Second Chances at Samphire Bay (Samphire Bay Village #1)

Chapter 10

Robin was up early the next morning. Considering he had drunk so much wine the evening before, he was feeling surprisingly cheery. He’d thoroughly enjoyed being at Jasmine’s last night. After her initial question, which had caused a thorny moment, the atmosphere had lifted, conversation had flowed, and it hadn’t been long until another bottle of wine was opened.

As the drink flowed, both Jasmine and Robin had relaxed more in each other’s company. Robin had had her giggling at the scrapes he and Jack had got themselves into as teenagers living in Samphire Bay. Jasmine envied them, having such a beautiful location to grow up in, as well as the strong bond between the two friends. The alcohol had given her enough Dutch courage to be open and frank about Jack.

‘To be honest, I didn’t like the way he was staring out of the kitchen window the other day. Why not come out straight away and introduce himself?’ she’d confessed. This had caused Robin to throw his head back and laugh. ‘What?’ asked Jasmine, perplexed.

‘Because that’s typical Jack,’ he’d replied. ‘He was sussing you out on the quiet.’

This explanation didn’t do anything to mend her opinion of him.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked almost indignantly. Still Robin couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Don’t be offended, Jasmine. He’s just curious about you, that’s all.’

‘Curious, or just plain nosey?’ Jasmine arched an eyebrow.

‘Curious. To be honest, everyone in Samphire Bay will be wanting to know all about you.’ He grinned.

‘Yeah, well, that sounds about right, if the shopkeeper’s anything to go by,’ Jasmine muttered with a heavy dose of sarcasm, ‘not to mention that Bunty Dev… Dev…’ Her head was a touch fuzzy from the wine by this time and she struggled to remember Bunty’s full name.

‘Deville,’ Robin supplied, suddenly looking serious.

‘Hmm, Bunty Deville, she’s a character.’

‘She certainly is,’ agreed Robin quietly. If only Jasmine knew just how much a character Bunty was. How would she react if she knew of Bunty’s attempt to play cupid? Deciding to quickly change the subject, Robin moved the conversation back to Jack. He couldn’t help but think Jasmine had got the wrong impression. Whilst a small part of him was glad Jasmine hadn’t exactly fluttered her eyelashes at Jack, he still didn’t want her to think badly of his best mate. ‘Don’t be too hard on Jack though, he’s a decent bloke.’

‘If you say so,’ Jasmine replied, still unconvinced.

‘No, he is. He wouldn’t be my best mate or business partner otherwise.’

‘I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt then.’ She smiled, not wanting to cause any offence.

‘And it’s only natural for people to be interested in a newcomer to Samphire Bay. You’re new blood,’ he said with a grin.

Jasmine tilted her head to one side in contemplation. ‘I suppose so,’ she replied, remembering how nosey her mum had been about Robin, plus how quick her brother had been to introduce himself. It worked both ways, Jasmine conceded.

And so the evening had continued, with easy chat and banter. Robin couldn’t remember when he had last enjoyed himself so much. Usually he’d be sat in front of the TV, or working late. He was still reluctant to venture out on dates, despite Jack’s encouragement. Even he had stopped trying to coax his best mate into some sort of social life. It wasn’t that Robin didn’t want to enjoy himself, he really did, but the mere threat of encountering the stress he’d endured with his ex-fiancée left him cold. It had sapped him dry in every sense – emotionally, physically and financially – and his bad experience dampened any enthusiasm for future relationships. Until now.

Jasmine had a certain quality about her which Robin couldn’t define, finding it hard to put his finger on what made her different. He hardly knew her and yet his gut instinct told him he could trust her. Why? Was it because she, too, had been dealt a blow in life? Well, more than a blow, acknowledged Robin, considering what had happened to her late husband. Yet despite the horrific circumstances surrounding Jasmine, she was obviously a fighter, willing to carry on and start again.

Respect. That’s what he had for Jasmine; he admired and respected what she was doing, and you trusted those kinds of people, didn’t you?

In the meantime, Jasmine hadn’t slept well at all. The heavy head she’d gone to bed with had kept her awake most of the night. That, and the way her mind refused to stop spinning. A peculiar sensation was slowly breaking through, leaving her confused.

For the past eight months, all Jasmine had felt was bleak desolation – a sad, empty crater, refusing to be filled. She had dismissed the words people tried to comfort her with. ‘Time is a healer,’ seemed such a ridiculous platitude. But here she was, in a new house, in a stunning location, actually looking forward to seeing her home fully renovated. A chink of light was starting to break through the bleakness.

But with it came other, difficult thoughts – should she be feeling this way? Should she have enjoyed the evening with Robin? It had been all too easy to unwind with a glass of wine and listen to his tales. He was interesting, entertaining and not threatening in any way.

A wave of guilt hit her. Instinctively her hand went up to the heart pendant on her neck, her default any time she thought of Tom, where she felt closest to him. She longed to hear his voice, ever convinced she had heard it that day, in this very room, telling her to put in an offer for the cottage. Jasmine had tossed and turned till the early hours, until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

She woke the next morning tired and bleary-eyed. Deciding to have breakfast straight away, she took a couple of headache tablets with her tea. She had a busy day in front of her.

Jack entered the shop and Trish immediately turned in his direction from behind the counter. With a wry grin he braced himself, knowing what he was in for. Trish was a renowned gossip and it was common knowledge that the local shopkeeper was a friend and spy for Bunty Deville. It didn’t take too long for him to pick up the bread, butter, milk and cans of lager and head for the checkout. As predicted, Trish was on him straight away as she scanned the contents of his basket.

‘So, I hear Robin’s getting along nicely with his new neighbour,’ she said, glancing up at him.

He sent what he hoped was a neutral smile her way. ‘Yes.’

‘Has he finished working on the cottage next door?’ Trish eagerly asked.

‘Give him a chance,’ replied Jack with a laugh. ‘He’s good, but not that good.’

‘So where is he up to then?’

‘He’s about to start the kitchen I believe.’ Jack placed his items in a carrier bag.

Trish, desperate for more information before he left, halted and held the loaf of bread hostage.

‘Does he… you know…’ she faltered, keen to have at least some juicy morsel of tittle-tattle to give Bunty.

‘What?’ Jack asked, eyes wide and lips twitching.

‘You know… fancy her?’ she blurted out, startling herself.

‘Pardon?’ Jack laughed, causing Trish to blush.

‘Just asking. We all want to see Robin happy, that’s all. It’d be ideal if he got together with Jasmine. They’d make such a good couple,’ Trish was at pains to explain.

Jack shook his head in awe.

‘Trish, we all want Robin to find happiness,’ he said patiently, ‘but I’m not sure he’d thank you for inter—’ he quickly changed the word interfering, ‘taking an interest. Maybe just let nature take its course?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ mumbled Trish, disappointed not to have any feedback for Bunty. She finished scanning the bread and Jack paid. Just before stepping out of the shop, he turned.

‘And Trish?’

‘Yes?’ she answered sharply with anticipation.

‘You don’t always have to listen to Bunty.’ He smiled and closed the shop door.

Huh , thought Trish, easier said than done.

Meanwhile, Robin was indeed busy fitting Jasmine’s kitchen. Surrounded by empty cardboard boxes, he was putting together the base units.

‘Don’t you need to read the instructions?’ asked Jasmine, watching as he screwed the joints of wood together without any hesitation.

‘Nah, I’ve assembled enough kitchens in my time.’

Jasmine had been impressed with the speed and efficiency Robin showed. So much so, she was beginning to feel a tad surplus to requirements.

‘Can you pass me those?’ He pointed towards a plastic bag containing metal hinges. She supposed it must be handy for him to have a fetcher and carrier so he could focus on the important stuff. Jasmine noticed he’d brought his own packed lunch.

‘I can make lunch, you didn’t need to bring your own,’ she told him, nodding towards his butty box. He looked up to face her.

‘It’s fine, you made me dinner last night.’

‘As a thank you, Robin,’ she explained in exasperation, as well as humour. ‘Seriously, I can’t just stand here doing practically nothing, give me a job,’ she insisted. Robin looked around.

‘OK, I’d love a cuppa.’ He grinned.

With a laugh, she headed for the counter. ‘Coming up.’

Whilst waiting for the tea to brew, Jasmine thought back to the days when Tom had fitted Moonshine ’s kitchenette. It seemed a long time ago somehow. A lump formed in her throat which she tried to swallow. She blinked her eyes rapidly. The last thing she wanted was for Robin to see her getting emotional.

Taking both cups of tea, she handed Robin his.

‘Ah, thanks.’ He stood up and lent on one of the boxes. He could see her eyes were slightly red-rimmed. Was she tired, or had something upset her? Not knowing how to react or what to say, he looked away and concentrated on drinking his tea.

Jasmine chewed her lip. Then, not really knowing why, began talking about her narrowboat. Robin was instantly interested, eager to hear all about it.

‘We named her Moonshine ,’ she said with a wistful smile, remembering that very first glimpse of the neglected boat, illuminated by the shaft of silver light. ‘I persuaded Tom to buy her. She was a wreck, in need of salvaging.’ She chuckled softly.

Robin stood and listened, hands clasped round his mug, head slightly tilted, absorbing her words. Truth be told, he’d been more than interested in Jasmine. After hearing about her from Bunty and seeing her for the first time, he’d searched the internet for her background. It hadn’t taken too long for the tragic story to appear. Newspaper articles had been in abundance concerning her husband, Tom Boyd. He’d read about the hit-and-run accident rendering him dead. It was sickening. How could anyone leave someone to die in the road after ploughing into them? It beggared belief. All the while he had thought of poor Jasmine, left a widow so young. How on earth had she dealt with it? Now, listening to her, he felt almost privileged to be privy to her memories – they must be so precious.

‘I’ll never forget our first night on the boat,’ continued Jasmine, now in full flow, as if an emotional dam had burst within her and all the pent-up tension was spilling out. ‘It had been a full moon that night and we drank champagne under the stars, bathed in its light.’

‘Obviously meant to be,’ murmured Robin. She looked at him, a touch surprised, like she’d forgotten he was there in the kitchen with her. It was almost as if she’d been talking to herself.

‘Yes, yes it was,’ Jasmine agreed. ‘Everything was meant to be. Meeting Tom, getting married, buying our narrowboat, all of it…’ Her chin quivered.

Robin froze. Hell, please don’t say she was going to cry; he’d never felt so bloody useless. Except he wasn’t useless, was he? He was here, offering his services, putting her kitchen in. Still looking at her, he finally offered some sort of comfort.

‘Jasmine, I think you’re incredibly brave,’ his voice was hoarse and he gulped.

Her gaze rested on him. ‘Thanks.’ She gave a sad smile.

‘If there’s anything I can do…’

‘Apart from renovate my cottage you mean?’

He gave a half laugh.

‘Only your bathroom and kitchen.’

‘Only?’ Her eyebrow rose.

‘That aside, I mean…’ he puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I mean really.’ His brows furrowed in confusion. ‘I guess… if you need to talk, I’m only next door.’ He blinked at his own words, not quite believing the conversation had taken such a dramatic turn. He certainly hadn’t been expecting it and suspected that neither had Jasmine.

She let out a sigh of gratitude.

‘Thanks, Robin.’

The rest of the day was spent constructing the rest of the units, putting on the doors, then lastly, fitting the oak worktop. Robin had used his jigsaw to cut it into shape for the sink area, which took time and precision. Jasmine watched his face, etched in concentration. He really was a master craftsman. For the second time that day, she’d been hugely impressed with his work. As she looked round the kitchen she was delighted with the result. Solid oak cupboards ran round two sides of the room. A white ceramic butler sink with brass taps stood under the window. The wooden worktop finished the look off beautifully. It was clean, practical, stylish and gave the country feel she wanted. Choosing not to have wall mounted cupboards, just floor ones, meant the room felt more spacious too. Jasmine planned to hang her copper pans and fancy crockery from sturdy oak shelves, adding to that country look.

After a full, industrious day they both stood back and admired their work. Jasmine had proved herself useful, not only fetching, carrying, holding things in place and making tea but, on her insistence, had made a tasty lunch. Once Robin had caught a whiff of the quiche cooking in her new oven and saw the colourful salad and crusty French bread, he’d soon ditched his butty box.

Now it was early evening and they were both in need of a drink. Jasmine opened another bottle, this time prosecco.

‘You seem to have an abundance of booze,’ smiled Robin, remembering the two bottles of wine she’d had at the ready the previous night.

‘I was given a crateful from Sam, a house-warming present,’ she replied, popping the cork. Pouring the fizz into two flutes, she gave one to Robin. ‘Cheers, Robin. The kitchen’s amazing.’ She clinked his glass.

‘My pleasure,’ he answered, and truly meant it.