before raising the flag. A drive along the coast for supplies – including a visit to his favourite bookshop. After that he’d treat himself to lunch somewhere. At some point he’d need to talk to Karen and enlist her help in carrying out the promise he’d made years ago to Gabby. He hadn’t wanted to mention it on her first evening. Too soon.
He glanced along the terrace towards The Captain’s House. Karen had been rather quiet last night. Not her usual self at all. Apart from the brief ‘He’s too busy’ comment she hadn’t mentioned Derek. Gabby would have picked up on that and gently probed – something he hesitated to do. He’d hate Karen to think he was intruding. Overstepping boundaries between friends. On the other hand, he’d like her to feel free to talk to him if she wanted. He’d wait a couple of days and see if she talked to him, asked his advice, before asking her if she was all right.
Carefully, he clipped the Devon flag to its rope and pulled it to the top of the mast where it fluttered in the breeze. Always the first flag of the summer, the Devon flag would be raised every day until the annual communal barbecue on 4th July, which Gabby, proud of her American roots, had instigated, and for which the stars and stripes had specifically been bought.
It was very rare for anyone to join him for the morning flag-hoisting, but the lowering of the flag every evening was different. Nine o‘clock was sundowner time, when everyone migrated to The Bosun’s Locker if they were around, either with a drink in hand or a bottle to share.
Gabby had always had a plate or two of nibbles to pass around every evening. Nothing fancy: cheese and crackers; crisps; maybe some crab sandwiches if she’d been to town. Things it was well within his capabilities to provide. He just had to get organised.
Lady Luck was smiling on him, Bruce decided, as he manoeuvred into the last available place in the car park.
Taking Gabby’s wicker basket from the front seat he made for the embankment. A walk alongside the river was one of the pleasures of summer down here. They’d always made it a part of their shopping routine before facing the supermarket crowds when they made the effort and drove over to Dartmouth. That and lunch afterwards in the Royal Castle Hotel. For some reason, in recent years, Gabby had always preferred to shop in Kingsbridge, although she did like lunch in the Royal Castle.
This morning the tide was in and there was the usual activity out on the river. A teenage boy handed him a flyer as he passed the fishing-trips kiosk. Bruce smiled and said ‘Thanks’ before briefly glancing at the paper.
A day at sea fishing? Something he’d never done – never been tempted to do. His days here had always been spent with Gabby. Filled with ‘couple’ things. There had always been places to go, books to read, restaurants to try, films to see, friends to meet up with. Memories to be made together. Six months since she’d gone but the numbness was still there. No point making memories now there was no one to share them with.
Already, in this first week of being alone down here, he was struggling to fill his days. He’d never been one for hobbies as such. Not even when he was younger. He doubted sea fishing was for him, though. A short trip on the Dartmouth ferry was enough to have him reaching for the sea quells.
He sighed, inwardly acknowledging he was going to have to think seriously about what he was going to do with ‘the rest of his life’, however long that might be. Sea fishing might be out but there had to be something else.
He stopped as he saw a small girl skipping along the embankment towards him, not concentrating on where she was going and dangerously near the edge. Her parents were yards behind pushing a buggy, laughing and chatting happily together, seemingly unaware of the risk their daughter was taking.
Instinctively he moved nearer the edge himself, ready to put a restraining hand out should she need it. Which she did. She stumbled and would have fallen over the edge if he hadn’t grabbed her.
‘Whoops,’ he said. ‘Not time for a swim yet.’ Holding her hand he looked towards the parents.
‘Hey, you! Let go of her,’ the man shouted as he ran towards him.
Shocked, Bruce let go of the little girl’s hand and straightened up.
‘You, young man, can stop shouting at me. Your daughter very nearly went over the edge. I caught her just in time. Children are very precious. You should look after her better.’
‘He’s right,’ said a woman sitting on a nearby seat. ‘I saw what he did. If he hadn’t grabbed her, she would have gone over. He deserves your thanks.’
Bruce smiled at her gratefully as she got up and walked away.
‘Sorry. I guess I overreacted. But these days...’ The man shrugged.
‘Keep a closer eye on her if things like that worry you,’ Bruce said. He smiled down at the little girl. ‘And you, young lady, you stay away from the edge of the quay.’
Bruce turned and walked briskly away. How could anyone not realise how quickly children could get themselves into trouble and take more care of them? But it wasn’t just anger he was feeling. He was shaking from the rush of an emotion he hadn’t felt for years. The crippling sadness they’d both felt with the three miscarriages Gabby had suffered before they’d given up on their dream of a family.
Thankfully, by the time he reached his favourite coffee shop, he’d stopped shaking. The large ‘For Sale’ sign on the nearby three-storey townhouse caught his attention. Normally that would be just the kind of property he and Gabby would have been interested in renovating. Mentally he made a note of the estate agent’s name. He’d call in later and get the details. It would be good to have a project on the go again. He’d throw himself into work and try to fill the new gap in his life.
He stopped in the act of pushing open the café door, to the annoyance of the woman following him in. How could he even think of renovating a building without Gabby? Without her to oversee the interior details, he’d be lost.
‘Sorry’ he muttered, ushering the woman past.
Where had these sudden thoughts come from? Only last week he’d decided that, in September, he’d wind up the business. Find something else to do. The word ‘retire’ had flitted through his brain. He’d even been vaguely thinking about moving down here. Living in The Bosun’s Locker permanently. It was big enough for just him.
Sitting waiting for his coffee, he sighed inwardly. The business had always undertaken work up country, both he and Gabby wanting to keep Devon as the place they escaped to from the pressure of work.
But now, why not? Move here and maybe do just one local renovation a year to keep his hand in and stop him getting bored. He’d need to suss out the local builders, find an interior decorator. Were local architects any good? Bruce could feel the lethargy that had settled over him in recent months lifting as possibilities flitted through his brain.
He’d go to the estate agent’s and pick up the details of the townhouse, see if there was anything else that caught his eye, and then do some serious thinking about his future. He’d work his way back into some sort of life. Gabby would expect nothing less of him.
*
‘Right, that’s the spare ribs marinating and the spicy chicken legs rolled in their coating. What shall I do next? Cut up the veg for the kebabs?’ Hazel asked.
‘Please. I’ll get on with the macaroni salad once I’ve got the pumpkin pie in the oven,’ Karen said.
The two of them were in Karen’s kitchen preparing everything for the 4th July barbecue that evening. The first communal get-together of the season.
‘At least the weather is good. Remember the year of the thunderstorms and floods?’
‘Never forgotten it,’ Hazel said. ‘God, was it scary.’
‘How big a macaroni salad do we want?’ Karen held up the bag of pasta. ‘All of it?’
Hazel nodded and Karen poured the lot into the saucepan of boiling water on the Aga.