Читать книгу Homemaking for the Down-At-Heart - Finuala Dowling - Страница 18

Curtis parked the Toyota at the Clovelly end of the beach and they crossed the railway line. The southeaster was up, blowing sand against the bagged wall, and beyond it onto the tracks and the main road. “Seven maids with seven mops,” said Curtis, trying to be cheerful in the wind.

Pia didn’t mind, even though the sand attached itself to the sunblock on her face. She and Bella ran alongside the dark brown river where it meandered to the sea. The water was still flowing strongly from the last of the rains, causing the sandy river walls to collapse suddenly as they were undermined. Pia slid down the subsiding banks and then scrambled back up to safety. Bella entered the river and simply sat down, enjoying the rush of water through her thick coat.

Curtis went in search of a piece of seaweed to throw for Bella. A lonely figure walked at the water’s edge, stooping to pick up bits of litter deposited by the tide and dropping them into a large garbage bag. It was the widow from Duignam Road, Curtis realised. He greeted her and commended her on her civic-mindedness.

“Terrible that all this stuff gets into the sea, isn’t it?” she said.

“People shouldn’t eat all this junk food anyway,” said Curtis. He frowned at the chip packets, cool-drink containers and the accompanying detritus of screw tops and plastic pull-off strips.

For a while he helped the widow, gathering as much junk as his hands could manage and then jogging back to deposit it in her bag.

“Everything alright with you?” he asked. “Are you managing all alone in the house?”

“I’m planning to sell,” she said. “I’m a bit worried because Edgar never got around to cleaning the mould off the bathroom ceiling. People are very fussy about bathrooms these days, aren’t they?”

“I can do that for you. Let me come by tomorrow.”

“My dear, I couldn’t put you to all that trouble. I’ll get a handyman in.”

“No, no. He’ll charge you the earth and it’s really such a simple thing. I have a reading lesson to give in the morning at the Mission School. I’ll come by afterwards.”

He jogged back to Pia and Bella feeling elated. Though the sand was soft, his steps were as light as the gavotte by Prokofiev that played in his head.