High Tide Read Free Page A

as they’re past their best now, but they might sustain you over the next few days, or if anyone calls in. They’re not off or anything.’
    She took the box. ‘That’s so kind. Thank you. Are you sure?’
    He grinned. ‘My kids are sick of them. It’s you or the bin.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Kate repeated, slightly stunned by his generosity. It gave her a warm glow, which went a little towards offsetting the cold lump of dread in her gullet. The one that had been sitting there since she’d had the call.
    She left the café and began to make her way up the hill. No matter how fit you were, no matter how many times you climbed it, the steep gradient made your calves scream. Eventually she came to a halt outside the cottage and stopped to catch her breath – her chest was tight, despite the fact that she worked out four times a week.
    She looked back down the hill. Below her she could see the harbour, shining silver in the last droplets of sun, the boats rocking as gently as a cradle at bedtime. As the soft evening breeze wrapped itself around her, it seemed to whisper: why did you ever leave?

3
     
    Sam watched his last customer go up the hill as he turned off the sound system and picked up his jacket.
    She’d seemed so alien, with her sleek exterior: designer jeans, suede jacket, not a hair out of place even after a transatlantic flight and a long drive. People in Pennfleet, by and large, didn’t much bother with ironing or blow-dries or make-up, except some of the wealthier weekenders with their gin-palaces.
    Yet despite Kate’s polish she had been vulnerable. He was glad he’d been able to fortify her, if only with a brownie. As a vicar’s son, Sam had been used to death – or at least its impact – from a young age. He had witnessed his father provide solace to so many parishioners over the years. And it had made him, if not comfortable with, then not daunted by, people’s grief. He found it best not to say much, just to be, to listen. There was, after all, not much you could say. It was always time that healed in the end.
    And he knew that better than anyone. Though actually, you never healed. You just got used to it. Somehow, at some point, the grief went from unbearable to bearable. From sharp to dull. But you never went back to being the old you, the you before it happened.
    He took off his apron and tucked it into the laundry bag along with the other aprons and tea towels he needed to take home and wash. Running a seaside café was never-ending toil, especially as it had been open seven days a week during the high season. And Sam wasn’t confident enough of his profit margin yet to take on any more staff than the three he had helping him, or allow himself the luxury of sending his washing to the laundry. He had survived his first summer, but he had a long way to go before he was in the black. He had the winter to get through, and no way of gauging how busy he would be, or whether it was worth him opening at all: many places shut down in the quiet season. It was all to play for.
    Now, it was time to go home. He prided himself on being home by half six for the children, no matter what. Even then, he still had to wash the aprons and tea towels, do the orders, fill in his spreadsheets, do the rest of the week’s staff rota …
    He flipped the sign on the door to Closed and slipped out into the street.
    As he walked back the short distance from work to home, he thanked his lucky stars he’d had the courage to make the move to Pennfleet. How many people had a daily commute that involved wandering along the riverbank, breathing in the freshest air imaginable? How many people could glimpse their own boat, albeit an ancient and scruffy boat, bobbing in the water on their way home? And how many people had a view across an estuary and out to an infinite sea: a view that made you glad to be alive, despite everything, when you woke in the morning?
    If he hadn’t had the courage, he’d be stuck in the car in some