Tracy Corbett - The Summer Theatre by the Sea - The feel-good holiday romance you need to read this 2018

But life had moved on. Her dad had recovered, and he and Lauren had built a life for themselves in Cornwall … A life that didn’t include her.

Recovering from the shock of seeing the boat’s name, she made her way onto the gangplank, or whatever it was called. It certainly felt like she was walking to her doom. Don’t look down, her brain instructed – which was challenging when the wood beneath creaked, threatening to tip her into the murky water.

A woman appeared from inside the cabin, her bright-orange jumper and yellow capri-style trousers blending with the hanging baskets tied to the rigging. ‘Well, hello there,’ she called, sounding surprised, but not unfriendly. ‘No prizes for guessing who you are. You’re the spitting image of your sister.’ She offered Charlotte her hand. ‘Mind the step, there you go. Much as I admire your shoes, I’m not sure they’re suitable for wearing on a boat.’

Charlotte stepped onto the deck, relieved to be on solid footing. ‘You may have a point.’

The woman’s big laugh drew attention from passers-by. ‘I’m Sylvia Johns, a friend of Tony’s. And you must be Charlotte. Your dad’s told me so much about you. Goodness me, he’s proud of you.’

A lump formed in Charlotte’s throat. Her dad was proud of her?

‘Fancy that, a fashion designer in London. How thrilling! He follows your career, you know. Always keen to know who you’re working for.’

Her good feeling disappeared. ‘Interior designer, not fashion.’ So much for her dad following her career. ‘And unfortunately, I’ve recently been fired.’

The woman stilled. ‘Oh, dear.’ She quickly rallied. ‘A blip, I’m sure. Now come inside, let’s make you feel welcome. Tony! ’

Her dad appeared, his expression affable and relaxed. He’d aged a bit. He wasn’t quite as jovial as he used to be, but other than that, he hadn’t changed. He was wearing galoshes, a knitted hat, wellington boots and a yellow jacket. She recoiled when he hugged her, the stench radiating off him was toxic. ‘Dad, you stink.’

He laughed. ‘I’ve been working on the fishing vessels.’

She pushed him away. ‘I don’t want that stench on my clothes. This shirt cost a fortune.’

‘Relax, it’s only fish.’ His laughter faded, but he released her. ‘It’s good to see you.’

She swallowed awkwardly, aware she was being prickly again. ‘I thought I’d come and check out where you lived.’

‘That’s nice.’ He shrugged off his jacket.

‘Make yourself comfortable, lovey. I’ll put the kettle on.’ Sylvia gestured to a chair. ‘Your dad loves having visitors, don’t you, Tony?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Lauren and the kids are often over here. They adore going out on little trips, sleeping in the bunkers, isn’t that right, Tony?’

Her dad kicked off his wellington boots and pulled up a wicker chair. ‘How are you enjoying Cornwall?’ he asked Charlotte, seemingly unfazed by Sylvia’s incessant chatter.

‘It’s okay.’ Charlotte didn’t feel it was appropriate to tell him she was struggling to unwind, she was getting on her sister’s nerves, or that she’d recently been diagnosed with stress-related anxiety. ‘Penmullion is beautiful.’

Sylvia appeared from the galley with a tea tray. ‘Isn’t it just? I know they say Kent is the garden of England, but I think it should be Cornwall.’

Charlotte watched Sylvia trying to balance the tray. Was this woman her dad’s girlfriend? If she was, she was very different to their mum.

Sylvia handed her a cup of weak tea in a floral china cup.

‘Thank you.’ Charlotte managed one sip before looking around for somewhere to put it down. The cabin was small, the padded bench seats along either side took up most of the room.

When Sylvia’s back was turned, her dad leant across and took her cup, discreetly pouring the contents into the plant pot sitting on the floor. ‘Lovely woman. Makes a terrible cup of tea,’ he whispered, making her smile for what felt like the first time in ages. God, she’d missed her dad.

Her smile soon faded when Sylvia turned and saw her empty cup. ‘Goodness me, you were thirsty. You’re just like your dad, he knocks them back in no time too.’

The sound of her dad chuckling made up for the trauma of being forced to drink another cup of Sylvia’s tea. But as she watched her cup being refilled, the sound of an alarm went off, making her jump.

Her dad was up before she knew what was happening. ‘Sorry, love. Got to go.’ He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘We’ll catch up soon.’ He was out the door before she could find her voice.

Charlotte watched him sprint down the jetty. ‘What’s going on?’

Sylvia picked up the discarded hat he’d thrown to the floor. ‘Your dad volunteers for the RNLI. When the alarm goes off, he has to respond. He’s the senior helm, you know.’

No, she didn’t know. All she knew was that he volunteered there. She’d assumed he had a desk role; he’d always worked in an office when he’d lived in London. She was starting to realise she knew very little about her family’s new lives in Cornwall.

‘Only the other night he rescued a Polish family whose boat had sunk. None of the family could swim, and they weren’t wearing life jackets. It was on the local news and everything.’

Her dad running off to save lives was another surprising development. ‘Will he be gone long?’

‘Could be hours. Looks like it’s just you and me.’ Sylvia offered her a custard cream. ‘Now, tell me all about yourself, and don’t leave anything out. I want to hear all the details.’

As much as Charlotte didn’t want to spill her life story, an excuse to refuse didn’t surface quick enough. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she spent the next twenty minutes engaged in polite chit-chat before she could make her excuses and leave.

Extricating herself from Sylvia’s tight hug, she thanked the woman for her hospitality and made her escape, almost running across the footbridge to the safety of the quayside.

It was strange, but talking about Ethan hadn’t upset her anywhere near as much as it should. Why was that? she wondered. After all, he’d been a big part of her life for a long time. She should miss him. She should be crying herself to sleep every night, wishing he would call, raging at the way he’d treated her, but she wasn’t. She just felt a low level of annoyance at the way her life had been upended. Realising she hadn’t been as invested in the relationship as she’d imagined, was both alarming and depressing. How had she got things so wrong?

Not wanting to return to the flat just yet, she decided to explore Penmullion.

Her feet were sore from walking on cobbled stones in heels, but the views across the cove made up for it. The sand below was pale gold, a contrast to the white cliffs and deep blue of the sea. To her right, she could see the café where her sister worked, and the RNLI boat station. Shielding her eyes, she looked across the water, wondering if she’d spot her dad rescuing whoever it was who’d got into trouble, but she couldn’t see anything.

As she followed the line of the horizon, the cliff incline rose sharply. There appeared to be some kind of castle in the distance, the stone pillars jutting out from the rock face. A wave crashed below, sending spray up and over the railing. She moved away, unwilling to ruin her mac with salt water.

Behind her, a row of tiny shops lined the quayside, from art galleries advertising works by local artists, to cafés specialising in Cornish pasties. They were quaint and inviting, painted in a series of pastel colours. She walked past the Coddy Shack fish and chip shop, and Candy Cravers sweet shop, admiring the window displays.