Always and Only You

Chapter Fifty-Nine

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Present Day

A couple of days later, Gil and I head into Dartmouth to check out paint colours for the back bedroom. I’ve always loved this town, with its narrow cobbled streets and ancient buildings, some dating back as far as Tudor times. Around every corner is a fascinating piece of history.

‘Are you sure this isn’t going to be too much?’ Gil asks me as he pulls into a parking space next to the Boatfloat, the enclosed harbour for small craft in the centre of town.

I ponder his question. It’s high summer, the busy season, but we’ve chosen to come into town early, hoping the holidaymakers are still enjoying their lazy lie-ins and bacon sandwiches before heading out for a day sightseeing. I’m aware that too much information to process all at once – colours, noise, movement, light, even people – can tire my brain out quickly. However, I’m feeling energized, almost excited. This will be a snippet of ‘getting back to normal’.

‘I’ll let you know if I start to flag.’

Gil nods, his expression saying, Let’s do this then, and we both get out of the car.

After perusing the paint colours in the store, I choose a dusky greyish-blue. It should add some interest to the bedroom without making it too bright, and the shade echoes the surface of the river on an overcast day perfectly.

We deposit the heavy cans in the boot of Gil’s car, then head towards the small supermarket in the centre of town. Gil needs a few bits for dinner tonight. I just stroll along enjoying the familiar buildings and narrow streets, silently greeting them like old friends. Dartmouth is definitely more bougie than a lot of seaside resorts I’ve been to. A few shops do plastic buckets and spades and assorted inflatables, but the town lends itself more to boutiques, art galleries and stylish homeware shops.

I look in the window of one of the upmarket gift shops. ‘If you’re going to rent the boathouse out,’ I say, ‘it would be good to have some finishing touches, something that will make any photos you put on letting sites appealing.’

Gil stops beside me, frowning slightly. ‘Is that really necessary? Isn’t the building itself and some decent furniture enough?’

I stifle a smile. Gil certainly is a no-frills kind of guy, isn’t he? ‘Yes, Heron’s Quay is stunning, but also yes, it’s necessary to dress it up a bit if you want it to be a successful business. How much are you planning to charge per week?’

He mentions a figure that prompts me to let out a low whistle.

‘At least, that’s what the letting agent said I could get if it’s done with high-end finish.’

I nod. ‘The sort of people who might end up at the boathouse won’t be short of a penny or two. Take it from me: they’ll expect a certain ambience. There’s minimalist, Gil, and then there’s spartan. You want to aim for the former, not the latter.’

He looks back at me with a granite expression and then, when I stand there with my arms folded, he actually rolls his eyes. ‘Go on then. Lead the way …’

I make a little ‘Well, how about that?’ face to myself as I walk into the shop ahead of Gil.

The shop is filled with ornaments made from shells and driftwood, silk screen prints of beach huts and golden sand. There are gadgets made from brass and/or rope that look as if they should have some nautical use, but probably don’t.

Gil picks up a framed print of the river from a local artist. ‘I won’t have to fill the boathouse with lots of pictures of boats, will I? It seems a bit too … on the nose.’

I take the print from him and put it back on the shelf. ‘Of course not. You don’t even have to have a boating or seaside theme at all, or you can do it really subtly, by using textures and colours that suggest those things, like maybe the odd shell or bit of driftwood here or there. Your guests might expect at least a nod to the house’s riverside location.’

Gil wanders around the shop some more and then returns a few minutes later. ‘How about this?’ He holds up a creamy pink conch shell and I have a sudden and intense flashback to the honeymoon that never was: the argument we had in the sea while the boat was leaving, clinging together when we thought we might die, and then … the kissing. In fact, the flashback is mostly about the kissing.

My face heats and I have to look away. Gil is too good at reading me. ‘I think I’ve changed my mind about shells,’ I say and hurry out of the shop.

What is wrong with me? I wonder as Gil follows me, looking confused and concerned, and I mumble some excuse about finding the shop hot and claustrophobic.