Schrodinger's Cottage

by David Luddington

  Wolf Rock Lighthouse drifted into view beneath us, waves crashing across the rocky base. At least some things don’t change.

  “...If you hear the words Brace - Brace you should adopt...”

  The engines eased back as we started our slight descent towards the Scillys.

  “...If you need to use the evacuation chute...”

  Fishing boats littered the sea below, this must be the Free Fleet Mary had mentioned. They threaded their way between each other as some headed out and others returned with their catches.

  “...Oxygen masks are not automatically dispensed on this model and you will need...”

  The sandy beaches of St Marys appeared below us and a couple of minutes later came the slight bump as the wheels touched the tarmac.

  “In the event of an emergency, a post trauma counselling service...”

  The little plane came to a halt within twenty feet of the arrivals hall. I knew it was the arrivals hall as a hand painted sign over a simple glass door told me so.

  “...In the event of mid-air turbulence, the captain may at his discretion...”

  I sat waiting patiently in my seat as she continued her pre-flight safety briefing which continued for another five minutes, by which time the doors were open, the steps attached and the pilot had gone off for his tea break.

  Eventually I was thanked for choosing to fly Celtic International Airlines and was wished a safe onward journey. I exited the plane down the wobbly steps. There was nobody there to guide me and no red ribbons to stop me putting my head in the propellers. I made my way into the arrivals hall which consisted of a small cafe where disappointingly, nobody seemed in the slightest bit interested in my arrival.

  *****

  I contemplated hiring a taxi into Hugh Town but as it was only about a mile and I’d been feeling stir crazy after my four hours trapped in Lands End Airport, walking seemed like a better idea. The road meandered between an odd mixture of whitewashed cottages and tall modern flats. It seemed the rapid influx of new residents following secession had created a building spree. Hugh Town merged with everything else and I found myself down by the small harbour where so many boats clustered within the sea walls one could barely make out any bits of water between them. I threaded my way carefully between the lobster pots and ropes that lay strewn across the edge of the docks, waiting to tip an unwary pedestrian into the water below.

  My finely tuned instincts pulled me towards a building that if it wasn’t a pub then it certainly should be. A huge carved ship’s figurehead thrust out from the stone building and as I drew closer, I saw a sign announcing ‘The Frigate’. Feeling pleased with my unfailing navigation system I went inside. The smell of tobacco smoke hit me as I entered. The bar was filled with the sound of chattering and laughing. I checked my watch, four thirty, maybe all these people were fishermen just come in from the day. I weaved my way to the bar and surveyed the row of pumps.

  A young woman in jeans and white blouse appeared behind the bar. “What can I get you, love?”

  I pointed to the pump labelled ‘St Mary’s Thunder’. “I’ll have a pint of that please.”

  She pulled skilfully at the pump and placed the pint glass in front of me. “A pound, please.”

  Her request threw me on two counts; Firstly, I didn’t have any sterling and secondly I don’t remember paying a pound for a pint since I turned sixteen.”

  She noticed my obvious confusion, “Ah, you’re from the mainland,” she said.

  “That obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so!” She smiled. “Old Bob over there will change some of that foreign money you’re probably carrying.” She nodded towards a pair of weather-beaten individuals playing dominos in the corner.

  I pulled a few euro notes from my wallet and headed over to the pair. “Bob?” I queried.

  “Ooh ahr,” the nearest man said. He looked up at me. “You needing to swap some of that monopoly money for the Queens currency then?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I held out the notes to him and he snatched them from my hand.

  “What you got ‘ere then?” He counted them with the skill of a bank teller. “I’ll give you a hundred for ‘em, not a penny more.”

  I hadn’t the faintest idea if that was good rate or not but guessed it was probably the only offer available. “Okay, thanks.”

  The euro notes disappeared as if by magic and he laid a pile of sterling on the table. “Thank you for your custom.” He chuckled and returned to his game.

  I handed over the money for the beer and took a sip. Delicious.

  “You here on holiday?” the woman asked.

  “Not really. I’m looking for somebody.”

  “Not some sort of detective, are you?” Her face flickered into instant suspicion.

  “No, she’s my friend. I think she might have come here looking for her sister.”

  She wandered off to serve somebody else and I headed for an empty table. The bar bustled. A constant change of customers as people came and went. When the opportunity arose I snatched a newly vacated table by the window and watched the little boats bobbing about. I suddenly realised I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and picked up the menu.

  The barmaid materialised like magic. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “I was just thinking that,” I said.

  “We’ve got some fresh crab just come in. Could do you a nice salad with it if you like?”

  I ordered the crab salad and another beer. It came to three pounds exactly. She brought the salad and drink to my table after a few minutes.

  “So, what’s this friend of yours look like? She pretty?”

  “Err, yes. Shoulder length hair, with streaks. Slim. Her name’s Tania.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not seen her. But we get hundreds in here a day.” She turned to leave then paused. “You said she was looking for someone?”

  “Yes, her sister. Emma Trevarick?”

  The barmaid looked thoughtful. “Name rings a bell.”

  “Her husband is Lee, I think. He’s a fisherman.” I added hopefully.

  “Lee Trevarick! Oh yes, everybody knows Lee. Runs the Leaky Sock.”

  “Leaky Sock?” I queried.

  “That’s the name of his boat. Long story. Usually moors it out there on the western wall.” She pointed to where the sea wall curved around the harbour then glanced at the clock behind the bar. “Went out on the morning tide, probably back around seven shouldn’t wonder.” She went back to her duties.

  The crab salad was the best I’d ever tasted and plenty of it. If Lee was not going to be in till around seven I was going to need a room for the night. I went over to the bar and asked the woman if she knew of any rooms to rent.

  “We do them here, but we’re all full,” she said. “In fact, pretty much everywhere’s nearly always full.” She thought for a moment then rummaged in a drawer under the till. “You might try Mrs Miggins, she has a cottage out on Old Town Road. My Mike’s just finished doing up her spare rooms so you might have a chance there.”

  I thanked her and headed off in the direction she’d indicated.

  *****

  Toll Cottage overlooked a stretch of moor that led down to the sea. It was a white-washed two story building that nestled in a large beautifully kept garden. I ducked under the roses that overhung the door and tapped the brass troll’s head knocker. Mrs Miggins answered the door. She was a small woman with a tight white perm that resembled a cauliflower. She wore a large apron that sported a map of the Scillys.

  “Oh!” She looked surprised. “I was expecting the milkman. He always comes on Tuesdays.”

  “I was told you might have a room I could have for the night?” I asked.

  “Oh my, there’s a thing now. Well I suppose I have. Come in.” She turned and disappeared into the slightly gloomy interior.

  I followed her inside. It reminded me somewhat of Tinker's Cottage. I must remember to go out of the same door through which I entered. Just in case. She
led the way up a twisty and slight wonky staircase and opened a door for me. The room was bright and airy in contrast to the rest of the cottage. It still smelled faintly of paint. A large window looked across the moor and the sea glinted in the late afternoon sun.

  “It’s lovely,” I said. “How much is it?”

  She thought for a moment then, “Ten pounds a night. Is that alright? I can do you a nice breakfast for another two pounds if you like?”

  “It sounds perfect,” I said. “And yes, breakfast would be great.”

  “I’ll leave you to get settled in then. I’ll just go put the kettle on. You look like you could do with a nice cup of tea.” She disappeared down the windy staircase.

  I sat on the bed and admired the view, it was truly stunning. From what I had seen so far, this island was a true mix of the old and new. Evidence of the sudden growth following secession was everywhere. Traditional cottages with huge extensions, modern flats nudging up against colonial houses and I’d even passed a field of what looked like log cabins. The island had clearly struggled to keep up with the influx of migrants. I unpacked my few meagre possessions and wound my way down the staircase.

  Mrs Miggins lifted her kettle from a big green cooking machine in the corner and emptied it into a china teapot the shape of a cottage. I must get one of those.

  “Cynthia told me doing up the rooms would be worthwhile,” she said as she poured the tea. “But I really didn’t think someone would turn up so quickly, I have to say. Sugar’s in the policeman if you take it.” She pointed to a china figurine on the table.

  “How long have you lived here?” I asked.

  “Not quite all my life.” She gave a grin that crinkled at the corner of her eyes.

  “I suppose you’ve seen some changes?”

  “When I was courting my Albert, that nice mister Harold Wilson used to come here for his holidays. Now they’re both in the churchyard down yonder.”

  I glanced at my watch and finished my tea. “I have to go. Got to try to meet somebody.”

  “I’ll leave the door on the latch for you when you get back.” She gathered up the cups and clattered at the sink.

  *****

  The boats in the harbour bobbed on the evening sea. I made my way round to where the woman in the bar had indicated The Leaky Sock would moor up. Scores of boats competed for space along the harbour walls and others linked together like the flotillas in Hong Kong harbour. Fishermen used each other’s boats as stepping platforms to bring their catches ashore. The dockside was slippery with water and I had to watch my step, especially as it was also littered with ropes and boxes of still flapping fish. I did the full circuit of the harbour wall and no sign of The Leaky Sock so I gave up and asked a fisherman nearby if he knew of it.

  “Lee? Oh he be twixt The Blue Mermaid and The Neptune’s Folly. Down there, look see?” He pointed to a nestle of boats in the middle of the harbour. “The one with the net hung on the crosstree.”

  “What?”

  “The Plymouth Hooker, over there.”

  “Huh?”

  He looked at me like I was from the planet Zarg. “The cute little yellow boat next to the nice big blue one.”

  “Oh, I see. Thank you.”

  The thought of trying to hop across the decks of several bouncing fishing boats didn’t fill me with excitement so I sat on a large metal cleat and watched for him to come ashore. I kept my eye on The Leaky Sock and noticed a tall man with a blue denim cap shifting plastic boxes onto the next boat. I guessed that was Lee and waited for him to get to the dock. The fishermen all seemed to work together tossing boxes towards each other in the general direction of the harbour side. Somehow they all piled up in separate piles. Eventually Lee made it ashore and as he tidied his pile of boxes together, I went over to him.

  “Hi, are you Lee Trevarick?” I asked.

  The man looked at me through slightly narrowed eyes. “Depends whose askin’ and what he wants.”

  “I’m looking for a friend of mine, Tania Shapwick?”

  “Tania?” Lee said, suddenly interested. “What do you know about Tania?”

  “She’s a friend of mine from London and I think she may be...” I struggled for the words to explain to this fisherman the theory of quantum doorways without being dumped in the harbour. I settled for, “Lost. I think she’s lost. And er, possibly disorientated.”

  “Disorientated is it?” Lee humped the boxes on to the back of a small cart. I thought I ought to help and picked one up. It was a lot heavier than it looked and the wet plastic started to slip through my hands. I brought my knee up under it to stop the whole lot falling on the floor. Lee picked it out of my hands as if it were empty and dumped it on the cart. “Best let me do that. Just spent all day dragging the little buggers out of the water, don’t want you dumping them back in there again do we.”

  “Yes, there’s obviously a knack.”

  “Not so sure about disorientated. Barking mad more’n like.” He dumped the last of the boxes on the cart and started pulling it along the harbour wall. “Don’t see her for years then turns up all posh like she’s Lady Whatsit only she don’t seem to know Tuesday from fried eggs anymore.”

  “So you know where she is?” I asked hopefully.

  “She’s sat in our spare room is where she is.” He bounced the cart over some metal tracks in the road and I helpfully steadied the boxes for him. “Won’t go out. Won’t talk to anybody but Ems.”

  “Ems?”

  “Emma, my missus. Says the world’s gone wrong. There’s only one thing wrong in that room and it ain’t the world, that’s for sure.” He dragged the cart up behind a huge Nissan four-wheel drive pickup and dropped the tailgate.

  “Do you think I could see her?” I struggled to heft a box onto the bed of the pickup and Lee looked at me with a little smile and a slight nod that seemed to say well done.

  “You can try.” He swung the boxes from the cart to the truck with infuriating ease. “But doubt she’ll talk to you.”

  We finished loading the truck and I climbed in the passenger seat. We bounced across the docks and headed out of town. Eventually we came to a row of about a dozen stone cottages overlooking the bay on the western side of the island. He pulled the truck to a stop at a garage behind one of the cottages.

  “Come on in,” he said as he jumped out of the cab.

  He led the way in through a back door that seemed three sizes too small for him “Ems?” he called. “Got a visitor.”

  “Bit of warning might have been nice.” Emma appeared from a doorway at the other end of the hallway. “Who is it this time, not another one of your drinking mates been thrown out?” She eyed me up and down.

  “Says he’s a mate of your daft sister.”

  “Tania?” She looked at me. “You know my sister?”

  “Yes, I’m Ian Faulkener, from London.”

  “I don’t remember you? She’s never said anything about nobody called Ian? Come on through.” She led the way into a small lounge and motioned for me to sit on the sofa. “How do you know her?”

  “She’s my agent. I write. Graphic novels, The Falconer?” I realised as I spoke none of that would make any sense.

  “Agent? Tania is... was a Human Resources Outsourcing Liaison Officer for Walthamstow council.”

  I could see this was going to prove tricky. “There’s sort of two Tanias,” I began. “The Tania here is not the one you know.”

  “That much is for sure,” Lee said.

  “You’re as daft as she is,” Emma said. “She kept going on about there being two of this and that.”

  I tried to explain as best as I could about the cottage and the doors. Lee got up after a few minutes and announced he had fish to shift and this was all bollocks to him anyway. Emma listened and I could see her trying to make sense of it.

  “Can I see her?” I asked.

  “You might as well I suppose. You’ve both been playing with the pixies for far too long as best as I can make out a
nyway.”

  She led me upstairs and tapped gently on a white painted door. “Tania?” she called softly.

  There was no response so Emma knocked again. “Tania? There’s somebody here to see you.”

  After a moment I heard Tania’s voice, “Who?”

  “Says he knows you. Ian? From London?”

  The door swung open and Tania appeared. She looked slightly dishevelled and somewhat wide-eyed. She stared at me. “Ian? Is that really you?” She flung her arms around me and started sobbing.

  “I guess that’s a yes, then,” said Emma.

  I just held her tight for a while until she pushed back. “What’s happening?” she asked, her eyes scanning my face. “I thought I was going mad. Am I going mad?”

  “No more than me,” I said.

  “Oh, good. That’s reassuring then.”

  I laughed. “I tried to warn you about the doors.”

  “Doors?” Tania queried.

  “Don’t get him started on his doors,” Emma said. “Had my head going round in circles he did. I’ll make some tea.” She disappeared downstairs.

  “I don’t understand,” Tania said. “Everything sort of changed. It was all wrong. The more I tried to get to Emma’s the worse it got.”

  I sat her on the bed and began my explanation. I knew she had trouble believing me but the evidence of her own experience won the case. Emma brought a tray of tea and chocolate digestives up and left them on the small table.

  “And you just let me go!” Tania said, suddenly angry now.

  “I didn’t know. I thought I was having a bad day.”

  “A bad day! You open a doorway to another world, shove your ex through into oblivion and you call that a bad day!”

  “I can see how you might take it that way.” Therapy words, all those expensive sessions had to be useful for something.

  She picked the pillow off the bed and swung it at my head. “Don’t try to weasel me. You’re a category one, class A, self centred gitbag.”

  “A bit hard,” I protested. “I think I was in denial.”

  “Like you were for most of our relationship.” She turned to look out of the windows and I saw her shoulders slump. Her rage abated.