The Oddest Little Beach Shop

by Beth Good

Genres: Family Life; Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

'I love Beth Good's quirky style!' - bestselling author Katie Fforde From the first day of Annie's arrival in the sleepy Cornish resort of Polzel, next-door neighbour Gabriel seems determined to make her life difficult. Despite his sexy looks and angelic name, Gabriel behaves like an ogre to everyone, and has apparently been that way since losing his wife in a surfing accident. Annie would do far better, her friend Claudia urges her, to focus her attentions on Jamie instead. Jamie's the hottest lifeguard in the village - and her co-worker in the Polzel beach shop. But when Polzel's famous annual pie-rolling contest sees Annie and Gabriel forced together, it turns out Annie might have a thing for big Cornish ogres after all . . . A feel-good summer novella from popular romantic comedy writer Beth Good and another quirky entry in her 'Oddest Little Shop' series.

Release date: July 12, 2018

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 122

Sample

It was late morning when Annie swung round the tight, dusty corner in her equally dusty Volkswagen Golf, and slammed on the brakes in horror. There were two things ahead of her, and as the car screeched to a halt, her gaze swivelled from one to the other, dazzled by one, bewildered by the other.

The first sight was the glittering blue expanse of ocean she had been promised when she first agreed to uproot herself from the gloomy suburbs and move down to Cornwall. The view was gorgeous, just as she had expected. Breathtaking, in fact, and worth stopping on a blind corner to admire it. Even if it did mean she was likely to be rear-ended at any second. It was a narrow rural lane, and a steep slope, but she had already met several other drivers coming in the opposite direction, so there were likely to be people heading her way at some point too.

The second sight was rather less welcome, and certainly less expected. Annie stared, nonplussed.

‘What the . . .?’

One useful result from her abrupt stop was that Leo, having sat beside her in stony silence most of the journey from London, looked up at last from his graphic novel.

She was not sure the book, which contained pictures of scantily-clad vampires and muscle-bound superheroes in unlikely costumes, was entirely suitable for a boy of thirteen. But Annie had not quite dared take it away from him. For a start, it was the first thing she had ever actually seen Leo read. And for another thing, she had already managed to offend her nephew in every conceivable way over the past few months, and she was becoming a little weary of their endless tussles over nothing.

‘Why have we stopped moving? Are we there yet?’ Leo demanded, apparently unable to see the cause a few feet in front of their bonnet.

‘Because of him,’ she explained briefly, pointing ahead, then had to correct herself. ‘Them, I mean.’

Leo turned his curly fair head to peruse them. A frown wrinkled his miraculously spot-free teenage brow. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘Language!’ she warned him automatically, not really caring but feeling sure her sister Susan would have told him off even for mild swearing. Susan had always been so careful to bring Leo up polite. To say please and thank you, and not wipe his nose on his sleeve or wear his muddy boots in the lounge. The least she could do now was try to carry on with her sister’s efforts. Somehow, though, she lacked the stomach for the constant reprimands that parenthood appeared to demand. Perhaps it was because Leo was not her child. Or perhaps it was just that she was a rubbish parent.

They both looked at the obstacle without saying anything. What was there to say, after all?

A man of uncertain age, clad in blue shorts, a flat cap and a tweed jacket, both elbows roughly patched, was standing right in the middle of the road. Gumboots and hairy legs completed the picture. Oh, and three sheep. Two gazing back at her with mild curiosity. One rather smaller, possibly a lamb, tucked under his arm like an unwise accessory purchase. If it had a head she could not see it. Only a white woolly rump and waggly tail.

Beyond him in the distance, the Atlantic Ocean rolled majestically into shore between two high cliffs, curling blue waves white-crested and dotted with black shapes. Surfers in wet suits, Annie wondered?

The man too was staring blankly back at them as though the last thing he had expected to see on the road that morning was a car. After all, it was Cornwall, she thought wildly. Perhaps cars were rare in this part of the world. Perhaps people rode about on sheep instead. Or took them out for lovely country walks, like this guy . . .

She waited, smiling thinly at him, trying hard to be patient.

He still did not move, his lips pursed in disapproval.

One of the sheep nuzzled her front bumper, as though attempting to latch onto her headlight and suck milk from it. The man did nothing to stop it.

‘Oh bloody hell,’ she muttered, ignoring Leo’s snigger, and fumbled for the car horn.

BLARH!

Oops.

The horn was far louder than she had expected, the intrusive sound bouncing off the high hedges on either side. The sheep scattered in alarm, the lamb under his arm wriggled furiously, and the man in gumboots narrowed his eyes, still not moving.

‘I don’t think he liked that,’ Leo observed.

Annie bit her lip, not sure if she had done the right thing but defensive about it. She had Leo’s safety to think about. ‘Well, I’m sorry for deafening the poor sheep, but I can’t possibly sit here all day, waiting for Farmer Giles to get out of the road. It’s dangerous. Anyone might come speeding round the corner behind me, and then we’ll get shunted into this guy and squash him flat. Not to mention writing off the rear-end of my Golf.’

‘Good point.’

She fumbled for the horn again, defiant now.

BLARH! BLARH!

The man looked straight at Annie, curling his lip in derision. Then he raised his free hand and gave her the finger.

‘Nice,’ Leo said appreciatively.

At once Annie felt remorseful. Perhaps she ought to have been more patient. This was Cornwall, not the busy urban streets she was used to. And the horn had scared the sheep.

‘Oh dear,’ she said, watching the man stride across the road into the adjacent field, gumboots flapping about his hairy legs, following the two sheep that had run away at the sound of her horn. ‘I hope he doesn’t turn out to be one of Claudia’s friends. That could be awkward.’

At that moment a flash in her mirror announced the arrival of another car behind her, swinging round the blind corner as quickly as she had done and screeching to a halt in the same way.

Except now there were no sheep in sight, and no recalcitrant farmer in shorts as a visual explanation of what the hell she was doing there.

Just her.

Sitting motionless round a corner on a narrow lane with no passing places. Waiting to be rear-ended. Like an idiot.

Annie caught a glimpse of wild dark hair and glaring eyes, then the Land Rover stopped about half an inch from her rear bumper. Less patient than her, the driver revved his engine loudly, then sounded his horn when she did not immediately move.

BLARH!

‘All right, keep your hair on!’ she muttered, then slammed her car into first gear and jerked forward down the hill towards the sea.

Leo returned to his graphic novel, remarking brutally, ‘Welcome to Cornwall.’

Annie did not contradict her nephew. Welcome to Cornwall indeed, she was thinking herself. But they were here now, deep in the rural south-west, and there was no point in having second thoughts about it all. Two days ago she had quit her small rented flat and put the bulk of her furniture into storage. Leo had been removed from his school when they broke up for half-term, and she had already found him a place at the local secondary school down here. Most of their boxes should have been delivered by now, in advance of their own arrival. The rest of Annie’s possessions were in the back of her laden-down Golf, mainly clothing and basic essentials in suitcases and duffle bags. Plus, of course, her laptop and accessories.

So this was Cornwall. Sheep in the road. And farmers in no hurry whatever.

But a change of pace was precisely what she had wanted for Leo, she reflected. And the Cornish coast did look beautiful!

The sea glittered blue and stately beyond a thick ribbon of golden sand as she swung round another terrifyingly tight corner. She hit the brakes, unable to prevent a gasp at the breathtaking sight.

BLARH!

Shocked, she glanced in the mirror to see the wild-haired driver of the Land Rover shaking his fist at her.

‘Bad-tempered sod!’ she exclaimed.

Leo turned another page in his graphic novel. ‘Language, Aunty Annie,’ he told her calmly.

‘Sorry,’ she told him, disgruntled, changing gear as she accelerated down the hill. ‘I’m still not used to having to watch my language. That one just slipped out.’

‘That’s okay. Mum used to swear all the time.’

She glanced at him, saddened by the wistful tone in his voice. Poor boy. Bad enough that he should have lost his dad when he was only three – Jack had been a soldier, killed on a tour of duty in Afghanistan – but his mother’s death had been one of those senseless accidents that made people doubt the existence of any kind of divine plan. Susan had been knocked down in a pedestrian crossing by a drunk driver; for a while the doctors had hoped she might recover, but she had died three days later from a brain haemorrhage.

That had been nearly three months ago. Annie had swooped in, organised the funeral, put Susan’s bungalow on the market – the proceeds of the sale to be put in trust for when Leo turned twenty-one, according to her sister’s will – then taken her nephew home with her. There had been no other choice, realistically. Her mum and dad were too old to cope with a kid, and though his other granddad was only in his forties, he had been less than enthusiastic about getting involved with Leo’s care.

Luckily, she had never lived far from her sister, so after moving, Leo had been able to stay on at his old school. But his behaviour changed after Susan died; he became cold and withdrawn at home, and disruptive in classes. After a few weeks of constantly going into meetings to apologise for ‘incidents’, she had taken Leo for some bereavement counselling sessions. That had helped for a while, but then she discovered that he was hurting himself. Nothing major, just little nicks and cuts to his arms and legs, but enough to make her seriously worried.

She did not want to fail her sister by losing him to social services.

The head teacher had been blunt with her. ‘Leo needs some proper intervention,’ she explained, after one particularly embarrassing incident at the school. ‘Maybe . . .