‘I didn’t realise the sea was so close. I thought we had quite a bit further to go. Isn’t it beautiful?’
They stood for a while gazing at the cobalt-blue water, which seemed not to move at all until it drew close to the land, where it smashed against the granite rocks and broke into a million glittering shards. Katie glanced to her right and pointed to a small stone cottage nearby that appeared to be teetering on the edge of the precipice, waiting to drop off. There was only space for a little front garden surrounded by a low wall before the sheer drop. The place seemed cared for, with windswept white roses growing around the door, a stumpy palm tree by the path and carefully trimmed shrubs.
‘What a weird spot for a house!’ she said.
Bramble frowned. ‘It looks as if someone lives there.’
She hadn’t yet worked out quite where her estate began and ended, but knew that it stretched far and wide and included a number of cottages that she’d understood were derelict.
‘I wouldn’t fancy it, would you?’ Katie went on. ‘It must be wild in winter.’
Curious, they strolled closer to the building, noticing two easels side by side on the grass, one large and one much smaller, as if for a child. There was a bright-red ball in one of the flowerbeds and a pile of miniature yellow and green plastic gardening tools – a trowel, rake, bucket, hoe and a funny little wheelbarrow.
‘I think you’ve got squatters,’ Katie whispered. ‘You’ll have to turf them out.’
Bramble hadn’t considered the possibility of strangers sharing this vast space with her; not that there wasn’t enough room.
‘They don’t seem to be doing any harm. We’ll leave it for another time. C’mon, let’s go for a swim. I’m boiling!’
Peering over the cliff, they looked for a suitable spot to clamber down, but there wasn’t a path in sight. However, their attention was soon drawn to a tempting-looking small pebbly inlet wedged between two granite projections. It was so secluded it would be perfect for skinny dipping, if they could only get there.
‘It’s very steep,’ Bramble said doubtfully.
‘We could scramble down,’ Katie suggested. ‘It’s not so bad in some places. We can hang on to the bushes and slide some of the way on our bums.’
They were both in shorts and T-shirts and their arms and legs got scratched as they half-staggered, half-stumbled down the steep rocks. Before long, Bramble began to think that they might have made a mistake, because much as she fancied a swim, her whole body was hurting and she had no idea how they were going to clamber back up.
‘I’m not sure if this is such a good idea,’ she squeaked, hoping that Katie might suggest they turn around and do their best to retrace their steps before reaching the point of no return, but she was undeterred.
‘We’ve started now; we might as well go on,’ she pronounced, just before her backside hit something particularly sharp – ‘Ow!’ – and she slipped and slid several feet before landing in a crevice.
‘Are you OK?’ Bramble’s courage had all but vanished.
‘Not really,’ Katie whimpered. ‘I’ve hurt my elbow.’
Perched precariously on a narrow ledge and clutching on to a flimsy clump of samphire, Bramble felt her head start to reel. She wasn’t at all sure that she could go either up or down. She might just have to sit here for ever.
Just then they heard a shout – ‘Oi!’ – and glancing up, Bramble caught sight of a large pair of muddy brown leather walking boots.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ came a deep voice. ‘You could get yourselves killed.’
‘I – I think I’m stuck,’ Bramble stammered. ‘I can’t move. And my friend’s hurt.’
‘I’m all right,’ Katie called back bravely. ‘Just.’
Bramble couldn’t bring herself to look down; she thought she might faint.
‘Wait there,’ the voice cried, as if they were capable of doing anything else. ‘I’ll fetch some rope.’
Then the boots disappeared and the girls were alone again, hanging on for dear life, their only company a bunch of seagulls and a flock of red-billed choughs preening themselves ostentatiously on a peaky promontory. To keep up their spirits, Bramble started to sing Beyoncé’s ‘Love on Top’, until Katie begged her not to because it was making her feel sick. Bramble was just beginning to think that perhaps the pair of boots had been a figment of her febrile imagination when she heard voices, this time belonging to a man and child.
‘What are they doing, Daddy?’ the child asked in a puzzled tone.
‘I don’t know,’ came the reply, ‘but they’re bloody stupid.’
Bramble bristled and might have called something rude back, but she remembered that she was hardly in a position to upset any potential rescuers.
‘Pass me the end,’ the man commanded from above and she heard a thud followed by a few grunts.
‘That’s a figure-eight knot, see? Safe as houses. Won’t budge. D’you remember how to do it?’
Soon a length of coarse rope snaked down the cliff beside Bramble and the man shouted at her to grab it and hang on tight.
‘I’m going to pull you up. For Christ’s sake, don’t let go. It’s tied to a tree but I’ll be holding on as well. You won’t drop unless you do something daft.’
There was nothing for it but to obey. Bramble seized the lifeline with both hands, and he shouted, ‘Ready? One, two, three.’
Then, slowly, he began to heave her up the bank while she did her best to help, seeking out foot holes and taking care not to smash into the side. When at last she reached the top and flopped, gasping, on to her tummy, the first thing she noticed was the lovely safe, flat land covered in soft, springy grass. The second was a small boy with a mop of blonde hair shaking his head and waggling his finger at her. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight.
‘My dad says you shouldn’t have gone down there,’ the boy said in a superior voice. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
Bramble, who was hot, thirsty, shaken and in no mood for a ticking-off from anyone, let alone a kid, shot him a dirty look.
‘I’ll have you know—’ she started to say, but she was interrupted by the boy’s father.
‘Can she do it on her own, do you think, or will she need help?’
So focused had she been on the boy that for a moment Bramble didn’t know what he meant.
‘Your friend,’ the man continued crossly. ‘Can she come up on her own or is she too badly hurt?’
Bramble looked at him for the first time. He was tall and powerful, with a tanned face, short, closely cut dark-brown hair, a long, straight nose and wide cheekbones. His narrow-ish eyes were framed by dark brows and lashes but she couldn’t see the colour because he was frowning, waiting for her answer.
‘I, er, I’m not sure,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I think she’s hurt her elbow.’
The man muttered something under his breath before turning to the boy.
‘Stay here and don’t touch the rope – it might burn. I’ll go and get her.’
The boy nodded gravely and Bramble watched his father scramble over the edge, hanging on to the rope with both hands and lowering himself down. He seemed quite agile, as if he were in his natural element. Perhaps he went rock climbing as a hobby.
‘Are you all right?’ Bramble called after a time, because he had disappeared over a bulge in the cliff face and she couldn’t see him any more.
There was silence for a moment; then, ‘We’re fine!’ Katie cried valiantly, and Bramble sighed with relief. Her pleasure was short-lived, however, as she watched the man come into view again, heaving Katie up the steep escarpment on his back. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms firmly around his neck, and his face was locked in concentration, veins swelling on his temples and beads of sweat on his forehead.
Bramble grabbed the rope and tried to tug, but it was too heavy. It must have been very hard work for him. What if Katie let go or he lost his grip?
The
small boy, who was standing still and watching intently, seemed to sense her anxiety and whispered, ‘Don’t worry. My dad’s very strong.’
But it did little to reassure Bramble, who remembered that when she was young, she’d truly believed her father could fly her to the moon and back. It had been a terrible shock when he’d slipped once on a tree root and twisted his ankle.
At last, when the man was within a few feet of the top, he paused.
‘Can you climb over now?’ he asked Katie, and Bramble and the boy rushed to help. She’d quite forgotten about Katie’s bad elbow, though, and grabbed her by the arm, only for her to shriek in protest.
‘Sorry.’ Bramble tugged hard on the waist of her friend’s shorts instead, and after one great heave, they were lying side by side in a heap on the grass, their eyes closed, heads swimming with shock and elation.
‘Thank God,’ said Bramble, listening to Katie’s panting and conscious of her own pumping heart. ‘That was scary.’
For a few moments, she quite forgot about the strange man who had come to their rescue, but gradually she became aware of a shadow across her face, and when she opened her eyes, he was standing right over her, his big frame blotting out the sun.
‘What on earth were you doing?’ he growled. ‘That was incredibly stupid.’ She felt herself shrink like the leaves of a touch-me-not flower.
He was wearing a crumpled grey T-shirt and faded jeans, now covered in mud and chalk.
‘We were hot. We wanted a swim,’ she said in a small voice, wishing that she didn’t sound so foolish.
‘If I hadn’t been here, you might have fallen all the way and seriously injured yourselves,’ he continued, his eyes flashing dangerously. ‘Either that or you’d have got yourselves drowned.’
Sitting up slowly, she brushed the grass and stones off her arm and legs. A lump had appeared in her throat, her eyes were stinging and she realised that she hadn’t felt quite like this since school, when she’d been dispatched to the head teacher’s office for messing around with the Bunsen burner in a chemistry lesson and accidentally setting fire to another girl’s fringe. Well, sort of accidentally – she’d been a very annoying girl – but Bramble had only meant to give her a bit of a fright. Afterwards, she’d received a telling-off that she’d never forgotten.
She was about to apologise for all the trouble they’d caused when a little voice reminded her that she wasn’t at school any more and this man wasn’t her head teacher. He might have saved them but he was extremely rude, and what’s more, he was most probably trespassing on her land.
Mustering what dignity she could, she stood up and straightened her back and shoulders.
‘Who are you exactly?’ she said imperiously. ‘I’m the new owner of Polgarry Manor.’
‘Are you?’ The man looked unimpressed. ‘You should get yourself better acquainted with the area then before attempting any more daft escapades.’
Bramble’s face flamed with anger and embarrassment.
‘Lord Penrose was my grandfather and I’m his granddaughter, Bramble Challoner,’ she announced, raising her chin and extending a hand. The stranger looked at it for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to do with it, before taking it reluctantly and giving it a half-hearted shake.
‘And this,’ Bramble continued, attempting a grand lady gesture, ‘is my friend, Katie Leonard.’
‘Fergus Wall,’ the man replied curtly. ‘I suppose that’s yours now, too.’ He turned and pointed to the cottage. ‘I live there.’
His brusque manner and seeming sense of entitlement irritated Bramble more than she could say, and she decided there and then that whatever arrangement he’d made with Lord Penrose would have to be reviewed forthwith.
‘Thank you for bringing the rope,’ she said airily, as if they could have managed perfectly well without him.
But the boy was having none of it. ‘If my dad hadn’t have come, you’d still be stuck. You’d have been there all night if it wasn’t for him.’
There was no point arguing – it would only have made her look worse – so Bramble glanced the other way. Katie was sitting up at last, nursing her injured elbow, which was swollen and covered in red, raw scrapes.
‘Is it broken, do you think?’ Bramble asked. ‘Can you walk back to the house?’ She couldn’t wait to get away.
‘I think so... it’s not too bad... I reckon it’s just bruised.’ Then Katie turned to Fergus. ‘Thank you so much. You’re a hero.’
‘If it’s not better by tomorrow, I’d get it checked out at the hospital,’ he muttered, taking his son’s hand, before turning and heading back to his cottage without so much as a goodbye.
‘What a rude man!’ Bramble exclaimed as they trudged home, arm in arm, through the woods and across the fields before reaching the safety of the manor once more. ‘He didn’t even offer to come with us, to make sure you were OK.’
‘No, but he’s quite fit,’ Katie grinned. ‘Don’t you think? Gorgeous face and body, but his eyes are sad.’
6
THAT EVENING TABITHA arrived at Bag End with her son, Oscar, clutching a small overnight case with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front. It was around six thirty and, to the little boy’s enormous pleasure, his mother had informed him that he was to have a sleepover. A former nightclub singer, she was due to perform at the local pub, her first gig for many years. Robert had taken time off work especially and was to look after Oscar with Lowenna, while Liz and Tabitha went out. Oscar had been excited all day, constantly asking, ‘Is it time now?’, until Tabitha had grown irritated and told him not to mention it again or she might cancel the whole arrangement.
Finally, mother and son walked together from their home, Dove Cottage, just up the road, stopping for a brief chat with Pat, who had spotted them passing and leaned out of her little front window to say hello, almost upsetting her display of precious china knick-knacks on the ledge beneath. Pat was well into her eighties and had never been quite the same since she’d fallen victim to a scam the previous year and badly broken her arm. She was frailer now, and had had to give up flower arranging at the nearby Methodist church as it had become too much for her, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. Liz always said that she was as sharp as a tack; so much so, in fact, that you could cut yourself on her. Even now, very little escaped her beady gaze.
After they said goodbye, Oscar skipped ahead of his mother and went up on tiptoe to rap on Liz’s door himself. He was only three, but if he’d been a little older he could have made his own way, because he knew the route perfectly well, having visited often enough. In fact, Bag End was almost his second home.
It hadn’t always been so. He was just eighteen months old when he and his parents had arrived in Tremarnock, having left Manchester to start a new life down south. They’d soon become the talk of the village, because on the face of it they’d seemed like the perfect couple. Luke was handsome, charming and wealthy, Tabitha, young and glamorous, and they were pouring thousands of pounds into converting one of the village’s most historic buildings into a super-chic boutique guest house called The Stables.
Right from the start, though, Liz had had her doubts about Luke, who’d seemed too good to be true, and Tabitha, who’d appeared withdrawn; but few had shared her suspicions, and for a time even Robert had fallen under Luke’s spell. But in the end, Liz had been thoroughly vindicated when Luke had been unmasked not only as an evil fraudster who’d made his fortune by swindling old folk, including poor Pat, but also a vicious bully who had made his wife’s life a living hell.
Thankfully, Luke was now locked up in prison, but this had unsettled Oscar, of course, who’d not only lost his father but had also had to cope with yet another move, from his spacious new home, which had had to be sold off, to a poky ground-floor flat with his mum, who was originally from Liverpool. The saving grace had been that the flat was near Bag End and Liz had taken Tabitha under her wing. The pair were now firm friends, and in a way the two households had becom
e like one big, happy family.
It was Liz who answered the door, with Lowenna balanced on her hip in a pair of pink and white spotty pyjamas. She’d just come out of the bath and her dark, silky hair was carefully combed, her pink cheeks gleaming like a mirror; you could practically see your face in them.
Liz ruffled Oscar’s hair, and when she caught sight of Tabitha behind him, she gasped. ‘You look stunning!’
Tabitha was wearing a knee-length, shiny silver halter-neck dress that clung in all the right places and showed off her creamy-brown arms and shoulders, while her glossy black hair fanned out around her like a cloud of cottonseed.
‘I’ve done my best,’ she replied modestly.
Lowenna struggled to get down and Liz set her carefully on her bottom on the floor in front of Oscar, who gave her a clumsy bear hug that almost sent her flying. Just like his mother, the little boy had big brown eyes and a mass of black wavy hair, which Tabitha refused to cut, meaning that he was sometimes mistaken for a girl.
‘Come on in!’ called a voice, and Robert appeared in the corridor behind Liz, rubbing his eyes and looking suspiciously as if he’d been enjoying an extended afternoon nap.
‘I like your suitcase,’ he said to Oscar, who promptly thrust the bag forwards.
‘It’s got Winnie the Pooh on,’ he said proudly, and Lowenna gave it a curious look.
‘I can see that,’ Robert replied, trying to stifle a yawn. ‘We’re going to have lots of fun tonight. We’ve got a midnight feast.’ He winked blearily. ‘Don’t tell your mum.’
After he’d scooped Lowenna from the floor, they disappeared upstairs to show Oscar his bedroom while Liz and Tabitha strolled into the kitchen. It was a reasonably sized, wide white room with low ceilings and an old pine table in the middle, scored with marks through years of use.
Tremarnock Summer Page 7