Night Fires (3 page)

I was still sad when I entered Betty’s Kitchen and secured myself a job, the happiness I should have felt submerged in grief for a man I didn’t know. But bizarrely, I wanted to know him. I wanted to be his friend. I wanted him to know that there was someone out there going through the same as him.

So that night, when I saw the flames from his fire again, I brewed a flask of coffee, drizzled in some brandy then went out to join him.

Stepping onto the small beach, I removed my flip-flops and curled my toes into the soft sand. Each grain scratched at my soles but they helped to ground me, helped my lungs focus on what they were made to do. The smoke burned my nostrils and my soul, its thick toxins making my skin prickle.

For the longest moment I couldn’t move, my blood turning to concrete as I became a statue in the shadows of the fire that burned and lit a small circle around my objective.

“I’m here for him.” I closed my eyes as I took a deep breath and lifted one foot. It felt heavy, as though the sand was sucking me in and pulling me away from the horror facing me.

He didn’t turn as I approached, his vision held captive by the waves, but I knew he’d sensed me. His shoulders lifted as his body tightened.

The fire had me sweating before I even reached it, its scorching heat pressing against me in a bid to make me remember. I didn’t want to remember. Not that. Not now.

“Don’t put it out,” he said quickly and sharply.

Instead of answering him, I made myself move until I was behind him. Sitting down, my legs grateful for the rest, I unscrewed the flask lid and poured two cups of hot coffee. I had to shuffle a little farther to him to reach him and I placed the cup by his side.

His head turned, his face tilting to look at what I had set down. He stared at it, and just as I thought he was going to ignore my attempt at some sort of connection, his fingers curled around the cup. “Thank you.” His gruff appreciation made me smile.

I nodded. Although his back was to me, I knew he sensed my acknowledgement. “It’s cool out tonight. I thought you’d be glad of a hot drink.”

The cold had nothing to do with why I was out there with him. In fact, I wasn’t too sure exactly why I was there.

He nodded as he brought the cup to his lips and took a long swallow. The flames hissed and flew high when he spat out the coffee, the alcohol making the red flames turn a furious orange. Before I knew what was happening he had turned on me, his angry face backlit by the fire. His lips were curled back, his teeth bared as his eyes became weapons that attacked me.

“You think it’s funny?” he roared as his hands slapped the sand.

Scrambling backwards, the sand shimmying under the waistband of my jeans as my hands pressed deep into the beach, I shook my head frantically. “I…”

He scurried towards me, his large hands becoming shovels as he ploughed through the sand. His anger grew as he spat into the sand. “You won’t stop me from coming here!” he bellowed, the quiet night amplifying his deep rage.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Alice Bird. You know. The whole village knows.”

He was so close to me, his nose an inch from mine as he poured out his hatred on me with each heavy breath. I daren’t move, my body locked in terror as he loomed over me. “Carter…”

He chuckled, but it was nowhere near humorous. It was a vicious, cold laugh. “One day you will lose someone who owns your heart. Then and only then can you mock my grief!”

He jumped to his feet and took off, leaving me staring blankly at the fire. For the first time in a long while I was able to sit and watch as the flames danced and teased, their ferocity gentle compared to the hatred spewed at me by a living being.

Numbly, I stood and returned to the house. I left his fire burning. I wasn’t sure why but I sensed it was important to him. To me.

I wasn’t sure what had triggered his reaction; my coffee wasn’t that bad. Yet as I drifted back to sleep, something told me it wasn’t the coffee he had spat out. It was the brandy.

T
HE HOT SUMMER
brought a record number of tourists to Betty’s Kitchen for breakfast on my first day, the beautiful Cornish coast a hive to the British holidaymakers.

By lunchtime my feet were sore, my arms ached, and I bloody loved it.

“Blooming ‘eck, you picked a right morning to start, Alice. How you doing?” Janie, my fellow waitress and Betty’s daughter asked with a smile when I managed to grab a drink when the rush died down.

“Tired, but I’m enjoying it.”

Betty smiled as she slipped a Cornish pasty wrapped in paper, a slice of cake, and a bottle of cloudy lemonade into a brown paper bag and scribbled something on the front. I took a swig of my water and frowned. Noticing my curiosity, Betty enlightened me. “We deliver lunch to the local businesses.”

“Oh, what a good idea.”

She nodded and placed the eight brown bags into a basket. “They appreciate it and it earns us a little extra.”

“Do you want to take the delivery?” Janie asked me. “It will give me a break and get you more familiar with the locals.”

“Really?” I nodded eagerly. “That would be great.”

“There’s the bike out back or you can take your car. Your choice,” Betty said.

“I’ll take the bike. Although it’s been years since I last rode.”

I loaded the mini picnics into the basket on the front of the bicycle, hoisted my bottom onto the saddle, and wobbled four doors down the narrow street to my first port of call – Mr Murray’s Antiques.

Mr Murray turned out to be older than the vintage goods he sold. A small bell chimed above the door when I walked in with his lunch. The cluttered shop smelled of citrus and cabbage. I soon found out it was a mix of lemon polish and Mr Murray himself.

He looked up at me from where he sat in an oversized, worn armchair behind his counter, and grinned when I placed his bag in front of him and greeted him with a hello.

“Goodness me.” He chuckled. “Betty finally brought in fresh meat.”

I gawped at him but his cheeky wink had me chuckling with him as I gestured to the bag. “Good morning, sir. I have your lunch.”

“Well, it’s either that or a bomb. I’m hoping for the pasty but I must say it’s been a while since anyone has blown my socks off.” I liked him instantly. He had spunk, along with a peculiar smell. “You must be Alice Bird.”

I nodded, now used to how the community didn’t bother with a newspaper; the local gossip was enough. “I am, sir.”

“And how are you taking to our little village?”

“Oh, it’s so beautiful here,” I said with a smile that showed my love for the place.

“Well, I hope everyone’s pleasant and making you welcome, petal.”

“Everyone is very welcoming. Speaking of which.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “I better get everyone’s lunch to them before they’re not so welcoming.”

Mr Murray nodded. “Aye, hungry bunch we are here.”

I laughed and made my way out. “Lovely to meet you,” I called as he echoed my words and dived into his food.

My second delivery was a few streets away at Sarah’s Souvenirs. Just as lovely as Mr Murray, Sarah loaded me up with Mousehole ashtrays, paperweights, and postcards, and pushed an invite to the local festival for the upcoming weekend. “You must come, dear,” she said as her bright pink hair bobbed with each excited nod of her head. “It will be a wonderful opportunity for you to meet everyone. And Mr Doyle opens his hotdog stand.” She kissed her fingers and blew into the air. “Most amazing sausage in Cornwall, he has.”

I nodded, trying to get my mind out of the gutter with her choice of words. “Sounds good,” I replied quickly as I made my way out.

The rest of my customers were as lovely, each offering advice or piling me up with whatever merchandise their little shops sold. My seventh and final call brought me round in a circle to the automobile repair shop across the road from Betty’s Kitchen.

Grabbing the last two bags from the basket I walked into the garage and stood beside a car when I spotted two legs sticking out from underneath.

“Hello.”

The legs moved and a man stared up at me, confusion on his oily face until he spotted the bags in my hand and jumped up. “Bloody hell, Betty! Whatever anti-aging cream you’re using, I need some.”

I giggled. “I’m Alice Bird, Betty’s new waitress.” I held out the two bags to him.

He took them from me and smiled. “Ahh, you’re the girl that bought Kingfisher House.”

“That I am.”

“Bray Harrison.” He wiped his hand on a rag and reached out to me. “And how’s the house coming along?”

“Oh, she’s wonderful. I’ve stripped her back and I’m amazed at what treasures she was hiding.”

His eyes roamed down my body and back up. “You read my mind,” he uttered with a grin.

My cheeks heated and he laughed. My smile dropped when my eyes lifted over his head, my gaze fixing on the man who stepped up behind him. Carter wore worn blue jeans – and nothing else. His bare chest was covered in oil and grease, his abs making him look like he’d just stepped out of a goddamn calendar. My jaw dropped and I couldn’t take my eyes away from the glorious view.

Bray turned to Carter and handed him a food bag. “New delivery girl. Carter this is…”

“Alice Bird,” Carter said, his eyes as glued to me. “We’ve already met.”

Bray quirked an eyebrow at the tone in which Carter spat my name.

“Carter,” I said, cringing.

“Watch your food, Bray. She’s probably spiked it.”

My shoulders stiffened and I glared at him, my patience with him finally wearing thin. “Look,” I snapped. “Yes, I owe you an apology. But I wasn’t to know you’re allergic to brandy.”

“Allergic to brandy?” Bray scoffed, his wide eyes moving between me and his colleague.

“I genuinely thought,” I continued, “that you would appreciate my offer. You needn’t worry. I won’t be making the same mistake again.”

Without waiting for him to give me another snide comment, I about turned and left them both gawping after me when I mounted my bike, kicked it into gear, and pulled across the road.

“Why don’t you come and join us?” Janie pressed as we locked up the café.

I twisted my lips, undecided. “I dunno. I’m pretty tired.”

“Just for the one. I promise not to keep you out late on a school night.” She decided for me as she hooked her arm through my elbow and dragged me around the corner to the only village pub.

The noise was already deafening as we walked in, nearly all of the community obviously doing the same as Janie and me, and grabbing a quick pint after work.

“What do you want?” Janie asked as we both leaned on the bar.

“Pint of Guinness, please.”

Her eyes widened before her lips twitched. “Bloody hell.” She chuckled. “Is there anything feminine about you?”

“I take offense to that,” I joked, looking down at my jeans and plain white t-shirt and secretly agreeing with her.

“I would too,” a man teased from behind me. Turning, I found Bray from the garage grinning at me. “Don’t be rude to the new girl, Janie. She’ll run away before her initiation.”

“Initiation?” My eyes widened as I moved my gaze between Bray and Janie.

Janie grimaced. “Bray! I haven’t told her yet. I wanted her to fall in love with us all before she had to…
do that
.”