Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year. Bella OsborneЧитать онлайн книгу.
Daisy’s bum didn’t feel like her own thanks to four hours on an old motorbike. A pretty village sign welcomed her, but Daisy felt a long-buried sadness creep over her like frost across a windowpane. Coming back to Ottercombe Bay was a big mistake. If only I had a choice, she thought.
A good-looking man in an unattractive high-vis jacket interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out in front of Daisy’s motorbike. She hastily swerved and braked, and the ancient vehicle spluttered to a halt.
‘You can’t come this way,’ the young man said, his muscled arms clamped across his luminous chest.
‘Please,’ she said, followed by her best cheesy grin; something familiar about the man’s mop of dark hair had her memory working overtime.
‘No way,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders.
Daisy flicked up her helmet visor with an air of defiance; she wasn’t easily intimidated. ‘Don’t be daft. I need to get to Trow Lane.’ She looked longingly down the main road. She was only three streets away.
‘You’ll have to go around.’ The man was peering at Daisy. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, a frown appearing briefly on his tanned face.
‘I doubt it. Look, it’s daft to go miles out of my way. I’m only going down there,’ she said, pointing. Daisy was tired after her long journey and didn’t need this jumped-up workman telling her what to do, especially when she could see no reason why the road was cordoned off on a sunny Saturday evening in late June.
She revved the motorbike back to life but high-vis man stepped up to her front tyre, blocking her path. They glared at each other. Daisy revved the engine again and made the motorbike hop an inch forward. He didn’t even flinch. She was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering nearby. Then she heard it – a distant clanging sound. She frowned and the man glared back. The clanging sound drew closer and Daisy recognised it as drums accompanied by what sounded like someone trying to get a tune out of an elephant. She spotted the bunting crisscrossing the road. The penny finally dropped – it was carnival parade night. He was right, there was no way she would be able to ride her bike through town tonight. She slammed down her visor and grumbled an apology before she skidded the motorbike away leaving the smug-looking high-vis man swathed in a fug of black smoke.
Daisy was still cross when she pulled up at Sea Mist Cottage. She stopped the bike, tugged off her helmet and tore the heavy backpack off her aching shoulders. This was not a good start and it was further confirmation that she shouldn’t have come back. She turned and looked at the cottage. It was like being transported back in time – it hadn’t changed a bit. The ancient building still looked like the sad face Daisy had imagined she saw when she was a child, with its heavy overhanging thatch eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.
‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.
‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.
Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’
At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.
Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.
‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.
‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.
Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.
‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.
‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’
‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily