by Fabian Black
Postcards From A Seaside Village
Fresh From The Sea
Copyright © Fabian Black 2011
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http://www.fabianblackromance.com
Cover Art by Dare Empire
Chastise Books
Fresh From The Sea
One
The seawall or sea defence, whatever you cared to call it, was ugly, a long lumbering beast hunching the shore. Local folk referred to it as the Devil’s Pier, a necessary evil guarding land from sea.
Linval Larkin began to mentally prepare for the sight of it as he approached the Crab and Lobster Public House, at the end of the narrow cobbled street he was walking along on a fine June morning. A burst of sea view and then mere yards later there it was. He stopped in his tracks, the early morning sunshine resting on his shoulders.
No amount of mental bracing ever prevented the surge of distaste when Lin sighted the beast. Domineering, it dragged one's eyes away from the tiny beach and the pretty harbour nestling beneath the sheltering cliffs. He hated it, but kept telling himself he’d get used to it. One day he’d get used to it and even learn to love it, or at least grow more kindly disposed towards it.
Every morning, time, weather and his partner David permitting, he walked across the little beach, traversing a natural collection of rocks and boulders before climbing the unnatural stone steps leading up and onto the seawall itself.
The metal safety rails spiked in the beast's back did nothing to instil confidence in him. He still walked its length with trembling knees because he was terrified of heights.
Reaching its head he’d stand for a few moments, looking out across the bay, the breeze lifting his hair. It was more a cove than a bay, a sweet curved little cove, which embraced the sea as it flowed in, cradling it tenderly until it flowed back out again taking the little fishing boats, the cobles, that went out to fish for whatever was in season. The handful of cobles bobbing the harbour, bravely painted and named, were the last stubborn remnants of a once prosperous, but long gone fishing fleet.
The wall was necessary. Lin inwardly repeated this mantra for the millionth time, as he climbed up the steps and carefully prowled his way along it, not looking down. It was necessary because the sea wasn’t always sweetly dispositional. Bipolar, it could purr one day and snarl and rage another, sinking angry claws into the coastline, ripping away chunks of land along with whatever stood on it.
Wrapping his arms about himself he turned his face to the wind, licking salt sea kisses from his lips, his mind busily trying to convince his emotions he would one day grow used to the huge man made structure, this mountain of rock armour and pre-cast concrete accropodes.
One day its glaring falsity would weather down into something more natural, something that didn’t violate the childhood landscape he still held in his mind.
He ran his hands along the rails as if hoping to find some point of connection, some affinity with the bulky creature employed to safeguard Stanes from the encroaching sea. The rails were as cold and hard as the heart of a religious fundamentalist. He was no closer to forming a relationship with it than he had been at its inception.
He’d wept, raged and agonised throughout its construction. David had comforted him, or tried to. Remember Scarburn, he’d said, using his thumbs to gently wipe away the angry tears coursing down Lin's face. Remember how heartbreaking it was to watch a building that had stood for a hundred and fifty years slide into the sea. You wouldn’t like it to happen here, to see the old harbour side cottages and houses swept away, would you?
Lin had shaken his head. He'd hate what had happened at neighbouring Scarburn several summers earlier to be repeated in Stanes.
Greystones Hotel had stood majestically on Scarburn’s cliff top enjoying panoramic views of the sea for a century and a half. One day in late summer, guests enjoying morning coffee in the garden conservatory noticed cracks opening up in the floor. Most of them sensibly opted to abandon their coffee and croissants and hastily vacated the premises.
By the end of the day the conservatory was no longer attached to the hotel. It had plunged hundreds of feet into the sea. Inch by inch the rest of the hotel crept forward until finally, three days later, a storm drove the sea hard against the eroded land and the cliff, complete with hotel, gave itself up to a greater power.
Lin would never forget the sight or sounds as the cliff tumbled into the jaws of the sea. The rip and tear of rocks, roots and soil made it sound like the land was screaming in terror.
The event had made world headline news and brought sightseers from far and wide. It might have been a wonder to them, but it had caused ripples of fear amongst the local coastal populations. Stanes was already suffering as a result of land erosion with every new storm chewing and biting at the land. It was decided action needed to be taken sooner rather than later.
The building of the seawall began. There wasn't enough money in the municipal coffers to take aesthetics into account. The defence was built with efficiency in mind at the lowest possible cost.
Lin refused to reconcile with the project. He found change painful. He was slow to adapt, he couldn’t help it and he’d liked Stanes the way it was. The way he remembered it from childhood before he left aged barely sixteen to find his way in the world after the death of his mother.
He had tried to raise a petition against the construction of the wall, stalking the beach every day to get signatures, but the locals weren't interested, 'gi' ower,' Mr Larkin,' and even the tourists could see the sense of protecting the shoreline. He had engaged in many heated arguments and even a scuffle or two, one of which ended in arrest, at which point David's patience had finally expired. He put the beach out of bounds until the work was complete. Lin wasn't permitted to even walk as far as The Crab and Lobster.
Lin suddenly shivered, his skin developing a goose rash. He'd set out for his walk in bright early morning sunshine, but a mist was now creeping in from the sea, a smuggler’s mist, dense and crafty.
It muffled all sound, even the raucous cries of the seabirds that clustered the high cliff faces, safe from human interference. The gulls, redshanks, turnstones, plovers and wagtails, which made up the seabird population of Stanes, were suddenly quieted, as if they’d moved away into the far distance.
He glanced nervously around. While dwelling on his inner thoughts the view from the end of the seawall had disappeared, merging with the mist. He became aware of a muted thudding and strained his ears trying to identify the source of the sounds, which seemed to be swelling and reverberating from the mist now encircling him.
His head spun as the urgent thumping filled his ears, disorienting him. He sank to his knees, fear turning his stomach juices to sour acid, which splashed up into his throat and mouth.
"Calm," he spoke the word aloud, gulping at the cool mist. "Stay calm, you fool, calm." The eerie muffled thuds were being generated from within. It was the beat of his own heart pumping blood around his body and sounding in his ears. He was having a panic attack, his over sensitive nerves exaggerating danger.
Hunkering low on the back of the wall he made a determined effort to slow his breathing. The sea was still. Nothing could happen to him here.
Despite his best efforts the sense of panic increased as t
he sea's clouding breath thickened and coiled around him obfuscating all sense of time and space. After what seemed an eternity a voice came out of the mist.
“What are you doing here, Linval?”
Lin experienced a swell of relief, as a figure began to materialise from the grey air. A firm hand reached down, helping him to his feet, steadying him.
“George was expecting you to pick the stuff up from the harbour an hour ago. He’s got his sister’s wedding to go to at ten o clock. He couldn't really spare the time to make personal deliveries. He was in a foul mood when he came to the house." David sounded distinctly irritable. George's mood had patently rubbed off. "We’re lucky he didn’t sell all his catch to one of the hoteliers from Whitersby.”
“Sorry, David.” Lin swallowed hard. “I lost track of time and then this wretched fog came down and…” he tailed off, reluctant to admit being unnerved by fog.
“You had no business coming out here.”
“It was bright sunshine when I set out.”
“That’s beside the point and you know it.” David tucked his partner's trembling arm under his own. “Let’s get back to Sandstones. The Prescott’s will be demanding breakfast soon.”
Lin stared into the snaking fog. “Can’t we wait here until it clears?”
“No. We could be here all day.” David leaned down to place a kiss on Linval’s cheek, his voice softening. “I won’t let you fall into the sea to be nabbed by some strange sea creature. Hold onto me and we’ll take it slowly, come on, brave up, step at a time.”
Lin drew a long breath as they stepped down onto the safety of the little beach. He glanced back. The fog now floated behind them, pulsing with moist energy. He could swear it was watching them, perhaps weighing up whether or not it was going to come further inland or remain sulking on the seawall.
"Home, Lin, now." David's voice sharpened again. "You've wasted enough time down here."
Fresh from the Sea
Two
As things turned out the fog wasn't the only thing sulking in Stanes that morning.
Lin, lips pressed tightly together, stood in the spacious, sunny kitchen rummaging through the assorted offerings delivered by local fisherman George Crooks while he had dallied on the Devil's back.
“What am I supposed to do with this lot?” He flung aside a glassy eyed sardine with an air of contempt. “I’m a cook not a bloody magician." He looked over to where David was sitting at the kitchen table, working on his laptop. "What the hell am I supposed to serve up on tonight’s menu? Sardines on toast?”
“Stop complaining, Lin." David kept his eyes fixed on the spreadsheets displayed on the computer screen. "It’s not George’s fault the sea was sparing with its produce this morning. If what he left fails to inspire you then you’ll have to utilise stuff from the freezers. God knows there’s enough fish in there to keep a seal colony going.”
"I prefer to use fresh fish, it's what I'm famed for, fresh not frozen. You'll be having me serve up Birds Eye fish fingers next with a fart of mushy peas on the side."
"There's no point freezing fish if you're not going to use it. It's a waste of time and money. I've a good mind to offer it for sale to the fish and chip shops on the esplanade."
Before Lin could respond there was an abrupt knock on the kitchen door. It opened admitting a bulky figure dressed in baggy khaki shorts and a grey t-shirt, which stretched bravely across the ample stomach of its owner.
David pasted a pleasant smile on his face. “How may I help you, Mr Prescott?”
“Any chance of another couple of rounds of toast and mebbe another kipper? Oh and we’re thinking of taking a stroll along The Cleveland Way today, mebbe to Whitersby, so a packed lunch would be nice, if that’s all right?" He shot a sideways look at Lin. "To be put on our bill of course.”
The loud voice may have been making requests, but the tone was of orders being issued.
Lin bristled, observing Mr Prescott with poorly concealed dislike. His own voice had a distinct snap to it as he said, “we’re busy today and Whitersby is famed for its fish and chips, Mr Prescott, so why don’t you throw all caution to the wind and give them a whirl.” Picking up his specs from the worktop he thrust them on and went back to rummaging amongst the iced contents of the box, as if hoping his glasses would give him a different perspective on the catch.
“I'm afraid we’ve run out of kippers this morning, Mr Prescott." David rose to his feet. "The new order isn’t due until this afternoon, but toast in plenty we can supply. Isn’t that right, Lin?” He smiled brightly at Lin and then expertly manoeuvred Mr Prescott out of the kitchen and back towards the guests breakfast room. “A picnic lunch is no trouble at all. How does salmon and Stilton tarts sound and maybe some crab salad sandwiches…”
Cutting two slices of fresh bread with a sharp knife and ill grace Lin dropped them into the toaster while muttering under his breath.
David came back into the kitchen carrying used breakfast plates just as the eccentric toaster ejected its load. Deftly catching the golden slices as they shot up and out, Lin cut them into triangles, ramming them into a toast rack. “There," he pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, "toast done, but if you think I’m fiddling on packing a picnic for porky Prescott you can think again."
David said nothing, taking the plates over to the waste bin putting his foot on the pedal to pop the lid.
"He seems to think we have nothing better to do all day but cater to his greed. I’ve got fish to prepare." Lin flicked a hand at the plastic box, "though it needs Jesus, not a cook, to perform miracles with this lot. And where are my crabs?" He glared at David. "Seth promised to deliver a new batch of boiled crabs this morning. I ordered them yesterday. He promised, so where is he?”
“Calm down." David scraped pungent kipper remains into the bin and then put the plates into the sink to be washed. "Seth brought the crabs earlier, while we were out. There was a less than effusive note on the kitchen table - crabs in the icehouse. He was in a hurry. He’s got a wedding to go to.”
“What is it with fishermen and weddings today? George is at a wedding and now Seth. How many weddings is the vicar packing in? What is it, a sponsored wedathon?”
“George's sister Gail is getting married. Seth is their cousin. There’s barely a family in the village the Crooks aren’t related to somewhere along the line. Most of Stanes will probably be at the wedding, including Lucy. So we’ll have to do our own housework and pot washing today.”
“How come you know who’s related to who? You haven’t lived here above five minutes. I’m the native returned. I should know these things?”
“I take time to listen.”
“Huh!” Lin thrust his specs up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. “You mean you’re a busybody.”
"Very likely," said David pleasantly. "Mrs Prescott would like some fresh coffee. You can make it while I pull together a picnic.”
“Can I indeed!” Lin turned from scowling at a couple of grey mullet to scowl at David. “She’s already had a pot of coffee. What is she, a caffeine junkie, how much coffee does one person need? She'll be climbing the walls if she has much more. We'll have to have her shot down with a tranquillising dart.”
“She’s a paying guest, Linval, therefore we will cater to her needs with courtesy and goodwill.” David’s patience was on the wane, evident in his tone of voice. “You’ve barely been civil to the Prescott’s since they arrived. Need I remind you they were the first guests we put up here and subsequent guests have come on their recommendation. This is their fifth visit to us, doesn’t that say something to you?”
“Yes,” snapped Lin. “It says they’re intent on eating us out of house and home. They're like fucking tapeworms.”
“Sometimes,” David ran a hand through his short dark brown hair, leaving the front sticking up in agitated little tufts, “you make me so cross. You’ve incurred my extreme displeasure once this morning, let me advice you not to incur it again.”
> “Extreme displeasure is it?” Lin snatched up and filled the kettle. “Since when were you elevated from being plain old queen David to being Queen Victoria? I knew you were well born, but I didn't realise you were in line to the throne. You'll be telling me you're not amused next. By the way, your royal majesty, you can empty the pedal bin. I keep telling you not to put kipper waste in it. I'm not having it stinking out my kitchen. It'll attract flies. We'll be getting the bloody health inspector calling. Do you want us to get closed down? Maybe that's the plan, get the bistro closed so I don't have anything to do but dance attendance on you like some dowdy lady in waiting."
Opening the fridge David removed a canister of coffee, setting it on the worktop. “Make the coffee, and do it without further comment. I don’t want to hear another word from you on any subject whatsoever for at least twenty minutes, is that CLEAR?”
The last word cracked across the kitchen, making Lin jump. Flinging open the pot cupboard he withdrew a clean cafetiere, thumped it onto the work counter and spooned coffee into it. The kettle boiled and he allowed it to stand for a moment before pouring it onto the grounds, inhaling the seductive scent as it spiralled up from the pot. He put it on a tray along with the toast, a small jug of cream and a clean cup and saucer. Picking it up he silently held it out to David, who was buttering slices of wholemeal bread.
“As you can see I’m busy." David levelled a steady look at him. "Take it in to them." He moved to hold open the kitchen door. "Be polite and pleasant. If they wish to exchange chit-chat, listen agreeably, whether or not the chit or the chat is of personal interest to you.”
Lin opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again, his stomach tightening as a certain expression came over David's face. His twenty minutes of enforced silence were far from over and the expression was a clear warning not to push. Settling for a roll of the eyes, he gripped the tray and stalked out of the kitchen.