Summer at 23 the Strand

by Linda Mitchelmore

  In the morning it was Hannah alone who stood there when he answered the knock at his door.

  ‘Your plate,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Those cakes were delicious.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed them. And young Archie.’

  ‘It’s Archie I want to say something to you about.’ She glanced back at her chalet. ‘He’s still asleep,’ she said, lowering her voice just in case he wasn’t and heard her and came looking for her. ‘He had nightmares again in the night. I hope he didn’t disturb you.’

  ‘No. And I’m sorry about the nightmares. Horrid things.’

  Arthur had had terrible nightmares when he’d moved from junior school to the grammar school and had been badly bullied for a while. Until his schoolmates had discovered he could draw wonderfully sharp caricatures of their teachers, that was.

  ‘It’s not just the nightmares,’ Hannah said. ‘I know I shouldn’t be drawing you into this, but all that stuff about you being Father Christmas on holiday and you going along with it… well, it’s the first time in a long six months that I’ve seen a smile on Archie’s face.’ Hannah bit her lip.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. What was he supposed to do if those tears he could see in Hannah’s eyes fell? Ought he to put his arms around her? Hug her? Judith had cried, often, over the fact they couldn’t have children. Arthur too. Judith had always said he was a good hugger. But it wouldn’t be appropriate to hug Hannah, would it? They’d only just met. He gave Hannah an understanding smile. He watched as she swallowed back her tears.

  ‘As you’ve probably noticed, it’s just me and Archie. I’m a single mum now. And Archie is without his dad. Carl was killed… he was in the Army. Not in combat. A freak accident in training but killed all the same. Archie hasn’t coped well at all and the counsellor he’s been seeing, and his headmaster, both said a couple of weeks away from it all, somewhere Archie had never been before with his dad, might help. So here we are.’

  ‘Oh, my dear lady, I am so very sorry for your loss.’ Arthur had guessed there was a story behind Hannah and Archie being here on holiday, in the chalet next to his, but he’d never imagined such sadness. ‘The Army, you say?’

  ‘Yes. A training exercise on Dartmoor. Carl was a major. Live ammunition was involved. I’d really rather not say more. At the moment.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But nonetheless it’s a time of huge change for you both.’ Hannah stood there, nodding in agreement at his words. Up and down, up and down, her pretty head bobbed. She was clenching her fists tightly at her sides. Arthur decided he had to say something in case she was afraid she would cry if she spoke herself. ‘During the war,’ he went on, ‘I knew many young children – friends of mine from school or Sunday School – who lost their fathers. Their lives were never quite the same again. Not necessarily worse, you understand, but different in some way.’

  ‘Did you lose your father to the war, Arthur?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘No. I was one of the lucky ones. My father came back. He was in the Eighth Army. I don’t think he had too hard a time of it, compared to many, except he always said he’d seen enough sand in North Africa never to want to go on a beach again. And he didn’t.’ Arthur wondered now why he had brought some of his own memories and experiences to the party, as common parlance had it – he’d heard that said on the television, of which he watched far too much now he didn’t have Judith there in the evenings to chat to, to listen to music with. ‘But I shouldn’t be talking about myself. It’s you and Archie whose situation is paramount. How can I help?’

  ‘By doing just what you’re doing. I asked a question and you answered. For the time you were talking I was able to concentrate on what you were saying instead of having the loss of Carl at the forefront of my mind. People have been afraid to talk to me. I’ve seen people I know – neighbours, acquaintances – dodge behind lampposts and so on to avoid having to speak to me. People don’t seem to know what to say.’

  ‘No, no,’ Arthur said. ‘Very often they don’t.’ There was no need to elucidate; Hannah would know exactly what he was implying. ‘But I’m very glad to meet you both, albeit in the saddest of circumstances.’

  Hannah nodded in agreement.

  ‘I’d best get back to Archie. He’ll be awake soon. I’ll let you get on with your day.’

  ‘And if we bump into one another as we go about our business, do I carry on with the Father Christmas illusion, or…’

  ‘Archie is made up about it,’ Hannah said. ‘A little while longer won’t hurt, will it? If it’s not bothering you too much.’

  ‘It’s not bothering me at all… ah, I think I hear a little voice calling you. My radar hearing. My dear, late wife always said I had radar hearing.’

  And with that Hannah ran down Arthur’s steps and back to 22 The Strand.

  Now what to do? Had Judith been here she’d have been poring over the leaflets he’d found on the kitchen counter and deciding what they would do. She would have had the bus timetable downloaded onto Arthur’s iPad and would be planning their journeys. Technology had come into their lives in their twilight years but Judith had embraced it, perhaps more keenly than Arthur. But he was glad of that keenness now because there were more than a couple of hundred photographs they’d taken on trips out – selfies, some of them; goodness, who would have thought such a word would ever exist and that Arthur would know what it meant! If Arthur was feeling particularly sad, missing Judith so much that it was a scab on his heart that wouldn’t heal, he looked at those photographs.

  ‘So, Judith, where to?’ he said out loud, rifling idly through the brochures. The zoo, a steam railway trip, Torre Abbey and Gardens, Torquay Museum? None of those appealed.

  Had Judith been there Arthur would have gone along happily with whatever it was she chose, wherever that might be. But Judith wasn’t there.

  Arthur’s old school friend, David, had been full of suggestions. David had been kindness itself after Judith died. He’d come down from Scotland for the funeral and stayed on for almost a month… a very long month for Arthur.

  ‘What you need to remember, Arthur, is that you are now at a premium, being a widower. There are far more widows out there looking for a new partner – someone to mend a fuse, chop logs, put out the bins – than there are widowers.’ David had guffawed at his wit.

  ‘I’m sure there are many widows capable of doing all that,’ Arthur said. Judith certainly would have been but somehow he couldn’t find the words to tell David so, because his chest felt tight with emotion, and he felt raw with his grief, as though some unseen hand was taking the skin from his heart with a potato peeler.

  ‘Don’t be such a stuff-shirt, old boy,’ David had said, wagging a finger at him. ‘You don’t have to rush into anything. I didn’t after my divorce.’

  And thereby hung the difference. Arthur hadn’t fallen out of love with Judith, or she with him, the way David and his wife had.

  So Arthur wasn’t here for a fortnight at 23 The Strand looking for another woman to fill Judith’s place beside him on the couch watching history and wildlife documentaries, or beside him in the large double bed which made him feel he was adrift in a tiny dinghy in a vast ocean without Judith to reach out to and touch in the night.

  Instead, he walked the length of the promenade and back at least twice a day. He strolled up into the town and bought bread and cheese, some tomatoes and a bag of ready-dressed salad leaves for his lunch. In the evenings he found a local pub, bought himself a pint of the local ale and spent quite some while studying the menu before almost always settling on fish and chips. Well, he was at the seaside. And Judith had loved fish and chips.

  What he didn’t do was catch the eye of any woman of a certain age who came walking, alone, towards him. Once, he sat down in one of the shelters dotted along the promenade and within seconds a very smart lady who was most certainly in possession of a bus pass came and sat beside him.

  ‘You don’t mind me sharing your bench, do you?’ she said. ‘It’s such a lo
vely view from here, isn’t it? Are you on holiday?’

  Arthur hadn’t been sure which question to answer first, so he made his excuses about having to get back to take in a parcel delivery – now where had that come from? Same place as Father Christmas and all that nonsense, probably.

  ‘Oh, that’s such a shame. Maybe I’ll bump into you again.’

  Or maybe not, Arthur decided.

  He wouldn’t have minded bumping into Hannah and the delightful Archie but, despite hanging around on his deck in case they came out and he could say a cheery good morning or good afternoon, he hadn’t seen them.

  Arthur didn’t see Hannah and Archie for another couple of days. He wondered if Hannah was keeping her distance a little, if – after telling Arthur such personal information – she was regretting drawing him into their world. He decided to walk along the promenade for some exercise and sea air. And possibly an ice cream.

  He was just handing over his money for a 99 with a chocolate flake in it when he heard a voice. Very close. Very loud.

  ‘Is there ice cream in the North Pole, Mr Father Christmas?’

  Arthur looked down at Archie looking up at him.

  ‘There most certainly is. All that ice. Perfect for freezing milk. Reindeer milk that is.’

  ‘Eurgh. I don’t think I’d like that. I don’t think Mummy can get it at Tesco.’

  Archie looked around for his mother. So did Arthur. She didn’t seem to be anywhere in any direction Arthur looked.

  ‘Where’s your mummy?’ Arthur asked. ‘Does she know where you are?’

  ‘No. I ran away.’

  ‘Ah. Then I think I’d better take you back to her.’

  Arthur could well remember packing a few things – a biscuit, a pen, a jumper if memory served him well – into a paper bag and running away. He’d wanted a kitten and his parents said he couldn’t have one so he’d run away to find a family who would let him have one. He hadn’t gone far and it was no time at all before his parents missed him and came looking for him. Perhaps all little boys had the urge to run away at times.

  ‘I tried to find Daddy for her.’

  Oh, the poor little chap. Arthur reached out a hand and patted Archie on the head in what he hoped was a comforting manner. After all, he’d never had to comfort a child, although he remembered being a child and needing comfort.

  ‘That was very kind of you. Mummy told me that your daddy… well, he’s not here any more so you won’t be able to find him, will you?’

  ‘No. Miss Raymont at school said that when I ran off when we were doing football. I ran round and round the field and she couldn’t catch me. I was very sadded.’ He shook his head from side to side as he spoke, rather matter-of-factly, Arthur decided, as though he’d accepted he would be sad.

  ‘Sad, yes,’ Arthur said, automatically correcting Archie’s grammar. ‘But now I think I’d better help you find your mummy. She’ll be worried when she realises you’re missing.’

  His own mother had hugged and hugged him when she’d found him in the back lane behind their house, his parcel on his knees, nibbling on a biscuit. She’d almost hugged the life out of him. He had a feeling Hannah would do the same with Archie once they were reunited. He hoped it would be soon as the ice cream was beginning to drip over his hand. He could have offered it to Archie to eat but you couldn’t be too careful where children were concerned, could you?

  ‘Archie!’

  Ah, there she was now, running along the promenade towards them from the direction of the harbour. Arthur had assumed Archie had merely slipped out of the chalet.

  Hannah’s long hair was whipping across her face in the breeze and, when she pushed it back, Arthur could see she was very pink-cheeked indeed. She’d taken off her sandals and was running barefoot.

  As she reached Arthur and Archie she opened her mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come. The shock of losing Archie and then the relief of finding him had almost turned her to a statue.

  ‘All safe and sound,’ Arthur said. ‘I was just about to ask young Archie here if he could relieve me of this ice cream. I don’t think I want it after all.’

  Arthur looked questioningly at Hannah. She nodded. Yes, it was all right to give her son an ice cream.

  ‘I… I…,’ Hannah began.

  Arthur decided to help Archie in his hour of need, prevent him from having a telling off if he could.

  ‘He has just told me,’ Arthur said, keeping his voice low, ‘that he ran away to try and find his daddy for you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Hannah sobbed.

  And then, in a louder voice, Arthur said, ‘But he’s not going to go anywhere without telling you where he’s going again, are you, Archie?’

  A mouth full of ice cream, Archie could only shake his head.

  ‘Do you think it would be a good idea to sit on the sea wall while Archie finishes his ice cream?’ Arthur went on. He could see it was still very difficult for Hannah to speak, as she struggled to regain her composure. The poor woman must have been terrified Archie might be lost to her too – in the sea perhaps – the way her Carl was lost. ‘Any drips will fall on the wall or down onto the beach.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hannah said. She put a hand on Archie’s shoulder and guided him to the low sea wall, and Arthur followed.

  What a delightful place this was – Arthur was glad he’d come now. A ferry of some sort was chugging across the bay and a light plane made its way, noisily, from one side of the bay to the other. No one spoke for quite some time but it was a comfortable silence – Archie finishing his ice cream, making the delight of it last, nibbling slowly on the last crumbs of the cornet, and Hannah deep in her thoughts. But Arthur was beginning to get rather stiff. He shifted himself to a more comfortable position on the red stones of the wall.

  ‘Just going to check on my reindeer,’ Arthur said, taking his iPad from the little rucksack he used to keep all his things – mobile phone, glasses, handkerchief and umbrella as well as the iPad – safely in one place. He padded in his password.

  ‘Can I look?’ Archie asked, leaning in towards Arthur. His eyes were wide with wonder and Arthur felt a little guilty at telling an outright lie. All he’d done was Google ‘Reindeer/Lapland’ and then click on ‘photos’. ‘Oh! That’s zillions,’ he gasped as Arthur opened up one of the photos.

  ‘Have to have a few in reserve,’ Arthur said. ‘The world’s a big place to fly around. They can get tired.’

  ‘Can I go there?’

  Arthur looked at Hannah but it was impossible to work out what she might be thinking.

  ‘There are flights there, yes,’ Arthur said.

  Archie licked the last of the crumbs of his ice-cream cone from the palm of his hand. Arthur considered whether to look up flights to Lapland or not, and decided not to. He had no idea of Hannah’s financial circumstances and it would be unkind to suggest she take Archie there if she couldn’t afford it.

  Although I can, Arthur thought. And an idea popped into his head. But he wouldn’t mention it to Archie and Hannah just yet.

  ‘I think we’d better get back to our chalet,’ Hannah said. ‘Thanks, Arthur, for the ice cream. And everything else.’

  ‘If I can help in any way…’ Arthur began. He didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. He thought he might ask if they could keep in touch. He would have to drop his Father Christmas persona after this little holiday they were both on – both of them wishing they were sharing it with someone else – and Archie would stop believing in Father Christmas sooner or later, but was now the time for that? How lonely he was without his beloved Judith. How much easier this widower business might be if he had children or grandchildren to fill the gap a little. Great-grandchildren by now, given Arthur had been born in 1931. But dear little Archie and his mother were patching over a little hole quite nicely and now he had them in his life he was reluctant to let them go again. But he couldn’t impose himself on them, could he?

  ‘You already have. Archie doesn
’t have grandparents on his father’s side and I only have a mother, and quite a poorly one at that. And now I’d better go.’

  Arthur watched mother and son walk away. How dignified Hannah was in her sorrow. No slumped shoulders but head held high, Archie holding her hand and skipping along beside her. An Army wife to the core, Arthur decided.

  And then Hannah leaned down to say something closer to Archie’s head and they turned around and came back towards Arthur.

  ‘Actually, there is something I’ve thought of. Would you like to come to lunch with us tomorrow? At my chalet? Shall we say midday? Please say you will.’ Hannah looked down onto the top of Archie’s head as she spoke, and Arthur got the feeling it was for Archie’s benefit he was being invited to lunch, and also – perhaps – that she was afraid he might reject her offer. ‘Repayment of Archie’s ice cream?’

  ‘I don’t need repaying for anything, Hannah,’ Arthur said. ‘But yes, I’d love to come. Thank you for asking me.’

  ‘Well, my goodness,’ Arthur said as Hannah held wide the door of her chalet and ushered Arthur inside. ‘This is all so very different from Number 23.’

  ‘Is it?’ Hannah said, shutting the door behind Arthur. ‘How?’

  ‘Well, my chalet is all bleached wood or whatever it is they call it these days – it would have been called weathered or unpainted or somesuch back in the day. And it’s beach-themed, which I suppose isn’t unreasonable, given the location.’

  ‘What’s “location”?’ Archie piped up.

  ‘Ssshh, Archie,’ Hannah said. ‘Arthur and I are talking.’

  Poor little Archie’s neck sank down between his shoulder blades.

  ‘We are indeed, Archie,’ Arthur said, ‘but I introduced the word to your vocabulary and I would like to explain if that’s all right with your mummy?’

  Arthur raised a quizzical eyebrow at Hannah.

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  ‘So, young Archie,’ Arthur said. ‘Location means the place where something is. This is a seaside location because there is sea and sand and cliffs and rocks. I live in a rural location where there are lots of trees and meadows and rivers. And some people live in a city location where there are very tall buildings and lots of shops, and underground railways sometimes. And you and your mummy and I have come here from our separate locations to this one. Sometimes it’s very good indeed to get away from our everyday lives and try something new. Even though we might not think of it that way to begin with.’ Arthur risked a glance at Hannah, knowing she would understand the deeper meaning of what he was saying. She gave him a half-smile of understanding. ‘Do you understand, young Archie?’