Maximum Exposure by Jenny Harper Page A

at this hour she must have had a bad night. What could he do? What should he do? Text her back? Phone her for a chat? Let her stew? What was she trying to achieve – did she want to reopen their relationship? He sincerely hoped not. He didn’t feel strong enough to start wading through the thick, sticky treacle of their involvement. But on the other hand, he didn’t like abandoning her if she was really down. He owed her more than that.
    ‘Sod it, Nef, I’m off out.’ He swung out of bed, pulled on his clothes, found his walking boots, and padded downstairs quietly with them in his hand. He opened the front door, sat on the top step, and put them on. It was a great morning, cold but clear. Since his walk along St Cuthbert’s Way he’d found that the exercise was a great way of chilling out, thinking, seeing the countryside, and keeping fit all at the same time. He could shower later.
    ‘Later’ turned out to be much later than he’d anticipated. Barely thinking, he turned onto the path that led to the coast and found himself at the sea before he realised how far he’d walked. Seven miles at least. He stood on the sand dune and felt the wind lift his hair. God, it was great. Scotland was great. There was no way he could get this kind of walk anywhere round London, not without travelling miles out. Maybe he should settle back here – not as a sub with The Hailesbank Herald , though, that was too uncertain and too poorly paid. He was only there because of Daisy. The irony was, she barely seemed to notice him. He should say something. Ask her out. How could he know if she was interested if he didn’t even try?
    The wind was bitter here, down on the coast. Exhilarating though. Impulsively, Ben threw up his arms and ran down to the edge of the sea, his boots dragging in the sand where it was soft and loose, then moving more easily as it dampened and firmed. At the edge of the water, where the waves lapped in, silver and ephemeral, he stopped, breathing heavily. He felt elated by the exercise, by the clean, fresh air, and the beauty of the scenery on every side. He felt as he had at Lindisfarne, where life had seemed to hold so much potential. All things were possible.
    His route back home took him through one of the small villages that edged this stretch of coast prettily. In one of the roadside cottages, crisply whitewashed and roofed with rust-coloured pantiles, a café was advertising ‘Full Scottish Breakfast’, ‘Coffee and muffins’ and ‘Great home baking’. Ben was ravenous. Half past nine. He pushed at the door more in hope than expectation of it being open so early on a Sunday, but was rewarded with an easy swing, a sensation of warmth, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The café was empty. He sat down at a small table in the window and stretched his legs out in front of him luxuriously.
    ‘Hi.’ A young girl appeared from a door at the back. ‘Can I get you something?’
    ‘Please,’ Ben smiled. ‘Coffee? And a cake?’
    ‘We just have filter, is that all right? It’s freshly made.’
    ‘My favourite.’
    She set a cup in front of him. ‘Do you mind if I leave you for a bit? Just call if you need something. You can help yourself to more coffee,’ she indicated the jug on the hotplate, ‘and choose a cake.’
    ‘No problem. Thanks.’
    Bliss was a coffee, some delicious baking, the sun filtering in through the window and the absolute, perfect stillness of the day, broken only by the soft tick tock of an old school room clock on the wall across the room. Outside, a stretch of coarse grass ran down to a pebbly beach. Seaweed had been washed in with the tide and lay in great curving loops along the strand. The sea was a pale, shimmering ribbon that joined seamlessly into the sky somewhere on the far horizon. He could see some large black and white birds dipping and scuttling and busying themselves along the edge of the water, looking for food he presumed. They had red beaks with legs to