Rita looked horrified. Teo laughed. ‘Gracias, señora.’

  Hilda’s face remained straight. ‘Don’t señora me; I’m off to a funeral, not a flamenco class.’

  It was Teo’s turn to look horrified.

  Rita was curt. ‘Another one?’

  ‘Yes. George Lewis. Lovely man. Lived in the last house on Cliff Street. The bus is about to go down to the bay, so I’d better toddle off.’

  Rita shook her head. ‘She’s got more front than half the seagulls in this town, that one.’

  Teo waved his hands in the air. ‘No comprendo, pero I like her. She speak the truth and the truth is…’ He hesitated. ‘The truth is what connects us, whatever the language.’

  ‘I think you’re going to fit in here, just fine.’ Rita smiled, handing him a newly printed retreat flyer. ‘Now why don’t you get your fish and chips. If you run, you will catch the same bus as Hilda and how about you come back here for dinner, and we can discuss everything. Say seven p.m.?’

  ‘Do you do B&B here, too, Señora Jory?’ Teo tilted his head cheekily.

  Rita gave a wry smile. ‘Not officially. But if you don’t mind creased sheets and a snoring labrador, I might be able to rustle something up.’

  Teo held out his hand. ‘Perfecto, I see you later. Now give me some more of those flyers, for surely we must sell, sell, sell?’

  SEVENTEEN

  Exceedingly early the next morning, up at High Meadow, the sky blushed with the first streaks of dawn. A light mist still clung to the lower fields, and the dew on the grass soaked through Rita’s trainers as she twisted her hair into a knot and secured it with an old elastic band she’d found in her jeans pocket. She really must get to the hairdresser’s but there was just too much to do at the moment and despite Hilda’s ‘danger money’, she still classed having her hair done as a luxury item.

  Birdsong drifted lazily from the Singing Tree, and somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnied. The girls and the chickens had been delighted at their early feed. After a quick walk, Henry had gone back to his bed in front of the Aga, where Rita had left him snoring.

  Stan ambled into view, a roll of guy ropes slung over one shoulder like a reluctant Scout leader. His face was already pink from the short walk from his Land Rover.

  ‘Jago can’t make it today,’ he puffed.

  Rita stifled a yawn and tried not to let the disappointment show, but it landed anyway. ‘Oh,’ she muttered, keeping her eyes on the mallet she’d just picked up. ‘Well, we’ll just have to manage, the pair of us, Stan, won’t we?’

  She looked ahead to the work they had achieved the day before, willing herself to focus. She had always hated the manual side of the farm work, in fact, rarely did it. But the resort was her baby, and she wanted it to succeed, not just for financial purposes but for own sense of purpose too.

  Just then, the thud of footsteps on damp earth caught her ear, and she glanced up to see Teo jogging over the crest of the hill, grinning, a half-eaten banana in one hand. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and his well-fitted European shorts again. His tanned skin glistened with the fresh sheen of effort.

  ‘Today, we conquer the roof circles, no?’ he declared, arms raised in mock triumph as he approached.

  Rita blinked in surprise. ‘Teo? I didn’t expect you here this morning.’

  He grinned, taking another bite of banana. ‘Well, nobody brought me breakfast. And I said I would work for that.’ He actioned a theatrical shrug. ‘And the secret to happiness, amiga, is low expectations, so we are all happy, sí?’

  He laughed at his own joke with such good-natured charm that even Stan, who rarely smiled before 9 a.m., let out a quiet chuckle.

  Rita shook her head, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips, too. Teo was already worth his weight in gold. Perhaps with him and Zenya now on the payroll she really could manage after all.

  By lunchtime, Rita was in the Jimny ready to take lunch supplies to the High Meadow when Zenya, barefoot and muddy-kneed, waved and beckoned her over to the vegetable patch where she’d spent the morning digging and planting.

  Rita stood at the edge, hands on hips, her face agog as she squinted slightly in the midday sun. The air was rich with the scent of freshly turned soil and mint. ‘Wow! I can’t believe what you’ve achieved in such a short time.’

  Zenya’s face lit up with pride. She brushed a loose curl from her forehead, leaving a smudge of earth on her cheek. ‘I’ve enjoyed every second. We’ve got courgettes, cucumbers, and tomatoes in the greenhouse, and beetroot, lettuce, and radishes in the ground. I thought a herb garden would be sweet, too, nothing fancy, just the basics. Plus, I love green beans. And runner beans. I just need to find some sticks for these.’

  ‘Look in Archie’s workroom, blue door.’ Rita pointed towards the courtyard. ‘You’ll probably find everything you need in there. That’s where the tools were, right?’

  ‘Yep. Brilliant, thanks! We need to find a piece of glass from somewhere and I’ll fix the pane in the greenhouse too.’ Zenya wiped her hands on her jeans and glanced towards the far end of the meadow. ‘And are you sure you don’t need any help up there with the yurts?’

  ‘No, honestly, you doing this is more than enough.’ Rita smiled and leaned against the fence. ‘I’ll introduce you properly to Teo later too. He seems like such a good lad.’

  Zenya raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you go trying to set me up, Rita Jory. I’m not exactly in the habit of letting anyone in these days, in fact, ever. I’m happy on my own. And aside me not ever having had sexual relations with a man shorter than me, he looks about twelve.’

  Rita laughed. ‘Calm down, he’s twenty-five and likes Manuels not Marias, so you’re safe there.’

  ‘Oh.’ Zenya grinned.

  ‘Right, onwards and upwards.’ Rita walked towards the Jimny, then turned back. ‘I’m so happy we met, Zenya. I really mean that. And I’m so grateful for what you’ve done here, already; it’s a miracle.’

  If it weren’t for the beating sunlight, she was sure that she could see tears in Zenya’s eyes.

  EIGHTEEN

  Two weeks later, the yurts were up, the compost loos ready for bottoms, and the outbuildings and barn scrubbed and fit for purpose. The promotional leaflets had been passed around locally, and the Seahaven Bay Retreat was already getting attention online.

  Before Archie had passed away, Rita had never been an avid user of social media, but with more time on her hands, she had become what Sennen called a ‘reluctant scroller’. She’d had to get extremely au fait with Facebook and Instagram as marketing tools, and although she wasn’t quite brave enough to post a live Reel, Rita had to admit the retreat’s Instagram page scrubbed up nicely, thanks mostly to Zenya’s filter-fancy thumbs and Teo’s insistence on ‘luz natural only’.

  Today’s marketing blurb had gone out with the headline announcing: Book today for an extraordinary one-off introductory rate of 25 per cent off for our month-long SEA, BREATH AND SOUL ESCAPE starting on 1 July. Just five places left!

  Rita figured no one need know there were just five places in total and if the miraculous happened this month and they were oversubscribed, they could offer those interested parties other dates.

  Now, it was just a waiting game.

  The yurts looked like something out of a bohemian fairy tale. Each one was kitted out with thick, patterned rugs and gloriously squashy mattresses – Rita’s decision, which she stood firmly by, even if it meant blowing half the budget on memory foam. She’d reasoned that if people were going to be predominantly using a compost toilet and having to share a shower, they at least deserved a good night’s kip. She’d originally planned to use real candles, but after reading about the fire risk in a yurt, she wisely switched to some surprisingly effective fake ones. And no one need know the rugs were half from the charity shop; the other half she’d found rolled up in the hayloft.

  Figuring hungry guests wouldn’t be happy guests, she didn’t want to starve anyone either. It wasn’t a fitness or weight loss retreat after all, more of a massage for the mind. Betty had agreed to supply daily breakfast hampers, Betty’s Tearoom style! They were to consist of Seahaven Bay Retreat branded cool bags, filled with two flasks, one with coffee and one with hot water, English breakfast tea bags, plus a selection of herbal ones, plus a mini milk bottle. A cinnamon bun and a scone with jam and cream provided the tasty treat. Just in case guests moaned at the thought of putting white flour and sugar down their crops, there would be a large bottle of mineral water. Plus Rita had done a deal with Hawthorn Farm down the road to include fresh strawberries from their ‘pick your own’ field – a fruit which would take them up until August at least and then she could revert to apples and pears from the orchard as the healthy option. To finish off the feast, a natural yoghurt. She had put a couple of picnic tables outside the yurts so if guests wanted to eat together then they could or if they wanted solitude, their sea-facing yurts had a chair and small table outside also.

  To benefit another local business, she had also thought that leaving a book in every yurt would be a nice touch and an added takeaway. Jude had obviously been delighted, and Rita had entrusted him with choosing exactly the right words required to fit the setting.

  To keep costs down, and perhaps to avoid any unexpected barbecue disasters in the High Meadow, Rita had opted to go fully vegetarian. Zenya had agreed to be resident chef and would offer salads and rolls for lunch and a freshly cooked evening meal. This would be prepared in the farm kitchen. They had yet to decide where to serve it. And if anyone couldn’t go without meat, fish, or alcohol then Rita figured they could get the bus down to the harbour and the Winking Pilchard, for which Pete the landlord had gladly given her a load of ‘buy one meal get a drink free’ vouchers. She really must get around to seeing Jilly again to see if she may do some sort of discount on the Pilates sessions too.

  As it was Sunday and her semi day of rest, with chickens and goats fed, social media duties signed off and a cup of tea drunk, Rita wanted to enjoy the balmy June weather. Pulling on a summer dress and trainers, she headed towards the High Meadow with Henry the labrador at her heels.

  She was surprised to see Teo busy draping fairy lights from one yurt to another with the precision of a Formula One driver taking a bend. Zenya, in a haze of lavender oil and eucalyptus, was arranging jars of dried wildflowers and placing little handwritten notes onto pillowcases that read, BREATHE IN. BEGIN AGAIN.

  Stan had crafted two rustic wooden signs, one that he’d fixed to the main gate and another that was now stuck in the ground in front of Yurt Avenue, Rita’s new name for the row of fancy tents, which, thanks to Hilda’s input, read, SEAHAVEN BAY RETREAT – WHERE THE SEA MEETS YOUR SOUL.

  Zenya and Teo stopped what they were doing and joined Rita on Archie’s bench.

  The breeze had picked up, carrying the scent of salt and lavender. Henry sat at their feet and gave a sleepy sigh. The cliffs rolled away in rugged folds, sun-bleached and dappled with golden gorse. Tiny white sails bobbed in the bay, and gulls wheeled lazily overhead. It was one of those quiet, golden June afternoons when time seemed to pause, just long enough to remind you how beautiful the world could be. Rita could even smell that summer was well and truly here.

  She broke their unified silence. ‘I don’t expect you to work on a Sunday when a retreat is not on, you know.’

  Zenya replied first. ‘I want to. You have given me peace and security, Rita. Something I have been searching for, for a long time.’

  Teo smiled. ‘And me, well, you have opened me up to a new life in a different country. I love this. And I love this place.’

  ‘You might not be saying that when the guests start arriving. It could be interesting,’ Rita quipped.

  ‘I will soon woo-woo them back to ground level,’ Zenya replied, smiling.

  Teo’s voice softened. ‘And you sure it still OK for me to stay in the upstairs annexe?’

  ‘Of course.’ Rita nodded. ‘I must get Stan to put a lock on the door for you.’

  ‘Sí, sí, as I am a little worried about Hilda getting risky with me.’

  Zenya laughed aloud. ‘I think you mean frisky.’

  Teo stood up and stretched his perfectly taut arms to the sky and with a noise of complete contentment, quoted, ‘La vida es más divertida si te arriesgas un poco.’

  ‘Life is more fun if you take a few risks,’ Zenya immediately translated. Teo and Rita’s mouths dropped open.

  ‘Or frisks,’ Teo stated, causing them all to crack up.

  NINETEEN

  Rita had just got in from feeding the animals and was tucking into tea and toast at the kitchen table when it happened.

  Ping!

  She paused. Email alerts usually heralded spam, a newsletter she never signed up for, or a flash sale on beauty products she didn’t need. But something about this ping felt… different. With a deep breath, she reached across the table for her laptop. She tapped the trackpad and squinted at the inbox.

  Subject: Booking Confirmation – The Seahaven Bay Retreat

  She stared at it. Then blinked. Then stared again.

  Booking… confirmation. She whispered aloud then gasped. For there it was. A real person by the name of Emily Budd had booked the month-long Sea, Breath, and Soul Escape. She’d even paid in full. There was a message, too:

  Hi! I found your retreat on Instagram and fell in love with it instantly. I’m so excited to spend a whole month by the sea. Hope there’s decent coffee! Emily x

  Rita let out a stunned laugh. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God.’

  She whirled around the kitchen, emitting little screams, pulse racing. This wasn’t just someone saying ‘interested’ or asking how far it was from the station. This was a real booking. A real guest. Someone who’d looked at the photos, read her blurb, and decided yes.

  She had imagined this moment so many times during late-night doubts and early-morning ‘what am I doing?’ spirals. But now it was real, it felt entirely surreal.

  She did a little jump on the spot, a ridiculous half dance that caused Henry, who was sleeping in his bed, to open one eye then close it again with a harrumph.

  She grabbed her phone, and clutching a tea towel like a victory flag, opened WhatsApp. She tapped out a message.

  RITA

  Guess who just got her first ACTUAL guest booking!!!!

  A reply came almost instantly.

  KELLY

  AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I’M SCREAMING. I’M CRYING. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU MY FRIEND XXX

  Rita grinned. She typed back one-handed while pouring herself a celebratory glass of non-alcoholic elderflower fizz, the one she’d been testing for guests.

  She sat back down at the table. She had done this. Against all logic and fear and through all-consuming grief, she had created something. Rita Jory, once the woman who could barely get out of bed, who didn’t know where she ended and her sadness began, had set up her own business.

  The Seahaven Bay Retreat was officially (well, nearly – because she could really do with four more guests) open for business.

  Her hand rested on the edge of the table, her thumb tracing the grain in the wood. There was a hum in her chest, like something deep and joyful trying to make its way to the surface. But it wasn’t joy alone. It was everything.

  She didn’t realise she was crying until a tear dropped silently onto the table. Then another and another, until she found herself full-on sobbing.

  Then behind her through the open front door, she heard a voice. ‘Rita. Oh, Rita. No. No.’

  She quickly wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her cardigan before turning, but it was too late. Teo stood in the doorway, barefoot and gentle as ever, wearing loose cotton trousers and a faded T-shirt with the word NAMASTE peeling across the chest.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she managed, her voice cracking.

  The handsome Spaniard didn’t speak at first. Just walked over, placed a hand softly on her shoulder, and crouched beside her.

  ‘Rita,’ he soothed. ‘You do not cry like this because something is wrong, am I right, please say I am right.’

  She let out a shaky laugh through the tears. ‘I think I’m happy. Honestly, I think I’m so happy. It’s just… it’s all a bit much. You know.’

  ‘You are happy and sad at the same time,’ he said with a wise little nod. ‘That is how healing feels.’

  She looked down at him, her heart full and aching. ‘Do you think he’d be proud? My Archie, my husband, that is.’

  Teo nodded thoughtfully. ‘I expect he’d be proud of you whatever you did.’

  Her chest tightened, but this time it didn’t break her; it lifted her. She let out a long breath, nodded, and sniffed loudly.

  ‘Come,’ Teo said gently, rising to his feet and handing her a piece of kitchen roll from the side. ‘The sun is up, the sky is blue and my beautiful Rita, she need to feel grounded. You are coming with me to the orchard.’

  Rita dutifully followed the young Spaniard out through the back door, into the cool hush of early morning. The orchard was bathed in soft, pearly light, dew clinging to the grass like scattered jewels. Teo led her to the clearing between the trees, where the grass had been flattened from his own previous yoga session.

  ‘Lie down,’ he crooned. Rita, feeling hypnotised by this charming man, did as instructed, not even caring that she was lying in the damp. Teo knelt beside her, guiding her limbs until she lay completely still, with her palms facing upwards and her feet falling naturally outward. ‘Now close your eyes and breathe normally. Focus on releasing tension from your foots up to the top of your head.

  ‘Savasana,’ Teo whispered, in his special tone, the one as if nothing in the world could ever truly be urgent. ‘Savasana.’

  At first Rita resisted, thoughts spinning around her head at one hundred miles an hour.