Page 36 of Love from Pretty Beach

D arby stood outside Archie's front door and tried not to gawk like a tourist. She’d walked past the row of houses enough times to know that one, they were very, very nice and two, worth a few bob.

Weatherboard, three stories above the harbour wall, painted in white, ticking all the boxes, doing all the things.

Darby was at his house because Archie was cooking her dinner.

He continued to please every which way that he could.

It appeared our Darby may have found a needle in a haystack.

After looking up at the house and then turning around and taking in the boats bobbing on the harbour, she lifted a brass knocker on the deep navy-blue front door and waited.

Behind and all around her, Pretty Beach was settling into a Friday night quiet, the harbour reflecting the last of the daylight in little ripples that caught the streetlights just beginning to flicker on.

Hearing footsteps coming to the door, Archie then appeared. Dressed in dark jeans and a pale blue shirt, he kissed Darby and beamed. Fizzing and fizzles arrived; in her heart, in her body, in her face, all the areas in all the places coming back to life.

Archie stepped back to let her into the hallway. 'Perfect timing. Everything is ready and waiting for you. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything and I hope you’ve brought your appetite.'

Darby followed him into the house and had to stop her chin from dropping to the floor as she looked around.

She didn’t really know what she’d been expecting, but for sure, there was a distinct lack of 1980s flowered wallpaper.

Lovely cooking smells filled the air; garlic, herbs, baking bread, overall deliciousness and the house was Pinterest-level.

‘It smells amazing! How nice to have someone cook for me. Thanks for the invite.’

'Hmm, I hope you’re going to like it. I’m not a bad cook, but I prefer the basic stuff. I have a few things I can cook well without having to look at the recipe every thirty seconds and you're about to experience one of them whether you like it or not.'

The hallway was narrow with a pale wooden herringbone-patterned floor, coats hung from a row of wooden pegs, and a small table held a gigantic fancy-looking blue ceramic bowl containing keys, a candle and a couple of unopened letters.

Everything was tidy, neat, though not obsessively organised, and very home-y.

'This place is absolutely gorgeous. I've walked past it hundreds of times and wondered what they were like inside. '

'I was lucky to get it, to be honest. The previous owner was a boat builder who'd lived here for forty years and maintained everything beautifully on the outside. All I've done is update the kitchen and bathroom because they were really dated. I’ve tried not to ruin what was already good about it.'

Darby liked that he’d downplayed the house because, for sure, the place was very special.

It was not the sort of home most people would even think about playing down.

The kitchen was a long, long, long way from hers.

French paned windows on three sides framed views of the harbour, and the units were painted a pale blue-grey, topped with wooden reclaimed timber worktops.

Everything was simple, functional, clean, tidy and cosy at the same time.

Walking to the window that faced directly out over the water, Darby raised her eyebrows.

'How do you ever manage to get anything done with this view?

I'd spend all day just staring out at the boats. It’s really nice on this side of Pretty Beach. It was way out of my budget.'

'Says the woman who has a gorgeous house in the Old Town.’

‘I guess.’

Archie raised his chin to one of the windows. ‘You get used to it, surprisingly. Though I have to admit there are mornings I find myself watching the fishing boats coming in instead of working. Not the most efficient way to run a business, but there are worse distractions to have.'

From the kitchen window, Darby could see the entire sweep of Pretty Beach harbour.

In front of her eyes, working boats and pleasure craft bobbed on their moorings here and there.

Lights had begun to appear in the windows of houses across the water, and the whole scene looked so pretty that Darby could hardly tear her eyes away from it.

'Drink?' Archie asked, opening a bottle of white wine that was already standing on the worktop. 'I've got this open, or there's beer in the fridge. Tea?'

This was not a tea moment. Just so not a tea moment. 'Wine would be lovely, thank you. What are you cooking? It smells absolutely divine. I haven't eaten anything substantial since breakfast. I thought I would save myself.'

'A Persian dish. Chicken with caramelised onions, garlic, currants, cloves and cinnamon.’

‘Ooh, sounds a bit fancy!’

‘Otherwise known as chicken stew.' Archie deadpanned, poured wine into two glasses and handed one to Darby. ‘My mum learnt how to make it when we lived in the Middle East and I follow her recipe.’

Darby settled herself on one of the barstools that was tucked under the kitchen island and flicked her eyes between the view and Archie as he opened a range oven and pulled out a rectangular cast-iron casserole dish.

A plethora of herbs, garlic and all sorts of delicious smells wafted in her direction.

On first impressions, he could cook, too.

Hashtag keeper. Darby inhaled. ‘Yum. I hope I can take a goodie bag home.’ Darby did not want to go home. Ever. ‘Do you love the house?’

'I do. This place came on the market just when I was starting to think I might have to look further afield. You know what it’s like in Pretty Beach.

It’s so tightly held. It needed quite a bit of work on the kitchen and bathrooms, but the rest of it was maintained well.

The bones were good and the location was exactly where I wanted. Yeah, so here I am. It works for me.'

It worked for Darby, alright. 'It's absolutely perfect. A nice place to come home to after a day of wrestling with Grade II listed walls, if you ask me.'

'For sure. Sometimes my job does my brain in, to be honest. Lots of planning applications and heritage reports and trying to convince councils that sometimes the best way to preserve old buildings is to actually use them rather than just wrapping them in cotton wool. What do I know, though?'

'Sounds tricky.'

'I've developed what my ex-wife used to call my professional persona. Very calm, very reasonable, very committed to working within the system rather than ranting.'

Darby noticed the casual way he mentioned his ex-wife without any bitterness. He’d clearly moved on and the whole thing was amicable. Unlike any of the three men she’d been involved with.

The timer on the oven went off and Archie pulled out another dish.

It was fair to say that Darby was impressed.

They were a long way from IKEA meatballs and chips.

Rice mixed with herbs and spices, pieces of chicken that had been cooked until they were falling apart, pomegranate seeds and olive oil.

The kitchen wafted with the scent of herbs and cinnamon. 'That looks and smells delish.’

'I've probably cooked this dish fifty times, so I've had plenty of opportunities to work out what goes wrong and how to fix it.'

'It’s your party piece, is it?'

'Yeah, the next time you come for dinner, you’ll probably get pasta with shop-bought sauce or a jacket potato with cheese. This is me at my absolute culinary peak, so I hope you appreciate the effort.'

‘Noted.’ Darby laughed and joked, adoring that he’d mentioned a next time because most certainly she was up for a next time. She bantered and loved it. 'I'm very flattered that you've deployed your skills for my benefit.'

'I aim to please.'

About fifteen minutes later, the chicken dish was wearing a lovely scattering of fresh parsley, Darby’s wine had been topped up, and a green salad had appeared in a very nice wooden serving bowl.

Sitting at a small table by one of the kitchen windows with the killer view and with two candlesticks flickering away, Darby felt dreamlike and there was the ‘H’ word again, only this time it was wearing a capital.

Happy. In fact, all the letters were capitals.

Archie dished up a couple of portions. 'Right then, let's see if this is as nice as it looks.’

The first mouthful confirmed that he had been underselling his culinary abilities just like he’d waved off the fabulousness of his house.

How attractive was that? Mmm, very. Darby chuckled.

‘You were clearly underselling yourself. I’ll come again, ha.

This is absolutely delicious. I think I need to raise my game. '

'It’s taken me a long time to be able to do this, and let me tell you, when it’s a meal for one, I don’t have this sort of thing.'

Darby nodded and thought about the dreaded toast for dinner she’d had often over the previous few years. 'It's hard to motivate yourself to create elaborate meals when you're only cooking for one sometimes, isn’t it?'

‘Indeed. I lived almost entirely on sandwiches and takeaways for a while because I couldn't see the point of cooking for myself. In the end, I sort of shamed myself into having decent meals.'

‘Oh, I hear you.’

The conversation shifted to Archie’s sons. ‘They stay here every other weekend and for chunks of the school holidays. Having them here regularly was a big part of why I wanted a house rather than a flat. They needed their own space. I miss them when they’re not here, but you know…'

'Oh, I know! When my children left home, I felt like I'd lost my primary job without having any idea what I was supposed to do next. It's strange how much of your sense of self can be tied up in taking care of other people.'

'I still can’t believe you have three adult children and you're forty-one.’

Darby flushed. Funny how when he said the same thing every other person ever said to her, she didn’t mind it. ‘Everyone says that. I was very young and very stupid.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

‘Not stupid as such. I love my girls. They are the best thing that ever happened to me, but I was too young.’ Darby changed the subject.

She didn’t really want to talk about her children, not because she didn’t love them, but because she wanted the date to be all about her.

She pointed to the ceiling. 'What sort of work did the house need? '

Archie took the hint. 'The usual things you get with old coastal properties.

Some of the weatherboards needed replacing, the kitchen and bathroom were stuck in about 1995, and the heating system belonged in a museum, although to be fair, it did still work.

But the structure was sound and the previous owner had maintained everything properly, even if he hadn't updated it. '

'How long did the renovation take?'

'About eighteen months, working on it gradually rather than trying to do everything at once. I wanted to live in it while I was working on it.'

'I keep looking at my place and thinking about all the things I'd like to change, but it feels completely overwhelming, which is why I’ve not done much.'

'The trick is to start with one room and go slowly.'

'Is that the voice of experience?'

‘Oh yes.’

As they ate, Darby was in her element. Happy, relaxed, stuffing her face and chilled out.

What a nice state to be in. The combination of good food, wine, and easy conversation surprised her.

Her previous dates had been nothing short of a disaster.

Sitting, sipping her wine with the view of the harbour framing just about everything, she realised that when she was with Archie, everything had a little sprinkle of sparkle to its edges.

Not just a sparkle to her surroundings, but actually to her .

It had been a while since sparkles had appeared. They’d been gone for a long time.

The conversation flowed. Archie chuckled. ‘Have you got yourself stuck in any vintage fur coats this week?’

‘Gosh, no. I’m scared to go in there again. I have to tell you, though, I have found some amazing things there since I moved to Pretty Beach.’

'What made you decide to move here?’

Darby considered the question. Initially, the move had been because of Molly, who’d been studying not far away.

She’d been having serious money issues and relocating her entire life to a small coastal town where she knew virtually nobody had meant financial security, by way of swapping a large mortgage for a small one, for the first time in years.

‘It was a combo of things, actually. All three of them were moving to various study options and it just worked. The fast train helped. I wanted somewhere that felt like a fresh start, too, you know? If I’m truthful, I wanted to get away from a few things. That side of it was successful.'

'Had you visited here before you moved?'

'A few times. Molly had a friend whose family holiday here every year, which is how she found the course, too. That’s how it started.

We came down a few times on the train and I thought it was lovely.

I looked for a while and nothing came up on the property market.

Moving here was quite a leap of faith, to be honest.'

'Brave. Most people wouldn't relocate somewhere they didn't know well.'

'Or possibly just foolish. There were moments during the first year when I wondered whether I'd made a terrible mistake.

The children went off and did their own thing, which left me not knowing anyone.

It's quite isolating when you don't know anyone and you're not sure how to begin building connections. '

'Has that changed?'

'It’s been time, mainly, but yeah, I love living here. I can’t see myself ever moving.'

‘No. Same.’ Archie got up to get another bottle of wine.

Putting her hand on her chin, Darby looked out at the view. A beautiful night looked back at her. She wondered what would happen next and hoped it wouldn’t disappoint. It wasn’t going to.