Harvest Festival

Chapter 1

Isabella was a plump girl with hair the colour of autumn oak leaves and a heart that had recently been cracked by David. He had hardly touched the perfectly adequate lasagne that she made every Friday, suddenly declaring that he ‘needed more space,’ which Isabella had correctly interpreted as ‘met a different girl.’

“You need a break, love,” her mother said. “Get away for a change of air. Don’t mope about him!” Isabella knew that her mother was being polite and not mentioning the breakdown at work. She had just nodded, because that was easier than saying she did not know how to cope.

Isabella’s mind was snapped out of her daydreams as the train hissed like a tired animal, drawing to a halt at the end of the line. She stepped out of the carriage, blinking in the sudden light, squinting at the strip of sea beyond the platform. It was not the blue she had imagined from the website’s glossy photographs; more a dirty grey under a dull sky, but everything else told her that this was definitely the coast. Overhead the gulls cried, wheeling, and the air was filled with scents: salt and chips and sunscreen. She told herself that would be enough.

She dragged her suitcase down the steps, bumping each one, the handle squealing. She had booked for a week but could probably have stayed a month with everything she had packed!

Her bed and breakfast sat on a corner near the sea wall . It was painted cheerful yellow and inside, everything smelled faintly of lavender, coffee and toast. Her room overlooked the beach. She stood with a cup of tea, surveying the rows of striped deckchairs and the occasional dog tugging its owner toward the waves. Finally, Isabella decided to face the daunting task of unpacking. She took out her new bikini first and held it up in front of her body, as if trying to prove to herself she would wear it. It was navy blue with little gold dots and she had felt brave when she bought it, but now she worried that it looked smaller than she remembered. Or perhaps she was bigger? Isabella’s aunt used to call her ‘nicely built,’ which was family-speak for ‘plump but sweet’ . David, had liked that at first, but towards the end, he started using words like ‘lazy’ and when he said she looked ‘comfortable’, it did not feel like a compliment. She should have known then that something was wrong,

Isabella pressed the thought away. This week, she told herself, would be about sun and sea and forgetting.

The first afternoon passed quickly. Isabella strolled barefoot on the sand, feeling it clump and give beneath her feet as she gently licked around a lemon ice cream, staying one step in front of the dribbles melting down the cone. The water was too cold for swimming, but she waded in up to her knees, laughing at herself for squealing when the waves hit. It was there, standing with her skirt clinging wetly to her legs, that she first saw the group.

There were four of them, two women, two men, gathered by a faded parasol. They looked like people from an advert: tanned and laughing; the sort of friends who never took bad photos. One of the women, curvy and dark-haired with a crooked smile, waved at her. Isabella hesitated, wondering if it was a mistake, but then the woman waved again and she waved back.

By the third day, the solitude had begun to feel more like restriction than freedom. The silence was no longer peaceful; it was simply lonely, but that was when she met the group properly. As she sat with her paperback by the promenade, they passed. She recognised the dark haired woman first, but it was the other woman, tall, with hair the colour of wet sand, who stopped.

“You were so brave, going in that water, the other day” she said, smiling. “It was freezing!”

“I thought I’d be fine, but I wasn’t.” Isabella laughed.

That was all it took. They introduced themselves: The tall blonde was Miranda. The men, well built and muscular from manual labour were Tyler and Jay. Finally, the dark haired woman with the crooked smile was Eleanor. Isabella was pleased to see that, up close, Eleanor was not just curvy, but rounded and plump, her pot belly pushing out over her bikini bottoms in a soft dome.

“Come have a drink with us tonight,” Miranda said. “There’s a little bar near the pier. It’s got fairy lights and they have these fire pits. It’s a whole thing.”

Isabella wanted to say no, but Eleanor flashed that shy, crooked smile again and the word caught in her throat. This group appeared so bright, so easy, and maybe it would be better than eating dinner alone.

The Golden Gull turned out to be exactly as advertised: fairy lights strung along warped beams, and as the sun set, benches appeared around small fires on the beach.

Tyler made her laugh, proper laughter, the kind that comes from surprise. Miranda was clearly the ringleader, talking with her hands, spilling anecdotes about people Isabella did not know, but every detail she heard made her wish she did! Jay kept refilling her glass before she even noticed it was empty and Eleanor, sat quietly, watching with an amused smile, occasionally speaking up to ask questions about Isabella’s job, her living situation and relationship status.

By the time she stumbled back to her room, the sea breeze was cool on her face and the sun was beginning to appear over the horizon.

The rest of the week seemed to fall into a pattern. Isabella started wearing her bikini when she went on morning swims. Her plump belly rounded out gently in front of her, proudly on view for the whole word to see. She realised that she had got this confidence from Eleanor, who sat watching with coffee and cake as Miranda joined Isabella in the pool. This should have been followed by afternoons wandering the shops or dozing in the sun, but they always seemed to find her and include her in their adventures. They had a habit of appearing on the beach when she did or inviting her to join them for lunch. Isabella told herself it was just coincidence. People met on holiday all the time and she should enjoy the attention while it lasted. It would only be for a few more days. This was what she had been missing: Inclusion. And a sense of belonging, however temporary

More than once, Isabella was certain she had heard her own name in their whispered conversation, but rationalised that loneliness can make you mishear things.

Isabella was sunburned and a little hung-over, but happy, while she listened to Tyler was talking about their home, a place called Harvest’s End. She listened intently learning that it was a private estate somewhere containing a converted old manor surrounded by forest. He whispered the name in the way people talk about secret gardens or hidden kingdoms.

“We always take a week off in August and come here,” Miranda explained quietly. “It’s sort of our tradition.”

“Do you think they will have found a replacement for the events’ organiser?” asked Jay.

“I hope so!” muttered Eleanor. “I don’t want to do it on top of my other duties!”

They all fell silent, a little too casually and conveniently and Isabella felt a flutter in her chest.

“Oh,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “I’m between jobs at the minute, actually, so maybe… maybe I could be considered?”

“It’s not glamorous,” warned Miranda.

“But it is quiet work,” countered Eleanor. “And it comes with accommodation. I am sure you’d love it, Isa.” Isa: Her nickname in the group. She didn’t really like it, and had to concentrate on trying not to cringe whenever one of them said it. Doing so this time, she missed most of Miranda’s reply.

“…of course, we’d love to have you!” was all she heard, and before she could ask for a repetition, they all clinked glasses. Isabella decided not to worry about it. Her heart gave a small, pathetic leap at the simple prospect of human interaction; she had made new friends!