‘Lovely,’ said Claire, thinking longingly of the fresh ham and vine tomatoes Lorna had left in the fridge. ‘Let’s get a move on, before it decides to rain.’
‘Oh it won’t rain,’ Lorna said firmly. ‘Today is going to be perfect.’
But it did rain.
* * *
Lorna didn’t look for shells that day, or make castles, or draw hearts and flowers with a stick on the sand. Today she ran about on the beach like a mad thing, scooping up handfuls of shingle, flinging it, shrieking, at the turbid sea. Her boots slapped and crunched on the shore, and the wind carried odd tendrils of sounds – singing, laughing – to Claire, who huddled nearer the cliffs, away from the oily-looking water. The wind was fierce down here, coming in low, viscous swathes, and burrowing into ears, eyes, between buttons and up sleeves. God knows how the girl could stand it. There she was, coat off now, dancing in the waves, soaked to the knees, screaming and throwing stones. Happy. She’s just happy. Claire rubbed at her chapped knuckles and stamped her feet in her boots to keep warm. A wave soaked Lorna’s trousers. Still she laughed, waved. Claire waved back.
‘Lorna, put your coat on!’
But Lorna, smiling, shook her head and said something, but the wind whipped the words away. She stamped, splashing sandy water in her eyes, and whirled, singing, until she collapsed in a hysterical heap, choking with laughter, the sea lapping around her soaked jeans.
Claire hurried over. ‘Lorna, seriously, you’ll catch your death!’
‘I am cold.’ She was shivering suddenly.
‘Oh Lord, I should have brought some towels, or spare clothes. Come here! Oh Lord, you’re soaked through!’
Lorna’s teeth were chattering now, and her face was pale, jaundiced looking.
‘It’s beautiful, the sea,’ she murmured.
‘It is, but it’s cold. Let’s get back home and get you warmed up.’
‘No, no. Not yet, let’s go and have a drink at that café.’
Claire hesitated. Going to a café together was very public. ‘Lorna, you’re too cold, really.’
‘I don’t want to go yet, please! I won’t stay on the beach, but can we go to the café? It looks so warm. If we go there I promise I’ll go home without any fuss.’
Claire gave in. They’d have to be seen together at some point. She couldn’t keep the girl cooped up at home all the time, it wasn’t fair. ‘All right. But you have to have something warm. A hot chocolate.’
‘And something to eat, too.’ Lorna held up the bag with the sandwiches. ‘They’re soaked.’
20
The Tiffin Bar was an unprepossessing cement cube with a mural painted on the sides and back, a sunset, with leaping dolphins, now peeling and scabrous. Pressed against the window was a large artificial Christmas tree, and fairy lights were strung about the counter. There was only one other customer: a blonde woman in sunglasses, hunched over her phone. A wet Labrador dripped onto the lino beside her. The hush was oppressive – you could even hear the tap tap of the woman’s nails on the table, the panting of the dog. Without a word or a glance at each other, Lorna and Claire began to back out, but just then a woman emerged from the kitchen, so they took the table nearest the door, smiled fixedly at the laminated menus, and, both suddenly nervous, squeezed each other’s fingers.
‘It’s all right,’ Claire whispered, not really knowing what she meant. ‘It’s OK. You just order whatever you’d like.’
‘Can you do it for me?’
‘Of course.’
Tap tap tap went the woman’s nails. The dog snuffled and, from behind the counter, the radio was suddenly turned up a little louder. Claire and Lorna relaxed, sagged against the Formica seats, and giggled.
‘That was weird!’ said Lorna. ‘Wasn’t that weird? I got all shy.’
‘Well, I suppose – oh, I don’t know. We’re all a bit shy sometimes, aren’t we,’ Claire answered shakily.
Lorna peered at the woman with the dog. ‘She looks weird.’
‘Shhhh!’
‘She does though. Look at her boots.’
Claire gave it a few seconds. The woman was wearing fringed, wedged cowboy boots in clashing green and turquoise. Skinny jeans, slightly baggy at the knees now, were stuffed into the tops. She’d put her phone down and was reading a hardcover book with moons and rainbows on the cover – Women Who Run With the Wolves: A Goddess’s Guide to Life. Claire smirked, immediately felt guilty, and put on a serious face for Lorna.
‘I think she looks very individual.’
The dog perked up, and lumbered over to them. Lorna immediately put out her hand to it, making a clicking sound in her throat, but the woman, without looking up, called it back sharply, and the dog about-turned, sighing, and curled up in its puddle again.
‘Now then, what will you be having? Hot chocolate, on a day like this?’ The waitress beamed at Lorna. Lorna stared at the tabletop.
‘Yes, two hot chocolates. And, cheese sandwiches,’ said Claire.
‘You’ll want a hot meal? On a day like this?’ The waitress’s forehead puckered; she seemed concerned. Claire caved.
‘Yes, yes that’s a much better idea. L— Lovey? What would you like?’
‘Chips and egg,’ muttered the girl.
‘And for me too. And some bread and butter?’
The waitress smiled, collected their menus, and on the way back to the kitchen, stumbled against the Labrador, now stretched out in the aisle. Its owner looked up. She had a handsome profile, if a little haggard. the skin just beginning to wattle about the neck. Her ringed fingers snatched at the dog’s collar and pulled it further towards the table. Words were exchanged, but Claire couldn’t tell if they were friendly or not, and when the waitress left, she saw the woman poke the dog firmly in the chest with one pointed boot. Her voice was louder than the radio.
‘Stay there nicely, or no cuddles!’