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

‘I should think so, but it will probably be in another section.’

They found the paint and paid up, loaded it all in the van then went back inside for a coffee at the little café.

‘You know, since Nick and I have done up the cottage, I’ve really seen the possibilities for it,’ Hattie said as she stirred sugar into her coffee. ‘It could be so pretty. I remember when we used to come down for the summer and Uncle Albert used to do a fry-up every morning, the smell of bacon used to waft up to our attic room and I couldn’t wait to come down for breakfast. And I used to help him water all his pots and baskets. He kept it so lovely. I guess it all got too much as he got older.’

Marcus saw tears fill her eyes and she quickly lowered her gaze to stare into her coffee cup.

He’d judged her wrong, he realised. She had cared about her uncle and now staying here in this cottage was bringing back painful memories for her, of happier times when he was alive and when her parents were still together. She hadn’t selfishly forgotten about him; she’d been a child, battling with her parents’ divorce and trying to hold her life together. Albert had never reached out to anyone, had always been stubbornly self-sufficient, how was anyone to know that he was struggling? He hadn’t even wanted his family to know.

‘This must be difficult for you . . .’

She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘It is a bit. I want to do right by Uncle Albert and I feel awful that we’re selling the cottage, but Dad needs the money to save his home and business, and I need to get myself a home too.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know how Uncle Albert would feel about his cottage being a holiday let but there’s nothing I can do about it. Much as I’d like to live here and make it a home again, I can’t. I need to sell.’

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It was something that had been stirring in her for the last few days, as she and Nick had gone through Uncle Albert’s things and tidied up the cottage. It had made her see the cottage through different eyes. When she had first come down to stay, Fisherman’s Rest had been a haven, a refuge until she could sort out the mess her life had become, but over the last couple of weeks it had become a home. She could feel herself putting down roots in Port Medden, growing closer to Marcus, and now she’d been offered more work for Gwel Teg too. It was as if the little Cornish town was opening up its arms and welcoming her, and she longed to snuggle into them and enjoy the safety and comfort, but she knew that she couldn’t.

‘Is that how you really feel? That you want to live at Fisherman’s Rest?’ Marcus asked softly.

Hattie chewed her lip. ‘I’m being silly; it’s all the memories and nostalgia, I think. And it’s such a lovely place.”

‘Is there no way you could buy your dad out?’

She frowned. ‘I don’t see how. My redundancy money, when I get it, won’t even cover a fifth of his share, and I need some money to live on. It’s going to take some time to build up my photography business enough for me to earn a regular wage.’ She was wondering if she should get a part-time job too – she didn’t think she could cope with the insecurity of being self-employed. At least, not while she’s just starting out.

God, listen to her, she sounded pathetic. He must think she was a right whinger. Uncle Albert had rescued her and her dad; she shouldn’t be resenting having to sell the cottage. She should be grateful he had left it to her, and given her the chance to restart her life.

‘Listen to me moaning! Honestly, I’ll soon get the money together to put a deposit down on a lovely little house. I’ll be absolutely fine.’

She finished the last of her coffee. ‘Shall we go? I can’t wait to get all these plants in place.’

Marcus stopped to help her, insisting that he had nothing else planned that day, and they spent the afternoon putting the pots in place and painting the bench. There was enough paint to do the table and two chairs in the back garden too.

‘It looks fantastic. Thanks so much for your help,’ Hattie said, gazing around at the back yard which was now an abundance of colourful plants in pots. She had moved her motorbike in front of the shed, to make more room for the pots.

‘How about we go for a stroll along the harbour now, then grab something to eat?’ Marcus suggested. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

She was too. ‘Sounds great but I need a quick shower and change, shall we meet in half an hour?’

‘I’ll give you a knock.’

It was lovely how Marcus and she had become such good friends after such a rocky start, Hattie thought, as he went out of the gate then into his own back yard.

The trouble was, not only did she not want to sell the cottage, she didn’t want to be friends with Marcus either. She wanted to be lovers.

Well there was no point in doing that. It would make it even harder to move away.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jonathan arrived with the photographer dead on time on Monday morning. ‘Well, you’ve done a great job on this in the time you’ve had,’ he said, clearly impressed. ‘I love the splash of colour against the white walls and all those pots in the garden have really brightened the place up. I can’t believe that you’ve done all this in such a short time.’

‘My stepbrother came over from France to help me,’ Hattie told him. ‘And Marcus next door