The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea - Jennifer Joyce

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      ‘He’s a fine young fella,’ Tom Byrne piped up, his voice making Mae jump. He’d been so quiet in his little corner of the bar, she’d forgotten he was there. ‘Our Tiddles had a tumour last winter. Thought she was a goner, but Alfie sorted her out. She’s got a new lease of life. She’s like a kitten again.’

      ‘Maybe I should take a trip to see our vet,’ Frank said as he placed his first tile face up on the table. ‘I could do with a new lease of life with all these barrels needing to be lugged around the cellar. I feel like I’m ready for the knacker’s yard some days.’

      ‘Rubbish.’ Mae selected a tile and joined it onto Frank’s. ‘You’ve got more energy than anybody I know, including Hannah. I hope I’m as fit and energetic as you when I’m in my seventies.’

      ‘Ssh!’ Frank’s eyes roamed the near-empty pub. ‘Will you keep it down? As far as everybody else is concerned, I’m not a day over fifty.’

      ‘Tom won’t spill the beans, will you?’ Mae asked and he shook his head.

      ‘What happens in the Fisherman stays in the Fisherman. Ain’t that right, Frank?’

      Frank chuckled. ‘Sure is. The tales I could tell…’ Frank chuckled again and shook his head. ‘It’s like being in a confessional some days.’

      ‘I hardly think you can compare yourself to a holy man, Frank Navasky,’ his wife said, appearing in the doorway that led to the living quarters of the pub. Corinne joined them at the table and dropped a kiss on Mae’s cheek. ‘And I don’t think priests make a habit of mopping up vomit from their confessionals.’ Corinne pulled a face and turned to Mae. ‘Gary King, pissed as a newt, again. I’ve told him he’s on his last warning. Once more and he’s barred.’

      ‘He’s already barred from the Old Coach and the Lion,’ Tom said.

      ‘And no wonder. He’ll be barred from here in no time, no doubt.’ Corinne Navasky was short and slim with delicate features, but she was a no-nonsense kind of woman who had no qualms about chucking even the biggest, roughest blokes from her pub. She was so different from Mae’s granny, who would weep over sentimental films and always, always gave somebody the benefit of the doubt, but they’d become as close as their husbands despite their differences. Corinne and Frank were like family to Mae, almost filling the gap her grandparents had left.

      ‘That vet of yours was in here last night,’ Corinne told Mae. Mae groaned and fought the urge to drop her head onto the tile-covered table.

       Chapter Two

      Willow

      The morning hadn’t started out as a usual Monday for Willow. Her husband usually caught the train from Clifton-on-Sea to Preston for his job and, as Willow worked a couple of streets away from the station, they’d walk together most mornings. But Willow had woken alone that morning and had to follow their routine by herself. She’d popped into the bakery opposite the pier as usual for a takeaway breakfast, munching on a cherry pinwheel and sipping a coffee as she walked to work, but it felt odd without Ethan there to chat to. With her mind free to roam, she found herself latching on to the memory of their argument the previous evening, the air thick with frustration and unspoken accusation and blame. Willow’s hand reached for her phone, her finger hovering over the contact list, but she shoved it back into her handbag without making the call. Ethan would call her when he was ready.

      There was nothing left of Willow’s breakfast by the time she reached her shop, bar a few flaky crumbs she quickly brushed away before she unlocked the door. Willow’s shop was a treasure trove of other people’s junk: furniture and household items rescued from skips, junkyards, charity shops and the local tip, all lovingly restored or upcycled to breathe new life into the once-loved items. Willow’s eye was immediately drawn to the dining table and chairs she’d finished the previous day. The piece had been commissioned by a local family who’d wanted a fun and quirky table for their playroom and Willow had risen to the challenge, decoupaging the tabletop with banknotes from old, unusable Monopoly sets and adding shallow drawers underneath that were perfect for storing board games and jigsaws without getting in the way of knees and legs while sitting down. The chairs had been painted in vibrant colours, with each of the children’s names – plus Mum and Dad, of course – spelled out in old Scrabble tiles on the backs. Willow was proud of the effect and couldn’t wait to see the reaction from the family when she dropped it off later that day.

      Closing the door behind her, Willow switched on the lights and moved across to the shop’s counter, which had been recrafted from an old oak sideboard. Her assistant would be there soon, allowing Willow to get creative in the workroom, but until then she would remain in the shop, catching up with admin and smaller jobs between customers.

      The morning’s second irregularity occurred when nine o’clock rolled around and there was no sign of her assistant. Gary didn’t have Willow’s eye for detail, but he was handy with a paintbrush and always willing to help her shift hefty items. Plus, he made a cracking cup of coffee, perfecting the milk-to-coffee ratio like an experienced barista. He’d been working with Willow since leaving college a few weeks ago and hadn’t been late once in that time.

      Another hour passed and there was still no sign of Gary. Willow had sold a pack of mini, spiral-bound notebooks she’d made using the property cards from the Monopoly sets as covers to a tourist looking for gifts for her grandchildren, and had arranged a house clearance for the following week, but her assistant hadn’t arrived. She dragged the planters she’d made from wooden pallets, which were filled with a rainbow of fragrant blooms, out onto the pavement in front of the shop to attract passing trade and ran a duster over the furniture, but still there was no sign of Gary.

      Her phone beeped with a new message mid morning as she was painting jam-jar lids at the counter. Wiping her hands on the apron she’d thrown over her dungarees, Willow grabbed her phone from her handbag, expecting it to be an explanation from Gary. But it was a message from Ethan. While Willow had been hoping for a phone call, desperate to hear her husband’s voice, she was relieved he’d got in touch to let her know he was okay. She replied to the message, asking him to phone her as soon as he was able to.

      While she had her phone in hand, she scrolled through her contacts and called Gary’s number. The phone rang and rang until Willow was about to give up and return to her jam-jar lids.

      ‘Hello?’ Gary’s muffled voice said as she moved the phone away from her ear.

      ‘Gary? It’s Willow. I was just wondering where you are as you haven’t turned up for work.’

      ‘What time is it?’ Gary asked, his voice raspy and sluggish.

      Willow glanced at the clock she’d created using driftwood and shells from the beach. ‘It’s after ten. Are you okay? You sound terrible.’

      ‘I feel even worse,’ Gary said. ‘I must have slept through my alarm. Sorry.’

      ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Willow pulled her diary from one of the counter’s drawers and flicked through it until she found that day’s page. ‘You don’t sound well at all. Go back to sleep – I can manage on my own for the day.’ She was due to deliver the Monopoly table that evening, but it wouldn’t be too much of a problem closing half an hour earlier just this once. Moving the table from the shop to the van solo would be a challenge, but she’d faced bigger obstacles before.

      ‘Are you sure?’ Gary asked.

      ‘Of course. Rest up and I hope you feel better soon.’

      Willow said goodbye and hung up the phone, but it beeped almost immediately, alerting her to a voicemail. She pounced, pressing to listen to the message and placing the phone against her ear, anticipating the sound of her husband’s voice.

      But it wasn’t Ethan at all.

      ‘We have a problem. A pretty major one. Call me back as soon as possible.’

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