Bella Osborne - Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay - The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year

‘Good boy, Bugsy, give me the envelope,’ she asked politely stretching out a hand but he reversed away emitting a low growl, his teeth clamped tightly to his treasure. ‘Drop it,’ she hissed. ‘Leave, give. Hand it over.’ But nothing was working. Bugsy backed away. He looked from his treats cupboard to Daisy. ‘Are you blackmailing me?’ This creature was smarter than he looked – but she supposed that wasn’t hard.

As Aunt Coral turned the handle of the back door Daisy lurched underneath the table and made a grab for the envelope. She had a grip on it but so did Bugsy. They both pulled and the envelope ripped in half making Daisy topple backwards and bang her head on the underside of the table. ‘Cock!’ said Daisy loudly as Aunt Coral came in.

‘Oh dear,’ said Coral. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah, sorry about the language.’ Daisy shuffled from under the table rubbing her head where she’d bumped it. ‘I was just leaving you a note to say I’m going to take a look at the railway station and Bugsy stole it. But now I don’t need to leave a note,’ she said quickly screwing up her half of the envelope and shoving it into her pocket. She eyed the dog who was now defiantly tearing his half to shreds, which was perfect and she felt a sense of superiority at outwitting the canine blackmailer.

Tamsyn’s dad gave them and the toolbox a lift to the old railway station and Daisy hauled the large box of tools out of the boot. ‘Right, where shall we start?’ Daisy asked Tamsyn who still had one foot in her father’s car and was checking her phone.

‘Oh, SOS. The café want me to come in to work. Tell me tonight if you find any treasure. Good luck,’ she called before getting fully back in the car and being driven away.

‘Great,’ said Daisy. She tucked her locket inside her t-shirt and walked onto the platform, where she stopped by the boarded-up door and opened the toolbox. She found a useful-looking small crowbar and set to work trying to prise off the boards. It was hard work and she tired quickly. Her arms started to throb, but she continued all the same. It took her some time but eventually she felt the lower board give a little and it spurred her on. Another heave and the nails gave way and pulled free.

Daisy felt a sense of accomplishment as she dropped the crowbar and stuck her head through the gap. Her nostrils twitched. ‘It whiffs in here,’ she said, which was something coming from someone who had experienced the toilets in the remote corners of Goa. This was an altogether different, more musty smell. She peered inside but with everything boarded up and only an odd tile missing from the roof it was dark. There was little point going in.

Daisy went to put the crowbar back in the toolbox but found herself having a quick rummage instead. She soon came upon exactly what she needed – a head torch. She pulled it on, adjusted the strap and crawled inside the old building. She stood up, dusted herself down and looked about her. She was in a perfectly square room. There were two boarded-up windows – one next to the door and one on the far wall – and a cursory swipe over with the torch showed them to be intact. On her right was a find that made her face light up almost as much as the torchlight: it was an old-fashioned ticket window. She was in the ticket office.

She went through a doorway to the right to find another square room with a large cupboard. She peered inside. Its many shelves were well worn and she suspected this may have been some sort of luggage storage. She crouched down to find a dusty sign on the bottom shelf. When she went to pick it up she was struck by how heavy it was for something half the size of an A4 sheet of paper. Most likely cast iron, she thought. It had a red background and gold letters that read ‘Beware of the trains’, which she thought was a bit obvious at a train station but you never could account for the stupidity of some folk.

A further grope around uncovered a brush with GWR painted on it but not many bristles and a box of papers that generally looked quite dull apart from the beautiful script of the writing; sadly she doubted they were worth anything. She popped the heavy plaque and old brush into the box and carried them out through the ticket office and into the last room, the door to which still had a sign on it saying ‘Waiting rooms’. The door was heavy and ornate and the hinges groaned when she opened it. Inside it was like stepping back in time. This had two more rooms off it labelled ‘Women’s waiting room’ and ‘Men’s waiting room’ but it turned out they were simply single toilets.

The ceiling was lower here and had a loft hatch. She’d need a ladder to get a look inside there. The room itself had a large fireplace that had long since lost its surround but a long wooden bench remained as well as a large wooden station sign saying ‘Ottercombe Bay’. Daisy was grinning as she plonked the box on the bench and created a cloud of dust that caught in her throat. She started to cough violently.

‘Who’s in there?’ A fierce male voice came from outside. ‘Come out now.’ Daisy couldn’t answer but she continued to cough. ‘Don’t make me drag you out!’ the voice shouted. Daisy didn’t like the tone and as she managed to get the coughing under control she grabbed up the small cast iron ‘Beware of the trains’ sign. It would be dark outside by now and she didn’t know if she may need it to defend herself.

As Daisy pushed on the door into the main ticket office someone pulled on it and she lurched forward brandishing the sign.

‘Argh!’ the other person shouted and brought up their forearm quickly making Daisy react by giving them a swift whack with the sign.

‘You’re trespassing,’ she shouted lifting the sign ready to strike again if necessary.

‘Bloody hell. Daisy?’

Daisy took a step back and tried to assess who she was blinding with the head torch. ‘Max? What the hell are you doing?’

‘Investigating who’s breaking into the railway building. And all I get for my trouble is a broken arm,’ he said, nursing his injury whilst muttering swear words.

‘I was defending myself because you lifted your arm to hit me.’

‘I lifted it to shield my eyes from your bloody light.’ He pointed with his good arm.

‘Oh, right,’ said Daisy, a little more conciliatory. She pulled off the head torch and it shone at a more comfortable level. ‘Let’s look at your arm.’ She didn’t wait for him to offer it she just took hold making him wince. She ran her fingers over his taut forearm carefully, noting the muscle definition. ‘It’s not broken.’

‘Are you sure?’ Max gave his arm a thorough inspection.

‘Fairly sure.’

‘You a doctor or nurse?’

‘Nope, but I worked in a specialist hospital once …’

‘Specialist?’

‘Actually, I cleaned out the cages at a vets near Nice.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Max again but this time there was laughter in his voice and Daisy started to lighten up too. ‘If the police see you in here you’ll be the crime of the century. You’d best make a run for it.’

Daisy gave him a quizzical look. ‘You think I’m stealing?’

‘Er, yeah. Why else would you break in here with a crow-bar?’

‘Good point,’ said Daisy, she would most likely have come to the same conclusion. ‘I was just having a look at my inheritance. Turns out there wasn’t much.’

‘Inheritance?’

‘Yep. This is all mine,’ she said her voice dripping with sarcasm. She retrieved the box and Max looked inside.

‘Did Reg own this place then?’

‘Apparently my grandfather bought it and then left it to his brother, Reg, and now he’s left it to me. Proper family white elephant. They’ve tried four times to get planning permission to build on the land and every time it’s been refused.’