Ottercombe Bay – Part Two: Gin and Trouble

An older-looking gent with thinning hair and thick glasses collected her from the waiting area at the council offices and they did introductions.

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ said Daisy, starting to feel a little less prepared as she followed him into an office and saw a mountain of paper on his desk.

‘No problem but you will need to submit a formal application through the proper process. Anything discussed here today does not in any way constitute agreement of any changes to the property or land we are discussing. I hope you appreciate this?’

Daisy swallowed hard. With formal wording like that he would get on well with Great Uncle Reg’s solicitor. She hadn’t even suggested anything yet and she was being told off. ‘Yes, of course. I’m just looking for guidance. Some ballpark areas that may be worth exploring.’

‘This is the last application we received for the property,’ said the planning officer, passing Daisy a pile of papers. She had a quick flick through and spotted some blueprints – it looked like her grandfather had taken the whole thing seriously and spent some money in the process.

‘And I think the solicitor said this was turned down, as were the other ones before it. I’m guessing the same would happen again if I were to suggest building a new property in what was the car park.’

‘I think that is a fair assumption. There are properties nearby that would be affected and the apartment building previously proposed would have looked out of place in the surrounding area and had a visually overbearing impact.’

‘How about smaller buildings? Single-storey properties perhaps?’ Holiday cottages could be a profitable option, thought Daisy.

‘Very unlikely,’ he said, a crease deepening on his forehead. ‘You see the car park has a designated public right of way through it.’ He drew a line with his finger across the blueprints virtually cutting the car park in half.

‘And knocking down the platform and railway building?’ She had to ask.

His frown intensified. ‘The railway station is considered a historic building. It is grade two listed and is therefore subject to a number of conditions. Demolition is not an option.’

‘Can I open the car park and charge people to park there?’ This felt like an easy way to make money although, now it was August, the summer season was already well underway.

‘Subject to obtaining a parking permit, public liability insurance and undertaking a risk assessment to ensure there would be no environmental damage caused by vehicles or inconvenience to pedestrians.’

Daisy had to control the urge to huff out her frustrations. ‘Could I not just take down the fencing and charge £5 a day?’ she said, failing to hide a brief pout.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Right, so what can I do?’ Daisy was starting to feel this was a pointless meeting.

He nudged his glasses down his nose and viewed the file over the top. ‘Subject to application you could apply for a change of use.’

‘What else can you use a car park for?’ It was hard not to sound cheesed off at this point.

‘I meant the building itself.’

Daisy perked up. ‘Could I convert it into somewhere to live?’ One holiday rental would be better than nothing, she thought.

‘It’s possible,’ he said, although his face said different. ‘But I believe something commercial that retains the original features of the property and complies with the grade two listing would be the most likely to be looked upon favourably.’

Daisy wasn’t sure what else you could do with a railway platform and dilapidated ticket office. ‘Like what?’

‘A railway museum perhaps?’ He looked the most animated he had since she’d met him. What was it with men and trains?

She felt her shoulders slump forward in surrender. ‘I don’t think that would bring in much money.’

‘You’d be surprised. There are a lot of railway enthusiasts who would be interested and it would likely cover the increase in rates that would accompany a change of use.’

‘Increase?’ said Daisy sitting up, meerkat-like.

‘Yes, there is an annual cost associated with the property, which will fall to you as the owner. Any change of use will incur a review and a likely increase.’

Bloody brilliant, thought Daisy, not only could she do nothing with it, which would mean it would be virtually impossible to sell, it was also going to cost her money. Great Uncle Reg hadn’t thought this through.

The planning officer went on about what she could do to keep the site secure as they had had some complaints over the years of kids messing about and playing ball games in the car park area but Daisy let it wash over her, agreeing at what she hoped were appropriate moments. There was no way she was throwing good money at it. She thanked him for his time and advice, took his business card and vowed to think carefully about all he had said. But it was unlikely she would be submitting a planning request any time soon.

She decided she needed something stronger than an espresso and headed for the pub. Monty gave her a warm welcome and she sat at the corner table where she had sat with Max and sipped a large glass of Rioja. She had taken a liking to red wine whilst living in Spain and Rioja was one of her favourites, but it didn’t taste the same today; there was a certain bitter aftertaste.

Just when she thought she was at today’s low point, Max walked in, looking tanned and relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world. He scanned the bar and when his eyes alighted on Daisy his face fell and Daisy involuntarily huffed. She didn’t like him because ever since she’d come back he’d seemed to annoy her; what with leaving her to lug home the heavy boxes, suggesting her mother had killed herself, knocking coffee down her before her interview and generally being hostile. It appeared to be a mutual loathing; although she wasn’t sure what she’d done, she got the feeling he was on Great Uncle Reg’s side when it came to what was best for her. She began studying the contents of her glass. Monty materialised and started to pull Max a pint – it appeared a bob of the head between them was communication enough. Daisy wondered how Max could afford to drink out virtually every night and then realised she had no idea what he did for a living.

Max took his drink, turned around and scowled briefly at Daisy.

‘You can sit here too, if you like.’ Daisy indicated the empty seats. She guessed it was most likely Max’s usual spot. She wasn’t going to move but she would attempt to be civil, however hard that might be.

Max gave a quick look around. There weren’t any other tables available. ‘Okay,’ he said looking rather reluctant as he sat down opposite Daisy sending across a whiff of freshly showered man. ‘Sorry to hear about the burglary.’

‘Thanks.’ She noted his clean t-shirt and casual jeans. Even his clothes mirrored his customary relaxed demeanour.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their respective drinks and avoiding eye contact until Daisy could bear it no more. ‘My day was shite. How was yours?’

Max sniggered. ‘Not great, but possibly not as bad as yours. What’s up?’

‘Met a planning officer about the old railway. Turns out it’s grade two listed so I can’t demolish it and I can’t build near it. All I could do is apply for change of use and make it into a boring museum for railway nerds.’

Max was frowning. ‘If you can apply for change of use I’d have thought there were more options than just a museum?’

‘He said commercial use, but there’s not a lot else you can do with a moth-balled ticket office,’ she said glumly.

‘Er, yeah there is,’ said Max, taking a long drink of his pint.

‘Like what?’ There was more than a hint of a challenge in her voice.

Max sat back in his seat and let his knees part. ‘If you think about the other ones locally there’s one that holds craft workshops, they seem to do okay. There’s one they converted into a pottery shop, another one is an antique shop – they specialise in railway memorabilia so they might be interested in your stuff.’

‘Hmm.’ She didn’t look convinced.

‘What about all the other old buildings that get converted, like banks and post offices? I’ve seen them turned into bars, coffee shops, restaurants, offices and one of them is even a car showroom.’

‘I can’t see the planning officer going for any of those; he seemed quite set on the railway museum idea. And all your suggestions sound like they’d cost a lot to fit the building out.’

‘You’re just on a downer – nothing I say is going to be a good idea because you’ve already decided you don’t want it to be a success.’ Max took another easy slug of his beer.

‘What? Of course I want it to be a success.’ Daisy was starting to get riled. She tried hard to control it with a mouthful of Rioja.

‘No, you don’t. You don’t want old Reg to be proved right. You’ll sabotage your time here just to prove a point.’ He shook his head.

‘You are talking nonsense. I’m here aren’t I? And I have every intention of staying the full year.’

‘But then what?’

‘I’ll go travelling. There is a whole world outside of Ottercombe Bay, but you probably hadn’t noticed because you have your head so far up your own arse!’

‘And you running away again was precisely what Reg was trying to avoid. He’s given you an opportunity most people would jump at. But you’re just too stubborn to see it or even try.’ Max stretched out his arms, folded them behind his head and raised an eyebrow as if in challenge.

‘Travelling opens you up to a world of possibilities and experiences and—’

‘It’s still running away.’

Daisy was fuming. ‘I have neither the patience nor the crayons to explain this to you.’ She downed the rest of her wine, slammed down her glass and stormed out.

Daisy sat on the headland, her face pointed out to sea but she wasn’t really looking at the view and she certainly wasn’t seeing anything. Her hand was resting near her throat where her mother’s locket used to sit. Her aunt had offered her one of her necklaces to wear but it wasn’t just the feel of the jewellery against her skin she was missing. She missed the connection she felt to her mother, the reassurance she had when she touched it. She knew people wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t a lucky talisman: to Daisy it was her connection with the past.

Losing the locket had given her a renewed desire to know more about her mother’s death, but she didn’t know where to start on a case the police closed eighteen years ago. She wished she’d done more investigating when she still had the locket – she was convinced it held the key.

She lay back on the grass, the sun warming her skin, and stared up at the wispy clouds drifting aimlessly above her. She watched the shapes slowly change. She remembered lying in the exact same place trying to see pictures in the clouds as a child – at moments like this it didn’t feel that long ago. She wondered how different her life would be if her mother hadn’t died. It was likely they would all still be living in Ottercombe Bay and she would never have travelled further than Exeter … or maybe she was doing her parents a disservice; perhaps as a strong unit of three they would have seen the world together – she couldn’t be sure.

She knew if she wanted to search deeper into her mother’s death she probably needed to call her father but that was always a difficult subject to broach with him. It would need careful planning, rather than rushing in – something she was famous for. She puffed out a breath. She had come up here to calm down and it had worked.

The row with Max in the pub had escalated quickly. Now she was thinking more rationally she knew some of what he had said was right, even if she hadn’t wanted to hear it. Great Uncle Reg had always looked out for Daisy, so she knew he only had good intentions when he had left her the old railway building and his forcing her to stay in Ottercombe Bay in order to inherit it was his attempt to get her to put down some roots. But when you had been nomadic for such a long time, it wasn’t that simple.

When her mother had died, her father had been devastated and the local rumours of how she might have died tortured him until he had packed up their things, flung them in the back of their old car and left the bay, taking Daisy with him. They rarely made it to a year in one place so she spent her formative years travelling around the UK. It didn’t take long for it to feel completely normal. They only ever came back to the bay for two weeks’ holiday each summer. That was all her father could cope with.

Daisy sat up and looked around. She watched the painted sky lighting up the horizon as the last drop of sunlight dissolved silently into the sea. The vibrant colours were reflected on the cliffs, giving the bay an ethereal glow – nature’s light show was beautiful. There wasn’t a lot to dislike about Ottercombe Bay. It was busy in the summer – the tourist trade was both a blessing and a curse. The tourists overran the place in high season but the locals needed that income to get them through the stark winter months.

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