Christmas in Coolsbay: A cosy friends-to-lovers romantic comedy by Belle Henderson

Author:Belle Henderson [Henderson, Belle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamarillas Press
Published: 2023-09-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

‘Do you make a habit of that?’ I ask, with a shaky voice. I’d be amused, laughing even, if it wasn’t for the bleak circumstances.

‘Helping people get sober?’ he almost growls. ‘I usually assist in getting them drunk I suppose, but they needed to cool down a little, too much happy juice, don’t you think?’ He gives me a wry smile then focuses on the road. I allow myself a little smile, proud of his work, before my eyes turn to the car window and the roads. It’s still raining and cold and apart from the odd streetlamp which are few and far between, the closer we get towards the sea, the darker it gets.

I’m worried for Joyce, really worried.

We drive towards the coastline, the road winding as I strain to see out of the window. It’s making me nauseous. Rain hits the windowpane hard, and my torch does nothing but reflect the glare back at me.

‘I’m phoning the police,’ I say. Nick nods silently. Moments later, the missing and vulnerable persons report has been filed. This is all beginning to feel too real. I try to remain calm by listing my top five Dolly Parton songs in my head.

1 I will Always Love You (Obviously)

2 Two Doors Down

3 Jolene

4 Working Nine to Five

5 It’s All Wrong, But It’s All Right

‘At least there’ll be more of us looking now, better chance of her being found sooner,’ I say whilst the lyrics to I will always love you play solemnly and slowly in my head.

‘Yes, yes, thank you.’

We drive in silence, the minutes feeling like hours.

‘Where could she be? Where would she go?’ I burst, panic exploding out of my voice.

‘If she isn’t at the graveyard then I don’t know where, that’s where she has always gone before. She never goes too far.’ We turn a corner, the sea fierce in the distance.

‘Let’s get out,’ Nick says as he parks the car in a layby. A photo stop for tourists during the day. We traipse the coastal path, shining our torches on benches with plaques of deceased loved ones.

‘There’s people,’ I say, shinning my torch into the distance. ‘Look, on the last bench.’

Nick moves his torch to the same spot, moving slightly to the left to reveal a large fisherman’s umbrella with a cover around it, turning it into a tent. There could be people huddled underneath that, people who’ve seen Joyce. Nick breaks into a run and I force my legs to do the same. My legs ache. I think I’ve surpassed the number of steps I’ll ever do in a lifetime in one single night. Nevertheless, I try to keep up with him, slowing down as we approach the umbrella tent.

The shadows look like three big burly men. Could it be them? I think I hear laughter, but the wind picks it up and takes it away out to sea. People probably camping out drunk, could it be the thicko Neanderthal trio? The laughter gets louder, something’s obviously very funny.

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