Noah, ‘And dancin’.’
Big finale! ‘In the rain!’ we shout out at the sky together.
One last crazy spin and we chuckle at each other. Then we collapse in a heap and lie back on the wet sand, letting the rain sleet down on us, breathing heavily.
When we’ve finally composed ourselves again, Noah helps me up. He starts to brush sand off me and then, with a resigned grin, gives up. We pick our way softly along the edge of the surf, walking along the whole length of the beach and back. We both collect pretty shells as we go, comparing our treasures.
The question that I don’t want to answer pushes into my brain. Would Harry do this with me? Would he be here with me on the beach being stupid in the rain? Would he dance like Gene Kelly just for the sheer fun of it? Would he spend time picking up shells?
The answer is no. He’d rather be in the warmth of the pub with a drink. I look over at Noah whose hair is plastered flat to his head. He has red, weather-worn cheeks and a broad grin, and I think that Harry doesn’t know what he’s missing.
Eventually, when we both start to shiver in earnest, we reluctantly go back up to the rocks on the beach and find our boots and socks.
‘That was brilliant.’ I feel as if every fibre of me is more alive than it’s ever been before. My skin tingles as if it’s been scrubbed all over. Now to practicalities. ‘How on earth are we going to get our feet dry?’
‘Here,’ he says. ‘Sit down.’
Noah takes my feet in his hands and rubs them down with the dry inside of his fleece. He doesn’t take his eyes from my toes or look up at me at all while he does it, which I think is probably a good thing. And I’m glad that he’s doing it briskly and that the sand is scratchy.
When he does look up, he asks, ‘Better?’
‘Thank you.’
I pop my socks back on, which, unfortunately, are wet and then my boots, which are wet too. Clearly I need some new, more waterproof ones. While I do that Noah brushes the sand from his own feet and puts on his boots.
‘I daren’t get the map out,’ he says. ‘I think it might disintegrate in this downpour, but I’m pretty sure there’s a treat waiting for us just around the bend.’
‘I don’t think that I can cope with any more ecstasy,’ I tease, but neither of us laughs.
Noah looks as if he’s about to say something but, instead, he presses his lips together and turns away.
So we set off again, crossing the empty beach, and there’s a silly, stupid giddiness in my heart that I can’t ignore.
Chapter Twenty-One
There’s also a heavy sogginess in my bottom that I can’t ignore either, so when we come to a tiny harbour with a tearoom, I do nearly spontaneously combust.
‘Hot chocolate?’ Noah suggests.
‘Lead me to it.’
We run the last few hundred metres towards the Boat House Tearoom, laughing. The doorbell clangs our arrival as we burst in through the door, still giggling. The torrential downpour has kept away all but the hardiest of tourists. In one corner there is a family wrapped up in serious waterproof gear but, other than that, we have the place to ourselves.
They look up at us. ‘You sound happy,’ the father notes.
‘We are,’ I say. ‘We’ve been playing on the beach.’
It’s clear from their faces that they think we’re barking mad and it only makes us laugh more.
Noah orders hot chocolate for us both with whipped cream and marshmallows. He has a piece of chocolate cake and I opt for the yummy-looking millionaire’s shortbread. We take them to a table by the window where we can still watch the rain and the restless sea. The family, their tea finished, fuss with zipping up their coats. With a cheery wave to us, they head out once again into the deluge. The children look as if they’d rather be at Disneyworld.
Now that we’re alone in the tearoom, we sit quietly, our silliness spent. My fingers are red raw with cold. I wrap them round my mug, trying to encourage some feeling back into them. Slowly, they tingle back to life. Noah fiddles with a sachet of sugar, tapping it gently on the table, waiting for the grains to fall softly from one end to the other, gazing out of the window, watching the slow, reluctant progress of the sodden family as they clamber back up the cliff.
While I’m spooning melted marshmallow into my mouth, Noah leans in close.
‘I’m thinking of giving up my work at the estate and moving to the coast,’ he confides in me. ‘It was one of the reasons I agreed to come here with Flick.’ I feel myself flinch at the mention of her name. It sounds ridiculous but, for a few hours, it was almost possible to pretend that no one else existed except Noah and me. ‘I’ve had my eye on this part of the world for a while.’
‘Would you look for a similar job?’ I’d imagine that posts like that are few and far between.
‘Ideally, I’d prefer to do something for myself,’ he tells me. ‘I’m not sure what yet. Something outside.’ He looks up and smiles. ‘You’ve seen how much I like being out in the elements.’
‘Yeah, I should say so,’ I joke. Then I look round the bright, welcoming café. ‘I wouldn’t mind throwing everything in and running a little place like this. When it’s not pouring down, I expect it’s very popular.’
‘I was thinking just the same thing. It’s in a fantastic location.’
Noah hunches over his hot chocolate in contemplation while he stirs and stirs it. I’m just content to sit here and watch the movement of his long, strong fingers, his fringe flopping over his forehead, the drips of rain still on his cheeks.
‘Could you do it?’
‘I don’t really know,’ I admit. ‘I used to be quite the cake baker at one time.’
Something else that I don’t get time for now.
‘Would Harry be interested in this kind of business?’
I shake my head sadly. ‘Not a hope in hell.’ He might just about be interested in running a bar, but I’m sure he’d end up drinking away the profits. ‘I think he’s happy where he is. Well, not exactly happy, but I can’t see him ever wanting to leave his job.’ He likes the status it confers on him, the money, the endless business lunches.
‘Would you ever do it on your own?’
I recoil at that. On my own? It’s not something that I’ve previously considered before. Could I do that? Leave Harry and strike out in a new life by myself? And, to be honest, it’s a question that’s struck at my core and is way too big for me to answer.
‘I’m sorry,’ Noah says, obviously reading the expression on my face. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘No. It’s fine.’ I brush crumbs from the table while I find the right words. ‘Harry and I are going through a difficult time.’ Now I look up and risk a half-hearted smile. ‘I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
He nods.
How could he not have noticed? He’d have to be blind.
‘I’m sure we’ll come through it.’ As much as I hate to admit it, in my heart I’m not at all sure that we will. We’re supposed to be bound together for ever, but I feel those bonds fraying with every passing day and, instead of Harry and I being the ones to pull them together, we’re the ones who are tugging them apart. ‘But I’m not sure the solution lies in running a tearoom though.’
We both laugh at that.
Then Noah lets out a long breath and says, ‘I love my work on the estate, but I want something more. For me. I can’t always be at the beck and call of someone else. The people that I work for are great but, essentially, they call all the shots. I don’t want to be always beholden to someone else. On the plus side, I have very little in the way of outgoings there. Everything’s provided for me. I live rent-free in a cottage in the grounds, eat in the café. I’m on call twenty-four hours a day, so I’m not out spending cash every night. It means that I’ve been able to save quite a bit of money. I’m not rolling in it, but there’s enough to give me a start or to mean that I don’t have to work for a year or two.’
‘That’s an enviable position to b
e in.’
‘If I don’t do something this year, seize it now, I’m frightened that the moment will pass me by.’ Noah laughs softly. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’ He’s suddenly shy. ‘I haven’t even mentioned it to Flick.’
I’m not sure that my friend would be happy to hear these plans. They certainly don’t fit with hers.
‘In fact,’ he adds, ‘I haven’t told anyone else.’
I reach out and my hand covers his. ‘I’m glad that you did.’
‘Will we both get our dream?’ he says.
‘I hope so.’
The problem is that I really have to figure out what mine is.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Have you seen the time?’ Noah says with a worried frown. ‘They’ll think we’ve fallen off a cliff.’
‘I’ll ring and let them know…’
‘No phone signal,’ he reminds me.
I smack my forehead. ‘Of course not. I keep forgetting.’
‘It’s amazing how quickly we’ve become dependent on all this technology.’
I think of Harry and his overriding addiction to Twitter. There are times when I’d like to grab his iPhone, hurl it to the floor and grind my heel into its smug, shiny screen. But I can definitely see the benefit of being able to make a quick phone call at this moment.
‘We’d better get back,’ Noah says.
Sadly, it feels as if the time that Noah and I have spent alone together is drawing to a close and, already, the others are beginning to encroach. He is my best friend’s man, I remind myself. He belongs to someone else. As do I. Still, I can’t deny that there’s a connection between Noah and me. I’ve never felt that with any other man. I thought it was the stuff of fairy tales. If it was a different time, a different place, who knows what could happen? I think we would have had the potential to make a great couple. As it is, we’ve shared a few lovely moments together. Nothing more. Noah may, or may not, end up with Flick. And I have a failing marriage to sort out.
The Boat House Tearoom is closing up as it’s five-thirty and the staff are making it clear that they have homes to go to, even if we haven’t. We’ve been here for hours. The rain hasn’t eased at all. But now we have to leave our welcome oasis of hot chocolate and cake and head back to the car park. Just as well, as I might be tempted to sit here for the rest of my life.
Noah checks the map one last time before we brave the deluge. ‘It’s not far now,’ he assures me. ‘One last big push.’
So we go out in the rain and, our heads down, we stride out. No more pleasant dawdling for us. No splashing in puddles or kicking at the surf. No silly twirling with the umbrella. I cast a longing glance back at Barafundle Bay. This place, this afternoon, will stay long in my heart.
Half an hour of solid trudging later and with heavy, aching legs, we finally hit the car park at Trevallen. Noah’s Range Rover and Art’s Mercedes are the only two cars left. There are deep puddles all around them.
‘How am I going to drive Art’s car like this?’ I look down at my sodden clothes. ‘He’ll kill me.’
‘I might have something in the boot,’ Noah says. ‘Let me look.’
So he opens the boot of his car and rummages inside. Sure enough he finds a blanket. ‘It’s rough,’ he says. ‘We use it for the horses.’
I don’t ask in what capacity. ‘Nice.’
‘Needs must.’
‘Even my pants are wet. I’ll ruin his seats.’
‘Rub yourself down.’
Which is easier said than done when the rain’s still coming down like stair rods. I take the blanket and rub myself with it.
‘You’ll have to put more elbow behind it than that. Strip off your jumper.’
I do so, but I’m standing shivering now. Noah tries to help me, but I get a fit of the giggles. He takes the blanket and rubs it over me like a towel. I’ve never had a man rub me down roughly with a horse blanket before. I quite like it and I laugh even more.
‘Stand still, woman,’ he instructs, trying to sound stern while I collapse in hysterics. ‘I think that there are some black bin liners in the boot too,’ he says, struggling to keep control of the situation. ‘I’ll make two holes in the bottom. If you take off your shorts and… stuff… and slip it on, that’ll keep Art’s seats dry. Stand in the lee of the open door. I won’t peek.’
Now I’m completely convulsed with laughter.
‘Grace,’ he says, ‘you’re really not helping.’
While I fall about helplessly, Noah finds the bin bag, muttering to himself. I watch him rip two holes in the bin bag with his teeth and he measures it up against me.
‘I think you’ll find that’s the perfect fit, madam. Now, clothes off.’
More cackling from me.
‘Do it!’
So, hiding behind the open door of Noah’s car, I take off my waterlogged shorts and pants in the car park. The wind whips round my bare bottom and the giggles grip me again.
‘Come on, Grace,’ Noah pleads. ‘Get a wriggle on before you catch your death of cold.’
I slide into the bin bag. It looks like a huge black plastic nappy. More hysterics.
‘I’ve found some string to tie it up with.’
I step out from behind the car door, tears of laughter streaming down my face. ‘Ta-dah!’
Noah turns towards me with his serious face on, holding said string. As soon as he sees me striking a pose in the black bin bag, he dissolves into fits of laughter too.
‘Don’t,’ I say, guffawing. ‘What else can I do? I can’t sit in Art’s Merc in my wet pants and we have to get back to the pub.’
Noah is doubled up.
‘You need to tie it tightly,’ I say.
But he can’t bring himself to stop laughing, so I snatch the string from him and wind it round my own waist.
When he is finally able to look at me properly, he says, ‘Oh, Grace, you’re never going to win any fashion prizes in that.’
I look down at myself. It’s bad. ‘You promised me couture,’ I joke.
‘You’ll do. I can’t imagine what the others will think. Maybe you need to take off your wet T-shirt too and put your waterproof on.’
That’ll be my waterproof which is almost dry, in the bottom of my rucksack. It’s so light that it never would have kept this rain out anyway, so it might as well have stayed where it is.
‘Good idea.’
I duck into my car-door changing room again and, already used to being naked in a public car park, peel off my wet T-shirt and my equally sodden bra. Slipping on my waterproof jacket, I zip it up tightly.
I stand out in the middle of a parking space and hold out my arms, giving Noah a twirl for his approval.
‘You look beautiful,’ he says and we both crack up laughing again.
‘Stop it,’ I chide. ‘Or we’ll never leave.’
‘I’m ready when you are,’ he says.
‘Not sure that I can face the others in this get-up.’
‘Truth be told, Grace,’ he says with a sigh, ‘I don’t actually want to go back at all.’
Then our laughter dies and we just stand in the deserted car park, facing each other.
My throat tightens. ‘Me neither.’
‘This has been a good day.’
‘The best,’ I agree.
I want to reach out and stroke Noah’s face, feel the graze of his stubble beneath my fingertips, the dampness of his skin against mine. I jam my hands deep in my jacket pockets so that I don’t.
Standing there in my makeshift bin-bag hot pants and waterproof jacket, I know that it’s a day that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It’s gone seven o’clock when Noah and I finally walk into the pub. It’s true to say that our friends look mightily relieved to see us. Only Harry is stony-faced.
‘We were about to send out the bloody coastguard,’ he splutters crossly.
‘Sorry, Harry,’ Noah says. ‘That was my f
ault. The weather that came in was horrendous. We had to seek shelter.’
In a lovely tearoom with hot chocolate and cake. Neither of us ’fesses up to that bit. We are both trying to be suitably penitent, but I still want to laugh.
‘We knew you’d be all right with Noah,’ Ella says.
Noah and I avoid looking at each other.
‘What the hell are you wearing?’ Flick narrows her eyes.