John brushed a wisp of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “When I was lying in that tunnel last night, hoping to God someone would find us, I kept thinking, This place has been saving my life for years. How could I flatten it? Everything good that has ever happened to me has come about in some way because of Saltwater Nook.” He was looking directly at her, his eyes boring into hers. Annie could hardly breathe.

“Everything?” she asked.

“Everything,” said John. “We’ll make this work. I promise.”

Chapter 87

The café door flew open and Maeve entered, pushing Alfred in a wheelchair.

“Tally ho, chaps!” she shouted. “Get me a coffee, would you, Annie? There’s a girl, the coffee in the hospital tastes like sheep dip.”

Gemma squealed delightedly and rushed at them, hugging first Maeve, then Alfred, who did not look pleased at the attention but took it with good grace, only scowling minimally beneath his shaggy hair.

“How do you feel?” Annie asked.

“Like I drank a several pints of the Atlantic Ocean and got dragged through a cliff,” said Alfred.

“Still, well enough to be a grumpy old bastard, eh?” said Maeve. The insult brought a smile to Alfred’s weathered face.

“Thanks for saving my life, John,” said Alfred. “I’ve come to shake your hand.” He went to get out of the wheelchair but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Stay in the chair, you daft bugger,” said Maeve. She wheeled him over to John, who was unsuccessfully trying to extricate Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle from his lap so that he could stand.

“You can stay where you are as well, young man,” added Maeve forcefully.

John and Alfred did as they were told and shook hands from their seated positions.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been there in the first place,” said John. “I’m sorry if I pushed you into something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“I got a bit overwhelmed, is all,” said Alfred, clearing his throat. “I’m not used to form-filling and timetables. Been my own boss for too long. But nearly drowning, well, it puts things into perspective.”

“What’s going to happen now?” asked Gemma. “Are you going back to the hospital?”

“Ah, yes. Well, we’ve been talking about that,” said Maeve. “Thing is, they couldn’t discharge Alfred if he didn’t have somewhere to go. I’ve got an old brick-built summer house in my garden. It’s not much: drafty as hell and needs a lick of paint. But Alfred has agreed to move into it, see how he gets on. If he likes it, he can stay. It’s not a free ride, you understand,” Maeve went on. “I need help in the garden and things’re always buggering up in the cottage; can’t expect much else from a place that’s been around since George III.”