Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year

The corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Yep, that’d be me, all right.’

‘And you were friends with my great uncle?’ It still seemed an odd pairing to Daisy.

‘Yeah, me and Reg used to catch up from time to time. I’ll remember him fondly.’

The look in Max’s eye intrigued her. ‘What will you remember most about him?’

‘He taught me I’m as good as anyone else …’ Max blew out a long slow breath and looked for a second like he was going to get emotional, ‘… and how to judge the tides.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Daisy feeling awkward; her memories weren’t quite as profound. ‘I’ll remember being curled up next to him watching films with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.’ In a flash a memory of the film Bugsy Malone popped up and she had a ‘doh’ moment when she realised where the dog’s name had come from. They’d watched that film many times when she was little.

‘Ah, here you are,’ said Aunt Coral joining them. ‘Daisy, you can come back to the house in car one with the oldies; I’m in car two with the Exeter crowd.’ She turned her attention to Max. ‘Lovely of you to come today, Max. Are you coming back for the wake?’

‘No, sorry, Coral, I’m working. I swapped my shifts so I could see old Reg off. Raise a glass for me at the party.’

‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Aunt Coral gave him a fleeting pat on the shoulder and went to organise some others.

‘I ’spect I’ll see you around, if you’re staying here for a bit,’ said Max.

‘Unfortunately, I won’t be staying,’ said Daisy. ‘But it was nice to see you again. Bye.’

Max paused. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, his eyes warm and intense making her almost rethink her decision.

The next morning Daisy found herself in a warm and stuffy solicitor’s office sipping a strong filter coffee.

‘Do you think he would have liked the party?’ asked Aunt Coral.

It was an odd question, but she knew Aunt Coral had been worrying about giving Reg a deserving send off. ‘He would have loved it. He definitely would have approved of all the port.’ Aunt Coral visibly relaxed and Daisy felt a swell of affection for her. The wake had been well attended and diverse, with some serious talk about coastal erosion and an impromptu singalong. It had been exactly what Reg would have wanted.

Daisy didn’t really want to hear his will read. She didn’t need anything to remember Great Uncle Reg; she had her memories. Although she had to admit she was curious about what he had left her that could be described as ‘substantial’. Cash, perhaps, but she wasn’t sure Reg had a lot of money. She needed some cash; she hated living hand to mouth. Possibly a share in the cottage, which would be very tricky because it was Aunt Coral’s home and she definitely wouldn’t want to sell it. Daisy decided she wouldn’t think about that option as it made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was a family heirloom, although the only items she could think of were pieces of furniture. That’s probably it, she thought. The large clock in the hallway and the dresser in the kitchen could both be described as substantial. Her mind wandered off and imagined her on the Antiques Roadshow trying hard to master her ‘I’m not at all disappointed it’s only worth tuppence’ face.

‘I am terribly sorry to keep you waiting,’ said the solicitor, hurrying into the office with a folder in his hand. ‘Now, I shouldn’t keep you long.’ Daisy was warming to the old gent already; she was keen to get packed up and head off up the M5. She hoped to get as far as Gloucester tonight but she wasn’t sure where she was heading afterwards.

‘This is the last will and testament of Reginald Montgomery Fabien Wickens …’ There then followed a paragraph of formal jargon before Daisy tuned in again. ‘… To my niece, Coral Anne Wickens, I leave the property of Sea Mist Cottage, Trow Lane, Ottercombe Bay, in its entirety …’ Aunt Coral let out a small sob and Daisy took her hand to comfort her. Daisy’s heart was starting to increase its speed. ‘To my great niece Daisy May Wickens, I leave the property and grounds of the former Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and adjoining car park, subject to her being resident in Ottercombe Bay for a full twelve months from the date of the reading of this will. My residuary estate is to be divided equally between Coral Wickens, Daisy Wickens and the Royal National Lifeboat Institution Ottercombe Bay Station. Should any beneficiary fail to meet the conditions of bequest their share will be divided equally between the other beneficiaries. Signed Reginald Wickens.’ The solicitor laid his hands flat on the document and patted it gently. Nobody spoke.

Daisy’s mouth had gone dry, she was baffled and a quick glance at Aunt Coral showed she mirrored how she felt. Daisy put her hand to her necklace and closed her fingers around her locket for comfort. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s left me what exactly?’ she asked.

‘Ottercombe Bay Railway Station and car park.’

‘But there’s not been trains here for years,’ said Aunt Coral.

The solicitor shuffled through a pile of papers and leaned across the desk to hand something over. It was a dog-eared auction notice. ‘The railway station at Ottercombe was decommissioned in 1975 and bought by …’ he checked his notes, ‘… a Mr Arthur Wickens who bequeathed it to your great uncle on his death. There are also some historic planning applications for demolition and site development that were refused in 1989, 1992, 2001 and 2010.’ He removed his glasses and smiled at them warmly from across the desk.

Daisy stared at the piece of paper in her hand. She was looking at a faded photograph of a Victorian railway station building. ‘He’s left me an old railway station?’

Aunt Coral was peering over her arm. ‘Do all those refused planning applications mean there’s not a lot she can do with it?’

‘Not at all. It simply means the council weren’t in favour of it being demolished, although there is a letter here saying they would be open to an application for change of use but it’s dated 2010.’

‘Can I sell it?’ asked Daisy, her voice coming out a little croaky.

‘Once it has passed to you formally following the adherence to the conditional clause.’

Daisy stared at him. Why didn’t these people just use normal words? ‘And when does it pass to me formally exactly?’

The solicitor twitched. ‘One year from today, assuming you have been resident in Ottercombe Bay for the full twelve months. This is also for you,’ he said, handing Daisy a thick cream envelope with her name beautifully written on the front in fountain pen; she recognised it instantly as Great Uncle Reg’s handwriting. ‘I believe this letter will explain things a little further.’

For once Daisy opened her mouth but could not think what to say so she shut it again. What was going on?

‘This may be a stupid question,’ started Aunt Coral, ‘but I’m guessing this is all legal and watertight and there’s no way to get around the conditions he’s set?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said the solicitor, who started to discuss paying for the funeral and the process of probate. Daisy thumbed the envelope in her hands and studied the writing. There was a slight wobble in the letters but it was unmistakably Reg’s; she could imagine him sitting in his favourite chair writing it.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Aunt Coral, as they left the solicitor’s office a few minutes later. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Flabbergasted, but I’m fine,’ Daisy said, when she really felt like running away.

Daisy hardly spoke a word on the way home. She could feel an uncomfortable sensation take hold, a feeling akin to claustrophobia; a sense of being suffocated and chained down that she needed to fight against and escape from. Back at the cottage she changed out of her smart clothes quickly and shoved her things into her backpack.

‘Cup of tea?’ came the call from the kitchen.

Daisy started to panic. She couldn’t stay for tea, she couldn’t stay another minute. This place was simply not good for her; she was uneasy most of the time she was here but knowing it was only for a couple of days it had been bearable. A whole year was unthinkable. She stood for a moment and gripped her locket. As long as she had it she could be anywhere and her mother would be with her. She took a deep steadying breath before replying to Aunt Coral, ‘No thanks. I’m just going out.’ She grabbed a pencil and searched for a piece of paper. She scribbled a note on the back of an old envelope.

I“m so sorry but I have to go. I“ll be in touch. Take care of yourself. Love D x

She left the note on her pillow, picked up her bag and left the bedroom as quietly as she could. Panic rose as she wrestled with the porch door. It was one thing to run away but to be foiled in her attempt would be excruciating. ‘Bloody thing,’ she grumbled but a whimpering at her feet drew her attention. Bugsy was sitting watching her, his head on one side. He studied her with his abnormally big eyes. She stopped for a moment, for some odd reason she felt she needed to explain to him why she was leaving, although she suspected he wouldn’t be sad to see her go.

‘I have to go,’ she whispered. ‘This place has too many bad memories for me. Too many ghosts.’

Bugsy stood up, turned around and she heard a sort of phht sound, which was followed by a foul smell. Daisy shook her head, gave the door one more shove and slunk out.

She pulled on her helmet, got on the bike and was thankful it started first time. She surveyed Sea Mist Cottage one last time, opened the throttle and drove away. Hopefully this would be the last she’d see of it for a very long time.

Chapter Three

In a few short minutes her breathing had steadied and despite a small niggle she knew she was doing the right thing. She didn’t like not saying goodbye to Aunt Coral but she would only have tried to make her stay. She turned into the high street and pulled up at the traffic lights. Tamsyn jumped in front of her waving her arms.

Oh cock, thought Daisy.

‘Hello. I knew it was you; your bike sounds ropey. Wasn’t it a lovely service? Proper good send off, lots of people, which is really lovely, especially for an old person because sometimes there’s not many people there because all their friends have died, but everyone loved Reg. Why have you got your rucksack with you?’

‘Umm,’ mumbled Daisy.

Tamsyn came to the side of the bike. ‘Are you leaving?’ Tamsyn’s face fell, she looked instantly despondent.

Daisy wished she was a better liar as she lifted her visor. ‘Sorry, Tamsyn, I need to go. You take care now.’

‘No. You’ve only just come back, you can’t leave now …’ Her eyes filled with tears and Daisy felt like she was torturing a toddler.

The traffic lights changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Daisy, she meant it. She flipped down her visor. Someone behind hooted and Daisy revved the engine and started to pull away.

‘Sandy wants you to stay!’ shouted Tamsyn with desperation in her voice.

Of all the things she could have shouted after her this was the one thing that would have the desired effect. The words were still ringing in Daisy’s ears as she pulled her bike into the kerb and switched off the engine. Tamsyn walked over looking anxious.

Daisy felt numb. She pulled off her helmet and stared at Tamsyn.

‘What do you mean “Sandy wants me to stay”?’ snapped Daisy. Daisy’s mother was called Sandy, was this who she meant?

Tamsyn nibbled her bottom lip. ‘You remember my mum, Min?’ she said, sounding like she was saying a tongue twister.

If this was going to be another long drawn out story Daisy was likely to scream. ‘Yes, why?’

‘She kind of gets these feelings. It’s a bit like a spiritual medium but not really the same. They’re like a sixth sense message from those who’ve left us. And she said to tell you but I wasn’t sure if you’d think she was mad or not and I didn’t want to upset you and—’

‘Tamsyn, please spit it out.’

Tamsyn took a deep breath. ‘She felt your mum’s presence. She said she could tell Sandy was pleased you were home and she wanted you to stay.’

Daisy didn’t know what to think. She had seen no evidence herself of life after death so she had no reason to believe in it. But the thought of some sort of contact from her mum had such a powerful draw it wrestled hard with her logical mind. Daisy swallowed. Another car honked at her and overtook, nearly clipping her bike.

‘We can’t stay here. Get on,’ instructed Daisy.

Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous without a helmet.’

‘I’ll go at like five miles an hour – it’ll be fine. Or better still, you can have mine.’

Tamsyn shook her head. ‘It’s illegal. Hang on, I have an idea.’ She ran off towards the barbers. Moments later she came out wearing a black crash helmet featuring a bloodied skull design, which looked interesting when teamed with her long flowing summer dress.

‘Barber has a motorbike,’ she said and she climbed on the back. Daisy didn’t question her, she restarted the bike and pulled out safely into the traffic. She could have ridden anywhere but one particular place sprang to mind. She headed out of the town centre and turned onto the coast road. A short way along she turned off onto the gravel area that was both a small car park and viewing spot.

Daisy left the bike and walked off along the coastal path with Tamsyn following dutifully, a lot like it had been when they were children. Up ahead Daisy caught a glimpse of the sea – the dark blue smudge expanding as she neared the headland. The perfect crescent of Ottercombe Bay came into view on Daisy’s left side. From her high vantage point she had a good view of the divide that had existed in the bay for almost a hundred years; on one side of the beach were rows and rows of fishing boats of varying shapes and sizes and on the other a multitude of deckchairs, picnic rugs and tourists. The occasional shout of a child drifted up to her before ebbing away but otherwise it was peaceful high up on the cliff top.

As the sea breeze caressed Daisy’s senses she started to feel calmer and some of the frustration at having her escape plans interrupted diminished. She could smell the sea, the fresh scent quite like no other which reminded her of the summers she had returned to the bay with her father, year after year until he could bear it no more. For Daisy returning to the bay meant being reunited with her sadness but when they left there had also been the ache of being ripped away from everything familiar.

They walked to the far end of the headland; the tip of the crescent on one side of the bay. Daisy took off her leather jacket, laid it on the ground and she and Tamsyn flopped down on it.

‘I love this view,’ said Tamsyn at last. Daisy was amazed she’d managed to keep quiet this long.

‘Me too.’ She had forgotten how much she loved it. Pictures of the picnics she had had there as a child swam in her mind’s eye. Her mother and father dancing while she giggled and snuck an extra biscuit. The sun shining down on them whilst the sea beat a steady rhythm below – they were happy times. Her parents had loved this spot too it seemed, as it was somewhere they had come regularly. Daisy ran her fingers through the grass and wondered if her mother had sat on that spot and done the same thing; it felt likely. A familiar sense of loss pulled at her gut. Daisy was reminded of why she was here. ‘Is your mum some sort of psychic?’ she asked.

Tamsyn dragged her eyes away from the sea. ‘Not officially, but she’s always had these sensations and thoughts that weren’t her own. My dad calls it a load of witpot but I think there’s something in it.’

‘What makes you think there is?’ Daisy turned to gauge her reaction.

Tamsyn tipped back her head and stared into the cloudless sky. ‘Because she never lies. I mean like never – she can’t even tell a white lie. If I ask her “Do you like my hair up?” she’ll just go “No, it looks better down.” She never lies. So when she says things about people who have passed then I have to believe that too, don’t I?’

Daisy wasn’t convinced. ‘Who else has she had messages from?’

‘They’re not strictly messages,’ said Tamsyn, bringing her gaze back to earth. ‘She was in the paper shop a couple of months ago and Mrs Robinson was blathering on about gardening, like she does, and my mum had this thought about Mrs Robinson’s dad being unwell. Now she doesn’t know him but she says “How’s your dad?” and Mrs Robinson says “He’s fine”.’

Daisy pulled a strained face. ‘If he was fine then—’

‘Ah, that’s the thing. Mrs Robinson called round on the way home and her Dad was dead in the armchair.’ Tamsyn lay back on the jacket.

Daisy gave a pout and let out a slow breath. This wasn’t exactly the cold hard proof she was hoping for. ‘What exactly was the message or whatever it was she had about my mum again?’

‘She was in our garden and she rushed inside saying she felt cold and to be honest of late she’s only been overheating. Dad says she’s about the right age for the change. She told me she had a sense of Sandy being with her. She couldn’t see her or anything. Do you think she’s bonkers too?’ Tamsyn sat up abruptly and eyeballed Daisy.

‘No, she was always lovely your mum, she used to make me laugh. I don’t think she’s bonkers.’ Daisy remembered a kind woman with a wicked sense of humour. But whilst she had seemed nice that didn’t add any weight to her credibility as a conduit to the afterlife.

‘Why are mad people called bonkers and not people who bonk?’ Tamsyn, asked, looking at Daisy as if she was expecting her to provide a sensible answer.

‘Erm, I don’t know, Tams. Our language is weird.’

‘It is. Phrases confuse me too. Why do people say, “You can’t have your cake and eat it”? What else are you going to do with cake?’

Daisy laughed. ‘Very good point.’ Tamsyn had a way of putting you at ease and taking your brain off on an unexpected tangent so you forgot about all the serious stuff.

‘Why were you leaving?’ asked Tamsyn, plucking a daisy and tucking it behind her ear.

Daisy thought for a moment. ‘Because Great Uncle Reg is trying to make me stay.’

Tamsyn looked excited. ‘Did you get a message from beyond the grave?’

Daisy sighed. ‘Sort of. He left me some old railway station in his will and said I had to stay here for a whole year to get it.’

Tamsyn sat up poker straight. ‘He left you a railway station? What like Exeter or Marylebone?’

Daisy laughed. ‘No, the derelict one for Ottercombe Bay.’

Tamsyn startled Daisy by starting to clap her hands together in front of her as if she was doing a sea lion impression. ‘Wow, this is amazing. That is the cutest building ever.’ Daisy raised a doubtful eyebrow. ‘Seriously, it’s beautiful. I mean it’s all boarded up and has been for years but … this is so exciting!’ She let out a tiny squeal and Daisy couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. ‘And he wants you to stay here for one whole year?’ Daisy nodded forlornly. ‘I love that man.’ She threw her arms around Daisy and hugged her tight. She pulled away and her grin faded. ‘Please say you’re staying.’

Daisy gave a tiny shake of the head. ‘I don’t think so, Tams. I’ve not stayed in the same place for a whole year since …’ She had to think about the answer. ‘University I guess and then I was only there in term time.’

‘One year will go quickly and at the end of it you’ll own your own railway station. Which is totally amazing.’ Tamsyn made a noise like a train and Daisy chuckled. ‘You have to stay. You really do.’ Tamsyn clutched Daisy’s hand tightly and looked hopefully into her eyes. ‘It’s like you’ve been set a quest and you can’t say no to a quest.’

‘A quest?’ Daisy blinked hard. ‘This isn’t medieval times.’

Tamsyn bent forward. ‘No, but I love reading fantasy novels and usually there’s a quest for the main character and it’s dangerous but they always succeed in the end and live happily ever after. This is your quest and your happily ever after could be at the end of it.’

Daisy laughed until she noticed Tamsyn was deadly serious. She didn’t believe in happy-ever-afters but she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge.

Daisy hugged her knees, stared out across Ottercombe Bay and thought. ‘We’d best take a look at the place before I make any rash decisions,’ she said, but before she’d finished the sentence Tamsyn was dragging her unceremoniously to her feet.

In front of her was an odd sight. It was a single-storey ornate building sat on its own with a railway platform and portion of train track in front of it. Daisy stood with her hands on her hips and took it all in as Tamsyn ran backwards and forwards along the platform like a toddler in a toyshop. Daisy was standing in what apparently had once been the station car park and was now a waist-high weed jungle with a series of increasingly bigger potholes where there had once been concrete. The railway track was also overgrown and in its entirety only measured about a hundred metres; on it was a dilapidated old railway carriage. The station building itself was in better condition, it looked grubby but its golden Victorian brickwork was easily visible. Daisy felt like she was in a Poirot movie and despite the lack of more track a steam train was going to puff into view any minute.

Tamsyn stopped running up and down the platform and held her arms out wide. ‘What do you think?’

‘Probably make a nice museum.’ Daisy squinted in the sunlight.

‘But it’s soooo pretty. Isn’t it?’ said Tamsyn, jumping down from the platform and landing on the railway line. Daisy could see why her grandfather, Arthur, had wanted to build on the land, it was in a prime location about a mile inland where the ground got flatter, close to the town but convenient for the main roads and just a stroll to the beach. It was prime holiday rental territory but if the council weren’t going to let them build on it she couldn’t see much use for it – even if it was a pretty little building. Tamsyn came to stand next to her.

‘I love the three chimney pots,’ said Tamsyn, studying the tall stacks spread across the roof.

‘Hmm,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m guessing inside it’s split into three rooms.’

‘Dunno. Shall we open it up?’

Daisy looked at the boarded-up windows and door and the missing roof tile. ‘We’d need tools. I don’t think there’s a lot of point to be honest, Tams.’ She glanced at Tamsyn who was gazing at the building the same way children look at Cinderella’s castle at Disney World – it was a look of complete awe. Daisy had another look herself, perhaps she was just more of a realist than Tamsyn.

‘Come on, I thought you were the adventurer – you’re not telling me you don’t want to explore inside?’ said Tamsyn, giving Daisy a small dig in the ribs.

Daisy had to admit she was curious. She liked old buildings. Daisy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind a snoop about but—’

‘Right come on then. My dad has tools,’ said Tamsyn, striding back to the bike. Daisy took a deep breath, she knew it would be easier to simply go along with her. She checked her watch. She wasn’t going to get far tonight, she may as well stay, have a good home-cooked meal with Aunt Coral and head off tomorrow. She didn’t feel good about sneaking out earlier. Aunt Coral deserved an explanation before she moved on, it was the least she could do. She hoped she hadn’t already found the note she’d left.

Back at the cottage Tamsyn went to hers to get the tools and Daisy slunk inside quietly in the hope Bugsy wouldn’t go off like a house alarm. A quick peek through the kitchen and she could see Aunt Coral was in the garden. Daisy let out the breath she was holding in and scurried through to her bedroom. She dropped the rucksack and went to retrieve the note from the pillow but it wasn’t there. She hunted about the bed and floor but there was no sign of it. Her heart sank. What must Aunt Coral think of her? For a moment she considered making a run for it anyway but something twanged at her heartstrings and she decided she’d simply have to face up to things. She went through to the kitchen and was about to go out the back door when a flash of black and white caught her eye as it scooted under the table. She crouched down. There was Bugsy with the envelope she had written the note on.