The Second Chance Hotel

She knew it wasn’t like that, not really. She got that motherhood was hard – hell, her own mother had shown her real strength, just by being out there, trying to live her life. She had been in her mother’s shoes, packing up her life and driving to Shady Pines for a new start. She’d felt the connection so keenly at times that it felt like her mother was actually sitting in the car with her, listening to CDs and crying at the sad songs. How her mother had found the strength to go on, to raise her child and still keep smiling, she’d never know. It made her love and miss her all the more, so much her heart hurt. She wished she could talk to her now, tell her how grateful she was. Thanks, Mum, for making me at least half as brave as you.

Thinking about growing a new life inside her body left her nothing but cold now. She would never know that joy, so she shut herself away from it. Some days, it was easy. Days like today, dreading the arrival of a small person who had done nothing wrong, it wasn’t so simple to understand. She really didn’t want to pat another child on the head like a cocker spaniel any time soon. How old was his daughter anyway, and what about the mother? What did she think about moving to a chalet here again, and her husband working for a tearful woman who couldn’t hang a front door? The whole thing had her stomach in knots. It made her think of Duncan, and a day some months back, when she’d felt just as anxious.

***

‘God, I’m so depressed,’ April murmured to herself, kicking a frilly grey scatter cushion off the bed with enough force that it propelled across the huge white and grey room, hitting Duncan’s trouser press that sat to one side of the large bay window. From the walk-in shower in the en suite, a voice called out.

‘You say something, honey?’ His deep rich voice echoed against the tiled walls, the water still running as he showered for work.

‘No, nothing,’ she lied, lying back against the plush sheets. ‘Just falling apart quietly over here.’ She said it so he wouldn’t hear, of course. He was already in work mode, his suit laid out on the dresser, the jaunty cherry-coloured cufflinks she’d bought him for their wedding anniversary sat on top.

Her phone beeped at the other side of the room, where it sat on charge. The sound set her teeth on edge. She’d had the foresight to book the day off, but she hadn’t told Duncan why. She couldn’t tell him; she felt embarrassed. More than that, she just knew he wouldn’t understand either.

‘So, what are you up to today?’ he asked, finally turning off the power shower and walking into the bedroom with a fluffy white towel around his tight little waist. Duncan was … well … buff, for lack of a better word. She couldn’t help but think about the day they’d met, and how taken she’d been by him. He’d been seated at her table for a business meeting, and it wasn’t the only deal he clinched that day. That night, they’d had their first date, and the rest was history.

‘Not much,’ she muttered. ‘I might go to the gym.’ Spend half my life there anyway, trying to stay clear of the chub rub the fancy dresses always cause. Sweatpants were created by the god of comfort. Sometimes, a couture gown leaves me feeling like I’ve spent a night on the rack in the Red Room. Chance would be a fine thing these days. Baby making was more about the quantity, not the quality.

‘You should,’ he said, coming to sit on the bed and reaching under the sheet to pinch her midriff. ‘You could do with a bit of toning up, less air in the old tyre!’ April shrank away from him, and he laughed. ‘Oh come on, I’m only kidding. The gym would be good though, get you out of the house. I do worry about you, rattling around here all day when you’re not “working”.’ He air-quoted ‘working’ with raised hands, and April said nothing. She loved her job at the hotel, and it had been a lifeline to her over the years. It wasn’t up to Duncan’s swanky job, but she didn’t envy him that either. There was more to life than sharp suits and flash cars. She supposed it was why they worked. She felt safe with him, and he felt secure that she was with him for him, and not the trappings

Why they had worked, a tiny little voice that sounded suspiciously like hers whispered in her head. Had worked. Lately, she wasn’t quite so sure. Everything that once appealed to her angered her now. His ability to shrug things off. Lose himself in work, and statistics of conception techniques. Not sexy. Her phone pinged again, and Duncan stood up off the bed and fetched it for her.

‘Here, maybe it’s one of the girls.’

She smiled weakly, but didn’t take it from him. His smile dimmed, just for a second, and he dropped it onto the bed next to her. ‘I’d better go, early conference call from London.’

He leaned over her, taking her face between his hands and looking at her earnestly.

‘April, you will get through this. I promise. Get outside today, please. You need any money?’

She scowled at him, and he pretended to jump in fright.

‘Okay, okay, I was only asking. Have a good day.’ He brushed his lips against hers, the tiniest scrap of a kiss.

‘Love you,’ she told him.

‘I know,’ he said, tapping the end of her nose once with his index finger. ‘Best be off.’

He left her lying in their huge plush bed, staring at her phone. With a resigned sigh, she picked it up, looking through her notifications. The usual discount emails from the online clothing shops she used in favour of braving the harsh strip lighting and stick-thin shop assistants, trying on gorgeous clothes that made her look like sausage meat the second she donned them. Another email offered her a penis enlargement for only $2000, and the next one told her that she had won £18 million from a distant cousin, an African prince no less. Perhaps she could afford the penis enlargement then. A good day.

Then came the social media notifications, and she skimmed through them as quickly as possible. Nothing much really, but Hayley from work had posted, tagging her, and she clicked on it by accident. A photo popped up, with a caption.

‘Lottie’s first day at big school! Thanks so much April Statham for the gorgeous book bag! Can’t believe my baby is so grown up!’ It was followed by an alarming number of emojis and hashtags, crying faces, a school icon and a little girl emoji. Hashtags like #thanksauntieApril #biggirlnow #dontcry #mybaby and the one she always dreaded: #blessed.

#blessed was April’s arch nemesis. She hated it. She used to use it herself, back in the day. She’d even set up an Instagram account to document her new married life with Duncan. Pictures of sunsets and fancy cocktails from Duncan’s work trips, her tagging along and reading half the airport bookshop’s paperbacks by the pool while he worked in the day. Now she barely went online, let alone posted anything. What would she post today? Social media was full of little children and young adults, all beaming in uniform, nervous smiles to the camera as their parents stood them against front doors and in front of houses and fireplaces around the country.

How on earth could she tell Duncan she just couldn’t face the day? He would coo and make all the right noises, but she knew he didn’t get it. Not really. The fact was that her front door was empty of tiny humans, and she just couldn’t bear it today. She pulled the cover over herself, turned off her phone, and went back to sleep. The one thing she consoled herself with, as she drifted off, was that she had Duncan, and they were in this together. Had she known the truth, the tears might just have fallen that bit faster.

When Duncan had first suggested having a baby, she’d known it wouldn’t be easy. Duncan was so upbeat, so utterly convinced that having enough money to throw at a problem was the answer. It wasn’t though, and every failed attempt and test result turned to a wedge between them. While April researched, and obsessed, and worked out secretly at the gym, Duncan worked. He got busier and more distracted. Secretive even. The elephant in the room was the missing baby, and the fact that Duncan longed for it so much. Every day, April disappointed him more. Rejection chokes out intimacy, and right now, April could barely breathe.

Chapter 5

It was well past lunchtime when April’s stomach started to growl so loudly she could hear it over the portable radio. She straightened up, her vest top and denim shorts splattered with paint, and admired her handiwork. She was systematically painting the outside of the chalets to brighten them up, and had decided to paint each one a different colour. She wanted them to look like beach huts, all jaunty colours and themed chalets. At present they looked rather like the remnants of a concentration camp, instead of somewhere that people would love to holiday at.

April knew that in this business, word of mouth and repeat custom were paramount, and made all the difference. She had sunk every penny she had into this place, and the pitiful amount she had left in her personal bank account needed to last long enough to cover the repairs and get the place up and running. She needed to live cheap and make the most of the money in her new business account. She needed this place to be what it once was, what she remembered as a girl, and not only that, it had to be better. It had to work, because otherwise she would … well, she didn’t even want to think about that. After everything she had been through, she refused to go home with her tail between her legs. She had no home anymore. This patch of Cornish land was her hill, and if she had to die on it, so be it.

Placing the lid on the paint pot she was using, this one being a gorgeous mint-green colour, she took her brushes and went to head home. A voice called out to her. Martha.

‘You shouldn’t just rinse those brushes you know. It’s best if you get them cleaned properly. That cheap outdoor paint tends to dry into horrible little globules on the budget brushes.’

April looked down at her brushes, then walked over to Martha. She was sitting outside the front of her chalet, in an egg-shaped chair. A sketch board and a few pencils sat next to a pitcher of lemonade on a side table next to her.

‘What would you recommend, Martha?’ April held out her brushes and Martha reached for them. Turning to her side, she lifted a small bin and unceremoniously dumped the brushes straight into it, slapping her hands together for effect.

‘That,’ she said bluntly, tossing her head towards the bin behind her. ‘Buy new brushes and get better paint. That chalet you started looks like a huge ball of snot. Lemonade?’

April took a deep breath, winded by the sheer number of putdowns that Martha had expelled with pure finesse, and found herself nodding yes. Martha kissed her teeth and stood up, rubbing at her knee.

‘I’ll get a glass. The pitcher in the fridge is colder.’

April’s sneaker-clad feet stood just outside the threshold, toes a half inch away from entering the chalet. Martha glanced back and rolled her eyes, making the little half moon glasses sitting on the end of her nose lift and drop back down.

‘I suppose technically it’s your property, so do come in.’

April checked the bottom of her feet for any stray paint flecks before walking in.

‘Wow,’ was all she could say. It was as if she had stepped into another world. The inside of the chalet was unrecognisable from the others on the park. Here, art hung on every available wall space, on the cushion covers, even the rug was a rug hook version of ‘The Scream’, and it spanned the hallway area, making the whole place colourful. April’s eyes were on stalks. She just couldn’t take it all in fast enough. ‘Did you do all this?’

Even Martha smiled now.

‘I did, for the most part. Cillian is a dab hand with a hammer, he helped when he could.’

April was still scanning the room, trying and failing to be polite and not look around the place like she was an eager burglar.

‘Well, it’s beautiful,’ she breathed eventually. Her gaze fell on a photo frame near a large flat-screen television that sat on a whitewashed wood dresser. A wedding photo, black and white, of a young man in a suit, and a tall determined-looking woman in white at the side of him. Martha saw her looking, but neither spoke a word.

Martha pulled a large glass pitcher out of her fridge, pouring two glasses out and filling them with ice.

‘It’s homemade, but I don’t like it too sweet,’ she warned as she passed April a glass. April lifted the glass to her lips and waited for a tangy taste on her tongue, but it was beautiful. She hadn’t realised how thirsty she was. She’d drained half the glass without even trying. Martha held out the jug and refilled her glass. Pointing to the outside chair, she started to walk back outside.

‘I have a recliner, in the corner. Just pull it out.’

April did as she was asked, and soon the pair were sitting like old friends, looking out at the park, drinking their lemonade. They were sitting like old friends, of course, but that was where the similarity ended. Martha was sitting rather dourly, looking at April as though she was looking for a label.

‘Something wrong, Martha?’ April asked.

‘Why did you come here?’ Martha countered at the speed of light. ‘Why did you buy this place?’

‘It’s an investment opportunity,’ she trotted out, as she had to ninety-nine per cent of the people back home. ‘I wanted a challenge, a change of pace.’ Martha snorted, and April’s eyes widened.

‘Did you get that from one of those daytime programmes? It sounds like a script.’

It is a script, April agreed silently. That’s exactly what it is. It hides my pain.

‘Nothing of the sort,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I’ve worked in hospitality for a long time, and it was time for something new to sink my teeth into.’ That part was true, at least.

‘Oh?’ Marta replied. ‘What jobs have you done?’

This is feeling more and more like a job interview by the second. I own her home, and yet I feel like I haven’t earned the right to be here yet. Why do I feel out of place everywhere I go?

‘I worked in a hotel chain for many years.’

‘Worked in one? As what, the manager?’ Martha opened her sketchpad, angling it away from April, and started working on it with a pencil. Her eyes never left April’s.

‘Well … no but I did work in many different roles there. I learned a lot.’ She was mumbling into her neck now like a naughty schoolgirl who’d been dragged in front of the headmaster.

‘No?’ Martha asked, an incredulous note in her tone. ‘Never managed anything, have you? Chin up when you’re speaking, dear.’ April raised her chin, and Martha gave her an approving look. One that you would get from your nan when you remembered your P’s and Q’s.

April opened her mouth to plead her case, but then she realised she didn’t have the experience on paper, so there was no point in lying to herself, or anyone else for that matter.

‘I have the paperwork and insurance I need, and once the guests start coming, it will be fine.’ She didn’t know whether she actually believed that herself, or whether she was just telling Martha what she thought she wanted to hear. ‘And I have Cillian now. He has the knowledge and background of the place. I’m sure we can get organised soon enough.’

Martha said nothing, just sat staring out at the chalet park. April looked across at the half-painted hut. In the sunlight, half-wet, it did have a certain bogey-like tinge to it. Hopefully once it was dry properly it would settle a little lighter. The tin had declared the colour to be Green Tea. Maybe the cheaper paints were a bad idea. The truth was though, her car had barely made it to the DIY store and back, and she had nearly fainted at the price of the higher end paint pots. Laughable really, since her old home was all designer wallpaper and Farrow & Ball paint. How the other half live, eh.

‘This place used to be glorious,’ Martha said, half to herself, half to April. ‘The chalets were all painted fresh every year, and at the end of the season, the owners would throw a huge beach BBQ and party, to round the year off. All the locals would attend – it was a big highlight here, ending the summer off properly. Those parties were such fun, everyone together.’

April watched Martha’s face light up as she talked about the old days here, and she found herself even more determined to bring the place back to its former glory, to get those days back, to build a sense of community here, just like she felt in the rest of Cornwall. How she’d felt when she’d come here with her mother.

‘It ended not long after the last party I went to. The owners decided to take a step back. They got Tim in, and that was that. The next year, the party just didn’t happen. Of course, I was married by then.’ April saw her expression change, a flash of pain evident on her face. Maybe Martha needed this place to work just as much as she did.

‘Is that why you moved here?’ The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them, but Martha didn’t flinch.

‘When my Charlie died, I was left in a big old house, full of memories and draughts, and cobwebs in corners I just couldn’t reach anymore. I was gathering dust myself I think. It just made sense.’ She tapped her hand on the wooden doorframe next to her affectionately, as you would a faithful hound. ‘I work better here, always have. I started renting the chalet as a workspace at first, but then gradually, there was so much of my stuff gravitating over here that it didn’t make sense to keep the other place. What did you run from?’ Her blue eyes focused on April like a hawk would on a field mouse.

‘Husband.’

‘Still?’

‘No. All finalised.’

Martha nodded. ‘Anyone else back home?’

April thought of her mother, who’d travelled with her in the boot with her worldly belongings. She had friends, sure, but even those had drifted of late. Without her job, her world had gotten a lot smaller back in Yorkshire in those last few weeks.

‘No, not now. My mum passed a few months ago.’

It felt as if Martha patted her hand, just once, the lightest touch. By the time she had looked to check, Martha was back scribbling in her sketchpad.

‘Do you have anyone?’ April asked, with a genuine longing to know the answer. Martha looked at her over the top of her glasses.

‘I have friends, but no, not really. Not since Charlie. It seems like we are on our own, eh?’

It was a throwaway comment from Martha, but it felt like a javelin to the heart to April. She felt as though it was embedded in her chest, leaving her wholly unable to speak, or to protest that she wasn’t alone. Not like Martha anyway. Martha was bitter, April wasn’t. Not yet. There was still time for her to change her life. Martha seemed perfectly happy living in her bubble.

‘For now perhaps, but I’ll be busy soon enough.’

Martha pursed her lips. ‘Well, that depends on what you turn this place into I suppose. I for one will be watching with interest.’

She was still scribbling away, her pencil making long sweeping lines. Other than the sound of the sea, it was all they could hear as they sat regarding each other.

‘I’d better get back to it I suppose,’ April said after a time, feeling more and more awkward by the moment. It felt like Martha had dismissed her like a schoolmarm. Martha gave her a curt nod, and she was almost out of earshot when Martha spoke again.

‘About Cillian? He’s a good man. Heart of gold. Fiercely loyal. Look after him.’

Look after him? An odd thing to say.

‘Er, I will. I’ll make sure he’s paid the going rate, minus a bit for rent of course.’

Martha snorted with laughter. It took a few seconds for April to realise it was laughter, and not a stray biscuit crumb down the wrong hole.

‘You’ll see, love. We here at Lizard Point are a close-knit bunch, but secrets hide in plain sight like ornaments on a hearth.’ She lowered her sketchpad a little as April stared at her open-mouthed. ‘Look after him, that’s all I’m saying. He’s had a rough time lately.’

April found herself nodding along, wondering what secrets hung on the hearths of the people she’d met so far. What did she mean?

A van pulled into the chalet park, and April’s worries fell out of her head. Her first delivery was here for the chalet shop, the basics, with more stuff coming later. She was going to get this place up and running, and keep her head down. As she smiled a greeting at the affable delivery driver, she was aware of how her guts churned at the thought of home, and what she had left behind. Maybe she shouldn’t have left at all. Maybe this was the biggest mistake of the whole tragedy that seemed to be her life. She padded over to the office, to let the man deliver the boxes, and pushed the terror she felt down into the depths of her mind. She would focus on what she could change, not what she couldn’t. After today, she would have a neighbour, and a helper, and she was determined to make the very best of both.

***

‘She’s so annoying! I mean it, Paddy – it’s not going to work! I was better off in the crummy flat.’

Paddy rolled his eyes back in his head as he lifted his pint glass to his pouting lips. Cillian started to speak again, but Paddy held an index finger up to pause him, and kept drinking. Once half of the glass of amber liquid had been drunk, he reluctantly placed the glass back on the table and wiped the froth from his moustache.

‘Really? Old Shady Pines that bad? Surely she can’t be any worse than Tim. You put up with him long enough.’

‘She doesn’t have a clue.’

It was true, she didn’t. He’d felt bad about going along with Martha’s plan of him living in, but when they’d gone into the reception hut and discussed her plans, he’d realised just how skittish she was. How much she needed things to work out. Which meant pressure on him, to come through for her. What was she doing here? He couldn’t help but feel like he had to help her now. The thing was, he couldn’t get attached. He was already thinking about what she was doing now. What she would look like when he rolled up to live next door. He needed to keep her at arm’s length. Focus on how bad a boss she was at the moment, all fingers and thumbs. His head was in a quandary, so being annoyed by her seemed to be easier. In his head anyway. The male brain was a wonderful thing. Who said all we think about are boobies and football?

‘Tim didn’t.’ Paddy’s raised brows said it all, but he said more anyway. Typical Paddy and his Dr Phil obsession. ‘The man was a charlatan, and a lazy eejit to boot. This woman sounds like she’s just out of her depth. Sound familiar?’ The brows went again. ‘We’ve all been there, mate. Shit happens, and we have to make a life.’

‘She’s not from round here.’

‘Neither are you. Neither was Tim. What is this, the Mexican border?’

‘She’s a woman though.’

Paddy guffawed at that one.

‘Oh no, a bloody woman! You should have said! Aren’t you raising a future woman, single-handed? Come on, Cillian. You’re not sexist. What’s really the problem?’

Cillian huffed, straightening up in his seat, ready to give his friend what for, and list all the numerous reasons he had for not liking the new owner. Except, now Paddy had dismissed his concerns, he didn’t actually know why he wouldn’t like her. Maybe it was because she had up and bought a great big whack off chalet park single-handed, with seemingly no experience or help. Who did that? Cillian just couldn’t understand it. Was she some sort of trust fund kid, spending her parents’ money on some frivolous whim? She didn’t look it, and her wheels weren’t exactly posh. What was she doing here? This question just went around and around in his head, and all signs pointed to her not sticking around. All the more reason to focus on the negative and shut off his heart. Which, annoyingly, seemed to be beating that bit faster around her.

Paddy was watching him with a tiny little smirk on his face, and Cillian glared at him.