Tracy Corbett - The Summer Theatre by the Sea

When the music cut off, she was about to alert them to her presence when a man wearing a white sheet jumped out from behind the sofa, making her scream. With her heart thumping erratically in her chest, she rounded on the man. At least, she assumed it was a man. ‘Who the hell are you?’

He removed the sheet from his head, revealing a shock of jet-black hair. Definitely a man. He couldn’t be more than late twenties. He was also extremely good-looking. But that was beside the point. He’d frightened the life out of her. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

She was saved from answering when both kids ran at her. ‘Auntie Charlie!’

Amongst hugs and kisses and jumping up and down, she was dragged further into the room. ‘Okay, okay, calm down. I’m pleased to see you too.’

The man ran a hand through his static-ridden hair, easing it back into shape. He looked like a big kid: his blue T-shirt tired and worn, his jeans ripped and low-slung.

She forced her gaze away from his shapely arms. ‘Where’s my sister?’ she asked, her tone pricklier than she’d intended, but she was still reeling from being startled.

His face was flushed, no doubt from the exertion of running. ‘She’s working at the café. I’m keeping the kids occupied until her shift finishes.’

Florence enveloped Charlotte in a hug, her tiny arms gripping her aunt’s waist. ‘Do you want to play Frozen with us, Auntie Charlie?’

Charlotte patted her niece’s head. ‘Not just now, Florence. Maybe later.’

The man extended his hand. ‘I’m Olaf,’ he said, making both kids squeal with laughter.

Charlotte looked at him quizzically. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘And failing, obviously.’ His hand was still outstretched. ‘Barney.’

She accepted his offer of an introduction, ignoring the warmth in his grip. ‘Thank you for minding the children, but I’ll take it from here.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d prefer to wait until Lauren gets back.’

She felt herself frown. ‘And I’d prefer it if you left.’ Again, she sounded rude, but she didn’t appreciate the way he was checking her out … at least, she was pretty certain she didn’t.

He let out a low whistle. ‘Are you sure you’re Lauren’s sister?’

Ignoring what she suspected was an insult, she removed herself from Florence’s grasp and unzipped her handbag. ‘How much?’

Barney, or whatever his name was, looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry?’

She opened her purse. ‘I don’t know what the going rate is for childminding.’

He laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. ‘Are you kidding me?’

Charlotte rubbed her temple. God, her head hurt. She should have stopped off to buy more painkillers. ‘Do I look like someone who kids?’

He shoved his bare feet into a pair of flip-flops. ‘Nope, can’t say that you do.’

She caught a glimpse of Calvin Klein boxers when he hoisted up his jeans.

He beckoned the kids over and gave them a hug. ‘See you soon, trouble-twins.’

‘Not if we see you first, Hubble-trouble,’ the children chorused in unison.

Charlotte couldn’t follow what they were saying. Were they speaking Cornish?

Amongst laughter and play-fighting, the children waved him off, his popularity evident. Hers, she suspected, was still in doubt.

When he was gone, she moved to unbutton her jacket … only to discover it was already unbuttoned. When had she done that?

Straightening her shoulders, she mentally ticked off all the jobs that needed doing in the flat. ‘Good, well, now he’s gone, why don’t we tidy up ready for when Mummy gets home?’

Both children swivelled to look at her, their mouths open, their foreheads creasing into frowns like something from The Exorcist .

What had she said …?

Monday, 30 May

Days like today reminded Barney why he was resisting a return to London. Penmullion beach was busy with visitors enjoying the spring bank holiday. The sun had been growing steadily hotter all day, not scorching, but warm enough to encourage holidaymakers onto the beach. A few brave souls were in the water. Some walked their dogs. Others hired out boats. Most were gathered near Piskies café at the far end of the cove, enjoying the view.

When the last of the fish surfboards were returned to the rental kiosk, he closed up for the afternoon, hoping to enjoy one last surf before the tide turned. Attaching his leg rope, he picked up his longboard and jogged down to the water. The wind had picked up, swirling gusts across the water, creating top waves. Ideal conditions for a battle with nature.

Despite spending most of the day in the water, the sting of the cold still shocked his skin as it seeped under his wetsuit. Positioning himself on his board, he paddled out to sea. This was why he loved Cornwall. With the wind whipping against his face, and the splash of the water licking his feet, he could forget his troubles and just feel.

Not that he had many troubles. For the most part, he was happy, satisfied to live each day as it came, in control of his destiny … well, almost. There was still the issue of his career, which was currently on pause, but other than that, he enjoyed a carefree existence.

Barney angled his board towards the beach, waiting for the next wave. From this distance, he could see the RNLI boat station next to the surf kiosk, and Piskies café. Across the other side of the cove, the cliffs rose upwards past Smugglers Inn to where Morholt Castle and the Corineus Theatre jutted out against the skyline. He never grew tired of the view.

As a wave approached, he pushed up using his hands, and then leapt to a standing position. Bending his knees, he lifted his arms, trying to maintain his balance as he rode the wave. It was exhilarating.

He’d fallen in love with surfing aged seven, whilst holidaying in Hawaii and visiting his mother’s family. But it was only when he’d moved to Cornwall that he’d been able to master the art.

Surfing wasn’t possible in East Dulwich where he’d grown up, but thanks to Grandma Maggie, he’d enjoyed many other hobbies. He was naturally good at studying, so, for the most part, he’d met his parents’ high academic expectations, which allowed them to ignore his other more creative desires such as music. His parents hadn’t always approved of his gran’s preference for fun rather than study, but they also knew that without her help they would have had to pay for childcare, so they indulged her more relaxed style of co-parenting.

His upbringing hadn’t been unhappy by any means. His parents adored him – a little too much at times – but spending his days on the beach felt far more rewarding than stitching up a head wound ever had … which didn’t bode well for a future in medicine.

The wave died beneath him, tossing him into the sea. The familiar rushing sound of water filled his ears as he was dragged under. He gave in to the momentum, waiting until the wave fizzled out so he could kick his way back up to the surface.

Satisfied that he’d caught the last of the decent breaks, he paddled back to shore and carried his board up the beach to the kiosk. The best of the day’s sunshine had faded, but there were still a few patrons outside the café, enjoying the late-afternoon glow. Among them was Lauren’s sister, sitting on a small section of beach, staring out to sea. Talk about a fish out of water. As he neared, he could see she was wearing dark, tailored jeans, a white shirt and a tan-coloured leather jacket. Her handbag was tucked next to her as though she feared someone might nick it. She looked as stiff as his surfboard.

She was quite a contrast to Lauren, who appeared from the café at that moment, carrying a tray of drinks, her hoodie tied around her middle, her sunglasses pushed onto her head. The sisters had the same slight frame, the same brown eyes and the same dark hair, but whereas Lauren wore hers long, Charlotte’s barely touched her shoulders. She kept tucking it behind her ears as if trying to keep it neat. No chance: the wind was too unruly. Her curls danced about her face as if taunting her. If Lauren was carefree, enjoyed a beer and a laugh, and loved life by the sea, then her sister was the polar opposite. All buttoned-up and rigid. Still, he shouldn’t judge. She might be allergic to sand, or something.