One Summer in Cornwall Karen King (positive books to read TXT) 📖

had struggled financially – she should have realised herself how all the Covid-19 restrictions the previous year would have affected them – and understood now why her father was desperate for a quick sale. It would be good for her too, she was starting to get a bit settled down here, and far too fond of Marcus. She needed to sell the cottage and sort out her life. She was glad Nick had come over to help her – by the weekend, the worst of the work would be done.

She’d just finished her breakfast when her dad phoned. He was apologetic about not letting her know Nick would be coming, saying that Nick had only told him yesterday and he’d meant to message but they’d had a bit of a crisis at the B&B – a burst water pipe. Hattie reassured him that it was fine and that she and Nick were starting on the clear-out today. ‘I’ve arranged with Jonathan for the photos to be taken next Monday and to put the cottage on the market then. Jonathan is confident of a quick sale,’ she told him.

‘Thanks so much, Hattie. I really appreciate this.’ There was a pause. ‘Have you thought about what I suggested about you coming to stay with us for a bit when the cottage is sold? It would be good to spend some time together.’

‘It’s really kind of you, Dad, and I will think about it,’ she said. And she meant it. Over the last couple of weeks she’d felt herself getting closer to her dad, and the talk with Nick last night had got rid of any lingering resentment. It was time to build bridges.

They chatted a little longer, the most they had talked in years, and Hattie promised to keep him updated with the progress by sending photographs. And to keep a note of what she was spending so she could be reimbursed when the cottage was sold.

‘Now how about we ring around and see if we can get a plumber to fit a bathroom suite for us this week first? We can order one and they can pick it up for us. Then we can go out and get some paint and get started on the big tidy up,’ Nick suggested afterwards.

‘Sure. We can go into Truro. We should be able to get everything we need there,’ she told him.

She googled plumbers on her phone, and after a couple of calls found one who could pick up and deliver a bathroom suite on Thursday for them, and would get rid of the old one too, thank goodness. They looked on the website link he sent them and chose a basic white one, a new shower head for the shower over the bath and a glass screen to replace the discoloured curtain. It was all done in less than an hour.

‘Now let’s go shopping,’ she said, closing the laptop.

‘Your car or mine?’ Nick asked.

‘I don’t have a car, only a motorbike,’ she replied.

Nick looked surprised. ‘A bit of a wild one, aren’t you? Okay, my car it is then. And luckily it’s an estate so we’ll get a lot in the boot.’

Marcus came back from his early morning surf to find Hattie and her stepbrother about to get into the car. Hattie waved to him casually and Marcus waved back. Last night he’d been planning a cosy evening for the two of them, maybe even hoping they’d spend the night together, but all that was gone now thanks to Nick turning up. Hattie had said that she was staying for the whole summer but it seemed her dad had other ideas. He was obviously desperate for the money from the sale of the cottage.

It was a shame. He’d enjoyed Hattie’s company yesterday and she’d certainly got him out of a bit of a tight spot with Estelle. He shrugged, there was no sense bothering about something he couldn’t change.

He fixed himself poached eggs and toast then went up into the attic to paint. He stayed there, engrossed in his art, for a few hours. Then he became aware of someone talking outside; it sounded like Hattie. He got up and walked over to the back window to look out. There was a pile of furniture and boxes in the back yard next door. They’d obviously started clearing out the cottage. He wondered how much of the stuff they would get rid of.

Then he saw Nick come out carrying a painting. It was the one he had painted for Albert a couple of years ago, of some fishermen tending their boats by the harbour. Albert had been really touched and had hung it up over the fireplace, saying that he wanted to be able to see it and remember his fishing days. Marcus had spent many an evening with Albert, both of them sipping a tot of whisky as the old man sat in his rocking chair, talking – in between smoking his pipe – about his life as a fisherman. Albert had some good tales to spin – whether they were all true or not, Marcus was never sure, but he could be entertaining company. Other times he could be quite brusque and, every now and again, would shut himself away saying he didn’t want company. Marcus never took offence, his own grandad was like that sometimes, and would take himself off to his shed for some quiet time. Marcus and his nan knew to leave him be for a while. So he used to leave Albert for a day or two then pop around on some pretext of wanting his opinion about something or bringing a treat for Buddy, or – as Albert got older – some food from the hotel that would have gone to waste if Marcus hadn’t taken it home.

He frowned as he looked at the painting. Were they throwing it out? If so, should he ask for it? He knew that it was silly to feel peeved about