Page 11 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
‘No, no, no!’ She flung herself forward, arm outstretched like some slapstick action heroine.
A stranger caught her elbow and heaved her up the final step. The doors whooshed shut behind her.
Still standing on the platform, Rose pumped her fist in triumph. ‘She made it!’
Pippa stored her suitcase in the luggage rack and then collapsed into the nearest seat, her chest heaving and laughter bubbling up despite the panic. She had done it. She had actually done it. She’d left the wedding, survived Rose’s driving, outrun the storm, and caught the train by the skin of her teeth. For the first time all day, she felt the faintest spark of exhilaration. The adventure had officially begun. A weekend ofclocks was exactly what she needed.
Puffin Island, here I come!
ChapterTwo
After three hours, the train wheezed into Sea’s End station with a final, dramatic sigh, as if even it was exhausted by the journey. Pippa grabbed her suitcase from the rack, slung the rucksack onto her back, and stepped out of the carriage… only to immediately question every life choice that had led her here.
Rain.
Everywhere.
Thick, wind-driven, utterly unapologetic rain. This was the sort that soaked straight through her wedding dress and made it cling to her calves. She stood on the platform, rain misting around her, hair already frizzing, trainers already soaked through.
A handful of hardy travellers hurried towards the tiny station exit, collars turned up, hoods pulled tight, waterproofs glistening under the platform lights.
‘Brilliant,’ she muttered, hauling both herself and the suitcase towards the road.
A small sign by the station read:Welcome to Sea’s End– Gateway to Puffin Island.
But there was no gateway. Just puddles, wind, and a slick, shining road, with nothing much else in sight.
She pulled out her phone and opened the Uber app. There were no cars available. Then she tried the local taxi number she’d saved earlier… which went straight to voicemail.
Pippa glanced up and down the narrow lane. A single streetlight flickered in the rain. The wind whipped in from the coast and somewhere in the distance, gulls squawked.
‘Oh, come on,’ she mumbled to herself. Then it hit her. Puffin Island was accessible only by a narrow strip of road connecting it to the mainland. A road that disappeared at high tide and no doubt in poor weather conditions like this was totally impassable. She’d read all about it in an article titled ‘Puffin Island: the remote coastal gem where time stands still’. Apparently, so did traffic. Now she was stranded, with every B&B booked and no way to reach the island, and starting to think this whole spontaneous clock conference quest had not been one of her finer ideas. She sat down on her rucksack underneath a canopy and briefly closed her eyes before she stared up at the grey dismal sky.
‘Right. Plan B,’ she mumbled to herself, though she had no clue what that was yet. Possibly shiver until dawn while hoping a cab might magically appear? She was just about to consider whether her luggage could be fashioned into a makeshift bed when she heard a low rumble in the distance.
Looking up, she watched as headlights flicked around the corner and a vehicle rolled to a stop beside her with a gentle cough of its brakes. It was a blue van with hand-painted puffins and a cartoon croissant on the side, along with the words:The Café on the Coast– Founded 1895.
The passenger window rolled down and a blast of warm bakery-scented air hit Pippa full in the face. ‘Are you stranded?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t plan very well and I’m assuming I can’t walk the causeway.’
The girl behind the wheel was about Pippa’s age, her hair scraped into a damp ponytail, rain jacket half-zipped, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with amused disbelief.
‘Absolutely not and definitely not in a wedding dress. Do you need help?’
‘I do. I’m a runaway bride trying to get to Clockmaker’s Cottage on Puffin Island.’
‘Well, that’s a first.’
‘Sorry. That came out dramatic. It’s been quite a day.’
The girl smiled and reached over to pop the door open. ‘I’m Clemmie– co-owner of The Café on the Coast on Puffin Island. Jump in before you drown! I’ll get your case.’
Pippa didn’t need telling twice. She hitched up her soggy train and launched herself into the warm, pastry-scented space. ‘Oh my God,’ she groaned as she settled in the seat and pulled on her seatbelt. ‘This van smells divine.’
As soon as the case was stored in the back of the van, Clemmie climbed back into the driver’s seat. She grinned and handed Pippa a paper bag from the back seat. ‘Lemon drizzle muffin. On the house. You look like you need citrus and carbs.’
Pippa took a grateful bite and actually moaned. ‘I might marry you instead.’
