The Beachcomber Read online

  They shook hands and the deal was done.

  Kathy had yet another question. “When she came back, did she stay in the guest-house? I mean, if she closed this house up, she obviously didn’t stay here.”

  “No, lass, she didn’t stay in the guest-house.”

  “Where did she stay then?”

  “That don’t matter,” he said wisely, “but once she left this house she never again went back inside … never walked up that path, nor opened that door. It were like she had to preserve what they had, for all time.”

  Kathy felt like an intruder. “And now I’m about to disturb all that … aren’t I?” She needed to know. “What would Liz say if she knew?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure, lass, but I do know one thing. She would respect yer father’s wishes.” He smiled at Kathy. “An’ I know she would love you, without a shadow of doubt.”

  Kathy felt reassured. “Will you tell her … what’s happened?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll get the chance. Y’see, lass, she only stayed a few months before she went away again in the middle of the night and I haven’t seen nor heard from her since. She left me a note, with a few instructions, but never a mention of yer father, or where she were going, or even when I might hear from her again, if ever.”

  Kathy sat quietly for a moment. She was shocked to her roots when Jasper said quietly, “There were a child, y’know.” He turned to regard her. “Has a look o’ you.”

  Momentarily speechless, Kathy stared at him as though he had lost his mind. “A child!” She could hardly believe what he was saying. “Are you telling me … my father and Liz had a child?”

  The old man nodded. “It were a lad … friendly little chap. He’d be about what – seven year old now. They named him Robert, after his daddy. But they called him Robbie.”

  “A brother?” Kathy’s voice broke with emotion. “And I never knew! Why didn’t he tell me? I belonged here, with them. I could have shared their happiness. Why did he shut me out like that?”

  The old man didn’t say anything. He knew none of this could have been easy for her, and had worried about giving her the last piece of news. It was too much to cope with. So he gently closed his arms around her shoulders and, drawing her to him, let her cry it out.

  With her head against his chest, Kathy sobbed helplessly for a time, trying to come to terms with it all, and filled with all manner of emotions: regret at never knowing she had a brother; anger because her father had not told her, and through it all a great, abiding love that she could never again share with him.

  After a time, when she was quiet inside herself, she looked up at the old man with scarred eyes. “He should have trusted me,” she remarked softly.

  “No, lass. He couldn’t do that.”

  “But why not?” She drew away, her gaze curious on him. “I don’t understand.” She had tried so hard to forgive him, but even now, deep down somewhere inside, she was resentful of the fact that he couldn’t trust her enough to confide in her.

  “Happen ’e were afraid, lass.” He paused, wondering how he might explain in words she could appreciate. “Happen ’e couldn’t be certain how you’d handle it … yer might have been angry with him for deceiving your mother. Yer might have thought bad of him and turned away. Then again, in some misguided way, ’e might have been trying to protect you.”

  He sighed from his boots. “Oh, lass! There could be all manner o’ reasons why he didn’t tell yer. I can’t say. But I can say one thing …” He held her at arm’s length, his voice gentle, his bright old eyes smiling. “Yer father loved you all the more for not being able to share his secret with yer.”

  Wiping her eyes on the cuff of her sleeve, Kathy gave a small laugh. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

  He winked. “I’m a strange man, or so they tell me.”

  Impetuously kissing him on the cheek, Kathy thanked him. What he said just now had helped her, more than he had realized. “Tell me about his son … my brother.”

  With a rush of pleasure, the old man brought the boy’s image to mind. “He’s a grand lad. He loves to be on the boat. Swims like a fish, and built strong-like. Curious nature … allus wanting to know … ‘what’s this do?’ an’ ‘what’s that for?’” He chuckled. “Drives a fella crazy, he does, with his never-ending questions.”

  Reaching out, he took up a length of her hair. “He’s got brown hair like you … a bit lighter, mebbe, being in the sun whenever he could. Dark eyes like his daddy, and the gentle ways of his mother.”

  Kathy had a picture in her mind now. “I hope I’ll get to meet him.” The picture was still not complete. “What was she like … Liz?”

  The old man thought a while before giving a brief description. “Long fair hair tied back; slender figure; pretty gray eyes – an”, oh yes, she couldn’t go out in the sun without getting smothered in freckles.”

  Following his description, Kathy could see her clearly in her mind’s eye. “She sounds lovely.”

  “She’s a darling woman,” the old man concluded. “Any man would be proud to walk down the street with her.”

  Kathy wondered about this good woman, and the boy who was her brother. “I hope she comes back,” she said quietly. “I hope I get to meet them.”

  The old man didn’t answer. He knew from experience that hoping and wishing didn’t mean it would happen.

  Standing up, he stretched his aching back. “By! I’ve sat that long I’m all bent and twisted,” he groaned.

  Kathy looked at his thick strong figure and the short sturdy legs. “No, you’re not,” she told him with a mischievous grin. “But I expect you’ve got piles now, from sitting on a cold step … that’s what you told me, isn’t it?”

  He laughed out loud. “By! Yer a cheeky little madam!” He pointed to the front door. “Come on, lass … see what needs doing inside.”

  “Jasper … I wonder …?” She was loath to say it.

  Now, as Kathy looked up with troubled eyes, the old man knew what was on her mind. “Yer want to go in yersel,’” he remarked. “That’s it, isn’t it, lass?”

  She nodded.

  He stretched again, and tweaked his flat cap, and told her softly, “I’ll leave yer to it, then. But I’ll not be far away …” He pointed to the harbor where some of the fishing boats were returning. “There’s fish to be sorted for market.” He chuckled. “Just follow yer nose.”

  For a long time after he’d gone, Kathy remained on the steps, aching to go inside the house, but not yet ready to face what she might find.

  Down at the harbor, Tom waited for the boat to return. A few days ago, in a freak wind, he had been leaning over the rails, watching the boats return, when one of the small cruisers broke free. Thrown into the path of the fishing boats, it might have caused havoc if Tom hadn’t managed to catch the mooring line and draw it away.

  Appreciating Tom’s help, Jack Plummer, the skipper of the Mary Lou, called him on board and proudly showed him his catch of the day. At Jack’s urging, Tom turned his hand to sorting the fish. Since then, at the same time every day, he would walk to the harbor, where he would board the Mary Lou to lend a hand. Having never set foot on a fishing boat before that particular day, he had come to enjoy the experience.

  Today he had waited for Jasper as usual, surprised when he hadn’t turned up, but knowing how the old fellow could get waylaid by any one of the inhabitants of West Bay, who all knew and loved him. They also valued his practical knowledge, and it wasn’t unknown for them to recruit his help, which he gave at the drop of a hat.

  Tom was already on board, sorting the fish, when he spied Jasper making his way down. “He’s here.” Pausing in his work, he stretched his limbs and gave a welcoming wave.

  In a good mood after a sizeable catch, Jack yelled for the old man to get a move on. “I told you he wouldn’t miss out on his daily treat!” he told Tom with a hearty chuckle.

  Jasper was soon on board, helping the other three men to sort the
fish into crates; every now and then, up would go the cry from Jasper, “By! You must ’ave emptied the oceans with this catch!”

  “Never mind changing the subject!” the skipper joked. “If you’re late again, I’ll have to give you your cards!”

  Tom got in on the act. “If he goes, then so do I!”

  “Oh, all right then,” the skipper said with a wink at Jasper. “If you put it that way, I’ve nothing else to say on the matter.”

  They had a laugh and got on with their work. It was always like that – well-meaning banter and good-natured taunts. It was their way.

  When the decks were cleared and the fish piled high into the crates, each man took a swig from the bottle of whiskey strapped under Jack’s seat. They laughed and chatted and talked of the day’s adventure, and afterward they loaded the crates onto the skipper’s old red truck, ready for market. “When are you coming out fishing with us?” Jack asked Tom.

  Tom was evasive. “We’ll see,” he answered, and Jack knew he wasn’t yet ready. Like everyone in West Bay, he knew Tom valued his privacy. Helping sort the fish was one thing, but being closeted with others in a small boat in the middle of the ocean was quite another.

  From her front door, Kathy watched the old man walk to the harbor, where the skipper and another man greeted him. She heard the bursts of laughter and saw the old man wagging a finger at the skipper, then further laughter, before they got out the whiskey and downed a well-earned drop or two.

  Kathy couldn’t hear what sparked the laughter, but suspected it might be the old man’s doing. “What a character!” Already she really liked him.

  She realized with a flush of interest that the other man was the bloke from the chip shop. He cut a fine figure in his boots and oils. He and Jasper seemed to know each other. Curious, she observed them for a time, watching as the man leapt from the boat to clamber up the wall to the top. There he swung himself over athletically. She thought him too handsome for his own good. “Better not let Maggie loose around him,” she muttered light-heartedly. Brusquely, she turned toward the house. “Right, Kathy! The sooner you’re inside, the sooner you can start settling down,” she declared nervously. “It’s your house now. It’s up to you.” All the same, the ordeal of entering what had been her father’s lovenest was not something she was looking forward to.

  Taking the key from her pocket, she opened the front door. As it swung gently open, she remained where she stood, peering inside, her heart bumping nineteen to the dozen, until she could hardly breathe.

  Another minute, a deep breath, and she walked anxiously over the threshold.

  The smell of damp invaded her nostrils; the feeling of having trespassed was strong in her. She moved farther in. Without lights and with the curtains closed, it was semi-dark, with only the open door and the sunlight against the curtains giving her enough light to guide her way. “I’ll need to see about the electricity,” she reminded herself.

  Going to the first window, she threw open the curtains; the effect was amazing. The sun burst in and lit the room with a warmth and glory that took Kathy by surprise. It was a large room, open and spacious, with high ceilings and the prettiest fireplace, surrounded by dark blue tiles with splashes of tiny white roses, so realistic they might have been picked fresh from a garden.

  Gazing around the room, she was reminded of what her mother had said about the house. Kathy smiled. “Oh, Mother! How could you be so wrong?”

  Certainly it wasn’t the expensive, ornate furniture her mother coveted. Instead it was fine and simple. By the far wall stood a sideboard in light-colored wood, with long legs and a shelf underneath. Four beautiful blue meat-plates rested atop it, standing proud against the wall. There was a unit of shelves beside the fireplace, each displaying three small porcelain figures, all of which were of children. Some were playing, others lying on their tummies reading, and one, which Kathy thought was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, was of a small girl holding an array of brightly colored balloons, her face uplifted and full of absolute joy. It made Kathy smile.

  There were two paintings on the wall: one of the harbor, with boats and the fishermen; another of a garden filled with bloom and color. It was not too difficult to imagine it could be the garden to this house.

  In front of the fireplace was a thick, cream-colored rug, now slightly discolored by dust and neglect. Either side of the fireplace stood two deep, comfortable armchairs, one with a high back. Upholstered in plain dark blue, they complemented everything in that room.

  Opening both windows wide, Kathy let the sunlight momentarily bathe her face. She didn’t feel so much like an intruder now. Instead she was already relaxing, beginning to settle.

  She went into the kitchen, where again she opened the window, pleasantly surprised when she saw how spacious it was. There was a white enameled cooker on the wall opposite the window, with a pine dresser on side and a wooden kitchenette on the other. The sink had shelves underneath, with a pretty curtain skirting the lip of the sink. There were white and blue frilly curtains at the window, and a pine table and four spindle-chairs in the center of the room, the table being spread with a cloth of the same fabric as the curtains. A cornflower-blue vase stood on the window-sill, its once vibrant roses long ago faded.

  Plucking out the flowers with her fingertips, Kathy laid them on the drainer. It felt strange, removing flowers that had been lovingly put there by the woman called Liz.

  Suddenly she gave a cry when a hidden thorn tore at her skin, making it bleed. Licking away the blood, she thought it strange that the flowers had withered, while the thorns were as hard and sharp as ever.

  Going upstairs, Kathy walked from room to room. She found a good-sized bathroom with two very large windows. The room itself seemed far too large and oddly shaped for the meager contents. Because only the newer houses were built with a bathroom of sorts, Kathy guessed this one might be a converted bedroom. It contained a small sink, toilet, and a bath with castiron legs. Here again she opened the window, and at once the room was transformed with the inrush of sunlight.

  There were three bedrooms, each with a bed, wardrobe and dressing table. All the beds were covered in eiderdowns of varying colors; all the colors were warm and gentle: much like the woman herself, Kathy suspected.

  The main room overlooked the harbor. Square and spacious, it had a good feel to it, Kathy thought.

  Leaning out of the window, she took a great gulp of air, drinking in the magnificent views at the same time. It was only when she turned that she saw the small photograph on the bedside cabinet. With hesitant footsteps she went over to it and, taking the photograph into her hands, she stared at it for what seemed an age, her heart turning somersaults and the tears never far away.

  There were three people in the photograph: a woman of the same description the old man had given and who she knew must be Liz; a boy, taller than she’d imagined, his laughing face looking up at her and the sunlight making him squint. Standing between them, the man had his arms around the other two. She ran a sensitive finger over his features. “Why did you have to leave me?”

  As the tears began to spill, Kathy sat on the bed, her gaze intent on her beloved father’s face, her mind in turmoil with questions, and her heart like a lead weight inside her. “You look so different,” she murmured. “Jasper was right,” she conceded, “you are different.” In a casual, short-sleeved shirt, his hair gently blown by the breeze and with a look of contentment in his dark eyes, her father seemed years younger than she remembered.

  She sat there for a long time, the photograph clutched tightly against her chest and the sobs echoing in that long-deserted room. In his free, bright smile, she could see with her own eyes how happy he had been here, with that other family he had protected so fiercely.

  The sobs were bitter, yet not condemning. The emotions she had pent up, the resentment and anger, all of that poured away, until all that was left were memories, and a great well of gratitude, because he had found contentment.
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  In Cliff Cottage the two men played their last game of cards for the evening. “Time I were off to me bed.” The old man yawned. “One more hand, then I’m away. What d’yer say, Tom?”

  “You’re right, it’s late.” Getting up from the table, Tom stretched his arms almost to the ceiling, his body aching in every bone. “I think my back’s broken from lifting all those crates!” All the walking he did had kept him fit, but lately he had come to realize he needed work of some kind, to keep him sane as well as supple. “I’ve been thinking … I might take Jack up on his offer to go out fishing with him,” he confided. “I need to do something … at least until I get my life sorted out.” Which meant hunting down the monster who killed his family.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” The old man paused before asking in a softer voice, “That other business you’ve been brooding about, is it done with?”

  Tom was taken aback. “What business is that?” Though he feigned ignorance, he knew well enough what the old man was on about.

  “Don’t get me wrong, son.” The old man was growing to love and respect Tom like a son. “I’ve known all along that summat bad drove yer to West Bay. I’ve seen that same look on blokes during the war – brooding, keeping it all locked up inside till it drives a man crazy.”

  When Tom made as if to reply, Jasper put up his hand. “No, son. Whatever it is, you’ll deal with it, I’m sure. Like I said, it’s none o’ my business. You’ve never said, and I never asked,” he explained. “If a man wants to keep his business to hisself, that’s fine by me.”

  Tom neither denied nor confirmed it.

  The old man persisted. “So? Is it over … whatever’s driven yer to haunt the cliff tops in the middle of the night … Oh, aye!” He nodded assuredly. “I’ve seen yer, wandering about like a lost soul, an’ I’ve seen yer during the day … with yer eyes all swollen from lack o’ sleep.”