Читать книгу Ottercombe Bay – Part Three: Raising the Bar - Bella Osborne, Bella Osborne - Страница 6

It could have been the wave dousing her already sodden state, but something made Daisy look up from her perilous position. She was clinging to an ice-cold rock now almost submerged in the sea. She had no idea how long she’d been stranded there. Salt water stung her eyes making it difficult to focus. She blinked rapidly. Daisy wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see, but the sight of Max manoeuvring the inshore lifeboat close to the mouth of the cave was a surprise, and a huge relief. She was safe.

‘Daisy! Stay where you are. Are you hurt?’ His voice was soothing and reassuring. Daisy couldn’t speak for the chattering of her teeth, so she shook her head and cold wet strands of hair lashed at her chilled face stinging her cheeks.

Max handed control of the boat to Jason whilst another man radioed an update. Max leapt from the boat onto the rock in one confident movement. Before she could think how to clamber from the water Max was already lifting her into his arms. She was quickly deposited into the boat and wrapped in foil like an oven-ready turkey. She’d had better days, and somehow she would have to explain to Aunt Coral that Bug was lost at sea. Max jumped back into the boat making it rock turbulently, which broke her train of thought. He gave her a look that her chilled brain struggled to interpret but she guessed it was somewhere between pity and annoyance. Daisy felt the need to explain.

She discovered that forming words with cold lips was extremely difficult. ‘Bug ran off.’

‘Bug came home without you. I was speaking to Coral when the coastguard call came through.’ Max turned away and increased the might of the boat’s engines. Daisy curled up into a tighter ball. Another point to Bug, she thought. The boat skimmed across the water hopping rhythmically over the waves making only a slight spray. The inshore coped effortlessly with the bad weather; if it hadn’t been October and she hadn’t been frozen to the core, she may almost have enjoyed it. Max squinted over his shoulder at her and she averted her eyes.

‘You okay?’ asked Jason. Daisy didn’t want to talk, she just wanted to be warm again. She nodded and pulled the foil blanket tighter around herself. ‘We’ll soon have you warm, Daisy. You’re doing really well.’

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about how foolish she’d been.

A day in bed with Aunt Coral fussing over her was mostly heartwarming but also partly frustrating. Aunt Coral couldn’t seem to get past ‘the what might have happened’, which meant she was checking on Daisy every few minutes and almost drowning her in cups of tea. Once she was checked over by a medic and her body had returned to a normal temperature Daisy was basically fine. Apart from a few scratches on her palms there was no other evidence of her rescue, assuming you didn’t count the front-page news it had generated for the local newspaper who’d made it seem far more dramatic than it had actually been.

The worst part for Daisy was how she felt. She had never felt so stupid in all her life, even including the time she’d sold timeshare in Spain dressed as a pineapple. She’d read stories of people being caught out by the tide and had always thought them idiotic. She had known the tide was coming in but had not registered the speed or that the end of the bay jutted out and would therefore be engulfed by the sea much sooner than the rest of the beach. It was her fault, but it was all because of a tiny canine villain who was getting closer to his goal of doing her in.

Bug was swanning around as if he’d had nothing to do with it and Aunt Coral was crediting him with raising the alarm – in Sea Mist Cottage he was practically a hero. Daisy saw the situation very differently, but she didn’t hold a grudge. She had got herself into that mess so she was the one to take the blame. It showed her how easy it was to get caught out and it made her wonder if something similar had happened to her mother, but then that still wouldn’t explain what she was doing on the beach in the middle of the night in March.

A few days passed, with Daisy spending most of her time chasing up the ecologist for her bat survey and trying to come up with a name for the bar, although it seemed less and less likely it would ever get off the ground. How could her plans be stopped by such a tiny thing as a bat? Who liked bats anyway? They were basically flying mice that featured heavily in horror movies – unless of course they were getting seriously bad PR, although right now she felt it was all justified. She was reaching the despairing stage as the bats had everything going in their favour and she didn’t.

One morning she found herself having a silent weep, which had caught her off guard. She suspected it was a combination of frustration over the bats and delayed shock. As she sat on the floor hugging her knees and waiting for it to pass, Bug marched in, letting the door bang open to announce himself. They stared at each other and Daisy sniffed back a tear. In an unprecedented move Bug trotted over, pawed at her gently and leaned closer and closer to her until he could get near enough to gently lick away her tears. Daisy still didn’t like him being close to her face, but the tender contact softened her heart.

‘Maybe you’re not too bad after all,’ she said, and he answered with a vigorous wag of his tail. Bug tried to lick the rest of her face making her bury her head in her top while he scrambled over her excitedly. Daisy found herself giggling and despite all that was going on, despite everything, she was starting to feel a fraction brighter.

After three weeks the shock of Daisy’s rescue had waned and things were getting back to normal. Aunt Coral had stopped asking her how she was every five minutes and she hadn’t gone over the ‘what could have happened’ scenario for at least twenty-four hours. Today was the day of the ecologist’s visit and someone from the local bat group had arranged to meet Daisy at the railway building shortly before the ecologist. They were meeting at dusk, which sounded all very cloak and dagger to Daisy.

Daisy was sitting on the platform with her legs dangling down and her backside turning numb from the chill of the concrete when she spotted someone enter the car park. It was a stout woman with a ruddy complexion and a powerful stride.

‘I’m Tabitha, Ottercombe Bat Group,’ she said, marching up the platform and thrusting a large hand at Daisy.

‘I’m Daisy,’ she replied, her whole body vibrating with the firm handshake.

‘And you have bats. How exciting.’

‘Not if you have a deadline to meet and a bar to open.’ Daisy couldn’t keep the despondency from her tone.

‘Can I get a look at them?’ asked Tabitha, already scanning the building.

Daisy took her inside and showed her the now resident stepladder and the entrance into the loft space above the toilets supposedly where the bats had set up home, although Daisy hadn’t actually seen any. Daisy left Tabitha with her head in the loft making ahh sounds. A black car pulled up and a slim man in dark clothes got out, put a black folder under his arm and strode over to Daisy. He looked more like someone from a spy thriller than an ecologist. She’d been expecting long hair and a beard at the very least.

‘Miss Wickens? I’m here about the bat emergence survey.’

Before Daisy could get her words out Tabitha was already shaking his hand and introducing herself. ‘I’ll show you what I’ve discovered,’ she said, leading the ecologist inside.

Daisy pulled her old leather jacket around her. She was cold and fed up. Everyone she’d spoken to had told her bats and their roosts were protected and she couldn’t evict them so she already knew what the outcome would be. She had to resign herself to it. She had spent a chunk of Aunt Coral’s money on the family white elephant but at least she could pay her back when she got her inheritance at the end of June. Just thinking about it made it seem a long way away especially if she was going to be twiddling her thumbs for the next seven months.

‘A-hah,’ said Tabitha with gusto, pulling Daisy back from her thoughts. ‘This is where they’re getting in.’ She pointed to the peak of the gable end of the building whilst the ecologist made copious notes. Daisy sighed. She needed to think about shutting up the building permanently – it had been such a waste of time and money.

‘Right,’ said the ecologist, from behind her. Daisy got to her feet, took in a slow deep breath and prepared herself for the worst.

‘You have greater horseshoe bats,’ Tabitha butted in, her broad grin one to rival the Cheshire Cat. ‘They’re quite rare.’ At least someone is pleased, thought Daisy. ‘Sadly this one didn’t make it.’ Tabitha opened her cupped hands to reveal a tiny winged creature and Daisy stepped backwards. The ecologist took the bat from Tabitha and placed it in a plastic bag.

‘It’s a maternity roost,’ said the ecologist, sealing the bag. Daisy was resigned. ‘They’ve all departed now for winter hibernation but they’ll be back next year. It’s important to keep things as unchanged as possible.’

‘Right,’ said Daisy not really taking in what he was saying. Time to board the place up and forget about it.

‘I can’t complete a full survey because the bats aren’t here so I’ll be back in May. But in the meantime you have my permission to continue work.’ He waited for a response but Daisy was just frowning. ‘This explains everything,’ he handed her a leaflet. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Hang on,’ said Daisy blinking. ‘Continue work? How can I have bats and meet hygiene regulations?’

‘It’s fine. They are completely separate. There’s no evidence of bats in the main section of the building, only in one section of the loft area.’

‘What? I just leave them and carry on?’ Daisy was suspicious.

‘Yes,’ said the ecologist and Tabitha together.

‘Brilliant. Thank you,’ said Daisy, struggling to believe this could work but she was willing to give it a go. After all, this man was the expert not her. She waved him off as Tabitha recounted all she knew about the greater horseshoe bat.

‘Thanks for coming,’ said Daisy, trying to stop Tabitha without appearing too rude.

‘It was my absolute pleasure. Please call me as soon as you see the bats return,’ said Tabitha.

‘Of course.’

‘Now I’m off to catch sight of some beaver,’ said Tabitha with a nod. Daisy’s face froze. ‘They’re thriving in the River Otter, you know,’ she added, pulling her hand from her coat pocket. Daisy hoped she didn’t have another dead bat in there. Tabitha handed her another leaflet. ‘Good luck with the bar, you can rely on my support and I’m also a member of the OBOS,’ she said, tapping the leaflet. ‘Goodbye,’ she called heartily. Daisy read the leaflet – ‘Ottercombe Bay Operatic Society presents their rendition of Pinocchio’. She checked Tabitha was out of earshot before she let the laughter escape.

A few phone calls had the workmen all lined up again but they had lost three weeks and the builder wasn’t keen to commit to a finish date. With little else she could do she headed off to a local distillery to increase her gin knowledge.

Aunt Coral’s little car was weighed down with gin on the way home whilst Daisy was buoyed by her experience. She not only understood the fermentation and distilling process in great detail, she also knew exactly what she was looking for in a quality gin.

Daisy had been able to tour the small establishment, which was located in spare farm buildings on the Somerset border, proving you didn’t need a huge factory to set up a craft gin distillery. She was buzzing with all she’d learned, including the origins and history of gin as well as the nitty gritty of understanding subtle differences made by botanicals added during the distilling process and how to describe them to customers. Her big revelation of the day was the discovery that gin was basically juniper-flavoured vodka.

The next day Daisy was in a good mood: the day at the distillery had fired up her enthusiasm and buoyed with new knowledge she was more confident about everything. Her good mood motivated her to take Bug for a walk. She liked the sense of freedom, the smell of the salt air – it calmed her somehow and made thinking easier and clearer. Walking was fast becoming a regular thing. The fact she had Bug with her was a slight downside, but she couldn’t stay mad at him forever.

She was smiling as she strode down to the beach enjoying the bright November day and she was sure she could sense Bug’s excitement radiating up the lead at the prospect of a run on the sand. Daisy couldn’t help replaying the fateful day she’d had to be rescued, thanks to Bug, but when she reached the promenade she could see the tide was in enough to have blocked off access to the rocks and cave. If she let him off he would be confined to the single stretch of beach. They reached the sand and Bug started dancing around her like a lunatic and she knew she’d have to let him off the lead. To bring him here and not let him run around was tantamount to torture and despite Bug’s best efforts to bump her off she wasn’t the vengeful sort. She untangled her legs from the lead now wrapped around them both several times.

She crouched down. ‘Now listen. This is your last chance,’ she told him with a wag of her finger, which he strained hard to lick. ‘If you run off, I swear, I will not bring you again. Got it?’ Bug was snuffling around her feet and let out a giant sneeze as sand got stuck up his nose. ‘I’ll take that as a firm and binding yes.’ She unclipped his lead and he sped off as if his tail was on fire. She chuckled at the sight and realised she was actually becoming quite attached to the small four-legged monster. He charged up and down the beach, darting in random directions whilst Daisy wandered down to the shoreline.

She watched the seagulls; some swooped above her but most of them bobbed up and down on the surface of the water as the waves slowly rolled in. There were definitely fewer gulls this time of year. Daisy wasn’t sure where they went or why a few of them stayed. Perhaps, just like humans, some of them preferred to stay by the sea despite the change in weather.

This time she kept a closer eye on where Bug was, listening out for him running past. After a while she was aware she couldn’t hear the sound of his paws tearing up the sand. She traced the myriad tracks across the beach, scanning for him but there was no sign and a now familiar feeling crept over her. ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo,’ she said into the wind.

Daisy strode up the beach. ‘Bug!’ she called, looking about her for a clue to his whereabouts. There were only the fishing boats, unless he’d already made a bolt for home. She marched over to the nearest row of fishing craft cursing the fact she had thought to trust the manipulative mutt yet again. She rounded the first large fishing boat, her eyes searching for any trace of the dog. Then she heard it, a low growl was coming from up ahead. ‘Bug.’ Daisy rushed on to the next boat and almost flung herself round its stern to see Bug tugging for all he was worth on a tangled mass of something she couldn’t quite identify although the smell made her retch as she stepped closer.

‘Drop it, Bug,’ she instructed just at the moment Bug pulled with all his might and the boat trapping his prize finally let go. Bug got a better hold on it and began dragging it towards Daisy. She could now see it was a large rotting fish with most of its flesh missing but with the addition of plenty of seaweed. Daisy began reversing away. ‘Bug,’ she warned. ‘Don’t you dare.’ But Bug was already proudly heaving it in her direction. She stepped backwards and was soon jogging back across the beach with Bug and the rotting fish in hot pursuit.

If she had been watching from a safe distance she probably would have laughed but with Bug, the evil genius, closing in on her with his new favourite thing in the world she was not seeing a funny side. She turned to see Bug on her heels and she could have sworn he was grinning. She was momentarily distracted by the billowing seaweed- wrapped skeleton, which was to be her downfall; her foot caught on a piece of driftwood and in slow motion she tumbled backwards landing with an uncomfortable thud as Bug took a leap with the rotting fish corpse flying behind him like something from a cheap zombie movie. Daisy let out a yelp as Bug plonked the fish remains onto her chest and sat down on her stomach looking almost obedient. The smell was overpowering.

‘If you are expecting praise you can think again,’ she said, clipping on his lead and scrambling to her feet. She brushed off the fish carcass and seaweed tangle. ‘Eurgh. Disgusting.’ Bug made a lunge to grab back his prize but Daisy was quicker and she pulled him away brushing at her coat to check there were no remnants although the smell had already clung effectively to her. Bug trotted along beside her looking mightily pleased with himself and she hid a small smile, he was a little sod but despite everything he was growing on her.

Almost as if he sensed her warming to him he decided to squat down and do a steaming poo that, considering the size of the dog it had come out of, defied the laws of physics. But Daisy was somehow still in a good mood and she triumphantly waved a poo bag at him while he haughtily kicked up the grass around his deposit. Daisy steeled herself, put her hand inside the poo bag and swiftly scooped up the excrement. She had taught herself to be prepared for the smell by taking a deep breath beforehand and holding it until the poo was safely bagged, but she was never prepared for the warmth now heating up her fingers through the thin plastic bag. She retched as she tried to tie the knot whilst still not breathing in.

She caught Bug looking at her with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, it looked like he was laughing. Eventually the bag was secure and she could breathe again. She was quite proud of herself, although with her walking behind Bug carrying his crap in a bag she did wonder who was the superior race.

When she reached the Mariner’s Arms, Max was coming out. Her first thought was ‘that man rescued me’, but there was a second thought right behind it. Oh cock, she thought as Max saw her and his eyes travelled to the swinging bag of poo. It wasn’t a sophisticated look and she tried to hide the bag behind her back although she knew it was too late. Max was already grinning.

‘Someone’s been busy,’ he said, crouching down to praise Bug who lapped up the attention.

‘I’m glad I’ve seen you,’ she said.

‘Yeah, why?’ Max was still fussing over Bug.

‘I wanted to thank you – for the rescue and everything.’ She felt embarrassed and it had nothing to do with the poo bag behind her back.

Max raised and dropped his shoulders. ‘You’re welcome. It’s what we do. Good to see you’ve got him on a lead today.’

She opened her mouth but decided confessing to letting him off wasn’t going to do her any favours.

‘Here,’ said Max, handing her a slip of paper from his pocket, which she took with her free hand. ‘I’ve been meaning to give you this. I spoke to the owner of the Gin Bar in Exeter.’ Daisy read the note. ‘Ross says you’re welcome any time but Tuesday nights are quiet if you want to talk to him. He’ll share his contacts and stuff.’

‘Are you a regular there too?’ she asked.

‘No, I taught his kids to swim and he’s invited me over a few times.’

‘Thanks, this is great. I’ll probably go next Tuesday. The sooner the better.’

‘Jason seems quite keen to go too. Assuming you want company?’

‘Sure, that’d be good. Thanks for this, Max.’

The silence that followed was awkward and Daisy found herself staring at Max’s eyelashes before she gave herself a jolt. They were exceptionally long.

‘Right, thanks,’ she said again inadvertently waving the bag of poo at him. ‘I’ll let you know about Tuesday.’ And with that Daisy, Bug and a full bag of poo hurried off into the evening.

Daisy felt odd and she spent the walk back to the cottage mulling over why that was. She hadn’t seen Max since the rescue and whilst she had felt a total idiot at the time those feelings had passed. Something had changed, like sand beneath a wave. There was a lot more to Max than she’d given him credit for; anyone who put themselves in danger voluntarily was worthy of further consideration.

Back at the cottage Aunt Coral was curled up in the living room watching her soaps. Daisy shut the door and stayed in the hall, she didn’t want to disturb her. She crouched down to unclip Bug and the smell hit her. ‘You stink.’ The stench of rotten fish hung over the small dog like a cloud. ‘Come on, it’s bath time.’ She’d seen Aunt Coral do it. She knew which was Bug’s shampoo. How hard could it be?

Daisy soon knew the answer. She had put a few capfuls of doggy shampoo in the bath and added a couple of inches of lukewarm water. She had picked Bug up but she wasn’t entirely sure what had happened next because now she was covered head to toe in foam along with half the bathroom, although Bug had barely got his feet wet. Every time she put him in the bath he frantically scrabbled about creating masses of foam until he managed to jump out. Catching him was tricky, he could duck and weave better than a New Zealand All Black. Bug pawed at the bathroom door to get out.

‘No way. You’re not leaving here without a bath.’ She put more water in the tub; perhaps her water to bubble ratio was off, she wondered. As the water level increased so did the bubble mountain. It rose above the edge of the bath and both Daisy and Bug watched it grow like an out-of- control experiment. Perhaps she’d put too much shampoo in? She switched off the water, put her arm in to check the temperature and then turned her eyes on Bug – he just gave his usual wide-eyed stare.

‘Right,’ said Daisy. She meant business and lunged towards him. Anticipating his dash to her left she grabbed the wriggling bundle and deposited him in the bubble-filled bath and he promptly disappeared. Daisy parted the bubbles but there was no Bug. Could he drown in that much water? She started to panic and frantically swept giant lumps of foam out of the way and onto the bathroom floor. ‘Bug,’ she called. It wasn’t that big a bath, where the hell was he? She could hear him scurrying about under the suds but she couldn’t see him. As she gave one big sweep of her arm to remove another layer of bubbles the bathroom door burst open. Daisy jumped in fright and Bug leaped up from the foam, out of the bath and escaped downstairs trailing streams of bubbles behind him.

Aunt Coral surveyed the foam-covered bathroom and Daisy who looked like she’d stuck her head in an out-of-control candy floss machine. ‘What happened?’ asked Aunt Coral looking bewildered.

‘Bath time,’ explained Daisy, blowing foam off her nose.

‘For whom?’ asked Aunt Coral, shaking her head and retreating fast.