Читать книгу The Beachcomber - Josephine Cox - Страница 11

‘FOR GOD’S SAKE, Kathy!’ Trying unsuccessfully for the umpteenth time to fasten the portmanteau, Maggie sat back on her knees and groaned. ‘What the hell have you got in here … the kitchen sink?’ Suddenly free of her weight, the portmanteau heaved a sigh and up popped the lid. ‘Oh no … not again!’ Throwing herself flat on the floor, arms outstretched and eyes closed, she told Kathy, ‘That’s it, gal. I give up!’

Up to her neck in scattered clothes and half-filled boxes, Kathy threw down the saucepan she was carrying and walked across the room. Leaning over the prostrate figure of her friend, she suggested invitingly, ‘What say we stop for a cup of tea?’

Looking up through one weary, open eye, Maggie wanted to know, ‘Is there any o’ that fruit cake left?’

Kathy rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, I dare say I can find us a piece … but only if you can stop swearing and moaning long enough to eat it!’

Maggie scrambled up. ‘Go on then, gal. Go to it.’

While Kathy busied herself at that, Maggie made another attempt to close the portmanteau lid, whooping and hollering when it finally clicked into place. ‘But you can carry it down the stairs!’ she warned Kathy as they sat at the table with their tea and cake. ‘I’ve got a date on Thursday.’ She chuckled naughtily. ‘I’d rather not turn up ruptured … if you know what I mean?’

Kathy gave her a warning in return. ‘As long as you don’t end up pregnant instead!’

Maggie was indignant. ‘No chance. I’m not that stupid!’

‘All the same, be careful. You know as well as I do … blokes are only ever out for one thing.’

‘Not this one.’

Replacing her empty cup on the table, Kathy was curious, ‘Who is he, then?’

‘Just a bloke.’ Shrugging her shoulders, Maggie bent her head to the tea in front of her.

Realising, Kathy groaned. ‘Oh, Maggie! It’s not that cunning devil who kept bothering you the last time we were at the Palais, is it? The one who kept combing his hair and winking every time you turned round?’

Maggie went on the defensive. ‘It might be.’

Sitting back in her chair, Kathy sighed. ‘Maggie! Maggie! Will you never learn?’

Wide-eyed and accusing, Maggie stared back at her. ‘What’s wrong with him, that’s what I’d like to know?’

‘Well, for starters, he’s vain and arrogant, and for another, didn’t you see his snidey “mates”, sniggering and carrying on behind him?’

‘So?’ Now she was really on the defensive.

Undeterred, Kathy spelt it out. ‘So … they were egging him on. You said that yourself.’ She was convinced. ‘I reckon he’s trying to get off with you for a bet.’

‘I asked him that and he denied it,’ Maggie answered sulkily.

‘Oh, did you now?’ This was something Kathy had not been aware of. ‘So, you thought the same, did you? You never told me.’

Maggie didn’t like being cornered. ‘All right, it did cross my mind that he just might be trying it on for a bet, but he wasn’t.’ Leaning forward, she gave Kathy one of her ‘leave me alone’ stares.

Kathy got the message. ‘Okay, I won’t say another word.’

‘Good!’ Sighing loudly, she told Kathy, ‘I really like him. Anyway, I know how to look after myself.’

‘Fair enough.’ Not wanting to upset her, Kathy backed off. ‘Just be wary, that’s all I’m saying.’ Her own mistake with Geoff was in her mind.

Secretly, Maggie still had her own doubts about her date, but she was feeling lonely already, and Kathy hadn’t even gone yet. ‘What about you?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’

Kathy gave a half-smile. ‘No.’

‘Then don’t do it.’

‘It’s too late now. I’ve broken it off with Geoff, I’ve left my job, my flat’s been rented out to someone else and, thanks to you, I’m already packed.’ Glancing at the portmanteau, she laughed. ‘If it bursts open on the train, I’ll pretend it’s not mine.’

At that, Maggie laughed with her, before making a serious suggestion. ‘If you change your mind, you know they’ll give you back your job, because they said so. And you can always bunk in with me until you find another flat.’

Kathy thanked her, but, ‘This is something I have to do, Mags,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘I believe that house at West Bay was left to me for a purpose. Dad wanted me to have it, and I need to go there.’

‘Well, yes, I understand that, but why can’t the pair of us go together … just for a week, to get the lie of the land. There’s no need to throw away everything, not when you’re not sure what you might be walking into.’

Kathy didn’t see it that way. ‘We’ve been through all this, Mags, and I’m still determined to go … though I wish you were coming with me, at least for a holiday.’ Lowering her voice, she tried to explain how she felt. ‘I’ve no family to speak of … except you. I work hard and pay my bills and sometimes I can’t see the point of it all. I’m not happy, Mags … I haven’t been since Dad … well, not for a long time, and what with Mother always on my back, and Samantha whining and moaning at every little thing, I think I’d have gone crazy if it wasn’t for you.’

‘But look, Kathy … packing up and moving to a strange place … to a broken-down old house you’ve never even seen?’ Pausing, she let the words sink in. ‘It’s such a drastic step.’

Kathy was unmoved. ‘But I’ve got nothing to lose.’ She gave a smile that was meant to put all Maggie’s doubts aside. ‘I’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

Maggie was still not convinced. ‘It’s just plain daft if you ask me! Look at what you’re doing. You’ve got two weeks’ wages and a week’s holiday pay, and a few savings – that ain’t gonna last long, is it? And from what your mother told you about the place being “derelict”, you could be walking into a right dump.’

Kathy laughed. ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

Maggie persisted. ‘But how do you know, eh? You haven’t even seen it. What if it’s so bad you can’t even live in it, then what? All right, you could check into a hotel, but then your money will be gone faster than you can catch the next train back … that’s if you’ve got the fare.’

She was desperately worried. ‘Think again, Kathy. Give me a few days and I’ll get time off to go with you. It’s at the coast so there must be caravans there. We’ll rent one for a week and get the house sorted out at the same time. It’ll be fun. Oh, Kathy! Say you will?’

Kathy was half tempted, but on reflection her resolve hardened. ‘My mind’s made up. I’m catching the half past ten train and I’ll call you when I get there.’ She loved Maggie and didn’t want her worrying. ‘Look, if you like you can still ask for time off and follow me down. I’d like that.’

‘I’m not staying in no “derelict” house, though!’ Maggie was adamant. ‘I’m not as daft as you.’

Kathy laughed. ‘No, you’re dafter, or you wouldn’t be going out with that bloke.’

Maggie gave her a playful thump. ‘We’ll see.’

Kathy asked hopefully, ‘Do you think you will be able to get time off?’

‘I’ll have a damned good try.’

Returning to stand the case on its end, she groaned when trying to lift it. ‘Like I said … I’m not carrying this thing down the stairs.’

‘Stop moaning, you don’t have to,’ Kathy explained. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi. The driver can take it down the stairs, and the porter will carry it for me at the station.’

Maggie gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that. Let them get the ruptures!’

There was still a lot more to do before the taxi arrived. ‘These are the boxes to be collected for the charity shop.’ Kathy closed the last box. ‘And the rest is to be left for the landlord.’ Pointing to a piled-up sofa, she told Maggie, ‘He paid me a few bob to leave all the curtains, bedding, rugs and towels … oh, and a few ornaments I don’t have use for. He wants to keep it all for his next tenant.’

Maggie tutted. ‘Tight git! You’d think he’d at least get some new stuff.’

Kathy agreed, but said, ‘He’s tight-fisted with his money. That’s why he’s rich and we’re not.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Maggie retorted. ‘He’s rich because he bought two houses along the street for next to nothing, and made them into eight flats.’ She pulled a face that made Kathy laugh out loud. ‘… And because he’s a tight git!’

‘You’re right.’ Kathy had to agree. ‘We’d best get a move on or I’ll miss the train.’ She began checking each room. ‘Best make sure everything’s all right before we leave,’ she told Maggie. ‘I don’t want him to think I keep an untidy, dirty place.’

Maggie followed her. ‘If he wants to see untidy –’ she was not surprised to note that every room was neat and clean as a new pin – ‘he’d best come and see my place.’

They were startled when a man’s voice boomed out behind them, ‘Taxi for the station. Would that be you two?’ A large man with a beer-belly and a thick, gruff voice filled the doorway. ‘Well? Did you order a taxi or didn’t you? I ain’t got all day.’

‘It’s me.’ After the initial shock of this big man with the booming voice, Kathy leapt into action. ‘If you could please take the portmanteau down, I need to collect a few things. I’ll be right behind.’ She straightened her jacket and picked up her hat and gloves from the side.

As he walked towards the portmanteau, Maggie dodged into the bedroom. Without delay, Kathy followed, the pair of them peeping round the corner as he lifted the article. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What the bloody hell’s she got in ’ere?’

‘See, I told you it was heavy!’ Digging Kathy in the ribs, Maggie was bursting to laugh. ‘I bet you’ve ruptured the poor devil!’

Red-faced and grunting, he carried it across the room and out the door, moaning and groaning as he bounced it down one step after another. ‘I wish he’d be careful,’ Kathy declared as they emerged from their hiding-place. ‘He might break it.’

‘Yes, and he might “break” your bleedin’ neck if you say anything.’

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the charity people to collect the boxes. ‘Every little helps,’ the bottle-blonde said with a grateful smile. ‘We have all kinds of people who come into the shop and buy this kind of bric-à-brac.’

Maggie had a naturally suspicious nature. ‘If you ask me, they were a dodgy pair!’ she said as they left. ‘I bet you they’ll be straight round the market and flog the bleedin’ lot.’

‘Don’t be so cynical,’ Kathy chided. ‘These people do a good job.’

Maggie didn’t answer: she knew what she knew and that was that.

As the two of them left the house, the irate driver rounded on Kathy. ‘I hope you realise this meter’s ticking?’ he asked pointedly. Before she could answer, he grabbed Kathy’s bag and threw it in the back. ‘I recall somebody saying they had a train to catch, and it won’t be my fault if she misses it!’

Behind him, Maggie was laughing.

When it was time to leave, Kathy hugged her friend tight. ‘I’ll call you when I get there,’ she promised. ‘Remember what I said … take care of yourself.’

Maggie’s bottom lip began to tremble. ‘You too,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll ask for time off, so’s I can come and help you settle in.’

As Kathy climbed into the taxi, Maggie apologised. ‘I really should be coming to the station with you.’

Kathy dismissed her worries. ‘There’s no use you coming with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on the train as soon as ever I get there. Besides, you’ve had three warnings about being late already.’

‘Hmh! She’s just a frustrated old cow.’

As the driver pulled away, Kathy saw how down Maggie was. ‘Stop worrying,’ she called out the window. ‘I’ll be all right.’

Maggie waved her out of sight. ‘I’ll miss yer, gal.’ Thrusting her hands into her jacket pocket, she turned to look up at the flat, bowed her head, and walked away. ‘That old cow had best let me have time off,’ she muttered. ‘I need to know that Kathy’s all right.’

She quickened her step, the merest whisper of a smile beginning to wipe away the misery. ‘First, though, I’ve a date coming up, and a new frock to buy.’ With that in mind, she headed straight for the nearest shop. It was the surest thing to take her mind off her troubles.

The minute the taxi stopped, Kathy was given her first instruction. ‘If yer think I’m lifting that portmanteau again, you’ve another thought coming,’ the taxi-driver growled. ‘So, if you want to catch that train, you’d best find a porter … and make sure he’s built like a navvy, or he’ll never lift the damned thing.’

Giving him a hard look, Kathy ran off to see if there was a porter about. She eventually found one, but he was built more like a nanny than a navvy. ‘Huh! Is that the best you could do?’ the taxi driver asked Kathy in a loud, insulting voice. Addressing the porter, he gave a snide little grin. ‘If you can lift that out of the boot, I’ll not charge her a penny fare.’

The porter winked knowingly at Kathy, then he glanced into the open boot at the huge portmanteau. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said. Walking from side to side, he took a moment or two to mentally assess the size and weight of the article.

‘Go on then!’ the big man urged with a nasty chuckle. ‘It won’t leap out the more you look at it.’ He thought the porter was a bad joke.

As for Kathy, her bet was on the porter. At least he seemed confident.

With Kathy on one side and the big man on the other, the little porter took hold of each corner and, easing the portmanteau forward, got it to the edge of the boot. ‘The bet’s only on if you lift it out!’ the big man grumbled. ‘Dropping it off the edge onto the barrow don’t count.’

The porter never said a word; instead he looked up at the taxi-driver with a disdainful stare. Then he spat into the palms of his hands, rubbed them together, and with one mighty heave lifted the portmanteau in the air. With immense courage he held it aloft for the slightest moment, before dropping it thankfully to the barrow.

By this time, Kathy was leaping and dancing about. ‘HE DID IT!’ she cried. ‘He lifted it out, and I don’t owe you a fare.’ In a mad moment of triumph she vigorously shook the porter by the hand, until she remembered how he’d spat into it. Discreetly wiping it on her skirt, she thanked him. ‘Even I didn’t think you could do it,’ she apologised lamely.

‘You’d be surprised at what we’re asked to lift,’ the porter revealed proudly. Glancing at the big man, he made a suggestion. ‘A tenner says I can lift you straight off your feet!’

The other man’s answer was a rude gesture, and the quickest exit from the station the porter had ever witnessed.

A moment later, after Kathy got her ticket, she and the porter headed towards the train, which had just pulled into the station. ‘I’d best get this on board for you,’ he suggested. ‘We don’t want you doing an injury to yourself, do we?’ He was also thoughtful enough to get a promise from the attendant that he would take it off at the other end.

Slipping him a generous tip, Kathy thanked him, and he wished her good day.

Once on the train, she settled into her seat. ‘I’m on my way,’ she murmured, ‘West Bay, here I come!’ Even though she was somewhat nervous, there was still a sense of great excitement. After all, as she constantly reminded herself, she was about to start a whole new life.

The train went straight through from London to Weymouth.

Throughout the long journey, she read snatches of the newspapers left by previous passengers, and occasionally struck up desultory conversations with passengers nearby. She bought two drinks from the trolley that was pushed lazily up and down by some weary woman – and had to run to the loo a couple of times for her troubles.

On the final leg of the journey, she gazed out the windows at the scenery, wondering about the house in West Bay and the woman who had shared it with her father. Several times she murmured the name ‘Liz’, and each time she had a different image in her mind.

Finally she fell asleep, waking only when the conductor alerted her that they had arrived at Weymouth Station.

After disembarking, she secured another porter. He told her the best way to get to West Bay was by bus to Bridport and taxi, although, ‘I reckon you’ve already missed the last one.’ Luckily she hadn’t: at the information desk she was relieved to hear, ‘The last bus is about to leave in ten minutes.’ The clerk pointed her in the right direction, and the bus conductor took charge of her trolley and portmanteau – though he had a word or two to say when lifting the portmanteau into the hold – and soon Kathy was off on the last leg of her adventure.

Dropped off in the town of Bridport, Kathy had to travel the final mile or so in a taxi. ‘Barden House, you say?’ The driver knew the house. ‘Used to take a gentleman there … he was from London, too.’ Much to Kathy’s astonishment he went on to describe her father. ‘Though I haven’t seen him this past year or so,’ he said. ‘There was a woman – his wife, I expect – lovely lady, or so they say. I never met her myself. It seems the house is empty now … in need of some tender loving care.’ He smiled at her through his mirror. ‘Sorry to be going on a bit, you must be tired after your journey. I’m afraid idle gossip goes with the job.’

Kathy assured him she was interested. ‘I’ll be staying at the house,’ she told him.

They chatted all the way to West Bay. Kathy didn’t learn any more; except that her father would turn up every now and then, and after a while he would leave. When the taxi came to collect him, the woman would wave from the window apparently, but she never came out. ‘They do say as how she was a shy little thing.’

Kathy did not enlighten him as to her identity. It was better that way, she thought.

By the time they got to West Bay, the sun had gone down. The first sighting she got of the house was when they turned the corner and he declared, ‘There she is, Barden House. Looking a bit more tired than the last time I saw her.’

He drew up and got her portmanteau out of the boot. ‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out, Miss,’ he said, casting his eye over the run-down garden. ‘Shame. It’s such a lovely house an’ all.’

Kathy wasn’t listening. Having got out of the taxi, she stood gazing at the house, through her own eyes and, inevitably, through the eyes of her father. Bathed in the soft light of a nearby street-lamp, the house gave off a warm, welcoming feel: even though, as the driver said, the paint was peeling off the window-sills and the garden resembled a jungle, the house was pretty as a picture.

In the half-light it was impossible to see the extent of disrepair, but the house seemed strong, square in structure, with wide windows and a deep porch. Myriads of climbing flowers had grown over the porch, their many tentacles drooping down either side, like two arms embracing. Kathy thought there was a peculiar enchantment about the place.

Now that she was really here, actually here, at the house where her father and his love had hidden away from the world, Kathy began to realise the happiness he must have found here.

Her thoughts were shattered when the taxi-driver exclaimed, ‘How in God’s name did you manage with this!’ Puffing and panting, the driver half-carried, half-dragged the portmanteau to the front door. ‘It weighs a ton.’

Apologising, Kathy got the house-key from her bag and opened the front door. ‘Just drop it inside, if you don’t mind,’ she asked. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

When the front door swung open, the musty smell wafted out to greet them. ‘You’d best get the place checked out for damp,’ the driver suggested. ‘Being close to the water an’ all, you never know.’

Fumbling for the light-switch, Kathy groaned when there was no response. ‘Maybe the bulb’s gone,’ she said hopefully.

‘I wouldn’t like to say.’ The driver also tried the switch, to no avail. ‘The house has been empty a long time. They’ve probably cut off the electric. Water, too, I should imagine.’

Going back to the car for a torch, he tried every switch downstairs and still there was nothing. ‘There’s a guest-house back down the road a bit,’ he suggested. ‘If you ask me, you’d be better off booking in there, at least until you can get the electric back on.’ He shivered as the damp took a hold of him. ‘You can’t stay here,’ he said, ‘you’ll catch your death o’ cold.’

Kathy was torn: she wanted so much to stay in the house, yet she knew the driver was right. It was chilly, even in July, and the electric was definitely off. Even if she stayed the night, she wouldn’t be able to sleep for the cold, and in the morning there would be no hot bath. Besides, she didn’t know if there were clothes on the bed, or clean sheets anywhere; if there were, would they be damp and mouldy? ‘I should have travelled overnight,’ she muttered. ‘At least I could have got things sorted out in daylight.’

Checking in at a guest-house was the only solution as far as she could see, but it was not what she wanted; anyway, she didn’t have money to throw away on such luxuries. It was a dilemma and, the more she thought about it, the more she was tempted to stay in the house, however cold and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Maggie’s remark came into her mind. ‘It’s the seaside, ain’t it? There’s bound to be caravans.’

Excited, she asked the driver, ‘Is there a caravan site round here?’

He nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, yes, there is …’ He realised her line of thinking and approved. ‘I’ll take you there. It’s just the other side of the harbour.’

He was about to trundle the portmanteau back to the car when Kathy had an idea. ‘If you’ll lend me your torch for a minute, I’ll take only what I need for tonight.’

So, while he went to turn the car round, Kathy opened the portmanteau. She took out a clean set of undies, which she thrust into her bag, and grabbed the toiletries bag. Then she shut the portmanteau and was hurrying down the path in no time.

Passing the harbour, with the boats shifting about and the water making patterns in the moonlight, Kathy thought how beautiful it all was. ‘I can see why you were happy here, Dad,’ she murmured.

‘What did you say?’ The driver strained his ears.

‘Nothing,’ Kathy answered. ‘I was just thinking out loud.’

‘First sign of madness,’ he said, making her smile.

Turning into the caravan park, he asked if she wanted him to wait. ‘If they’ve got nothing for you, I can take you on to the guest-house?’ Thinking it was a sensible idea, Kathy readily agreed.

As it happened, the clerk at the desk was most helpful. ‘We’ve a cancelled booking,’ she told Kathy, ‘but I’m not sure if the manager will let the van out for just one night … in case we have a last-minute request for a long booking.’ All the same, she went away to find him, and when she returned a few minutes later her quick smile and easy manner told Kathy she was in luck. ‘He says we’re not likely to get any other customers tonight, so he’ll take your booking.’

While the clerk got the necessary information together, Kathy went out to the driver and paid him. ‘You’ve been a great help, thank you.’

He wished her well. ‘I know a few useful blokes,’ he told her. ‘Painters, plumbers and such.’ He scribbled down his name and address. ‘Jack of all trades, that’s me,’ he said, before he drove off into the night.

The clerk gave her the keys, a long form to sign and a small cardboard box, sealed over with a length of sticky tape. ‘You’ll find everything you need in there,’ she advised. ‘One night … leaving tomorrow at ten a.m.’ She laboriously scribbled it all into her ledger. ‘You’ll have to pay in advance, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically.

Kathy handed over the money, thanked her.

‘I’ll take you down there,’ the girl said, ‘seeing as it’s dark.’ Grabbing a torch, she led Kathy out of the office, along a lamp-lit, meandering path, through rows of caravans. There, right at the top, stood number eighteen; the number clearly highlighted by the two gas lamps either side of the door.

Once inside the caravan, the girl bustled around, lighting the gas mantels. Staring round at what she could see, Kathy was delighted. In front of her was a tiny kitchen with cooker, and to her left there was a comfortable living area, with seats all round the bay window, and a little table jutting out from the wall. The curtains were bright and cheerful; candy stripes on white in the kitchen; and splashes of flowers against a yellow background elsewhere. To the right a door led into a cosy bedroom. In here, too, the curtains were of a bright, colourful fabric, the same, exactly, as the corner of the eiderdown peeping out. ‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ Kathy exclaimed. ‘Thank you,’ she said to the clerk.

‘My pleasure,’ the girl replied. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ She hurried out, back into the night.

Kathy gazed around once more, thrilled with her good fortune. Suddenly realising she’d had little to eat since early morning, she felt her stomach turning somersaults. Dropping her toiletries and undies onto the bed, she went out, clicking shut the door behind her. ‘There must be a chip shop,’ she mused. ‘It can’t be proper seaside without a fish-and-chip shop.’ After all, there were all those fishing-boats in the harbour.

The clerk put her mind at rest. ‘Go down this road –’ she pointed to the road on the right – ‘you’ll find a chip shop on your left.’ As Kathy walked out the door, she called out, ‘Or you can get a roll at the bar here.’

Kathy declined with thanks. ‘I really fancy fish and chips.’ With mushy peas and a few bits of pork crackling, she thought, licking her lips in anticipation.

As she rounded the corner, she saw a telephone box. ‘I wonder if Maggie’s back from the Palais?’ That was where she planned to spend this evening, Kathy recalled.

One by one, she dropped the coins into the box. The operator took the number, but eventually told her there was no answer. ‘She’s probably still on the town with her new fella,’ Kathy mused, disappointed, as she pressed button ‘B’ to get her coins back.

The further she got down the street, the more Kathy could smell the fish and chips. ‘That’ll do for me,’ she muttered, quickening her steps. At that minute, for many reasons, she wished with all her heart that Maggie was here.

There was a queue in the shop. ‘It’s a ten-minute wait if you want cod,’ the woman told her as she came in the door. ‘Dabs and fish-cakes are quicker.’

Kathy assured her she was willing to wait. ‘I’m in no rush.’

From some way behind in the queue, Tom studied her for a minute. With her face turned slightly away it was difficult to see her features clearly, but he suspected she was very pretty, with that handsome profile and thick, shoulder-length hair. In the short time he’d been in West Bay, Jasper had managed to introduce him to quite a number of people, despite his efforts to keep himself to himself, but he could not recall this particular young woman. His suspicion that she was a new arrival was confirmed when the woman in front of her asked, ‘You’re visiting West Bay, are you?’ Only, I saw you getting out of the taxi earlier.’

Kathy told her that, yes, she was a stranger in West Bay. ‘But I hope I’ll be staying for a while.’ In fact, once she was settled, it was Kathy’s intention to seek work. It was the only way she would be able to pay for the many repairs the house obviously needed.

The queue moved swiftly on. Kathy got her fish and chips and walked away. Dipping into the bag, she wolfed down a chip, which was so hot it nearly burned her mouth out. ‘Be careful,’ Tom warned her with a disarming smile. ‘The chips are always straight out of the fat and scalding hot.’

Kathy laughed, a wonderful free laugh that made others turn round. ‘Serves me right,’ she answered. ‘It’ll teach me not to be so greedy.’ When his dark eyes smiled down on her, she felt a rush of embarrassment. Lord, he’s handsome, she thought. Maggie would be chatting him up if she was here.

As she walked on by, Tom was shocked to his roots. ‘My God!’ Swinging round to watch her leave, he realised he had seen her twice before. This was the same woman who had risked life and limb when she ran out in the street to hail a taxi. The second time he had seen her had been in the churchyard. He could hardly believe it. ‘It can’t be!’ It was inconceivable. And yet here she was again, passing so close to him he could have touched her.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

Deciding to take a walk along the harbour, Kathy was unaware that she had caused such chaos in Tom’s mind, though she was inevitably curious about him. Once or twice she glanced back, smiling. ‘What’s wrong with you, Kathy Wilson?’ she chided herself. ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a good-looking bloke before.’

Munching on her chips, she sauntered over the bridge and on towards the house, where she sat on the garden wall, legs dangling, her quiet eyes taking note of everything: the peeling window-sills, the beautiful solid wood door with its deep-etched panels, and the garden in the foreground with its cavalcade of weeds and giant thistles. ‘So much work!’ she groaned. ‘So much money!’

She must decide how to tackle it, what was urgent, and what could wait until she could afford to get it done.

For a long time she sat there, thinking and calculating and trying desperately to draw a picture in her mind of her father and the woman, Liz. ‘A shy little thing,’ the taxi-driver said, ‘… waved him goodbye from the door.’

Kathy was glad her father had found love and contentment, even if it was only from time to time. ‘I don’t blame you, Dad, for wanting to get away from Mother,’ she whispered. ‘I’m glad you found someone who treated you right … somebody who loved you the way you deserved to be loved.’

A sense of peace took hold of her and for a long minute she was quiet, contemplating her own future. ‘I know why you gave me this house,’ she murmured. ‘You wanted me to be happy here … and maybe, just maybe, to find love.’ She smiled. ‘Already, London seems a long way off. That day, when I took flowers to the churchyard, I had no idea what was in store. I knew nothing about what you’d done … this house, and the fact that you had left it to me in your will.’

She chuckled. ‘You should have seen Mother’s face when she handed the deeds over … I think she’d rather have been handing me a poisoned chalice. And Samantha! What a terrible fuss she made. In the end she got what she wanted – they both have. Mother’s getting wed, secretly hoping he’ll pop his clogs and leave her a rich widow, and Samantha’s been promised the house, and all Mother’s jewellery. What do you think to that, eh?’

A quietness came over her, a kind of resignation. ‘I might be divorced and nearly broke, and you’ve left me a house that needs money spent on it, but I’m richer than either of those two will ever be.’ Kathy truly believed that. ‘Thank you for this lovely house, Daddy,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll look after it, I promise. I’ll get it done up and make it my home.’ With a sense of abandonment, she threw out her arms. ‘I’ll probably stay here for the rest of my life.’

Overwhelmed, she gave vent to her emotions, the tears rolling down her face. ‘I feel close to you here, but, oh, I do miss you so. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know how much.’

From a distance, Tom heard the tail end of her words. Listening to her emotional, one-way conversation he recognised a kindred spirit. ‘She’s just a lost soul … much like yourself,’ he muttered.

Quietly, not wishing to be seen, he went away, back to his cottage and his own company.

That was the way he preferred it.

Not yet ready to return to the caravan, Kathy took a leisurely stroll round the harbour. Leaning on the railings, she finished off her fish and chips and watched the boats in the water. There was something incredibly soothing about watching the water, and here it was like she had never seen before. Where the harbour outlet tapered down to a narrow funnel, the trapped water thrashed against the high walls, moaning and fighting as if trying to escape.

Just now, one of the late fishermen started his boat’s engine and headed it towards this turbulent funnel of water. As it travelled the short distance before it came out into open sea at the other end, the little boat was swayed and pushed dangerously close to the high walls. In the end, though, the fisherman skilfully negotiated the waters, and a few minutes later he was headed for the fishing sites, his lights low and his engine running softly.

Having a fear of deep water, Kathy was filled with admiration.

When the boat was out of sight she screwed up her fish-and-chip paper and tossed it into the nearest bin. After a long, lingering glance at the house, she returned, slightly reluctantly, to the caravan.

Less than an hour later, after a quick wash, she was undressed and in her newly made bed. Moments later, she was fast asleep, wearied by the long journey, and the emotional turmoil of seeing the house, in what she believed was a private moment. If she had realised someone had overheard, albeit innocently, she would have been mortified.

Not far away, in his cottage on the hilltop, Tom was pacing the floor. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts, too active. Kathy had somehow brought back memories of his wife, and now he could not rid himself of everything else that went with it: the guilt, the belief that he should have tried harder to save them, the agony of knowing he would never see them again. Yet even while he tortured himself, he knew he had done everything humanly possible on that day. Thinking about it now merely hardened the rage inside him. He wanted revenge. He could taste it.

But he wasn’t ready yet. Now, just when he thought he was almost on top of it, when he was beginning to feel the time was almost right, his thinking had been thrown into turmoil. By this troubled woman, a pretty stranger who had intruded in his life as though for a purpose.

This evening, after he had inadvertently caught the end of her heartfelt outpourings, he had known her presence here had nothing to do with him. He felt foolish for ever having thought it might be.

All the same, she had unearthed something deep inside him, something he had tried hard not to acknowledge. Feelings of loneliness and need. The normal, manly feelings that were stirred by the sight of a warm, beautiful woman. For a long time now he had felt like half a man. Kathy’s touching words, her open, infectious laughter had only made him realise how lonely he really was.

But what a strange coincidence, he thought, to have seen her three times; twice in his native London, and now here, in this quiet, tucked-away place where he had sought refuge.

Beyond sleep for the moment, he put on his jacket and went out into the night. Up here, out on the cliffs, there were no lamps to light the way, only the moonlight, which hung low in the clearest of skies, shining down like some kindly beacon to guide his footsteps.

Picking his way through the low bracken, he went softly along the well-trodden path towards the cliff-edge, and down, side-stepping, half-climbing, half-sliding, to the bottom. Once he was down on the promenade, he cut round by the wall and onto the beach, almost all of which was now swallowed by the incoming tide. The sound of surging water sang in his ears, and the familiar tang of salt air stung his nostrils.

For a time he walked the beach as he had paced his room: frantic; driven by the same demons that had brought him here. With the sea lapping at his feet, he pushed onwards, to where the ground slipped away into the sea and there was barely enough room for a man to walk.

Once there, where he could go no further, he flattened his back against the rocks, a man alone with his troubles, his eyes raised to the heavens, and his heart breaking.

After a while, as always these days, his heart was calmed, his mind quieter. He began his way back, to the widest part of the beach, where he sat listening to the rush of breaking waves and the many comforting sounds of night: nesting seagulls ruffling their feathers; creatures of the water shuffling a path through the sand.

In the dark, where no one could see, the world was breathing all around him. It was his now, this part of night when others slept and dreamed. In the semi-darkness, this place, this world, this precious time was his, and he cherished every minute.

Content now, oblivious to the minutes and hours that ticked by, he stayed; satisfied just to look and listen.

After a time, when night began to merge with daylight, he made his way back.

As he wended his way along the clifftop, he thought of his wife again, he thought of Kathy and that quiet conversation while she sat on the wall eating her fish and chips. He heard her laughter in his mind and smiled. ‘She’s like a ray of sunshine,’ he mused.

From what he had heard of her intimate murmurings to her late father, he suspected things had not been easy for her.

In those few brief moments when she laughed at her mistake with the hot chip, then again when she was sitting on the house wall, he had seen a woman who had that rare talent of being able to laugh at herself, a woman of compassion and heart. A woman who had the ability to take the world by the horns and shake it into submission.

He wished her well.

Then he shut her out of his mind, for there were other things he must consider. Things of the past; things of the future.

The present was less important.