Bella Osborne - Meet Me at Pebble Beach

‘No, you won’t,’ said Charlie, which was unexpected.

Regan narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I might.’ She was feeling dogmatic.

‘We’ll see. Anyway …’ he got to his feet. ‘Nice to meet you, Regan. Take care of yourself.’ He held out a hand to shake.

The odd formality of it made her smile. ‘You too, Charlie. Thanks for not arresting me back there.’

‘What? Oh, my pleasure.’

She watched him leave. The feeling of being totally alone swamped her and she quickly picked up her box and left.

Regan hurried through town clutching her belongings like her life depended on it. When she reached the market, it was in full swing: stallholders shouting out the day’s best bargains; elbows out enabling others to get to the front; busy people swerving in and out on their way to somewhere important. The burger van hissed as a fresh batch went on the griddle and a chill wind blew through the stalls, making all the coverings slap about wildly. Everyone and everything had a purpose. Apart from her. She was surrounded by bedlam and yet she’d never felt more alone in her life.

Regan wasn’t sure if it was the brandy, but her head started to swim. The noise, the bustle and the smell were all too much. She was going to pass out. She reached for a stall, but she wasn’t close enough. Her legs buckled and she dropped her box, but someone grabbed her securely around her waist and kept her upright. She shook her head to clear it.

‘You’re not well. You need coffee,’ said a kind voice.

‘Kevin?’

She was about to protest but the feel of something wiry under her fingers pulled her concentration. Elvis was standing the other side of her, his head under her hand. He looked up, his sad eyes appearing concerned.

Kevin and Elvis guided her out of the main thoroughfare and to the Hug In A Mug coffee shop. Kevin took her inside.

‘Customer,’ he called. ‘You’ll be all right now,’ he said, and he scuttled out of the door before Penny appeared.

‘Hey, what’s happened to you?’ asked Penny, coming from behind the counter. Regan didn’t know where to start: from nowhere, the tears started to pour. She had always been irritated by crying – in her mind it served no good purpose. She didn’t believe those people who said you’d feel better after a good cry. It made your face blotchy and your nose run and quite often it gave you a thumping great headache to make you even more miserable.

‘Sorry, no tissues.’ Penny offered Regan a bundle of serviettes instead, which she took gratefully. ‘I’ll get you a coffee and you can tell me all about it.’

Regan took a moment to pull herself together while Penny made her a coffee and left the other waitress to field the couple of customers who had come in. ‘Here,’ said Penny, handing Regan a cup and pulling up a chair.

A loud bang on the glass right behind Regan’s head made her almost jump off her seat. She spun around and came face to hairy face with Elvis. Kevin popped his head round the coffee shop door, pushed Regan’s box inside and gave her a tentative thumbs-up. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

Despite everything, she couldn’t stop the smile appearing. She responded with a thumbs-up and Kevin beamed back at her. Kevin really did have nothing and no-one, and yet he was still able to smile. It touched her that he’d come to her rescue and gone back to pick up her box, which she’d all but forgotten about. Penny opened her mouth but Kevin took the hint before she said anything and retreated outside to join his dog.

Penny was lovely, but Regan didn’t want to spill out the whole story again. What good would it do? The more she went over it the more stupid it made her feel. What an idiot to have been taken in by such a moronic prank. She waited until she felt a little better, thanked Penny and headed off.

Hugging her old paper box to her chest, Regan tapped on the glass of her dad’s front door. She’d taken some time in the coffee shop to order her thoughts and calm herself down. More than anything it had been an almighty shock – one that it would probably take her a while to recover from – and in the meantime she needed a roof over her head. She knew she could go back to Jarvis’s flat, but as he hadn’t called or messaged her since their earlier conversation, he obviously wasn’t desperate to have her back; plus she didn’t like the idea of using him just because things had gone spectacularly wrong, and if she went back now that would be all she was doing. She also had a large dose of stubborn pride that was stopping her: that, and the thought of having to put her tail between her legs and admit she’d messed up again – no, she couldn’t go back to Jarvis’s. The sentiment that had underpinned her decision to end their relationship was the right one, although the timing could have been so much better. They had been treading water for a while and, whilst this approach was most definitely more akin to ripping off the plaster rather than soaking it off gently, it was still the right thing to do.

The chill of the April breeze made her shiver. She took a deep breath and tapped on the door again. She could see movement through the opaque glass.

‘Who is it?’ Her father sounded annoyed.

‘It’s me, Dad.’ He opened the door and hastily beckoned her inside. He was wearing his dressing gown but had socks on his feet. It was an odd combination for the middle of a Monday afternoon – or at any time, come to that. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Er, yeah. I’m fine. What can I do for you?’ He tightened his dressing gown cord and hovered near the door. Her father lived in the same one-bedroom maisonette that he had bought after her mother had left him and taken everything (except Regan) with her.

Regan balanced her box on the back of his sofa. ‘I’d kind of like to stay if I can?’

Her father’s eyes widened. ‘What? Here?’

It wasn’t the welcome she’d hoped for. ‘If that’s all right.’ It was feeling very much like it wasn’t all right at all. She knew she’d be on the sofa, but that’d be fine for a few nights while she licked her wounds and sorted a few things out.

‘Have you had a row with Jarvis? Because I’m sure you can sort that out.’ Graham adjusted his dressing gown again whilst his eyes darted about. There was definitely something wrong.

‘Not exactly, but—’

A noise from the bedroom stopped her mid-sentence. She turned to listen, and then turned back to her father. He was biting his lip. ‘Is there someone else here?’

He nodded sheepishly. ‘Tara just popped round …’ He broke eye contact and Regan surveyed her father’s attire afresh.

Tarty Tara was there. Regan knew exactly what she’d popped round for. She suddenly had a horrible thought that under his dressing gown he was probably not wearing anything at all. She almost knocked her box to the floor in her haste to snatch it up. ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered something.’ She lurched for the door, desperate to escape before embarrassment ate them both alive.

‘Right. Okay then,’ Graham called after her, enthusiastically. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘Yes. Certain. I’ll be fine.’

‘Maybe next time give me a call first?’ he said, hiding behind the door as he opened it for her.

‘Yes. Good idea. Thanks. Bye.’ Something made her pause. She leaned round the door and kissed his cheek. ‘Love you, Dad.’

‘Um, yes. You too, Regan.’ He gave her an awkward smile before closing the door. She heard hysterical laughter erupt behind the glass and rolled her eyes at them behaving like teenagers.

That was her only family member in a fifty-mile radius. Now what?