Cressida McLaughlin - The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse - The perfect feelgood romance

‘Take it over – the guesthouse.’ Molly put her glass on the table and clapped her hands together, her blonde curls bouncing. ‘Do all the things you told your mum to do. Give the place an update, refurbish the rooms, launch the new and improved Campion Bay Guesthouse with a killer marketing campaign. They’re not asking you to move, so why not just take over from them and bring the place up to scratch at the same time?’

Robin shook her head, more out of disbelief than refusal. It was a huge decision to make, but instantly she saw the possibility. She’d grown up in the guesthouse; she’d helped out all the time, slinking past strangers on her journey to or from her attic bedroom. She’d seen guests arguing with each other on the stairs, returning home in the dead of night giggling and covered in sand, complaining to her dad that their porridge was more like wallpaper paste. She’d seen it at its most popular and, more recently, at its most bereft. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the table.

‘I see those fingers,’ Molly said. ‘You think it could work, don’t you? I know you could do it. Luxury experiences, but all under the same roof – not to sound like Toys R Us or anything, don’t use that tag line. But it would be …’ Molly stopped, swallowed, held Robin’s gaze.

‘Carrying on Neve’s baby,’ Robin finished. ‘Keeping the idea of Once in a Blue Moon Days alive, but here in Campion Bay.’

‘Her dream, and your parents’ dream. The guesthouse won’t close, yours and Neve’s brainchild won’t be forgotten, and you’ll be making a living, running your own business again.’

Robin stared at her hazy reflection in the window, surrounded by the pre-party scene, the ideas buzzing inside her mind like fireflies. It was obvious when she thought about it. Her parents couldn’t keep the guesthouse going – they didn’t have the will to do it any more – but she did. It wouldn’t be the same as the events company. The groundwork was in place, the booking software, the rules and routines her parents had lived by. She wouldn’t be creating unique experiences from scratch on her own, and so was less likely to cause any disasters. She realized her glass was empty and turned towards the table to find Molly already holding the bottle.

‘Now,’ Molly said, her pink lips smiling, ‘we really have something to celebrate. Let’s get another glass down us before Mrs Harris arrives. I’m not sure I can face her sober, especially knowing that you’re going to crucify her in the local guesthouse scene.’

Robin laughed. ‘I am not going to crucify her, Molly. That’s not fair. But’ – and now she couldn’t help grinning as the idea, out in the real world for a few more minutes, began to take hold – ‘there’s nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition, is there?’

‘The Seaview Hotel won’t know what’s hit it,’ Molly said, draining her second glass. ‘Not now Robin Brennan and her quiet determination are in the game.’

‘In what game?’ Robin’s dad asked, bustling genially into the room with a box of party poppers under his arm.

Robin exchanged a glance with Molly. ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, deciding that pre-party was not the best time to spring this on her parents. She’d wait until the dust and the streamers had settled, and she’d had at least one night to sleep on the idea. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a great party, Dad.’

‘And all the better for having you here to celebrate with us,’ he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. ‘Especially now, with all that’s behind us, and ahead of us.’

‘Hey,’ Molly said, ‘don’t start that. It’s too early in the evening for deep and meaningfuls.’

Robin saluted her friend. For the first time in what felt like ages, and – as her dad had said – despite all that was behind her, she could see a glimmer of hope in what was to come. The idea had been planted, and Robin could tell that it was already beginning to grow in the background, working quietly away in her subconscious. By the time midnight struck and the New Year had dawned, the seed might even have generated a few solid roots.

Robin watched the party guests from her prime position on the top step of the guesthouse. She could feel the warmth of the hallway at her back, seeping out through the half-open door to meet the cold night air, and the solid heat of Molly sitting next to her on the step, wearing Robin’s navy wool coat. She could see the backs of her parents, of Mrs Harris, of Ashley and Roxy from the Campion Bay Teashop, and the couples who had chosen their small corner of the south coast to celebrate the New Year. And then, as the bongs of Big Ben reached her from the radio in the kitchen, Robin watched the night sky light up with the first golden fireworks. She could just make out the boat they were being launched from, the smoke drifting through the air in the split seconds between one burst and the next. The pops and bangs were like a starting rifle in her mind. On Your Marks , Robin .

‘Happy New Year,’ Molly said, slurring slightly, holding her champagne flute up to the sky, the strobes and chrysanthemums and brocade bursts reflecting in the glass.

‘Happy New Year, Molly.’ Robin clinked her glass against her friend’s.

‘I’m envious,’ Molly said. ‘You’ve already got your resolution. I’m still deciding whether I want to learn how to windsurf or take that tattooist course I’ve been threatening to do for ages.’

‘Why not both? They sound pretty challenging, but somehow still a lot less daunting than taking over the guesthouse.’

‘You’re having second thoughts?’ Molly sat up and turned towards her.

‘No, not at all. I’ve thought of nothing else all evening – not even when Dad threatened to give us all a rendition of “Mack the Knife” after his fourth glass of punch. It made me wonder if I should have the dining room redecorated to look like a fifties American diner. You’ll be happy to discover I quickly decided no, by the way.’

‘You’re thinking of having themed rooms?’

Robin gave a quick shake of her head. ‘Not themed, exactly. Styled, definitely. I want each room to have a name and its own individual look, but maybe that’s too ambitious.’ She scrunched her nose up, cross with herself for letting the doubt circle closer and closer, like a shark.

‘You know I can rope Paige in to help around her college course, don’t you? She’s tired of clearing up glasses at the Artichoke, and helping with refurbishments would play to her creative strengths.’ Molly’s daughter, Paige, was studying jewellery design at the local college, with ambitions of setting up her own studio. ‘And I’ve got a couple of builder clients I can talk to,’ Molly added, ‘depending on the scale of work you’re thinking of.’

Robin sipped her champagne and watched as a blue waterfall firework lit up the sky, shimmying down towards the water. ‘I don’t know. It depends how much money I can put into the refurbishment.’

‘Ian and Sylvie?’

Robin nodded. ‘I’ve not even mentioned it to them yet.’

‘They’ll be delighted. It’s a much happier bombshell to drop on them than the one they landed you with.’

‘It might be the bombshell I need. To get properly going again, after Neve.’ It sounded like a new era: After Neve, and that was exactly how she felt about the death of her friend. She had to get going again, to live on in this strange new world where a big piece of her existence was missing.