Winter Wishes by Ruth Saberton Page A

over the slippery shore with nets and buckets, returning with tales of crabs and tiny fish and, once, a rare sighting of a basking shark. Recollecting the innocence of those days was painful now. She turned away, almost unable to look at the ever-changing scene.
    With all of the family absent, Seaspray felt as though it was holding its breath and watching to see what this interloper would do next. Tara’s every nerve was fizzing, and once she’d cleared the kitchen she’d wandered from room to room, her fingertips brushing surfaces and skimming over furniture as though trying to reacquaint themselves by touch alone. She’d breathed in the familiar smells of polish and lavender and salty air. The house was still glorious, with scoured light pouring in through the big windows. The beeswaxed floors glowed and the threadbare rugs that covered them told of generations of feet crossing the rooms. There was still a scattering of sand too, a gritty memento of days spent on the beach, and in the back porch she’d been touched to find that her wellington boots were still standing to attention beside Danny’s.
    Home and yet not home.
    Unable to settle or shake off the feeling that the old house was watching her and waiting to see what she did next, Tara returned to her bedroom. There she peeled off the ridiculously tight jeans and the clingy sweater, before padding into the bathroom and scrubbing off her make-up. As she wiped the cotton wool across her cheeks and watched the carefully applied contours melt and blur, Tara laughed at herself. This was Polwenna Bay. Who was there to impress here? The seagulls? A few bored fishermen? The old biddies from the church? Danny certainly wouldn’t care about make-up, not if his taste in women tended towards those who looked and dressed like Jules Mathieson.
    She paused, mid-wipe, and frowned at her reflection. Was Danny involved with the vicar? No, he couldn’t be. Could he? Although Jules seemed nice, and Tara supposed that she was quite pretty if you liked that kind of thing, she was a vicar. Would Danny seriously date a vicar? He’d never been into religion before, but then again maybe his injuries had changed more than just his physical appearance.
    I’m being paranoid , Tara told herself. Besides, the vicar had reassured her in the summer that Danny and she were just friends – and vicars didn’t lie. There was still a chance that Tara could make things work with Danny. She just had to play the long game and be patient.
    Faded Levi’s and a soft red sweater teamed with stripy socks and a thick cream scarf were far more like it, Tara decided as she changed into these and pulled her hair into a ponytail. A lick of neutral lipstick and some black mascara brushed across her lashes and she was good to go. She looked less sexy now, perhaps, but it was the perfect outfit for a walk up on the cliffs. Just what was needed to blow away the cobwebs and hopefully find herself some headspace.
    Tara went back down the stairs and through to the porch, where she liberated her old wellingtons, carefully shaking out a few sleepy spiders, and dug out a waxed jacket from the selection hanging above. Wrapped up against the November chill, she set off across the garden and headed down the path towards the village. If nothing else, at least the bitter cold and the exercise would take her mind off all the drama of the past few days and burn a few calories. Her membership at Anthony’s gym was now a thing of the past, and if she indulged in too much of Alice’s cooking she’d end up twice the size.
    The village was fairly quiet this morning, although a few walkers were about. Woodsmoke scented the air as it drifted lazily from chimneys, and fishing boats rode the gentle swell of the tide, their mooring ropes creaking softly. Across the harbour, the lights flickered on as The Ship opened for business. Tara might have been away for a few months but she would have placed money on the probability that the