Little Kiosk By The Sea (15 page)

Johnnie heard Rachel’s muttered ‘Home, thank god’ and her smothered sigh of relief as the mouth of the Dart hove into view, but made no comment.

As they tied up alongside the quay, Johnnie said, ‘You get off home, Rachel, I know you’re exhausted. I’ll give Sabine a ring and get her to come down and give me a hand with stuff. I need to talk to her anyway.’

‘You sure?’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll be off then.’ She picked up her kitbag and stepped onto the quay. ‘Hope everything goes well with Carla.’

Johnnie nodded. ‘Thanks for everything. I owe you.’

Rachel waved a deprecating hand in the air. ‘No problem. See you around.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SABINE

Sabine switched on the kettle in the kiosk before tiredly rubbing her eyes. Another cup of coffee might just jog her body into realising it had to stay awake. Eleven o’clock in the morning and already she was wishing the day was over. Which was wrong on all counts, today of all days. Tonight was her exhibition. She simply had to be fully awake for that.

Life had gone from being busy to being hectic since Carla had arrived in Johnnie’s life and in hers by default. Naturally, she was the first port of call for help from her brother – and there had been many calls in the past few days. Not that she minded. She’d adored the little girl from the moment Johnnie had stepped off
Annie
and handed the baby to her.

‘An extra-special present from Brittany,’ he’d said wearily. ‘Help me get her back to the cottage and I’ll tell you everything.’

Sabine had listened intently as he’d told her about his affair with Josette. How he felt morally bound to look after the child while her mother went off to live a life unencumbered.

‘How the hell I’m going to cope, I have no idea,’ he’d said. ‘But once I’d learnt of her existence, there was no way I could walk away.’

Caring for a baby twenty-four hours seven days a week had never before figured in his life and Sabine knew he was feeling very lost. If he wasn’t round at the kiosk or on the doorstep at home, he was on the phone asking for advice. She was doing what she could, of course, but ultimately it still came back to it being Johnnie’s responsibility to take care of Carla.

That old cliché, ‘steep learning curve’, didn’t begin to cover the new life experiences Johnnie was going through and if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by, it was also currently a sleep-deprived life. Still, he’d always been a quick learner; he’d soon settle into life as a hands-on father.

In the few days since Johnnie had arrived back from France with Carla, her own life routine too had undergone a change. From the moment she’d set eyes on the baby girl, she’d been smitten, remembering how she’d always hoped for a sister for Peter. How quickly she’d agreed all those years ago to Tatty’s request to be little Ellie’s godmother, the next best thing to having her own little girl she’d decided, only to have her disappear out of her life – until tonight. Tatty had promised to bring Ellie and reintroduce them.

Hopefully Carla would be in Johnnie’s and her life for ever, now they knew of her existence. She did wonder though, how his new daughter would affect his decision to sell the cottage and buy a bigger boat. Probably wouldn’t happen now, but Carla was certain to move his life on in a new direction.

One thing she knew for sure, though, the arrival of Carla in their lives meant she could forget any idea of a belated gap year with Owen to far-flung places. No way could she leave her brother to deal with things alone. Not that she’d intended going anyway.

Owen arrived as she made the coffee. Without a word she handed him a cup and poured herself another one. With no tourists on the horizon wanting to buy tickets, they settled themselves in the director’s chairs to the side of the kiosk.

‘Bliss,’ Sabine said. ‘Five minutes peace.’

‘You all set for this evening?’

Sabine nodded. ‘Nervous. And tired. Helping Johnnie with Carla has made me realise just how much my energy levels have diminished as I’ve got older.’

‘Good job you’re planning a long holiday at the end of the season then,’ Owen said.

‘Don’t go there, Owen,’ Sabine warned. ‘Not today. I’m too tired to argue with you. Uh-oh, customers.’ And she stood up to greet a couple of middle-aged men who were studying the river trip timetable.

Six hours later, after a half hour luxurious, reviving soak in the bath, Sabine pulled her long rainbow-coloured velvet evening coat, bought for a snip in one of Torquay’s many charity shops, off its hanger and slipped it on. It just added the right degree of ‘arty’, she felt, over the plain black trousers and long-sleeved T-shirt she’d opted to wear for the opening night of her exhibition.

Her mobile rang. Johnnie. Who else?

‘Hi,’ she said, picking up her mobile and hoping there wasn’t a problem with Carla. No way could she rush round there right now.

‘Sabine, I’m really sorry but I might not make it tonight. I can’t find a babysitter. Those are words, I might add, that I never thought I’d have occasion to say!’

‘Bring Carla with you. She’ll probably sleep in her buggy,’ Sabine said, stifling a disappointed sigh. ‘I really want you there to celebrate with me. If only for ten minutes to hold my hand and have a glass of champagne.’

‘I’ve got one more person to try. If they can’t do it, then yes I’ll bring Carla. Stop worrying, it’s going to be a roaring success with or without me there.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Sabine said. ‘I mean, selling little ink sketches and watercolour souvenirs from the kiosk to gullible tourists is a world away from the contacts Tristan has in the art world.’

‘Stop it. Tristan wouldn’t have given you this chance if he didn’t believe in you. It’s his reputation as well as yours that’s on show, remember. Now just get down there and enjoy the evening. Hopefully I’ll see you later.’

Switching off the phone, Sabine went downstairs.

Peter was in the kitchen ready to walk her down to the gallery. ‘Ready?’

Sabine nodded. ‘You’re looking smart tonight,’ she said, registering his new jeans and polo-necked sweatshirt. She kept the thought ‘and looking more and more like your dad’ to herself. Peter had told her once he could barely remember his father and hated how guilty that made him feel.

‘You too. Love your coat.
Trés bohème
. Come on then, let’s go get your big night started.’

As they walked down towards the gallery, Sabine said, ‘I hope people come. Be awful if no-one turns up.’

She knew Tristan had placed an ad in both the
Dartmouth Chronicle
and the
Western Morning News
last week and had invited/pressurised some of his contacts into promising to attend. But would they turn up this evening? And if they did, would they like her work? Or dismiss her as an amateur? Was the nostalgia feel Tristan had urged her to go for passé these days?

‘Mum. Stop worrying. Of course people will come – if only for the free champagne!’ Peter teased.

‘Gee, thanks,’ Sabine said. ‘That really helps.’

The door of the gallery was open and Sabine could see Tristan’s sloany receptionist standing by her desk, the usual bored expression on her face. Apart from her and Tristan, the place was empty.

‘Sabine, darling, nice and early as instructed,’ Tristan said, engulfing her in a hug before handing her and Peter glasses of champagne. ‘Here’s to you. Excited?’

She nodded. ‘More like terrified,’ she said as she dutifully clinked glasses with him before taking a nerve-steadying sip and looking around the gallery. Tristan had grouped some nautical paintings together, isolated one or two of the larger ones in a way that somehow seemed to demand the full attention of the viewer. Other smaller ones he’d hung together where they complimented each other.

Even the three more outlandish psychedelic ones Tristan had pulled a face at when she and Owen had carried them in earlier in the week, had been assigned favourable wall space and good lighting. Her favourite one of these had a small red sticker discreetly attached to its frame and she glanced at Tristan, about to ask him who had bought it, but Owen arrived at the moment claiming her attention.

‘I can’t believe it. Look, that one’s sold already,’ she said, pointing the red sticker out to him. ‘Wonder who bought it so quickly?’

‘Me. I bought it last night. Didn’t want anyone beating me to it,’ Owen said.

‘You should have said. I’d have given it to you,’ Sabine said, reaching up to give him a thank-you kiss on the cheek.

Owen shook his head. ‘I wanted to pay for it. End of. Put the money in the “oldies gap year” fund that you’re going to open.’

‘Owen, there isn’t going to be a gap year fund. Coming on that trip is even more impossible now that Johnnie’s got Carla. I have to be here for him.’

‘Don’t see why. Plenty of people around to help him.’

‘They’re not family though,’ Sabine said.

‘True. Anyway, we’ll argue about it later. Over dinner. I’ve booked a late table at the Angel. Thought we’d celebrate in style. Tristan’s done you proud,’ Owen added, looking around.

‘I keep wanting to pinch myself,’ Sabine said. ‘It all feels a bit surreal to me.’

Over the next ten minutes, the gallery filled up with people and the champagne began to flow. Harriet and Frank arrived and she was caught up in a flurry of air kisses and introductions between Frank and Owen.

‘Where’s Ellie?’ she asked.

Harriet pulled a face. ‘I’m really sorry, Beeny, but she’s not here. She’s had to dash off to Bath. Last-minute commission. She’ll be here at the weekend now.’

‘Well, at least you’re here,’ Sabine said. ‘Who’d have thought nine months ago when Tristan offered me an exhibition that you, of all people, would be here.’

‘Where’s Johnnie?’ Harriet said. ‘Hope he’s not away on a delivery. I was hoping to introduce Frank to him.’

‘He’ll be here later. Trouble finding a babysitter,’ Sabine said.

‘Excuse me! Since when did Johnnie need a babysitter?’

‘Forgot you hadn’t heard. Since about a week ago. I’ll fill you in with all the details later – or you can ask Johnnie yourself. Here he is now with BB.’

‘You made it,’ Sabine said, kissing Johnnie’s cheek.

‘Couldn’t not,’ Johnnie said, opening his phone. ‘Good turnout. Thought I’d take a few mementoes of your first exhibition for when you’re famous.’

‘I can’t believe how many of the paintings have sold,’ Sabine said. ‘Who’s babysitting, by the way?’

‘Rachel. I promised I wouldn’t be long. So, a few pics, a glass of champagne and I’ll be off.’

‘When do I get to meet this paragon who is Rachel?’ Sabine said. ‘Need to thank her for taking care of Carla on the trip back.’ Not to mention the fact she was curious to meet this unknown woman who’d become involved in her brother’s life.

‘I’ll arrange supper for one night next week,’ Johnnie promised. ‘I think the two of you will get on. Now go circulate. Network with the important people.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RACHEL

Carla was already in bed when Rachel arrived in response to Johnnie’s last-minute plea for her to babysit for an hour.

‘Thanks for this,’ Johnnie said. ‘I shouldn’t be long. Just need to support my sister at her first-ever exhibition. Help yourself to coffee or there’s wine in the fridge.’

‘No problem,’ Rachel said. ‘I hadn’t anything special planned for this evening.’ The fact that she’d promised herself not to get involved with Johnnie or Carla, had seemed irrelevant when Johnnie had phoned sounding desperate. Besides, she’d grown quite fond of Carla in the short time she’d spent with her. Couldn’t help wondering how her new life with Johnnie was shaping up.

Once Johnnie had left, quietly closing the front door behind him, Rachel tiptoed upstairs to check on her charge. Carla was fast asleep on her back, one arm tightly clutching the pink rabbit to her chest, a thumb in her mouth. The floor beside the bed was piled with cushions and a folded-up duvet. Johnnie was obviously afraid of Carla falling out of bed. He really needed to buy her a cot, Rachel thought. One of those that converted into a bed at a later date would be ideal.

Leaving Carla to her dreams, Rachel wandered out to the small hallway. Johnnie’s bedroom door was open and she peered inside. In contrast to the tidiness he’d displayed on board his boat, the room was a mess. The wardrobe door was open, socks were spilling out of a chest of drawers, the bed unmade. Carla was clearly keeping him busy during the day. Rachel smiled to herself remembering the distant days when Hugo had been a full-time job and she’d been too exhausted to do housework. Johnnie must be on a real roller coaster of experiences right now. Must be doubly hard with no partner to help.

Back downstairs she wandered into the sitting room. After straightening the cream throw on the settee and plumping up the cushions, she picked up some toys and put them in the large cardboard box that appeared to be serving as a toy box before looking at the various pictures Johnnie had on display. Lots of him and a happy, smiling women who had to be his wife dominated the mantelpiece. A faded picture of a Johnny Onion man and his bicycle stood on a small table alongside a picture of the same man with two young children perched on his knees. Johnnie and his sister Sabine, aged about eight, she’d guess.

The kitchen when Rachel walked in was a mess too with the sink piled high with dishes. A quick glance told her there was no dishwasher so, after filling the kettle ready for a cup of coffee, Rachel set to. Twenty minutes later, when the sink was cleared and everything was on the draining board drying, she decided a glass of wine was in order rather than coffee, and went back into the sitting room. Pulling her iPad out of her bag, she settled down to read until Johnnie returned.

He let himself into the cottage quietly just after ten o’clock. ‘Good, you’ve had a glass of wine. Join me in another?’ Without waiting for an answer, he fetched the bottle and another glass from the kitchen and poured her one. ‘Cheers. Thanks for tidying the kitchen. I don’t seem to have conquered the dual art of child-minding and domesticity yet.’

Rachel laughed. ‘You will.’

‘Carla behave?’