Spring at Lavender Bay: A delightfully uplifting holiday romance for 2018!

Beth’s snort of laughter was echoed by Eliza as she pictured the expression on Betty Murdoch’s face when her husband rolled in waving the greasy peace offering. Considering she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp on the best of days, she didn’t fancy Mac’s chances.

Eliza waggled her eyebrows. ‘She won’t be sharing his sausage anytime soon.’

‘Oh, God! Eliza!’ Libby clapped her hands over her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. ‘That’s an image I never wanted in my poor innocent brain!’ The three of them burst into howls of laughter.

Gasping for breath, Beth waved a hand at her screen. ‘Stop, stop! You’ll make me spill my bloody wine.’ Which was a horrifying enough thought to quell them all into silence as they paused to take a reverent drink from their glasses.

Libby lifted a hank of her hair, dyed some shade of blue that Beth had no name for, and gave it a rueful sniff. ‘So, I get why I’m all alone apart from the smell of fried fish, but what’s up with you two that we’re hanging out on this fine Friday night?’

‘Work,’ Beth muttered, digging into her takeaway.

‘Age of Myths and bloody Legends.’ Eliza said.

‘Ah.’ Libby nodded in quiet sympathy. She knew enough about them both that nothing else was needed. People who didn’t know them well found their continuing friendship odd. Those bonds formed in the classroom through proximity and necessity often stretched to breaking point once they moved beyond the daily routine. Beth and Eliza had left their home town of Lavender Bay, whilst Libby stayed at home to help her father after the untimely death of her mum to cancer when Libby had been just fourteen.

They made a good trio—studious Beth, keeping her head down and out of trouble; warm, steady Eliza who preferred a book or working on a craft project to almost anything else; and snarky Libby with her black-painted nails and penchant for depressing music. She’d taken immense pride in being Lavender Bay’s only goth, but both Beth and Eliza had seen beyond the shield of baggy jumpers and too-much eyeliner to the generous heart beneath it. Though it might be difficult to tell from the hard face she turned to the world, Libby was the most sensitive of them all.

A sound off-screen made Libby turn around. She glanced back quickly at the screen. ‘Hold on, Dad wants something.’ Beth took the opportunity to finish off her takeaway while they waited for her.

Pushing the heavy purple-shaded fringe out of her red-rimmed eyes, Libby stared into the camera in a way that it made it feel like she was looking directly at Beth. ‘Oh, Beth love. I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’

A sense of dread sent a shiver up her spine and Beth took another quick mouthful of wine. ‘What’s up, not your dad?’

Her friend shook her head. ‘No. He’s fine. Miserable as ever, grumpy old git.’ There was no hiding the affection in her voice. Mick Stone was a gruff, some would say sullen, bear of a man, but he loved his girl with a fierce, protective heart. ‘It’s about Eleanor. She had a funny turn this evening as she was closing up the emporium, and by the time the ambulance arrived she’d gone. Massive heart attack according to what Dad’s just been told. I’m so sorry, Beth.’ Streaks of black eyeliner tracked down Libby’s cheeks as the tears started to flow.

The glass slipped from Beth’s limp fingers, spilling the last third of her wine across her knees and onto the quilt. ‘But…I only spoke to her last week and she sounded fine. Said she was a bit tired, but had been onto the school about getting a new Saturday girl in to help her. It can’t be…’

‘Oh, Beth.’ If Eliza said any more, Beth didn’t hear it as she closed her eyes against the physical pain of realisation. Eleanor Bishop had been a fixture in her life for so long, Beth had believed her invincible. From the first wonder-filled visits she’d made as a little girl to the sprawling shop Eleanor ran on the promenade, to the firm and abiding friendship when she’d taken Beth on as her Saturday girl. The bright-eyed spinster had come to mean the world to her. All those years of acting as a sounding board when Beth was having problems at home, dispensing advice without judgement, encouraging her to spread her wings and fly, letting Beth know she always had a place to return to it. A home.

If she’d only known, if she’d only had some kind of warning, she would have made sure Eleanor understood how much she meant to her, how grateful she was for her love and friendship. Now though, it was too late. She’d never hear Eleanor’s raucous, inelegant laugh ringing around the emporium as she made a joke to one of her customers, or passed comment on the latest shenanigans of the band of busybodies who made up the Lavender Bay Improvement Society.

The unpleasant dampness of her pyjama trouser leg finally registered, and she righted the glass with trembling fingers. Through the haze of tears obscuring her vision, she saw the worried, tear-stained faces of her friends staring back at her from the computer screen. ‘I’m all right,’ she whispered, knowing they would hear the lie in her voice if she spoke any louder. ‘Poor Eleanor.’

Libby scrubbed the cuff of her shirt beneath one of her eyes. ‘I don’t think she suffered, at least. Dad reckoned she was gone before she would have known anything about it. At least there’s that.’ Her voice trailed off and then she shook her head angrily. ‘What a load of bollocks. Why do we say such stupid things at times like this?’ Noisy sobs followed her outburst and Beth ached at the distance between them.

Eliza pressed her fingers to the screen, as though she could somehow reach through and offer comfort. ‘Don’t cry, darling, I can’t bear it.’ She addressed her next words to Beth. ‘What are you going to do about the arrangements? I’m sure Mum and Dad will be happy to host the wake. Eleanor doesn’t have any other family, does she?’

Eliza was right. Eleanor had been an only child, never married and apart from some distant cousins she’d mentioned whose parents had emigrated to Australia somewhere under the old Ten Pound Poms scheme, there was no one. Which meant one thing—it would be up to Beth to make sure her beloved friend had a decent send off. She sucked in a breath as she shoved her sorrow down as deep as she could manage. There would be time to deal with that later. ‘I’ll sort it out. I don’t think it can be Monday as I’ll have to straighten up a few things at work, but I’ll be down on the first train on Tuesday morning. Can you let your dad know, Libs? See if he’ll have a word with Mr Bradshaw for me.’ There was only one funeral director in town so they were bound to be dealing with the arrangements.

Libby sniffled then nodded as she too straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ll give Doc Williams a call as well and then we’ll track down whoever’s got the keys for the emporium. Make sure it’s properly locked up until you get here. You won’t be doing this alone, Beth. We’ll sort it out together.’

‘Yes, we will,’ Eliza added. ‘I’ve got some leave accrued at work and Martin can look after himself for a few days. I’ll call Mum and ask her to get my room ready. If there’s not a spare available at the pub, you can bunk in with me for a couple of days.’ The Siren had guest rooms as well as accommodation for the family, and although the bay would be quiet this time of year, they were one of the few places to offer rooms year-round so they got some passing trade from visiting businessmen and families of local people who didn’t have room to accommodate their own guests. Eliza paused, then added softly. ‘If you’d rather stay at the emporium, I’ll sleep over with you.’

The thought of being in the flat above the shop without Eleanor’s bright presence was something Beth couldn’t bear to contemplate. She shook her head. ‘No, I think with you would be best.’

‘Of course, darling. Whatever you need.’ Eliza’s face crumpled. ‘Oh, Beth, I’m so sorry.’

Beth nodded, but couldn’t speak to acknowledge the love and sympathy in those words. If she gave in, she’d never get through the next couple of days. She stared down at the papers she’d set aside until the lump in her throat subsided. Darren would never give her the time off unless she got that bloody report finished. ‘Look, I’d better go. I’ve got an urgent project to sort out for Monday.’

‘Message me if you need anything, promise me?’ Eliza raised her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss.

Beth nodded. ‘Promise.’

‘Me too. Love you both, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of such awful news.’ Libby gave them both a little wave. ‘I know it’s terrible, but I’m so looking forward to seeing you both even under such awful circumstances. It’s been too long.’

They signed off with a quick round of goodbyes, and the screen went dark in front of Beth. The greasy smell from her plate churned her stomach and she gathered it up, together with her glass and the bottle of wine. Trudging down to the kitchen, she thought about what Libby had said. She was right, it had been too long since the three of them had been together. They’d been drifting apart, not consciously, but life had pulled them in different directions. No more though, not if Beth could help it.

Now that Eleanor was gone, they were all she had left in the world. Crawling beneath the covers, Beth curled around the spare pillow and let her tears flow once more. The one person in the world she needed to talk to more than Eliza and Libby would never pick up the phone again. What was she going to do?

Chapter Two

‘Stick another one in here, and stop mooning over that bloody girl, lad.’

Samuel Barnes dragged his eyes away from the corner table where his sister was huddled with her two best friends to fix a baleful stare across the bar taps. Honestly, he didn’t understand what got into his grandad’s head sometimes. He’d known both Beth and Libby since they were knee-high and they would never be more to him than surrogate sisters. And, even if he were inclined towards either of them—not that he was, of course!—he’d hardly be trying to hit on one of them at a wake. ‘I’m not mooning, Pops, just checking the girls are all right. It’s been a bloody tough day for all of them.’

Blue eyes, still as bright as the ones he saw in his own reflection every morning, twinkled back at him from his grandad’s deeply lined face. The shock of curls on his head might be pure silver now, but Joe Barnes was still trouble in a tweed cap. ‘My mistake. That’s what happens when us old farts get dehydrated.’ Pops waggled his empty pint glass and Sam took it from him with a shake of his head.

After placing the glass in a half-full rack beneath the bar, he selected a fresh one from the shelf above his head and pulled a fresh pint from that month’s guest ale. Saucy Sal was proving to be a popular choice amongst the regulars, although that might have as much to do with the busty blonde winking out from the beer tap label as the golden-brown ale itself. Sam sighed, it was a long way from the vintage wines he’d recommended to customers at the Michelin-starred restaurant he’d worked at until the previous autumn. ‘Make the most of it, Pops,’ he said as he placed the pint on the towel in front of his grandad. ‘I’m cutting you off after this one.’

‘Cheeky whelp, you can’t cut a man off in his own damn pub! You’re not too old for a clip round the ear. We’ve got to give Eleanor a proper send off, you know.’ It had been a good few years since his parents had taken over running The Siren from Pops, but he still acted like lord and master of the place given half the chance. Now, thanks to his dad’s recent illness, Sam was the one with the dubious honour of being in charge, and Pops sought to take advantage of his relative inexperience at every opportunity.

‘I know, but I don’t want another complaint from the warden because you woke the other residents up with your singing and carrying on.’ Sam struggled against the smile wanting to rise at the memory. They’d celebrated his dad’s fiftieth birthday in as much style as he’d been up to. Sam had pulled out all the stops and cooked them all a four-course meal, choosing the perfect wines to complement each dish.

After a generous brandy nightcap, Sam had left his mum to settle his dad in bed while he walked Pops back to the sheltered accommodation flats about half a mile along the front. The fresh air had hit them both, and it hadn’t been entirely clear who’d held who up, but Sam was accepting no responsibility for the rousing chorus of ‘She was only a farmer’s daughter’ Pops had insisted on singing as Sam fumbled with the key to his grandad’s door.

Pops waved a dismissive hand. ‘Bah, she’s as uptight as that awful perm on her head.’

This time Sam couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter. ‘What am I gonna do with you, Pops?’

His grandad winked then eased himself off the stool to join his cronies in their favourite spot. ‘Well you could fetch me a bite of something from that buffet. Your ma’s done us proud again today. Eleanor would be right pleased with everything.’

Sam nodded. Pops was right. Mum had pulled out all the stops to make sure their erstwhile friend and neighbour had the send-off she deserved. He’d offered to do the catering, but his preferred style of cooking had been deemed too fancy for the occasion, and his mum had been happy to help, leaving him free to help Beth manage the logistics surrounding Eleanor’s funeral.

A sudden lump formed in his throat at the realisation that feisty, funny Eleanor Bishop would never again perch at the corner of the bar to sip the single dry sherry she treated herself to on the way home from church on Sunday mornings. She’d been a fixture of the place his whole life, slipping him and Eliza a lemon sherbet or an Everton mint from one of the ever-present paper bags she kept behind the counter in the emporium.

When he’d found himself unexpectedly back in Lavender Bay, his dreams on hold, she’d been the first to welcome him back—and to offer a sympathetic ear during those first frustrating weeks as he juggled his own disappointment and his father’s wounded pride. With regret, he let the memories go. There would be time enough to mourn her later, in private. Someone needed to hold the fort until they could usher the gathered mourners from the pub.

As no one else currently waited at the bar, he ducked under the side hatch and grabbed a plate from the end of the buffet table. After a quick glance to where the girls sat, he took a second plate. Heaping them both with sandwiches, sausage rolls and mini quiches, he delivered the first to his grandad’s table to a champion’s welcome, then made his way to Eliza’s corner.

The girls had claimed it as their own from the first day they’d been old enough to drink. He could vividly recall a rare weekend visit home from his training placement at the Cordon Bleu in Paris when he’d found them ensconced with a bottle of wine, filling the bar with laughter. They’d been home from their second year at university, and seeing them so grown-up had been a shock to the system. Though Eliza and her friends were only three years younger, the age gap between them had seemed huge growing up. When he’d thought about them, they’d been this amorphous collection of pigtails, terrible taste in pop music, and annoying interruptions. That weekend, they’d diverged into distinct personalities, and that age gap had narrowed considerably.

He’d found Beth particularly distracting, but that had been a moment of madness. A surge of youthful hormones, alcohol and opportunity. The bottle of wine the girls had split had been followed by several large vodka and tonics, leaving them all a little unsteady on their feet. Worried about the way she’d almost fallen out of the door, Sam had followed her out, almost tripping over himself thanks to several pints and an enormous brandy Pops had poured for him.

When he’d straightened up, she’d been standing on the railing that lined the edge of the promenade, arms flung out like she was Rose standing on the prow of the Titanic. With her hair streaming out behind her, and a flush on her cheeks from the booze and the chilly wind, she’d looked as tempting as the mermaid who decorated the pub’s sign swinging over his head.

He’d crossed to her without thinking, her name on his lips. Startled, she’d turned too fast and lost her balance to tumble the short distance into his arms. It might have been all right if she hadn’t hooked her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies up close so he couldn’t fail to notice the womanly curves, the way his hands slotted perfectly at her waist, as though the sculpted indent had been carved to fit only him.

Her fingers had knotted in the curls at his nape, and then they were kissing, hot and wet and frantic—a clumsy clash of lips and tongues. God only knows what might have happened had Libby not staggered out of the bar at the moment to screech in disbelief at the sight of them. Her shocked laughter had doused his passion as effectively as a dip in the sea and Sam had come to his senses. With a muttered apology, he’d fled back into the pub and brushed it off as a stupid mistake. Thankfully, that brief flutter of attraction had passed, and he’d tucked her firmly back into the like-a-sister-to-me box where she belonged.

Sliding the plate onto the table, he studied their red-rimmed eyes with a surge of brotherly concern. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’

Beth glanced up at him. Her hazel eyes, which could morph from brown to green to blue depending on her mood, stood out huge in her pale face. Her chestnut hair had been dragged up in a high ponytail, the strands dull and lifeless. A jut of collarbone he’d never noticed before poked out from the too-loose neck of her navy blouse, and he had to shove his hands in his pockets before she saw them clench into fists. Voice husky with tears, she thanked him for the food.

His lip twitched, wanting to curl into a snarl. Beth had been hooked up with the same bloke for a few years now, so where the hell was he? What kind of man let the woman he loved get herself in such a state? There was no sign of the glossy confidence she’d attained during his years at university. She looked hollow, brittle.

The protectiveness he’d felt for Beth since the day she’d first skipped into his life at six-years-old, roared into life. At the grand age of nine, he’d been told old for the silly games his sister and her best friends played in the yard behind the pub, so had restricted himself to a lofty sigh or a weary shake of his head when they needed him to fetch a ball or help them sketch out a hopscotch on the concrete floor of the yard. Even back then, they’d known he would do anything for them and his complaints fell on deaf ears.

Pops had never understood Sam’s fascination with fancy cooking, and had taken it upon himself to teach him the workings of the pub, whether Sam had much interest in it or not. They’d been down in the cellar one morning checking the barrels and making a note of what they needed to order that week from the brewery, when a high-pitched cry had reached their ears. Racing up the cellar steps, Sam had burst into the yard to find a tear-stained Beth on her hands and knees where she’d tripped over.

He hadn’t been able to do much more than stare into her limpid hazel eyes before his mum had bustled over with a flannel to soothe the grazes on Beth’s palms and shins, but it had been enough for him to make a decision. With no brothers or sisters, Beth didn’t have anyone else to look out for her, so it would be his job from that day forward. It was true that little Libby Stone was an only child as well, but she’d always been as tough as old boots and would likely thump Sam if he tried to pull any of that big brother stuff with her. Beth had always been more delicate, more in need of his protection. Something her feckless parents had failed to give her.

The adult version of Libby wasn’t any less scrappy than the mini one, and right now she was eyeing Sam in a way that made him want to squirm, or scrub at the heat he could feel rising on the back of his neck. With a knowing smile, Libby snagged a sausage roll from the plate in front of Beth and popped it into her mouth. ‘So kind of you to think of us, Sammy.’

Having witnessed that momentary indiscretion between Sam and Beth, she’d been like a dog with a bloody bone, reading far too much into a something-and-nothing of a kiss. They’d both managed to forget about it, so why couldn’t she? Fixing her with a warning glare, he gathered their empty glasses. ‘It’s a big brother’s job to look after his girls. I’ll get you a refill, shall I?’ Not waiting for an affirmative, he returned to the bar, ignoring the derisive snort behind his back that could only have come from Libby.

Eliza followed on his heels. ‘Better make those spritzers, Sam, and heavy on the spritz or we’ll all be crying again.’

He lifted the hatch to let her join him on the business side of the bar, pressing a kiss to the top of the unruly sandy curls they’d both inherited from Pops, through their dad. ‘How are you holding up, kiddo?’

Her arm slid around his waist, and she burrowed deeper into his side. ‘Bloody awful. Poor Beth, she’s been so brave all week she had me fooled into thinking she was coping all right with losing Eleanor, but she’s absolutely shattered.’

His attention strayed once again across the room. Libby had an arm around Beth’s shoulders and their heads were pressed close together as they whispered about something. He saw Beth shake her head, followed by a frown from Libby as the willowy brunette slipped out from beneath her arm and headed towards the bar. A couple of people stopped her on her way, no doubt offering some condolence or other which she accepted with a gracious smile and a few words.

Unable to stop himself, Sam stepped around Eliza to intercept Beth on the threshold of the door leading to the private areas of the pub. ‘Everything all right?’

‘What? Oh, yes, fine thanks, Sam.’ Jesus, could she hear the lie in her voice as clearly as he did? He ground his teeth to choke back the words, forcing a smile he knew wouldn’t reach his eyes. Luckily, she was too distracted to notice much of anything. Holding up the phone in her hand, she gave him a rueful grin. ‘I just need to check in with work, my boss keeps texting me.’

From the little he’d overheard the girls talking about him, her boss sounded like a right knob. ‘I thought you were on leave?’

‘Me too.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a bit noisy in here, you don’t mind if I pop in the back?’

Freeing one hand, he pushed open the swing door to the family area. ‘Help yourself. Mum’s in the kitchen, and I think Dad’s having a lie down so the lounge will be quiet.’

Beth placed one foot on the bottom step, then paused to glance back at him. ‘Thanks. I might go out in the yard, I could do with a bit of fresh air.’

‘Of course.’ Sam grabbed his jacket from the peg by the back door. ‘Here, put this on, and mind your step. The sun doesn’t get high enough this time of year so it’s likely to still be icy in a few spots.’

A more natural smile played upon her lips, but she let him help her into the coat without protest. ‘Thank you.’

The thick length of her hair was caught in the collar, he unhooked it, his fingers accidentally brushing against the nape of her neck. She froze at the unexpected caress, and feeling ten types of awkward himself, Sam tweaked her nose just as he had when she’d been a little girl. The weird tension between them snapped and she gave a little giggle.

He zipped the jacket up to her chin until she was all but swallowed up by the padded material. ‘Don’t get cold, all right? I’ll see if Eliza can give me a hand rounding people up. They’ve all had a good feed and a couple of drinks on the house by now. More than enough to pay their respects.’

Her shoulders drooped, as though the promise of not having to face any more well-wishers had drained the last of her reserves. ‘If you could, I’d appreciate it. I’m…I’m about at the end of my tether.’ The hitch in her voice scrapped him raw. For all Eleanor meant to him, she’d been Beth’s guardian and primary carer for the best part of ten years now.

Her features crumpled for a second before she forced her eyes wide open and heaved a breath. If she needed to be strong, to stand on her own two feet for just a bit longer, he would have to let her. Even if it felt like he’d swallowed a handful of glass. ‘Consider it done, Princess.’