In The Heat Of The Moment by Jean Cullop

I hadn’t meant to drive Ryan away. I just needed time to think . . .

ISHOOK the snow globe. Snowflakes swirled around the plastic mermaid sitting on a plastic rock, her plastic tail trailing in plastic surf, her plastic face turned resolutely towards the sea.

She seemed happy, alone in the snow. Perhaps, like me, she enjoyed “me” time and snow, especially in a heat wave.

I don’t thrive in hot weather. People say I’m an ice maiden, but they’re wrong.

My dad taught me to weigh up decisions carefully, no matter how small. This decision was not small. I needed to spend time alone.

I shook the snow globe again for inspiration.

“Holly’s the right name for you – at your best in winter and mighty prickly!”

“I’m not prickly, Mum,” I protested. “People know where they stand with me.”

“Yes, child!” Mum snapped. “They stand as far away from you as they can get. Be careful you don’t lose Ryan.”

“It was only a spat. Ryan doesn’t understand how this weather makes me feel. It doesn’t help that there’s been lots to learn after being promoted at work.”

Mum sniffed.

“Ryan is more important than work, surely. The Bible says, “harden not your heart’.”

“Oh, it’s too hot to argue!” I exclaimed and flounced into the garden.

My favourite month was January; my favourite weather, snow. My dream holiday was to see the Northern Lights and sleep in an ice hotel.

Heat made me lethargic and lethargic was not a good way to be right now.

A to-do list raced around my head but never got done. A recent virus I’d picked up didn’t help.

As I had Jamaican-born grandparents people took it for granted that I was a sun-worshipper. Dad grew up in London and he simply ploughed through dusty summers.

His sensible outlook was legend and I religiously followed his advice.

Mum gave me gifts of her own – glossy black hair with just the right curl, smooth, honey-coloured skin and graceful limbs. She insisted on always being well turned out, even when doing housework.

Now, Mum had ignored my flounce and followed me outside.

“I like Ryan. He has standards and a worthwhile job in pharmacy. He’s right for you. I want a wedding hat!”

My prickly leaves twitched but she meant well. I could never be mad at her for long.

“Mum, we’ve only had a tiff about a holiday! He wants hot and I want cold, that’s all.”

But there was more to it than that. After the quarrel was made up we’d sat by the duck pond in the park.

“I’ve been thinking, Holly. I do love you –”

“Me, too, but about the holiday . . .”

“No, wait. Please. Hear me out.”

And he popped the question, right then and there by the duck pond.

I dropped my bread on the grass and war broke out between pigeons and ducks. It was very noisy.

I remembered Dad’s advice to always weigh things up.

“Can you give me more time?”

When my aunt Lou learned I had been ill she invited me to stay on the north coast of Cornwall. It seemed a gift from the gods.

Lou fell in love with the area last year and, having only herself to consider, she sold up and bought a guest-house in a village called Trejoka.

It will be cooler than London, her e-mail read.

Come before the school holiday.

I’d never been to Cornwall, but it would be so good to catch up with Auntie Lou, and the coast would be cooler than the city.

My desk was clear at the firm of solicitors where I worked. Now would be a good time to take some leave and, hopefully, sort out my thoughts.

Two days later I drove into the hottest summer Cornwall had known for years . . .

I placed the snow globe by the window in my chintzy bedroom. From there the plastic mermaid could still see the ocean.

“Are you looking for someone?” I whispered, then gave myself a shake. I was talking to a plastic mermaid in a snow globe!

I was in need of my breakfast, I decided.

Breakfast was Ryan’s favourite meal . . .

An image of him, with his sandy hair and freckles, flashed across my mind.

I had arrived late last night, but the morning revealed a glorious view from my bedroom window.

Lou’s Place was a grey stone house standing solitary and somewhat forbidding outside Trejoka village.

Inside, however, oak beams, pine furniture and wood burners made it snug and cosy.

I imagined coming in from a frosty walk and drinking hot chocolate in the large country kitchen.

The house overlooked a small cove. When I opened the window wide to catch the breeze I heard the soothing hiss of surf.

Last night Lou’s dog, Barnie, had smothered me in slobbery kisses.

Auntie Lou had hugged me and kissed me, too, though not slobbery.

In the kitchen I tucked into a cooked breakfast.

“This is delicious,” I said with my mouth full.

Mum would have been horrified, reminding me of my manners. My aunt didn’t care.

I loved them both but the two sisters were very different.

“We’ve no guests until Saturday,” Lou told me. “For now, you have just me and Barnie. Now, you eat up. You’ve not been well and you look tired. That bug has stripped the flesh from your bones. Fresh air will sort out your appetite.”

“I hope so, Auntie Lou.” I sighed. “My jeans and my skirts are hanging off me. I spend all my time hoisting them up!”

Auntie Lou chuckled. She was a laid-back version of Mum – taller, plumper and certainly not well turned out, preferring T-shirts and jeans to smart casual. Her hair had become a halo of snowy tight curls framing her face.

“This weather arrived out of the blue,” Lou continued. “I know too much heat doesn’t agree with you but I’m sure it will be cooler today.”

Her optimism was contagious. I weighed things up and decided I could cope with rising temperature for a day or two.

I furled up my prickly leaves. Auntie Lou had gone to so much trouble that I would have to make the best of the weather; a brave decision for heat-hating Holly Brown!

Following my aunt’s advice, I made for a place called Damsel Beach.

“It’s only a short walk over the cliffs,” she explained. “Trejoka is not good for swimming. It has some things called spring tides. Don’t ask me what they are, Holly Honeybun, but they sound nasty.”

I smiled. My childhood name reminded me of when my biggest decision was what to wear for the school prom.

It also reminded me of how much I had missed Auntie Lou. She listened and allowed me to make up my own mind.

My instincts told me that I should reach this decision on my own, though.

“I’ll be back for lunch. We can have a catch-up then,” I promised.

By the time I reached Damsel Beach my legs felt like jelly. The cliff path was steep and that virus was still hanging around. Both Mum and Ryan had said I had gone back to work too soon. I should have listened.

Damsel Beach was impressive, flat sands guarded by gently sloping dunes and low-lying cliffs bright with sea pinks and yellow gorse.

I found a shady spot in the rocks and wished I’d brought paper and pens. I could have made lists, as Dad taught me, although I was not sure he extended that rule to relationships.

I would go for a swim before embarking on serious thinking time and show off my new swimsuit.

“Hey, you can’t bathe there! You’re in our way!”

An irate man was waving his arms at me.

I frowned.

“I was told I was safe here!” I shouted back. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Sol Trelarne; I run the Damsel surf school. This side of the beach is kept clear for us!”

He splashed over. Even in his wet suit he was a babe, from his tanned face to his longish blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He didn’t appear to notice my attributes.

And he was rude. Those holly leaves prickled once more.

My new level of responsibility at work had at least given me confidence. At one time I would not have challenged him.

People took it for granted that I was a sun-worshipper

Stay calm; don’t retaliate

– one of the first rules of being a good PA.

“Well, Sol Trelarne, excuse me,” I replied with a coolness I did not feel. “Is this your private beach? Are you asking me to leave?”

He had the grace to look uneasy.

“Well, no . . .”

We were being watched by a group of people, each clutching a surf board. It helped to play to an audience. I raised my eyebrows enquiringly. “So?”

“It’s a health and safety ruling,” he mumbled. “Surfers are a danger to swimmers, so we ask they swim from the other side of the beach.”

“I see. Thank you for your advice, Mr Trelarne. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve come here for a swim. You could always take your surfers over to the other side?”

Feeling pleased with myself, I plunged beneath the waves and with the uneven breast stroke reserved for inexpert swimmers I floundered away.

After one near crash and two actual hits from surf boards I decided I had made my point and beat a dignified retreat towards Trejoka Cove.

“He was so rude, Auntie Lou,” I grumbled later, though not too upset

to enjoy the sausage roll she had provided with my coffee.

Since I arrived I had been unusually hungry.

“I can’t think who that could be,” my aunt said.

“Well, he was tall and blond and –”

“Never mind him, Holly Honeybun. Let’s catch up. How is your dad?”

“Dad’s fine; working hard, but he says hard work pays the mortgage.”

“And you do have a lovely home. How is your mum doing? Still wearing heels and lippy to do the housework?”

I grinned.

“Mum says I’m shutting Ryan out. She says Ryan’s a nice guy. I swear, if she could, she’d set up an arranged marriage for us just so she can buy a hat.”

Auntie Lou laughed a deep and throaty laugh full of Jamaican fun. When had I last had fun?

“Not a bad idea, child.” She chuckled. “Now, tell me about Ryan.”

It was my perfect chance to share that Ryan had proposed. But I didn’t.

Having no wish to meet up with the surf school over the next few days, I contented myself with paddling in the shallows at Trejoka Cove.

Twice, Auntie Lou caught me phoning work.

“Holidays are for resting,” she admonished. “Save work for when you get home.”

Yes, but they might get someone to fill my place, I fretted, even though common sense told me that wouldn’t happen.

On Friday morning the sun disappeared but so did the cooling breeze. The sky was a mass of sullen, grey cloud. The air was humid and oppressive.

Auntie Lou was busy preparing jerk chicken for our evening meal.

“Hot food for hot weather!” She chuckled. “Don’t worry, Honeybun, we’re in for some rain later. That will sort you out!”

I was not sure. I looked longingly out of the window for the first plops of rain.

“There’s a storm on the way,” she added. “Barnie is restless.”

“Shall I take him for a walk?”

“Oh, that would be lovely!”

Barnie must have had the gift of telepathy, because he trotted in with his lead and off we went.

From the highest point on the cliff both beaches could be seen and I rested on the scratchy grass, enjoying the view and allowing Barnie to happily root on his own.

I had been here nearly a week and was no closer to reaching a decision.

Below me, surfers were going great guns despite the overcast sky. Why did people run out of the sea when it rained? My eyes grew heavy . . .

Suddenly I was wide awake. Barnie was barking, but where was he?

“Oh, no!”

My hair stood on end. I scrambled up and peered over the cliff. Sure enough, Barnie was there. He had landed safely on a ledge, but it was narrow. If he panicked he could go over.

My throat was dry as I desperately called for help. No-one was around to hear me. Should I alert the coastguard? Run for help? Try to climb down to him?

Dad’s strategy let me down this time. I started to cry. I never cried . . .

“It’s all right, Barnie, I’m here.”

The voice was familiar; of all people, Sol Tralarne.

Rude as ever, he pushed me aside, swinging over the cliff with confidence. He shouted to me and passed up a squirming white bundle.

“Don’t just stand there – take him!”

Robot-like, I took Barnie from him. Only when the dog was safe did he climb back. He made it look so easy.

“Clip on his lead,” he instructed.

I obeyed. I opened and closed my mouth but no words came out. Eventually I stuttered an inadequate thank you.

He stroked the dog’s ears and was rewarded with a wet kiss.

“Barnie and I are old friends. It’s best to keep dogs on leads on cliffs. They often fall over.”

I shuddered.

“How do you know Barnie?”

“Your aunt and I are exchanging recipes ready for when I open my own restaurant. She’s showing me Jamaican dishes and I’m sharing some Cornish ones.”

“Restaurant,” I repeated stupidly.

He grinned. He looked nicer when he grinned.

“I can’t teach surfing for ever. I love cooking and I’m planning a menu that’s a bit different. I want to make it an interesting place to dine.” “Interesting,” I repeated. “I was on my way to Lou’s place now. I don’t know what she has planned.”

Somehow I collected myself together.

“It’s jerk chicken,” I told him. “It’s good. Ask her to show you her salt fish. Jerk’s a bit hot for this weather.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I love the heat. You should be used to it. Does it remind you of home?”

Here we went again . . .

I decided to come clean and recounted Barnie’s misadventure to Auntie Lou. I wouldn’t have blamed her for being angry with me but she listened calmly.

“I’m so sorry, Auntie Lou. I didn’t see the danger when I let him off his lead. Sol deserves an award,” I enthused.

Auntie Lou grinned. “Sol is my sous chef. I always wanted one of those. As for Barnie, he’s safe now, so no harm done.”

I was suspicious. Why had Lou pretended not to know Sol, when they were clearly the best of friends?

My place had been set in the dining-room as apparently one guest had arrived early. I was totally unprepared when a lanky, sandy-haired figure asked to join me.

“Ryan! What are you doing here?” He sat down opposite me. “I wanted to check you were all right. I saw the heat wave in Cornwall on the news and I know you feel poorly in that weather.” I stared in disbelief. “You mean you’ve driven two hundred miles because I don’t like the heat?”

“I’ve read an article about your condition,” he added proudly, clearly pleased with himself.

“It said you do wrong by declaring war on the temperature. Rest, and then later enjoy catching up with work.”

“But I can’t –”

“It said other stuff, too, like where to go for a holiday and the best food to eat. We can work on it together.”

“We need to talk,” I said cautiously.

Ryan being Ryan, he pushed on. He reached across the table and took my hand. It felt good. It felt safe. It felt like where I was meant to be.

“Have you had a chance to think about . . . you know?”

Suddenly I realised this time I didn’t need a list. This dear man had travelled a long way just to make sure I was all right.

And I had missed him so much.

“I don’t have to think. I know where I belong to be.” He was unsure.

“Is that a yes?”

“It is a big yes, please. We can sort out other stuff like work. I love you, Ryan.”

His answer was to lean over the table and take me in his arms. The cutlery flew in all directions, but what did that matter?

As a rumble of thunder echoed around the room and the rain came down, Auntie Lou peeped in, a huge grin on her face.

I laughed delightedly as fresh air wafted through the open window and that night I sent a text to Mum.

You can look for a hat.

I shook the snow globe one last time. The mermaid waited patiently in the snow.

But here, outside the snow globe, I had listened to my heart. The ice maiden had melted. n