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  He got in the car beside Mum and directed her to the alleyway. It was a tight squeeze to get the car slotted in the space and Mum’s always been rubbish at parking. She made one attempt. Two attempts.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Mike said gently. ‘How about swinging the steering wheel round, backing in – no, no, the other way!’

  ‘Oh God, I’m hopeless!’ said Mum.

  ‘No, you’re not. It’s blooming difficult parking here. It takes ages to get used to it. Do you want another go – or would you like me to back it in?’

  ‘You do it, please!’

  Mike had the car properly parked in a matter of moments. He didn’t crow though, he just shrugged and smiled when Mum thanked him. We got the two cases out of the boot, and Mike insisted on carrying them for us. I carried his paints and his art folder and his folding easel, feeling very important. I hoped people would look at me and think I was the real artist.

  ‘OK, here we are, Primrose Terrace. Which guest house do you fancy?’

  We gazed up and down the street. They were tall narrow Victorian houses painted in pretty pastels, pale yellow, pink, peach and white.

  ‘Which do you think, Beauty?’ said Mum. ‘What about the one that’s painted primrose yellow to match the name of the terrace?’

  ‘That’s quite a good choice,’ said Mike. ‘But maybe . . . ?’

  ‘There’s the pink one,’ said Mum.

  ‘Not pink,’ I said, and Mike nodded in agreement.

  ‘OK, OK, the peach one. That’s got lovely roses in the garden,’ said Mum.

  ‘Mmm. Maybe,’ said Mike. He was looking towards the white house at the end. I laid his art stuff down carefully and ran to have a proper look at it. It had a shiny green door and green willow-leaf curtains and there were white flowers painted on a sign above the door. I read the name – and came flying back to Mum and Mike.

  ‘We have to stay in the white one at the end. It’s called Lily Cottage!’

  ‘Excellent choice,’ said Mike. ‘Let’s see if they’ve got any vacancies.’

  We walked up to Lily Cottage. I rang the bell. We waited. I rang again. Nothing happened.

  ‘They’re obviously not in,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe we’d better go next door after all.’

  ‘Or maybe I can let you in?’ said Mike, producing a key. He put it in the lock and opened the door with a flourish.

  ‘It’s your house!’ said Mum, laughing.

  ‘It’s how I earn my living,’ said Mike, grinning. ‘I’ve got a double bedroom free with an en suite bathroom and a sea view. It’s my best room and very cheap. Come and take a peek. I hope you like it.’

  It was a lovely old-fashioned room with a patchwork quilt on the bed, a rocking chair in the corner, two comfy armchairs with flowery cushions, a scarlet Chinese storage chest – and Mike’s bright paintings all round the white-washed walls.

  ‘We’ll definitely take it!’ said Mum.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ said Mike. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on. I’m sure you’d like a cup of tea.’

  ‘I wish this was our home,’ I said to Mum, when he’d gone downstairs.

  ‘Oh Beauty!’ Mum sighed and opened her handbag, taking out her mobile. ‘I think we’d better phone home.’

  ‘What? We’re not going back, are we?’

  ‘No, no. But it’s only fair to let your dad know where we are. You’re his daughter. I can’t just whisk you away and not let him keep in contact.’

  ‘Not yet though, Mum. We’re on holiday.’

  ‘Well, I think we should just reassure him that you’re all right.’

  Mum switched on her phone. It immediately started beeping and beeping with many messages. Mum held it at arm’s length, as if she thought it might explode. She pressed the first text message, the second, the third, so quickly that I couldn’t read them. She listened to the first recorded message. She kept the phone pressed to her ear but I could still hear a few words. They were mostly rude swear words.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe we’ll wait until tomorrow,’ and she switched the phone off again.

  Fifteen

  I woke up to see the sun streaming through a chink in the curtains. It was going to be another lovely sunny day in Rabbit Cove! I lay quietly beside Mum, fingering the stitching on the patchwork quilt, looking at each seaside picture in turn. Then I heard a loud mewing right outside the window. I jumped up and pulled back the curtains. Two seagulls were balancing boldly on the window ledge, tapping their beaks on the glass in a jaunty fashion.

  ‘Shoo!’ I said, tapping back at them.

  They flew off and I wondered what it would be like to soar effortlessly up into the sky. I spread my arms and whirled round and round the bed.

  ‘Whatever are you doing?’ Mum mumbled.

  ‘Just having a little fly,’ I said.

  ‘You are such a funny kid,’ said Mum, sitting up and stretching. ‘Are you happy, babes?’

  ‘Ever so ever so ever so. I simply love it here. Can we go on the beach again and have another picnic?’

  ‘Of course we can.’

  ‘And do you think Mike was serious about letting me do oil painting?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘He’s so nice, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a sweetheart. I’m sure he’s not charging us the full rate for the room – but I’m not going to argue!’ said Mum. She sniffed. ‘Can you smell bacon? Mmm!’

  We had a quick bath and then went downstairs to the breakfast room. There were two sets of couples wearing jeans and big woolly socks over their boots, obviously all set to walk along the coast path, and a family with a little boy and a toddler.

  Mike rushed in and out of the room in a big navy striped apron, bringing veggie sausage breakfasts for one walking couple, bacon and egg and black pudding for the other, baked beans on toast and boiled eggs with soldiers for the family. Mum just wanted a bacon sandwich but I had a big plate of everything – and it was delicious. Mike was too busy to chat much, though he found the walkers a special map and he gave the two little boys some tiny cars to race up and down their arms and round and round their plates.

  When the walkers and the family had all finished Mike came and sat down at our table and had a cup of tea with us. It made us feel special.

  ‘What are you two ladies planning for today?’ he said.

  ‘The beach!’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to clean all the bedrooms and do a spot of shopping this morning,’ said Mike. ‘But this afternoon I’ll be down on my usual patch with my paints, and you’re very welcome to come and do a bit of daubing too, Beauty.’

  Mum and I had another lovely lazy morning at Rabbit Cove and a picnic on the beach. The family with the two little boys were on the beach too. I built a real sandcastle down on the damp sand near the sea and they came and ‘helped’ me, finding shells and seaweed to decorate it and pouring water from their buckets to make a moat.

  Then Mike arrived and he had a small canvas specially for me! He’d even brought me a piece of board to mix my colours on and two different brushes, one fat, one thin.

  ‘OK, what are you going to paint?’ said Mike. ‘A seascape?’

  ‘I think I’d like to do a portrait, a made-up one. Is that all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course it is, funny girl! You can paint whatever you want.’

  So I sketched out a big figure that nearly filled the whole canvas. I squeezed dabs of blue and black and brown and red and white paint on my palette and got started. It was such fun sploshing on the thick paint. It stayed obediently where I put it; it didn’t slop all over the place like watercolour. If I made a mistake I could just wipe it off or decide to paint over it later.

  I painted a man with shiny brown hair and lovely blue eyes. I gave him blue jeans and I fiddled around with the smaller brush, trying to give him a plaid shirt. It was tricky work, but not a lot of it showed because the man was holding a big white rabbit in his arms. It was hard making her look like a