A Season for Second Chances(76)

“Would you like some soup?” Annie asked John, who seemed to be studying the floorboards.

“No thanks. I just came in to see if you needed help clearing down.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you, I would. Can I get you a drink?”

“A hot chocolate would go down well.”

Annie set about making two hot chocolates.

“Why do you keep making plans for Saltwater Nook when you know I’m going to sell it?” John asked.

“I’ve got till March,” said Annie in the breeziest tone she could muster. “That’s four months to see what I can do. A lot can happen in four months.”

“But why this place?” asked John, lifting chairs onto tables.

“Why not this place?”

“But why here specifically? There must be hundreds of empty shops waiting for a new lease of life.”

Annie handed John his drink and began to clean down the coffee machine.

“I can’t explain it,” she said. “This place is special. It’s like it’s crying out to be made vital again. There’s something here, something magical. You feel it too, I know that you do. Which makes the whole thing altogether more . . . sad.” She was looking at him now, the damp cloth still in her hand.

John sighed a sigh so long, it was as though he had been holding it in for decades.

“I was a little bastard as a kid. When my dad left, I was even worse. My mum used to send me down here to Aunt Mari and Uncle Frank. Without them, I probably would’ve landed up in prison. I can’t help thinking that me being such an arsehole took years off my mum’s life.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” said Annie.

“Are you?” he asked sardonically. “I tried to make it up to her. I sent money home every month. And when she got sick, I tried to get her to come and live with me, but she clung on to that bloody shite-hole of a house she’d lived in with my father, out of pure stubbornness. It was a hovel, dingy and damp. But she wouldn’t bloody move. She wanted to show him he didn’t break her.” He barked out a mirthless laugh and picked at a fleck of peeling paint on the window ledge. “Misplaced pride. She died there in that house, all alone, and I don’t even think my dad knew she’d stayed there to spite him.”

“And you’re worried Mari will stay here out of stubbornness, like your mum did?”

“Nobody knows how sick she was last year except me. On a good day, she can pootle about okay but on a bad day, when her arthritis is bad, she can’t even make it from the bedroom to the living room, let alone down the stairs and up that bloody hill to the village. Even with her friends coming in and out and me dropping by every few days, it wasn’t enough. And let me be quite clear, my aunt will not let me be her carer; she said she’d rather die than have me look after her, and you know that’s no idle threat.” He rubbed his hand over his forehead and closed his eyes. “That’s not even the worst of it.”

“What do you mean?”

John sighed. “She’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t want anyone to know. That’s what the notes are all about; she’s making sure she doesn’t forget. The doctor thinks it’ll likely be a slow progression, which is some cold comfort, I suppose, given her age. But still. She’s going to need help. I want her to have fun with her friend before she forgets what fun is.”

“John, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. Those are the facts. I’m not going to lose another family member to sheer bloody-mindedness and wasted sentimentality over a building.”

“But this place isn’t like your mum’s house,” reasoned Annie. “Everyone loves it. I love it! Sentimentality is only wasted if no one else appreciates it.”

John pulled a chair out from the bench by the window and slumped down into it, his head in his hands.

“Mari’s been talking for a couple of years about moving in with her friend June, in Cornwall, ‘when she’s older,’ ha!” Another humorless laugh. “When she’s older! For Christ’s sake! I persuaded her to give it a try this winter, see how she gets on.”

“And?”

“She loves it there. If it weren’t for this place, I don’t think she’d look back. She’s under the Saltwater Nook spell, like every other bugger in this village.”

“And you’re not?”

“My aunt is holding out for a buyer who doesn’t exist, someone who will love this place like she does. But nobody could love it like she does! It’s old, it’s tiny, most potential buyers would be wanting to extend it by double at the very least, and that’s reflected in the price they’re willing to pay for it. Better to sell it as a blank canvas with planning permission.”

Annie walked over to him and laid her hand on his arm. “I don’t think you want to sell it to a developer,” she said gently.

John sighed again and she realized he looked tired. “It’s not about me. The plain fact is, if she sells, I can get both Mari and June carers, twice a day; live-in carers, even, when the time comes. Meals delivered, shopping delivered, cleaners . . . if she sells, I can give her every comfort for however many years she’s got left. She looked after me when I needed it; all I’m trying to do is return the favor. It’s my inheritance anyway; she’s leaving the place to me. And my decision is that the money be used to make her life comfortable.”