in the back of the shop, pushing tulips into a vase filled with greenery. Half-moon glasses perched on a pert nose, and fake eyelashes made black crescents on her cheeks. She was dressed in a brightly flamboyant flowing silk kaftan, and her fingernails were painted bright purple.
Beatrice walked over to meet her with a smile. “Good morning.”
The woman looked up and grinned wide. “And to you, young lady.”
Beatrice liked her already. “I need to order some flower arrangements for a party.”
The woman set down the tulip in her hands and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “You’ve come to the right place, then.” She had an American accent and drew out her vowels in a drawl. “What were you thinking of, honey?”
“Something native.”
“We’ve got plenty of that around. I’ll show you some photos, if you like. You just point out the ones you prefer.” The woman handed her a loose-leaf binder with plastic-covered photographs of flower arrangements.
Bea flicked slowly through the pictures. “These are perfect. You make lovely arrangements.”
“Well, thank you, honey. I love doing it. I guess that’s the secret.”
“I’m Beatrice Rushton, by the way. I’ve recently moved back to the island. I used to live here a long time ago.”
“You’re Elias’s daughter, then.” The woman’s blue eyes sparkled.
“That’s right — do you know him?”
“We see each other around from time to time. He’s a lovely man.”
Bea wondered if she’d stumbled across one of her father’s girlfriends. She’d suspected he dated from time to time, but he never spoke of it openly and certainly didn’t confirm any names.
“I’m Betsy, but I’m sure you guessed that from the sign outside. Betsy Norton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Betsy.” Bea held out a hand, and Betsy shook it. Her hand was warm and her handshake firm.
“Have you lived on the island long?” Bea asked.
Betsy shrugged. “Long enough, I guess.”
Bea pointed to several flower arrangements in the book of photographs, and Betsy wrote up her order.
“I remember when you were a little girl,” Betsy said suddenly. “You were such a sweet heart. Always walking around with that sweet crease between your eyes like you were thinking so hard about something.”
“You were here then?”
“Yes, indeed. Although I wouldn’t expect a teenaged girl to remember a middle-aged woman.” Betsy laughed as she scratched the order into an old-fashioned ledger beside an antique cash register.
Bea studied a series of framed photographs that hung behind the counter. There was a young woman featured in every photograph — she was beautiful and dressed in a dancer’s outfit with curled hair. The photos were in black and white, so it was difficult to tell what colour her hair might’ve been, but Bea liked to think it looked golden. Her toes were pointed, and she wore tights that showed off her lean, muscular legs.
“Is that you?” she asked.
Betsy glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, yes, that’s me. A long time ago. But it’s amazing how quickly time passes us all by. I was that girl a moment ago, and now I’m me.” She indicated herself with a wave of one hand.
“Is that the former Prime Minister with you?” Bea’s eyes widened at the sight of Betsy standing close to a statesman from decades earlier. “And that… It couldn’t be the Beatles, surely?”
Betsy arched an eyebrow. “I guess if it can’t be, then it can’t be.”
“You knew the Beatles?”
“I met them. It was handy there was a camera at the ready to take the photograph.”
Bea’s gaze wandered across the rest of the photographs and realised that every single one contained someone famous or a dignitary. All except one photograph which was clearly more recent, in colour, and held a face very familiar to her — her father’s. He held up a large silver tailor. The fish sparkled in the sunlight.
