The Beachside Guest House

by Vanessa Greene

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

When Rosa and Bee get together in the run-up to Bee's wedding, they reminisce about the holiday they took together as teenagers to the beautiful Greek island of Paros. They remember the sandy coves, the guest house in the converted windmill where they stayed with their friend Iona, and the gorgeous local men. As memories of that long-forgotten holiday resurface, they are forced to confront the turns their lives have taken - and the guilt they both feel about letting Iona slip away from them.

When they learn that the windmill guest house is going bust they form a plan: why not go back to the island and take it over themselves? And so begins a life-changing journey - because it turns out that opening a guest house and reliving their teenage dreams isn't that easy . . .

Full of romance and friendship, love and life, laughter and tears, The Beachside Guest House is an uplifting novel about the magic of starting over with friends by your side.

Release date: September 10, 2015

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 336

Sample

 

It had been Rosa’s idea to come. And when the three of them got to the ferry port in Athens, the air thick with heat and smog, Bee wondered if she and Iona had been right to listen. At eighteen, it was Bee’s first time away from home, and the foreign words, unfamiliar smells and sounds unsettled her. Rosa understood a few words of Greek and seemed at ease – with her dark hair and eyes and olive skin, she could have passed for a local. But Bee – she had barely been out of their home town of Penzance before now. The cliffs and sands of the Cornish coast were the only landscapes she knew well. The world beyond that, she knew from books, TV, photos online – it wasn’t something she had heard and smelt and tasted. All that was coming now, and she wasn’t at all sure that she liked it.

‘The next ferry is at…’ Rosa said, running her finger over the timetable. ‘one p.m.’ She put her sunglasses back over her eyes. ‘We’ve got an hour to wait. Anyone got any cards?’

Bee got some playing cards out of her bag and they set up camp next to the terminal, using their rucksacks as seats. The July sun beat down on the back of Bee’s neck. She’d cut her dark blonde hair into a bob at the start of the summer, and the sensation still felt new.

Iona was in Diesel jeans and a halterneck, her hair – dyed black with a bleached streak – falling loose around her shoulders. She was the glamour element in their small group. They’d all just finished their A-Levels and had a whole, delicious summer to enjoy, far away from home – but she was the one who had something even better to look forward to. That spring, when the rest of them were at home revising, she’d been playing gigs in the local pubs, singing the songs she’d written, just her and her guitar. One night an A&R woman who was on a break in Cornwall spotted her, and now she was all set to be signed by a major label. As they sat there at the port playing blackjack, Bee found herself savouring the moment; vaguely conscious that when they got back home things might change not just for Iona, but for all of them.

But for now… here they were, out in Greece, wallets crammed with euros and a paperback Rough Guide to the islands. No accommodation was booked, they had no fixed plans, and all of this contributed to Bee feeling a little nauseous.

Rosa seemed to pick up on this. ‘It’ll be OK, you know, Bee.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a holiday, people go on them every day. It’s supposed to be fun.’

‘I know,’ Bee said quickly. ‘I’m not worried. I just… it’s weird, being in a new place like this. I was talking to Stuart and he said you have to be very careful…’

‘Here we go,’ Rosa said, rolling her eyes. ‘He’s been following you round for years like a lost puppy. Now all of a sudden you’re listening to his advice?’

‘I’m not. It’s just we were talking and…’ Bee let it tail off. She felt a little protective of Stuart, but in some ways Rosa was right. He hadn’t really done much travelling, after all. But over the past few months she had started to respect his opinion more. In the sixth form common room he’d helped her get prepared, looking through the Rough Guide with her and making notes. The day before she left, he’d dropped around his torch, in case they could use it, and a well-thumbed copy of The Catcher in the Rye. He looked a lot better since he’d shaved off that beard that never grew well, and he hadn’t actually asked her out for months. Now that he was giving her a little more space, she’d started to warm to him.

‘Anyone for a lemon Fanta?’ Iona said brightly, breaking the tension.

‘I’d love one,’ Rosa said.

‘Same here.’

‘OK, see you in a minute, then.’ Iona walked over to the café, and Bee watched on with envy as a couple of men standing nearby followed her with their gaze.

‘You guys going to Paros?’

Bee glanced up at the male voice, taking in its hint of an Australian accent. The man standing over them must have been about twenty, in army shorts and white T-shirt. He had sandy blond hair and hazel eyes that glinted green, piercing and bright against his tanned skin. Behind him his two friends were piling up their luggage against the wall of the ferry terminal building, next to Iona’s bag and guitar case.

‘We are, yes,’ Bee said.

‘Nice. So are we. I’m Ethan, by the way,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘Over there are Ali and Sam.’ He pointed back at his friends.

Iona returned with the drinks. Bee waited for Iona to catch his attention, but after a brief nod hello, he turned back to Bee.

‘Mind if we join you?’ he asked.

Bee hesitated, unsure. After a moment, Iona spoke up. ‘Come on over,’ she said brightly. ‘Why not? Help us get this holiday started.’

 

‘You nearly finished, Bee?’ Stuart called out from the kitchen.

‘Yes. Nearly done,’ Bee Harrison said, bent over her laptop at the kitchen table. She was typing the email addresses of Rosa and an old workmate, Annie, into a message to her sister. ‘Just sending Kate the list of people to invite.’

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘Dinner will be ready in five.’

He laid the table around Bee and started bringing in the dishes, the warm fragrance of Thai curry drifting over to her. She closed her laptop and put it away. The semi-detached house in Buckinghamshire that they’d bought together the previous year felt like home to both of them now. The kitchen was tiny, but over the past few months, they’d found a way of working around each other.

‘Hen night plans getting underway then?’ Stuart asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Kate’s planning it for November – which is next month, all of a sudden. I can’t believe how close the wedding is now, Stu. It’ll be December before we know it. It feels like there’s still a ton to arrange.’

‘I think we’re doing pretty well,’ Stuart said. ‘We’ve spent much longer on organising it than some people do. It’s been over a year now.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. The last few months of working at her friend’s furniture shop Bee had spent every quiet moment designing bunting and other decorations for the wedding – so they were on track with most of that.

‘It’ll all come together,’ he said confidently. ‘Is Rosa coming to the hen?’

‘Hopefully. She’s on the list, but I know she’s abroad a lot with work. It’d be great to see her though, it’s been ages.’

Bee thought of the one name missing from her list. An image of Iona flashed into her mind, accompanied by a hollow feeling.

‘You OK?’ Stuart asked. ‘You look miles away.’

Bee nodded. ‘Fine. Looking forward to the wedding, that’s all.’

‘I can’t wait to be married to you,’ Stuart said, reaching out to touch her hand. ‘Fifteen years ago, when I first asked you out, and you shot me down in the middle of Science class… if only I’d known then that one day I’d be here. With you, Rebecca Harrison. I can’t believe that this Christmas I’m going to be your husband.’

On the train back from Gatwick to her home in north London, Rosa da Silva scanned over her work emails. She’d been out of internet contact for days, over in Brazil visiting projects for the charity she worked for. Pascale, her assistant, a recent graduate, had replied to everything, handling queries and copying Rosa in. Perhaps Ian, her boss, had been right – Pascale might have had a head start by being his daughter, but she was progressing on merit. She had what it took. With her Sloane Square court shoes and private education she seemed to get along with some of their most important funders effortlessly. Rosa’s frank manner and untamed hair had sometimes been met less warmly. At any rate, Pascale had done a solid job while Rosa was away, and for that she was grateful.

Among the work messages was one from Bee’s sister Kate: Bee’s hen. It would be good to see Bee again. Rosa hadn’t been great at staying in touch, she knew that. She’d been caught up in the job over the past year, and they were living in different places – Rosa in London and Bee in Buckinghamshire – not far, but far enough to change things. They kept in touch via the occasional text or email rather than meeting up for drinks as they used to. Rosa felt a pang of guilt at the fact she’d never got around to taking Bee out for that celebratory engagement drink she’d promised her. She’d make up for it on the hen.

Rosa found the rest of the email thread – it seemed as if all of Bee’s friends had ideas about what the hen should be like, and there’d been a frenzy of replies. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad thing that she’d been unable to get to her email. She decided not to add her ideas to the mix, instead tapping back a quick reply confirming the dates she could do. Out of habit, she scanned over the list of email addresses the message had been copied to. It wasn’t as if she really expected to see Iona’s name there, but she checked all the same.

Remembering Iona – it still stung. They’d shared everything once. Revision notes, mix tapes, secrets, laughter. And now, for two years: not a word. Only a silence where Iona’s voice – husky, melodic, upbeat – had once been.

 

‘I got you a coffee,’ Pascale said with a smile, putting the takeaway cup down on her boss’s desk. ‘Disposable cup, sorry. But at least it’s fair trade.’

‘Thank you,’ Rosa said. ‘And for handling everything while I was away. I appreciate it.’

‘No worries,’ Pascale said. ‘I put the minutes for the meetings I attended in your documents folder.’

Rosa took out a file containing the budget for the project she was working on. The office was buzzing around her, people ferrying coffee into the boardroom for a meeting that she had bowed out of. An hour of calm would be all she needed to straighten out the spreadsheet for costs. She recalled the hot, steamy days in Salvador that she and the volunteers had spent visiting and working on the community projects in the favelas. Opening Excel, it felt like a world away, and yet she knew that without her work in the UK, nothing would be happening over there.

Fifteen minutes later her head was starting to ache. She ran her eye down the column of numbers again, trying to make sense of them. Over twenty thousand pounds had been raised by the charity in the past year – that was no surprise, she’d kept a close eye on every event and fundraiser, working hard at most of them. But the money that had been spent and was lined up for sending to the Brazilian project was far lower – over seven thousand pounds were currently unaccounted for.

She made mistakes, like everyone – but this?

 

‘Here are some of Bee’s best bits,’ Kate said, motioning to a large screen in the private area of a bar near Bee’s house.

The first photos were ones Kate must have taken from their family albums; cute baby photos of Bee and ones of her starting school, looking perfectly innocent. It was a look she somehow still had, even at twenty-nine, her eyes wide and deep blue, her thin, perfectly shaped brows imbuing her face with the look of a porcelain doll. Of the three of them, Bee had always been the easiest to love. The one that boys, girls, teachers, everybody warmed to. As she laughed at the images on the screen, Rosa saw that nothing had changed.

‘Rosa. This was you, wasn’t it?’ Bee’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Rosa looked up at the screen. There they were, Bee, Rosa and Iona, stretched out languidly on the beach in Paros, a light dusting of sand on their legs and Bee’s feet partially buried. All three of them sipped from glass bottles of Coke, with red and white candy-striped straws in them. ‘You’re the only one nice enough to have put in a picture of me looking relatively hot.’

‘Oh just you wait, this isn’t the only one,’ Rosa laughed. As promised, there followed a stream of photos of the three of them out dancing, post-tequila slammers, Bee’s make-up sliding down her tanned face.

‘Oh God, what a mess,’ Bee said, laughing. Then her voice softened. ‘We had fun at the windmill, didn’t we, Rosa?’

Their eyes met, and Rosa nodded. The words brought them back together, as close as when they were eighteen.

‘I’ll never forget that place,’ Bee said.

‘Up on that rocky path, overlooking the ocean,’ Rosa said. ‘The best views in the world.’

‘Remember that vodka watermelon we made out on the terrace?’ Bee said, laughing. ‘I had no idea how lethal those things were.’

‘And that was before we went out…’ Rosa added.

‘Good times,’ Bee said.

‘Oh yes.’

‘I wouldn’t go back to them, though,’ Bee said quickly, shaking her head. ‘Not for all the ouzo in the Cyclades.’

She called over to her sister. ‘Next slide, Kate.’ A picture of Bee in Freshers’ week came on the screen, and as they left the Greek photos behind, Bee seemed to relax.

 

The following morning, Rosa rubbed her eyes and made out the unfamiliar surroundings. Stuffed letter cushions were scattered on the floor where she’d thrown them the previous night as she’d made her bed on Bee’s sofa. They still loosely spelled out H-O-M-E. Winter sunshine glinted in through the pale blue curtains in the living room. That must have been what woke her, because she still felt groggy and tired.

‘Tea?’

Rosa looked up at the sound of Bee’s voice, and saw her standing nearby.

‘Definitely,’ Rosa said gratefully.

Bee brought in the mugs, and came to sit down next to her on the sofa. Rosa lifted the duvet and Bee pulled it over her. ‘Like the old days,’ she said.

‘Did you enjoy last night?’ Rosa asked.

‘It was brilliant, wasn’t it?’ Bee’s cheeks were aglow.

‘Everyone had a great time. I think we gave you a fitting send-off.’

‘I still can’t believe how soon it all is. I have a feeling it’s all going to come together OK, though.’

‘Of course it will. Where’s Stuart? Still in bed?’

‘No,’ Bee laughed. ‘He was up and out early. Went to go and play golf.’

‘Golf?’ Rosa said.

‘Yes.’

Rosa raised an eyebrow.

‘What?!’ Bee swatted her with a cushion. ‘You think we’re getting middle-aged, don’t you?’

Rosa shrugged. ‘Who am I to pass comment?’ She smiled. ‘I’ve never made it past a year with anyone. You guys seem to have the relationship stuff down, and I’m impressed.’

‘We muddle along,’ Bee said. ‘And you’ll find someone, you know.’

‘I don’t really mind any more. I’ve got used to the freedom of being on my own. I’m not sure I’d really be willing to compromise on that.’

‘Not for just anyone, but what if you met someone really special?’

‘I’m not sure I’ll ever be as much of a romantic as you. But it’s nice to see you find your happy ever after,’ Rosa said.

‘All that time we laughed about Stuart following me around… and now here I am marrying him.’

‘I think we were a bit harsh on the poor guy. We all had some growing-up to do.’

Bee remembered how comforting it had been to see Stuart again, after the trip to Paros. It was better, she’d reasoned then, to know where you stood with someone. And she would always know where she stood with him.

‘It’s been great to catch up,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too. I feel like there’s still so much to talk about.’

‘I agree. We’re hardly scratched the surface, and I’ve been talking about Stuart and the wedding far too much,’ Bee said. ‘Listen. Things are fairly manic in the run-up to the wedding, but it just so happens that I’m in London for an antiques fair in a couple of weeks. Don’t suppose you’d be around?’

‘Absolutely!’ Rosa’s eyes lit up.

‘It’s a date, then.’ Bee broke out in a wide smile.

The two friends hugged, and Bee felt a piece of herself slip back into place.

Iona Taylor towel-dried her dark hair, then turned to the magnifying mirror, applying liquid eyeliner in a thick line. She had an early meeting near the Bristol offices of the music company she worked for. A demo an acquaintance had passed her the previous week had caught her interest, and today she was meeting the young singer-songwriter for coffee and a chat about taking things further. The music, a cluttered, chaotic mess of songs, but with markedly strong vocals, had given Iona an instant buzz when she heard it – a rare thing. She was excited to see if there might be something in it.

The singer on the demo, Alissa, was in her early twenties with a low, rootsy voice and was currently singing with a rock band – but Iona could hear her talent shine above that of the other musicians and was keen to talk to her about going solo. When her own recording career had stalled at twenty, after one low-selling album, she’d learned a lot about what labels wanted, and she’d told herself she would find a way to give someone else a chance.

‘Here, made you some coffee,’ Ben said, putting down a mug on the dressing table. He pushed back a strand of her wet hair and kissed her on the lips, lingering there a moment. ‘You could make a man very late for work, you know,’ he said with a smile.

She laughed, pushing him away gently. ‘OK. Enough, I have to get going.’

He put on his jacket, and gave her a wink as he left. ‘I’ll call you at lunchtime,’ he said. ‘Good luck with the meeting. She’s got something.’ He nodded appreciatively. ‘She’s definitely got something.’

Ben had also listened to the demo tape the previous week, and told Iona that finding someone like Alissa could be the making of her. For a couple of years now, she’d been yearning to step beyond her digital marketing role and get closer to the music again – what had attracted her to the industry in the first place. He supported her completely in her drive to do that. Ben was just as passionate about music, and equally aware of how fickle the industry could be. Taking the job in advertising sales when his band hit a dry patch had been difficult for him – but he got on with each day, practising with his band when he could. He made the best of the situation.

The kiss left her with a warm glow. She’d take that with her into the day, she thought. A night like the one she and Ben had spent together reminded her how lucky she was to have him.

It had been two years since she sent the message to Bee and Rosa, telling them she wouldn’t be seeing them as much as she used to. She’d started to question their friendship – at twenty-seven, was it really normal that they still knew everything about one another, that their monthly meet-up was the most important date in their calendars? Shouldn’t they be moving on from that? At sixteen they might have spent every spare minute together, getting home only to dive onto the phone to talk through the details of the day. But they were adults now.

Their friendship had been holding all of them back. It had stopped her from committing fully to her relationship, to moving on from her dad’s death and forward into a future with Ben.

She missed her friends sometimes. But something had had to give.

They were part of her past – and she was looking to the future.

Back home in London, Rosa’s attention drifted from the documents she was sifting through. An hour and she’d found nothing new. She’d have to own up to Ian, see if they could figure things out together. After eight years at the charity they’d found a way to work through most thing. . .