Summer at Lavender Bay

Chapter Three

Libby Stone came bursting into Eliza’s old bedroom, a bottle of wine in one hand and a white carrier bag in the other. ‘I bought emergency supplies,’ she said, brandishing both. She stopped in her tracks, dropping to sit on the edge of the bed and when she spoke again, her voice was much gentler. ‘Oh, Eliza! Oh, don’t cry, darling, we’ll help you sort everything out.’ Dumping the wine and the bag on the floor at her feet, she gathered Eliza into a hug.

‘I’m okay,’ Eliza managed to say around the tears which had come on unexpectedly earlier that evening. Five weeks to the day since she’d left Martin in the airport and it felt like she’d lurched out of one rut and fallen straight into another. Her parents had welcomed her with open arms, though with more than a little concern about her snap decision. They’d danced around the subject, her mum’s comments rather more barbed than those from her dad, but accepted her request for space to sort things out. Only she hadn’t sorted anything out, just slipped into helping out in the pub, and now they were acting like she had a job for life behind the bar.

She knew how upset they’d both been at her brother Sam’s decision to pursue his dream of opening his own restaurant rather than taking over running the pub as previous generations of Barneses had, and now it seemed to be falling to Eliza by default of her return. And she didn’t want it any more than Sam had. In a fit of confusion, she’d texted Libby for help.

Another set of arms enfolded her from behind, and the soothing tones of her other best friend, Beth Reynolds, murmured against her ear. ‘Of course you are. We’ve got you now.’ Knowing it to be true, some of the desperate panic seizing Eliza’s heart eased.

She sat up a little, and her friends eased back from the embrace to look at her. Beth offered her a tissue, and the three of them laughed when Eliza blew her nose, making enough noise to put a baby elephant to shame. Libby stood up. ‘I’m going to raid the kitchen for some plates and glasses, be right back.’

Eliza heard her talking to someone on the landing, her brother, Sam, from the deepness of the tone, and sure enough he followed Libby into the room. ‘I’m not stopping,’ he said. ‘Just making a contribution to the cause.’ He held up his hands to show a chocolate fudge cake, then placed it on a free space on her dressing table. Bending at the waist, he brushed a quick kiss on Beth’s cheek and whispered something in her ear.

It had been weird for Eliza at first when Sam and Beth had started dating that spring. But seeing the way they gravitated towards each other every time they were in the same space, it was clear they were head over heels. Although Sam kept his bedroom at the pub, he spent almost all of his free time at Beth’s and Eliza doubted it would be too long before they were living together officially. Her heart twisted. As much as she adored them both and wanted nothing but their happiness, the easy way they had with each other served only to drive home how much Eliza had lost.

Returning with plates and glasses, Libby sent a mock-pout towards Sam as he straightened up from Beth’s side. ‘What about me?’ She puckered her lips at Sam, making kissing noises.

He blew her a kiss then ruffled her wild, spiky hair. ‘What are we calling this, seasick green?’

‘Mermaid, actually.’ She poked her tongue out at him. ‘Why are you still here?’

With a grin, he held his hands up in surrender as he backed towards the door. ‘I’m leaving, I’m leaving.’

The light-hearted interlude provided enough of a distraction for Eliza to calm her tears. She mopped her face dry whilst Libby removed three parcels wrapped in white paper from the carrier bag and placed each on a plate. She handed one to Eliza. ‘Small haddock and chips, and—’ she pulled a Styrofoam cup from the bag ‘—Mushy peas.’

She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but not wishing to offend her friend, Eliza tugged the paper open. Her mouth watered as the smell of hot chips and vinegar hit her nostrils, making her realise she hadn’t eaten anything beyond half a slice of toast that morning. Tipping the contents of the paper onto her plate, she dumped the pot of peas next to it and her stomach gave a rumble of approval. Libby offered her some cutlery, which she accepted with a grateful smile. ‘Thanks for this.’

Libby shrugged. ‘With the kind of staff discount I get, it’s no big deal.’ Given that Libby’s dad owned the local fish and chip shop just a few doors along the promenade from the pub, that was something of an understatement. Libby handed Eliza a glass of wine. ‘And I scored this from your mum on my way through the bar, so freebies all round.’ She clinked her glass against Eliza’s. ‘Cheers.’

Eliza returned the gesture, took a large mouthful then placed her glass on the bedside table. Silence settled over the three of them as they each began to eat. She knew they must be full of questions, but the fact they didn’t push her to talk proved once again how important the bond between them was. She should never have let Martin talk her into moving so far away.

The food in her mouth formed into a hard lump and she reached for her wine to wash it down. ‘What am I going to do?’

Beth set her knife and fork together. ‘About what?’

A bitter laugh escaped Eliza. ‘Everything. You know, I lie on this bed every night running over the last ten years of my life and I can’t tell you what Martin’s honest opinion is about anything. I used to credit the fact we never argued as a sign of a healthy relationship, but now I realise he just said whatever he thought I wanted to hear.’ She rubbed her aching eyes. ‘If he wanted to do something, he just went ahead with it and then would make out he’d done it for our benefit. If it was something I wanted, and it didn’t interfere with his plans then he just let me get on with it.’

Their house was a prime example. Martin had found it, even gone so far as to research the mortgage payments, access to local facilities, how much money they could save compared to renting because of the cheaper cost of living—everything to make the fact he’d already accepted a job hundreds of miles from their home town seem perfectly logical. When it came to the interior, he’d given her free rein, saying she was the one with the creative streak and could use it as a template to show off her skills. She’d been so excited at the prospect, she’d planned every room down to the smallest nick-nacks, all the while believing it was Martin’s gift to her, his way of making her as happy and as settled as possible in their new environment. In reality, he’d already got what he wanted when she’d agreed to the relocation so he didn’t care whether she painted the kitchen blue, cream or flamingo pink. He’d said as much when she’d asked for his opinion, taking the sheen off her happiness in the process.

And he’d done the same thing when it came to Abu Dhabi, making her believe he was only exploring the possibilities when in reality he’d made it as far as the final interview stage before mentioning it. When he did raise it, he’d bamboozled her with stacks of information, from how much money he would make over three years, to brochures about winter cruises around the Arabian Gulf, to estimates on the monthly rent they’d get by letting their home out.

Some might call the effort he’d gone to thoughtful, but Eliza had felt powerless under the onslaught. There were so very many good reasons for them to do it, the fact she simply hadn’t wanted to go felt selfish. Though not as selfish as walking out at the last moment. Her guilty conscience had a point. Martin had only gone ahead and done those things because she hadn’t stood up to him. Not quite sure what she wanted to do with her life beyond something creative, she’d chosen a university course which covered a broad spectrum of art and design hoping to settle upon a specialty eventually. She’d dabbled in everything from pottery to dress-making and loved it all.

Then Martin had been headhunted in their final year while she’d still been uncertain which direction to go in. After much soul-searching they’d agreed she would put her further studies on hold for a couple of years until Martin was settled in at work and she’d found herself a job working for the local council as an administrator.

She’d channelled her creative interests into their house and making her own clothes. After taking a few commissions from people she worked with who admired her style, she’d branched out into selling online via Etsy. Her little shop had ticked over thanks to word of mouth recommendations, but she’d never quite got to grips with marketing it properly. Somehow, two years had stretched into four, and still the timing hadn’t been quite right for her to go back to school.

And now here she was with a wasted degree, a raft of general office skills and no idea what to with herself. She threw herself back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. ‘What am I doing with my life? What was the point in leaving Martin to end up back here pulling pints night after night?’

Beth took her hand and shook it gently to draw Eliza’s attention to her. ‘You don’t have to justify your decision to anyone in this room other than yourself. And, whatever you decide we will support you.’

‘But—’

‘Whatever.’ Beth cut off the protest from Libby with a glare past Eliza’s shoulder.

‘All right,’ Libby grumbled. ‘But I still think Martin is a wanker.’

A snort of laughter bubbled from Eliza as Beth simply shook her head. Libby had always been the most plain spoken of the three of them, and Eliza hoped that would never change. She didn’t want them to pretend around her, she needed their honesty, even if it hurt sometimes. She owed it to them to be honest too. ‘My marriage is over. It’s not about the move to Abu Dhabi, that was just the final straw. I haven’t been happy for a long time, and I’m as much to blame for that as Martin. I’m twenty-six years old and I’ve got absolutely nothing to show for my life. I can’t go backwards, but I have no idea how to move on, or what I want to move on to.’

Silence settled over the room for a few minutes as they all absorbed the import of her statement. Eliza waited for her heart to reject her admission that things were over for good with Martin, for her soul to cry out in protest and insist what they’d had was worth fighting for. There were no tears, no flutters of panic, just a deep sense of calm settling over her. It hurt. God, did it hurt, to know she was closing the door on what had been her day-to-day reality for the past ten years. But it didn’t feel like she was making a mistake. She knew what she didn’t want, now if only she could work out what she did.

Two weeks after her outburst, Eliza found herself round at Beth’s place hiding out from her dad who wanted to talk her through the orders for that week. He and her mum were still gung-ho about teaching Eliza the ins and outs of the pub, and she hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell them not to pin their hopes on her. It didn’t seem right turning them down until she could offer a better reason than that she didn’t want to do it. She needed a life plan, and she needed one fast.

‘And you still haven’t heard a word from Martin?’ Beth paused in the act of cleaning the glass display cabinet behind the counter of her shop to stare incredulously at her. She’d inherited the old emporium on the seafront at Lavender Bay when her friend and childhood guardian, Eleanor, had passed away earlier in the year. Beth had updated the place to reflect her own tastes, but it still carried the eclectic, fun-loving spirit of the original owner, whose name now graced the business.

Eliza shook her head, glad for the way the tumble of curls shielded her face from Beth’s intent look. Martin was refusing to acknowledge any of the emails and messages she’d sent him. Until they could open a dialogue, she was stuck in limbo. Frustration gnawed at her gut. ‘Nothing.’

She’d sent him a message to let him know where she was, and then followed it up with several requests to talk. The last one she’d sent had been a couple of days ago after she’d transferred the funds from her ISA into her bank account—the interest rate was so low it wasn’t worth hanging onto it—and updated her passwords. She’d felt guilty about it as she and Martin had always had access to each other’s account details but had heeded Libby’s advice to make sure she had sole control over what was rightfully hers. Living at the pub covered her bed and board for the time being, so she just need a bit of spending money to cover incidentals. They’d have to sort out all their financial stuff in due course, but the rent from their house covered the mortgage and she was happy to let the current lease run its course. Hopefully, Martin would come around in time. It would be a lot easier on the both of them if he did.

Eliza flicked a feather duster over the spinning rack of postcards. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

A soft hand touched her shoulder, and Eliza turned to find Beth had abandoned her cleaning. ‘Of course we can, I didn’t mean to pry. I’ll stick the kettle on and we can have a brew…’ The bell above the door jangled, indicating the arrival of a new customer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘I’ll make the tea,’ Eliza offered.

Beth nodded then turned to the couple who’d entered. ‘Welcome to Eleanor’s Emporium!’

Leaving the couple to browse, Beth accepted a mug from Eliza and rested her hip against the counter. ‘Have you thought any more about what you’re going to do if running the pub is out of the question?’

Eliza took a sip of tea, winced as the too-hot liquid burnt her tongue and shook her head. ‘Not really.’ Setting down the mug, she adjusted the shoulder of her peach cotton blouse where it had slipped down to reveal the edge of her bra-strap. With loose sleeves which stopped just above her elbows, and a row of gentle pleats down the back, it was one of her favourite styles and perfect for the sweltering weather that had settled over the bay. She’d adapted the design from an old pattern she’d found and had built a summer wardrobe around a half-dozen versions of it in various pastel shades.

‘Oh, I love your top, it looks so cool and comfortable!’ Startled, Eliza looked up to find the couple had made their way to the counter with an eclectic selection of items, including a couple of the floaty scarves. It was the woman who’d spoken, and she gestured to the scraps of material. ‘I’m hoping these will keep the sun off without making me any hotter.’

As someone who caught the sun easily, Eliza had every sympathy for her. ‘It’s certainly a scorcher out there. I have to cover up too, or I’ll be red as a lobster.’

The woman smiled, then cast a pretend glare at the man with her. ‘Some people tan to perfection, it makes me sick.’ There was no malice in her tone, and the man flashed a bright grin showing he wasn’t in the least bit offended. Turning back to Eliza, the woman eyed her blouse. ‘You must tell me where you got that lovely top, is it somewhere local?’ She sounded hopeful.

‘I made it myself, I make most of my clothes.’ Eliza stepped back to show the long, tiered skirt she’d paired with the blouse.

‘They’re beautiful, you should sell them,’ the woman said. ‘I’d snap them up in a second.’

The man nudged her shoulder. ‘Come on, you. Let’s find an ice cream and a spot in the shade before you convince this poor girl to give you the clothes off her back.’

Brain whirring, Eliza took another step back while Beth finished serving the pair who left with cheery waves. Her eyes roamed over the cluttered shelves of the emporium. Beth already stocked jewellery and other small artworks from local craftspeople, perhaps she might find room for a few bits and pieces…

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Eliza glanced up to find Beth giving her a Cheshire cat grin.

‘Maybe…’ Eliza bit her lip. ‘But I wouldn’t want to impose.’

‘Oh, rubbish.’ Beth waved away her comment. ‘I’m a hard-headed businesswoman these days and you know it. I’m only interested in stock that will sell, and from the covetous looks that woman was giving your outfit, I reckon I’d be on to a winner.’

‘It would be worth a try,’ Eliza mused. ‘And in addition to selling them here I can set up online. It’s pretty straightforward, and I’ve still got my Etsy store.’ She’d put her account on hiatus, but a couple of clicks and she’d be back up and running.

And it didn’t have to be just clothes. She could run up some pretty cushions and other soft furnishings. Or make some soaps and scented candles. People loved to buy homemade things, and she could even rent a pitch at car boot sales or craft fairs. It would be a lot of work, but it would be her work. And if she could add a local twist to some of her products, something to tie them in to Lavender Bay…of course! When the idea came to her, it was so obvious she could’ve smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner. ‘I need to pay the Gilberts a visit. What do you think about a range of beauty products and scented candles using lavender from their farm?’

Beth sipped her tea, eyes sparkling with excitement over the rim of her mug. ‘I think you’ve got yourself the makings of a fantastic business. You’ll need a hook, though. A brand that reflects who you are and the fact everything is homemade, not mass-produced.’

‘I’m not very good at marketing,’ Eliza confessed. It had been what had held her back before. She’d never been great at pushing herself forward into the limelight.

‘I didn’t have a clue when I took over this place, but it’s a lot easier than I expected it to be.’ Beth reached for her phone. ‘That Instagram account Libby persuaded me to open with Banana Monkey was a stroke of genius. He’s got so many followers, it’s ridiculous!’

Eliza’s eyes strayed to the giant wooden banana standing pride of place just inside the door. The monkey perched on the top was modelling a pair of fluorescent pink sunglasses and a floppy sunhat. Eleanor, the original owner of the emporium, had purchased the monstrosity and he’d been a firm fixture ever since. ‘I love the photos you post on that account.’

Beth grinned. ‘Exactly! I linked it to Facebook and Twitter so everything I post gets shared there automatically. I’ve even had a few customers pose with him and got them to hashtag the emporium.’

‘I’d need something of my own, though…’ Eliza rested her elbows on the counter as she thought about it. ‘If I can get the Gilberts on board then I can make lavender the central theme.’

‘Yes!’ Beth scrolled through her phone. ‘Look, there’s lots of popular lavender hashtags already. What about Made in Lavender Bay?’

‘Hmm.’ It had possibilities, but Eliza wanted something more personal, something to reflect the care and attention she took over the things she made. ‘How about With Love from Lavender Bay?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Or is that too cheesy?’

‘Oh, I love that! And I don’t think it’s cheesy, I think it’s adorable. You could make a little logo, like a heart made from stalks of lavender twisted together.’

Eliza couldn’t help but giggle, the excitement building inside her was too much to contain. If she made the logo simple enough, she could stitch it onto the clothes as well. ‘I’ve got to go and write all this down!’ She’d made it halfway around the counter before she spun back to peck a kiss to Beth’s cheek. ‘You’re amazing. Thank you.’

Feeling positive for the first time in months Eliza practically skipped through the front door of The Siren. A familiar sandy-curled head appeared from behind the bar, followed by a set of broad shoulders as her brother rose to his full height. ‘Hey, where’ve you been hiding?’

The smile on her face threatened to split her cheeks. ‘Not hiding, plotting my new venture with your gorgeous girlfriend.’

A dreamy look crossed Sam’s face. ‘She is gorgeous, isn’t she?’

Eliza rolled her eyes at the goofy expression, though secretly she was delighted to see her big brother so clearly smitten. He’d always been a bit of a rolling stone when it came to previous girlfriends, but Sam had fallen hook, line and sinker this time. ‘I’m guessing she’s about the same as when you left her this morning.’ She’d only meant to tease him, but wondered if she’d missed the mark when a frown crossed his brow.

‘Is everything all right with us? You don’t mind about me and Beth being together, do you?’

Hurrying around to the other side of the bar, Eliza threw her arms around his waist to give him a hug. ‘Of course, I don’t mind. It was a bit weird to begin with, but you guys are so good for each other—anyone can see that.’

Sam squeezed her back. ‘I’m really happy, Eliza.’

She loosened her arms to look up at him. ‘Good.’ A lump formed in her throat out of nowhere. She seemed to teeter on the edge of tears at the slightest thing, and it was getting on her nerves. Leaving Martin had been the right thing to do, and she still had no regrets over it, but that didn’t stop her mourning for what might have been or feeling guilty over her own part in the failure of their marriage. If it had been unremittingly awful—if he’d cheated on her or treated her badly—then things might have been easier. Instead it had been a slow, steady decline, as the bonds of love frayed away until nothing remained but a few strings of familiarity and a legal tie rather than any meaningful remnant of those vows they’d said to each other.

‘Ah, Eliza, don’t look so sad, I can’t stand it.’ Sam tugged a lock of her hair. ‘Besides, crying makes you look ugly.’ He danced back out of reach with an evil grin on his face.

Outrage at his teasing chased away her sadness, exactly as he’d intended, no doubt. ‘At least I’m only ugly when I cry, mister, which is more than can be said for you.’

‘Ouch.’ Sam staggered back clutching at his chest, then grinned at her. ‘So come on then, tell me all about this new venture of yours.’

As she helped him set up the bar for the day, Eliza explained about the customer admiring her clothes and how that had snowballed into plans for her own creative empire. ‘I’ll have to supplement it with working here at first because I’ll need every penny I can lay my hands on to invest in materials and equipment.’ Some of her excitement ebbed away. ‘Mum and Dad won’t be thrilled about it, I think they have their heart set on me taking over this place now you’ve got your restaurant and everything.’

Sam paused in the act of wiping down the bar and fixed green eyes the exact same shade as her own on her. ‘And they’ll get over it the same way they did when I told them about Subterranean. All they really want is for us to be happy and successful. Speaking of which…’ He pulled a thick white envelope out of his back pocket and placed it on the bar between them.

‘What’s this?’ Flipping it over, she spotted the name of the local council on the post mark, and excitement bubbled inside. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ A trained chef, her brother wanted to convert the pub’s old skittle alley down in the cellar into a high-class restaurant. The plans had been drawn up and submitted for planning permission, and Sam had been on tenterhooks ever since.

Sam scrubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yep.’ The look on his face was an agonised combination of hope and worry. ‘What if they said no?’

Coming home to help run the pub after their father fell ill had meant a lot of sacrifices for Sam. The Grand Diplôme from the Cordon Bleu he’d worked so hard towards should have been his ticket to a dazzling future, but life got in the way. His plans for Subterranean offered the perfect solution to achieving his dreams.

She lifted the envelope, feeling the thick wad of paper inside as though she could somehow fathom its secrets. It wasn’t just a single sheet, so that had to be a good thing, right? ‘If you don’t open it, you’ll never know.’

Sam laughed as he approached to pluck the envelope from her hand. ‘Thanks for the deep and meaningful advice, Yoda.’

‘You could always take it next door and open it with Beth.’