Chapter Five

O nce outside again, she blinked against the sun as her eyes adjusted and smiled. After all these years, she had run into him again. Although not literally ran into him this time, thankfully.

He was the same cheerful person he had been back then, and he'd kept the same mischievous glint in his eye. The few weeks they'd spent in the bay together had felt magical, full of adventure and laughter. She'd held onto that in the dark months and years which had followed, likening her time with him to one of the mystery and adventure stories she'd been so obsessed with reading at that age.

Walking through the pub's courtyard again, she looked towards her nan's lane opposite. Maybe she should just go and get it over with. It was going to be hard. It was bound to be, but she was here now, and she so desperately wanted to get back in contact with her nan.

It had been the whole purpose of this trip down to Cornwall. And the holiday she'd shared with Ben close by when she'd tried and failed to build up the courage to visit the bay. Not because she didn't want to speak to her nan, but because of the guilt and shame she felt of not getting in contact earlier. Of not keeping in contact with her. Of living her life without her involvement.

Yes, today was the day. And the time was now. She strode past Elsie's van and crossed the road before heading straight down the lane. As she walked across the cobbles towards her nan's cottage, her footsteps slowed as images of that day - the day her mum turned up on the doorstep, her arm in a sling, her face bruised, and told her and her nan that Debbie's dad had passed away in a car crash - filled her mind's eye. She could still hear the scream which had escaped her own lips, the soul-crushing cry of her nan. She could see her mum's eyes, puffy and red from all the crying and, in that instant, she'd realised life would never be the same.

And when her mum had taken her home, she'd known she'd never be able to step foot in Penworth Bay again. Or she'd believed she wouldn't. But here she was. Attempting to face the tragedy of the past in order to move forward.

Her nan had guessed why Debbie had refused to visit the bay again. She'd understood it was just too painful to return to the place she'd been when she'd been told they'd lost her dad, and she'd visited them at home over the next few years, making the journey from Cornwall to Warwick any free time she had but after their move to Scotland...

Stopping outside her nan's cottage, her hand on the latch of the wrought-iron gate, Debbie stared at the door. It was the same pale green as it had been then; the baskets filled with pink flowers, the same flowers her nan had always planted them with year after year. Closing her eyes, she tried fiercely to think of happier times. Why couldn't the image forcing its way to the front of her mind be of the day she'd ridden out of that door on her new bike? Or the time she, her parents and her nan had walked out of the door singing Christmas carols on the way to the lantern parade, Debbie holding her own lantern up as high as she could?

There were a million wonderful memories involving her time staying with her nan, so why did the one awful one manage to push itself to the front? Every single time?

Right, this was it. Filling her lungs with the salty air of the bay, Debbie pushed open the gate and took the few quick steps to her nan's front door. Without pausing for breath, or to allow herself to back out, she reached the doorknocker and swung it – once, twice, thrice.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she willed her breathing to steady. Any moment now, her nan would be standing in front of her, welcoming her back into her life with open arms. Hopefully.

Still no answer. Stepping forward again, she knocked harder, the sharp tap of metal against wood echoing around the narrow lane.

Looking towards the window, the net curtains were still and she couldn't hear any music or the TV. Her nan always used to have music on - she'd said it helped with her tinnitus having noise in the background, something else to focus on.

Maybe she wasn't in? What if she'd gone away? Gone on holiday somewhere? She may have done so. Debbie hadn't given her any notice about her visit, hadn't given her any indication that she might just turn up in the bay one day. No, she'd done the complete opposite. She hadn't spoken to her, written to her or seen her for years, her nan wouldn't have a clue that she would be waiting on her doorstep for her.

She'd have to come back another time. Her extended break from the bakery must be over now. She should head back. Slowly turning, she walked back to the lane, clicking the gate shut behind her.

She swallowed as a lump formed in the back of the throat. How had this happened? Her nan had once been such an integral part of the family, she'd been the one Debbie's parents had gone to if they needed any help, childcare, advice, everything. Debbie had visited almost every school holiday up until her dad had passed away and even after, for a few years at least, her nan had visited them in their home.

Her nan had even welcomed her stepdad, Fraser, into their lives, into their family. She'd bought him Christmas gifts when they'd invited her to stay for the holidays, she'd sent cards on his birthday. That must have been hard. So hard for her to watch this man try to fill the gap of her own son.

Not that he had. No, he'd always been respectful of Debbie's dad. He'd always been careful not to overstep, but it still must have been hard.

And in return, she'd all but dropped her. When they had moved up to Scotland, when her life had become consumed with friends, boyfriends, college, uni, jobs, they had lost contact.

Debbie reached up and wiped the tears which had fallen with the back of her hand. She'd done this. Only her. Would her nan forgive her, accept her back into her life after she'd pushed her out?