Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year. Bella OsborneЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Two

      Daisy was woken by something scratching at her door. She was coming round, whilst wondering where she was, when the bedroom door sprung open and something burst in. Daisy leapt in fright but quickly realised it was only Bugsy. At virtually the same time the dog seemed to spot who was in the bed. He snorted his disgust and strutted out of the room. It seemed Bugsy’s wake-up calls would be a disadvantage of having a bedroom on the ground floor.

      It was Monday morning, the day of the funeral. She had tried to talk to Aunt Coral about the will yesterday but she didn’t know anything more than she’d already shared except to say Daisy’s father, Ray, hadn’t been left anything because Reg had helped him out financially in the past and Ray had agreed he’d already had his fair share of any inheritance. This in itself had been a revelation to Daisy, but looking back her father had rarely had a stable job while she’d been growing up so the money they had lived on must have come from somewhere. Reg had always been generous to a fault, one of the many things she’d loved and admired about him.

      She wondered what Great Uncle Reg had left her in his will. She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, it had been almost three years ago, shortly after she dropped out of university for the second time and she felt a twinge of guilt. He had seemed full of life despite his advancing years. She recalled his mane of grey hair and wayward beard that always seemed at odds with his otherwise smart appearance, which invariably included a cravat. He’d said something to her then about securing her future but she hadn’t paid much attention – she now wished she had, the suspense was killing her.

      A light tap on the door pulled her from her thoughts. ‘Good morning. I’m glad you’re awake. Tamsyn will be here shortly and we’ve got a truckful of sandwiches to make for the wake,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘Or “pallbearers party” as Reg liked to call it,’ she added with a chuckle before she disappeared into the kitchen.

      The truckful of sandwiches was no joke, because shortly after Daisy was up to her elbows in a buttery production line whilst Tamsyn did her best to update her on who she may know at the funeral.

      ‘You remember Max, don’t you?’ she asked.

      Daisy jutted out her lip and slapped a piece of ham on the buttered bread Aunt Coral had just handed her. ‘Not sure.’ But even as she said it a picture of a cider-fuelled teenage snogging fest loomed ugly in her mind. Whilst she had left Ottercombe Bay at seven years old she had returned each year for a two-week holiday, giving her a snapshot of the life she’d been pulled away from.

      ‘You doooo,’ said Tamsyn. ‘Max Davey, he never tucked his shirt in.’

      ‘Sounds like every boy at primary school to me.’

      ‘Jason Fenton, remember him?’

      Daisy paused with a slice of ham held aloft. ‘Skinny kid, played with trains at break time?’

      ‘Yes. That’s him. He’s a policeman now,’ said Tamsyn, with a firm bob of her head.

      ‘Wow, well done Jason. Why would Jason and this Max be coming to my great uncle’s funeral?’

      Tamsyn opened her mouth but Aunt Coral was already on the case. ‘They’re both lifeboat crew and your great uncle supported the lifeboat his whole life. He was Lifeboat Operations Manager for many years,’ said Aunt Coral proudly. ‘Max and Jason both used to meet him for a coffee once in a while to hear his stories.’ She paused briefly mid-spread with her buttered knife aloft. ‘There’s lots of people in this town who are going to miss him.’

      Daisy patted her arm, Aunt Coral gave her a wan smile and returned to spreading.

      Daisy shed a few tears during the service but overall the funeral was surprisingly cheerful, which reflected Reg’s personality. A few people told their favourite stories of Reg – one of them involving a donkey and a top hat, which had them all belly laughing – so as everyone filed out of church most of them were smiling, which was exactly what Reg would have wanted.

      Daisy studied the floral tributes and wondered who all these people were who knew her great uncle but who she’d never heard of, especially some calling themselves Bunny and Toots.

      ‘Hi … again,’ said a deep voice behind her. Daisy turned to see a ruggedly handsome young man. ‘I’m sorry Reg died, he was a sound bloke. You okay, Daisy?’

      ‘Hi …’ She paused where his name should go as a cavalcade of memories bombarded her.

      He twitched his head. ‘Don’t remember me? For one thing, I stopped you riding your bike through the carnival procession on Saturday. Prevented a potential massacre, I reckon,’ he said, his local accent soft and barely noticeable.

      ‘Ah, yes,’ said Daisy feeling more than a little embarrassed at her behaviour that night. ‘Sorry about that.’ He didn’t look half as aggressive now, with his hair groomed and wearing a smart shirt and tie although he kept running his finger around his collar giving the impression he wasn’t very comfortable in the outfit. ‘You’re Max. You were the boy who always had his shirt untucked at school.’ She was keen to avoid reminding him about their teenage antics.

      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