As she gathered her things to leave, Daisy noticed something she'd missed during her cleaning routine. Tucked behind the fruit bowl on the kitchen table was a leather-bound guest book, its corners worn soft with age and handling. She'd seen it before during previous cleans but had never paid it much attention other than wiping it clean. It was just part of the cottage's charm that Pete liked to maintain. Today, though, something made her pause and flip it open.
The pages were filled with handwritten entries from visitors over the years, some in careful script, others in hurried scrawls. A few holiday snapshots fell out from between the pages; families on the beach, couples walking the coastal path, children building sandcastles. She found herself reading the most recent entries, smiling at the enthusiasm of city dwellers discovering Pretty Beach for the first time.
Perfect week away from London chaos. The children loved the rock pools and we loved the pace of life. Already planning our return next summer!
Celebrated our 25th anniversary here. Pretty Beach reminded us why we fell in love - with each other and with the simple pleasures in life.
Daisy was about to close the book when an entry near the back caught her eye, dated a few months before.
Came to Pretty Beach for a fresh start after my divorce. Wasn't sure I'd ever feel hopeful about the future again, but something about this place makes you believe in new beginnings. The bakery ladies were amazing (Hollie, Zan?) Sometimes strangers understand exactly what you need to hear. Thank you, Pretty Beach, for reminding me that endings can become beginnings. - Sarah, Manchester.
Daisy stared at the words and her throat tightened as the words made memories flood back. She remembered sitting in a different cottage, years before, as a desperate young mum who'd taken any work she could find. She’d scrubbed toilets with an aching back, her future uncertain and had wondered how on earth she was going to manage.
She remembered the weight of the early months after the twins were born. The endless nights when one twin cried while the other slept, then they'd switch just as she'd dozed off. The panic attacks in supermarkets when she'd calculated the cost of nappies and formula. The way she'd smiled at health visitors while inside she felt like she was drowning, convinced everyone could see she had no idea what she was doing.
There had been the succession of rented flats, each one temporary, each move another reminder that nothing in her life was permanent. Packing the twins' belongings into boxes and carrier bags, telling them it was an adventure while her heart broke at their confusion. The way Margot had clung to her toy rabbit while Evie had asked why they couldn't just stay in one place like their friends did.
Plus, the loneliness. God, the bone-deep loneliness of being responsible for two little lives while feeling like she was barely managing her own. At the end of each day, it was just her and the twins, and the crushing weight of knowing that everything; their safety, their happiness, their future - rested on her shoulders alone. Sure, she’d had the Henley women, but at the end of the day, she’d been on her own.
It had all very much been about survival. The idea of love, partnership, or someone choosing to share the chaos and responsibility of her life had seemed not only impossible butlaughable. She'd been too focused on getting through each day, each week, each month without everything falling apart.
But somewhere along the way things had improved mostly because of Pete’s suggestion. The bookshop hadn't just given her financial stability, nope, it had given her identity beyond being a single mother of twins. She was Daisy who ran the bookshop, Daisy who could recommend the perfect book, Daisy who'd created something beautiful and meaningful in the heart of Pretty Beach.
The realisation hit her like a physical thing. She was no longer counting pennies and moving from flat to flat anymore. She was someone who owned a business, who had roots and a future. The school mums could gossip all they wanted about whether Miles would stick around, but they were commenting on a version of her that no longer existed.
Endings can become beginnings.
Sarah from Manchester had written those words about her own fresh start, but as Daisy scanned them again, they felt appropriate. Daisy nodded as she closed the guest book and tucked it back behind the fruit bowl where Pete liked it kept. Thecottage was ready for its next guests, but more importantly, she was ready for whatever came next in her own story. The school mums could keep their predictions and their gossip. Daisy Henley knew exactly who she was now. She had, she realised, finally learned the difference between surviving and thriving and she was ready to do more of the latter.
11
Daisy was standing two steps up on the library ladder, halfway through updating her stock spreadsheet, when the jingle of the front door made her glance back. The woman in front of her looked familiar. Racking her brains for a minute, she realised that it was the well-dressed woman who’d previously been in the shop making odd remarks. The woman had given her the creeps with funny looks, pointed questions and had asked about foot traffic. She’d also taken an unhealthy number of photos and overall had not given off good vibes at all.
Pretending not to recognise her, Daisy smiled, turned back to the shelves, stole a few looks and left it at that. This time, the woman wasn't alone; a man in a navy suit stood beside her, holding a tablet and what appeared to be some sort of measuring tape. He had a short haircut with a tramline on the side and obnoxiously shiny shoes that had never seen a puddle. The woman was dressed in the same immaculate style as before, all sharp lines and designer labels that looked out of place against the bookshop's shabby charm.
Daisy had taken one step down the ladder when she realised the woman was standing right beside her.
'Hello again. I hope you don't mind us having another look around and my colleague taking photos.'
Daisy felt a prickle of unease and she certainly didn’t want to agree to them “looking around” as she had put it. She sold books, tea, coffee and cake, not shop design. ‘Umm, right, well, errr…’
The man stepped forward and extended a hand. ‘Marc with a ‘C’ Brattfield. Your shop here is quite charming, very authentic, as it were.’
Daisy wasn’t very up on accents or precisely where people came from. Heck, she’d hardly stepped foot out of Pretty Beach, but the man sounded like someone from a television show she’d watched. She put him, by way of his shoes and hair, as coming from Essex. There was something about the way he’d said 'authentic' that had made Daisy's stomach tighten. As if he was assessing or cataloguing somehow rather than what most of her customers tended to do, which was, funnily enough, browse books. Daisy coughed. ‘Can I help you with anything specific?’
The woman touched her long, pointed nose. ‘Oh, we're just assessing, I mean, browsing and taking in the atmosphere. You've certainly made the most of the limited space.’
Daisy repeated in her head the way “limited space” had been laced with something, but she didn’t know what. All very strange. Pretending to get back to her spreadsheet, she watched as Marc with a “C” pulled out a tablet and began tapping at the screen. He was looking around the shop with a sort of methodical attention. He appeared not to be looking at the books, but rather, the square footage. Daisy felt strange about it, then her phone rang with a call from a customer looking for an interior design book she’d never heard of and she became engrossed in that for a while and lost track of what the pair was doing.
About ten minutes later, the couple were still in the shop. The woman smiled as Daisy moved some books on the display tablein the centre. ‘These period buildings can be so full of character, can't they?’
Marc was now standing near the front window, holding his tablet up as if he were taking photographs. Daisy could see him framing the view of the street beyond, the way the afternoon light fell across the old cobblestones and the line of sight to the main shopping area. ‘Excellent natural light and the pedestrian flow is consistent.’
Daisy felt a very strange feeling as she got an inkling of what was going on around her. These weren't casual browsers or even potential customers. They were measuring her world like it was a commodity. The woman had drifted over to the corner with the wingback chairs. She ran her fingers along the edge of them, but her eyes were calculating rather than appreciative. As the first time the woman had been in, it was all very odd and discombobulating. Daisy really didn't know what to think and or how to act.
‘This whole area has such potential.’
Daisy wasn't sure if the woman was talking to Marc or her.
