The Beachcomber Read online

  Once there, where he could go no farther, 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 cliff top, 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.

  CHAPTER 5

  KATHY WAS AWAKE bright and early. She washed and dressed, tidied around and, taking her small cache of belongings, made her way down to the reception desk.

  The clerk was still half-asleep, yawning and rubbing her hair until it looked as if it belonged to some scarecrow in a field. “Was everything all right?” she asked wearily. For one irritating minute she thought Kathy was there to complain.

  Placing the caravan keys on the desk, Kathy smiled. “Everything was just fine,” she said, and it was, because now that she’d had a good night’s sleep she was ready for anything. “Where can I get breakfast?”

  The clerk groaned with disgust. “Oh, however can you eat so early in the morning?”

  “It must be the sea air,” Kathy answered, “it seems to have given me an appetite.” She laughed. “My friend Maggie swears I could eat anyone under the table.”

  The young clerk observed Kathy’s slim figure. “Don’t you ever get fat?” she asked enviously.

  Kathy shook her head. “Not yet, I haven’t. But I’ll probably spread out like a balloon once I hit forty.” She laughed at the girl’s wide-eyed disbelief. “To tell the truth, I seem to be able to eat whatever I like and it makes no difference. Maggie hates me. She has to watch every mouthful she eats, or she piles on the pounds in no time.”

  “I’m the same. Lucky you,” the clerk grumbled. “And you’ll find the dining room is just opening.” Pointing to a side door, she suggested helpfully, “To avoid you going back out and in through the main doors, you can go that way. You’ll see the dining room straight ahead of you.”

  Heeding the directions, Kathy followed her nose, the aroma of hot food taking her through the entrance hall and into a small dining room. Observing the military rows of square laminated tables, she marched through to where the food was only now being set out. There was a basket of toast, and several other hot dishes each containing a good helping of porridge, tomatoes and sausages. There was also a box of cereal.

  At the end of the table, there was a fat man frying a couple of eggs on the hotplate. “Just one, please.” Taking up a plate, Kathy held it out. “Turned over and well done.”

  Sour-faced, the man scooped up a juicy egg and dropped it onto her plate; dripping in fat, it almost slid straight off the other side, save for a nifty backstep by Kathy. “Sorry, luv.” He looked wretched, as though he’d been out all night on the tiles.

  Reassuring him that no harm was done, Kathy took her plate along the buffet to collect a sausage, a wrinkled tomato and a piece of toast. She poured herself a cup of tea from the urn to finish.

  By the time she got back to a table by the window, both toast and tea were cold, but that didn’t bother her too much. It was the fat man at the end of the table that drew her attention. As she ate heartily, Kathy couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Apart from the arm that turned the eggs, he never moved. “Like a robot!” Kathy chuckled. Then suddenly he reached around to collect a clutch of eggs from the basket behind. Just that one, swift, rigid movement and he was back again, still as a statue, one arm hanging by his side, the other turning the eggs. For a while, Kathy was mesmerized.

  The sound of children outside made her glance through the window. There was a whole family of them: mum, dad, grandparents and six healthy, boisterous youngsters. “Oh, my God!” Kathy exclaimed. “Looks like they’ve got their hands full.”

  Suddenly all hell was let loose.

  As that particular family burst in through the doors, another followed, and soon the whole place was filled with excited, screeching children running amok among the tables.

  One pretty little girl sauntered up to Kathy and stood by her table, big saucer eyes following every forkful of food Kathy put into her mouth. Embarrassed at the way the child was staring at her, Kathy cut off a piece of sausage and offered it to her. “Hungry are you, sweetheart?”

  With frightening speed, a woman resembling an all-in wrestler swept the child up, with a stern warning for Kathy. “Don’t you mess with me!”

  Nervously swallowing her food, Kathy watched as the woman carried the kicking child to the buffet, where she set about terrifying the fat man.

  Seeing the humor of the situation, Kathy chuckled to herself. “I can assure you, lady … I’ve no intention of messing with you!”

  A few minutes later, having finished her breakfast and been deafened by the growing uproar in the dining room, she made good her escape.

  Excited and a little apprehensive, she made her way to the house. Stopping at the telephone box which was halfway, she took out two coins and, dropping them into the slot, asked the operator to dial Maggie’s number. “Be in, Maggie!” she urged. “Come on, pick up the phone.” She knew it was an extravagance, but she had to talk to her friend.

  Another few rings and the voice at the other end of the line sounded grumpy. “Who is it?”

  Kathy gave a sigh of relief. “It’s me, who d’you think it is?”

  “KATHY!” At once the voice came alive. “Why didn’t yer phone me yesterday, you wretch? I waited in as long as I could.”

  Kathy explained, “It was late when I got here. I rang you as soon as I sorted myself out, but you weren’t home.” She lowered her voice. “You were out with that bloke, weren’t you? The one I told you to be careful about?”

  Maggie was on the defensive. “So! What if I were?”

  Kathy knew it. “And …?”

  “And what?”

  “You know … was he just after one thing, like I said?”

  “No. He was not just after one thing.”

  “So, nothing happened then?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “So, what are you saying?” Kathy knew the answer already.

  “All right, something happened, yes. But he wasn’t the one who made the running.” There was a chuckle. “I were. He just went along.”

  Kathy groaned. “There’s me traveling all day, worn out when I get here and not even able to stay in the house. And there’s you … dancing the night away, doing Lord knows what! And lying in bed half the next day.” A thought struck her. She whispered, “He’s not still there, is he?”

  “No. He w
ent home about two this morning … said he had to be up early for work. But I’m seeing him again tonight … and don’t you dare say anything! Or I’ll put the phone down.”

  “I’m saying nothing,” Kathy replied, “but I still think he’s wrong for you. I reckon you might be heading for trouble falling for him hook, line and sinker, without even knowing him.”

  “I do know him!” Maggie decided against putting the phone down. “I spent the bleedin’ night with him, didn’t I?”

  “Right then. Where does he live?”

  There was an awkward pause. “I’m not really sure … somewhere the other side of Ilford, I think.” Her voice rose in anger. “It’s not important. He’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.”

  “And did he say where he worked … when he had to rush off like that?”

  “I mean it, Kathy! I’ll put the phone down if yer keep quizzing me.” Another pause, before she said lamely, “If I’d asked him where he worked, I’m sure he’d have told me.”

  “All right, Mags … I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt, and … well, there was just something about him that made me suspicious, that’s all.”

  “Hmh! That’s because you’ve got a suspicious mind.”

  “Promise me you’ll take it slow with this one?” Her every instinct told her that this bloke was a chancer. Maggie had been through it all before and never seemed to learn. Sometimes she couldn’t see beyond all the attention and flattery. In the end she always got hurt.

  Now that the well-meaning “inquisition” was over, Maggie’s questions came fast and furious. “What’s the house like? Why couldn’t you stay there? And if you couldn’t stay there, where did you spend the night?”

  Kathy explained about the caravan, which had turned out to be cozy and comfortable. “The site is just a short walk from the house,” she said. “It so happened they’d had a cancellation and I was able to take the caravan for a night.”

  Maggie was exhilarated. “See! I told you there’d be a caravan site.” She went on enthusiastically, “Happen I’ll stay there with my bloke, seeing as you don’t like him.” She continued, in a worried voice, “Will you be able to get the house right? I mean … it’s bound to cost you for getting the lights and the water on.”

  Kathy sighed. “That’s not all. There’s paint peeling off everywhere, and it looks to me like the window-sills are rotten.”

  “I can’t believe yer dad let it get that bad.”

  Kathy had wondered about that herself. “Maybe he was in love and didn’t notice, or maybe he was tight for cash since he was keeping two homes going. But it’s been empty for over a year … maybe longer for all we know. It’s stood right through the winter at least, and I’m sure the sea air can do a lot of damage.”

  “So, how will you afford to get it done up?”

  Kathy confided her plan. “I intend getting a little job. I could buy paint and brushes, rub the wood down and do the work myself at weekends.”

  “Hmh! Rather you than me.”

  The conversation inevitably came onto men. “Go on then!” Maggie urged excitedly. “Have yer come across any good-looking blokes yet?”

  Kathy laughed. “Give over, Mags, I’ve only been here five minutes!” Kathy’s mind went back to Tom. “There was one man though … in the chippie … aged about thirty-five or -six, I reckon.” She recalled him clearly. “Nicest-looking chap I’ve seen in ages, only …” She paused, trying to put her feelings into words.

  “Only … what?” Maggie was not the most patient of people.

  “Well …” Kathy couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “He seemed, I don’t know, kind of sad. I nearly choked on a hot chip and he told me to be careful.” She could see him now, in her mind’s eye. “He had the loveliest smile.”

  Maggie laughed. “Sounds to me like you’re the one who needs to be careful. Some bloke smiles at you in the chippie … and you’re gone.”

  Kathy hotly denied it. “Don’t be daft! I’m not ‘gone,’ as you call it. I don’t know him from Adam and I don’t want to. Besides, I reckon I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about men!”

  Maggie was incorrigible. “All right, all right!” she chuckled mischievously. “If you say so.”

  “I do. So you behave yourself.” As her money ran out, Kathy promised to write very soon. She knew the chances of Maggie putting pen to paper were slim.

  On her way to the house, she paused to look at the boats in the harbor. Everything was beginning to come alive: it was still early but the boats were being fitted out and taken to sea; down on the slipway a man and a woman were launching their boat.

  Some way along the harbor, two sleepy-eyed children walked along, holding their mother’s hand and looking as if they would still rather be in bed. Others were running and leaping about, excited by being at the seaside and impatient to get down on the beach with their buckets and spades. Kathy loved it all. After London, it was like another world.

  Eager to get back to the house, she turned away. It was then that she saw the man from the chip shop emerging from the shop, his newspaper rolled up in his hand and his head bowed as if deep in thought.

  She recalled what Maggie had said. “One smile and yer ‘gone.’” That was not true, but there was something about this man that seemed to cling to her. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, or that, as he strode across the road, the sun shone down on his hair and streaked it with gold; nor was it just the pleasing sight of his long, lean figure in flannels and white shirt, with short sleeves revealing strong, bronzed arms. It was more than that.

  There was something else. Something the eye couldn’t see. Something she had sensed last night when she saw him for the first time. There was a natural “goodness” about him … a warmth that reached out, yet kept you at bay somehow. She had seen it in his eyes last night. Even when he smiled at her, she had seen how his dark eyes were full of sadness.

  Intrigued, she watched him walk away, over the bridge and on, past the caravan site and up the hill, until she could no longer see him. “A man with troubles,” she deduced quietly. But, she shook herself, she was not here to get involved with another man.

  Continuing onto the house, she realized for the first time how wonderfully sited it was. There was a well-kept public green in front and a high wall at the back, with shrubberies and lawns either side, though, like the front garden, they were badly overgrown.

  As she stood with her back to the door, she had clear, uninterrupted views of the harbor on one side – a hive of activity – and the river on the other, with boats and ducks, and a restaurant whose terrace spanned the water on wooden stilts. “You chose well, Dad,” she murmured, and a great sense of quietness flooded her heart. “I know I’ll be happy here.”

  The extent of disrepair was more than she had realized. Apart from the peeling windows and overgrown gardens, the path itself was pitted with holes and the gate was hanging on one hinge. There was a shed at the side of the house that was already halfway collapsed, and a broken window upstairs at the back. “Blimey, Kathy!” She took a deep breath. “You’ve got your work cut out and no mistake.”

  For one nerve-racking minute she wondered if she was up to it … or even whether she could ever afford to do it. But the longer she stood there, the more the doubts melted. One way or another, she was determined to restore this lovely house to its former beauty.

  Delaying the moment when she would open the door and go inside, she sat on the front step, gathering strength and mentally preparing herself. “It was your house, Dad,” she whispered, “yours and hers. And now it’s mine.” She caught her breath in wonder and blew it out in relief. “I need a while to take it all in,” she thought.

  Having been to the shop for his ration of pipe-baccy and his daily paper, Jasper saw her sitting there, a small, solitary figure deep in thought. “Well, I never!” He was surprised to see the house had a visitor. “Wonder who she is?”

  As always, his curiosity got t
he better of him.

  Strolling over, he called out from the gate, “You look like a little lost fairy sat there.”

  Jolted from her thoughts, Kathy called back, “I’m not lost, I’m here to stay.” As soon as the words were out she took a great deal of comfort from them …“I’m here to stay.” It sounded wonderful to her ears.

  Taking it on himself to come up the garden path, Jasper stretched out his hand in welcome. “I’m Jasper.” He introduced himself with the most disarming grin. “And if yer haven’t already guessed, I’m the number one nosey parker hereabouts.”

  Kathy took to him straight off. “I’m Kathy Wilson,” she said, shaking his hand, “the new owner of Barden House.” She said it with pride and the widest smile he had ever seen.

  “Well now, Kathy Wilson, welcome to West Bay.” He sat down on the steps beside her. “Did yer know yer can get piles from sitting about on cold, damp steps?”

  Kathy laughed out loud. “No, I didn’t,” she confessed, “but I do now.” She thought he was the loveliest, most natural, most odd-looking creature she had ever met. And she was delighted that he’d stopped to chat.

  As was his nature, Jasper got straight to the point. “What’s brought you to West Bay?” He had a particular reason for asking.

  Kathy gestured to the house, shook her head. “I had to come here,” she said. “The house was left me by my father.”

  Jasper was visibly taken aback. “Oh! I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t realize your father had passed on.” He had wondered whether that might be the case, but now that it was confirmed he felt deeply sorry. Her daddy had been a fine man, and a good friend. “I’m glad yer daddy had the good foresight to leave this house to you, his daughter. It’s a grand old place.” Full of wonderful memories, he thought sadly. “A house like this should not be left to rot away.”

  Kathy had been curious as to his earlier remark. “Did you know my father?”