Gull Island

by Grace Thompson

  ‘Where’s Mam?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Kate said with a frown. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake. This shop belongs to Miss Evans.’ Attempting a smile she added, ‘And I doubt she’s old enough to be your mother.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Carey?’ he asked. ‘Where are Mr and Mrs Carey?’

  ‘Well, I’m Mrs Carey,’ she said suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Who are you dammit! And where can I find my mother?’ Richard was irritated. Was this woman being deliberately perverse?

  ‘I’m Mrs Idris Carey.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry I was rude. I’m your brother-in-law, Richard.’ He offered his calloused hand, which she took with some trepidation, alarmed by the large and wild-looking stranger. Then he sighed. ‘Now will you tell me where I’ll find Mam?’

  She wrote down the address of the house above Red Rock Bay and suggested he took a taxi. It wasn’t easy on the bus and it was difficult to explain how to find it.

  ‘I’ll find it. Having a day off, is she? Good of you to help.’ Her mention of the shop belonging to Miss Evans hadn’t penetrated.

  He found a taxi, then changed his mind. If it was some distance away, perhaps he would deal with the final piece of business first. It might be too late otherwise. He hadn’t been home for so long, another hour wouldn’t matter. Business had to come first.

  His purchase of the baker’s shop was settled that afternoon and he had already made preliminary moves to buy the grocers on the other side of the Careys’ shop. Just that final property to acquire – and that already verbally agreed – and the whole corner would be his.

  He didn’t go to his parents’ house by taxi. He used some of his cash to buy a van. Asking the way and getting confused by the changes the bombing of ten years ago had wreaked on the town, it took longer than expected.

  Not used to the van, and somewhat bemused by the casual attitude of other road users compared with drivers in the capital city, he drove slowly. He was cautious of driving too fast, even when the road was clear; he wanted to be sure he had a bargain. He drove carefully, stopping and starting, listening to the engine, checking the various dials and recognizing its idiosyncrasies. He thought it would do until he could afford a better one.

  He parked outside the address Kate had given him and surprised his father, sitting on the porch in the early evening sun, dozing over a newspaper, a young puppy curled at his feet.

  ‘Lazy devil. Is this what you call work?’

  The shock on his father’s face frightened him. For a moment he thought the old man was going to have a heart attack.

  ‘Richard! Richard, my boy!’ Henry shook as he rose to greet his son with arms wide, a sob distorting his features. Recovering slightly, he went to the door and called, ‘Molly, come quick! It’s – it’s a dream come true, that’s what it is.’

  Molly screamed her delight and with both parents sobbing, they went inside. The furniture was familiar, they had changed very little and, as always, his mother’s first thought was to put the kettle on and make tea.

  ‘Leave that, Mam, I’ve got something better, look!’ He took a bottle of wine from his overcoat pocket. ‘Get some glasses then,’ he laughed as they stared at it.

  ‘Wine?’ his mother queried. ‘It isn’t Christmas or anything.’

  ‘Isn’t having me home an “or anything” then?’

  For four hours they talked, Richard explaining about how he started his business. Finally, he mentioned their new home.

  ‘Why have you moved from behind the shop? You must have done well to be able to buy this.’

  ‘Time we had a bit of comfort,’ his father said, avoiding meeting his son’s eyes.

  ‘And having that wife of Idris’s serving, so you can have a few hours off, that’s a good idea. Getting on you are and should have time for yourselves. Still, I’ll see to all that now I’m home. Life of leisure and pleasure, that’s what you two will have from now on. We’ll go out for a meal tomorrow and I can catch up on the rest of the news. Wait till you hear my plans, Dad.’

  Henry made noises as if to say something but started coughing instead. ‘Tell me, boy, what are your plans now you’re back? Home for good, are you?’

  ‘You bet. I’ve got a surprise for you. I’ve bought all four properties around our shop and I’m going to knock the whole lot down. This time next year there’ll be a spanking new block of flats on the corner where all those shops are. What d’you think of that?’

  ‘You can’t!’ Molly looked at her husband and instinctively went to stand beside him. ‘Richard, love, you can’t.’

  ‘Of course I can. Don’t worry, Mam, it’s all legal and above board. Everything I do now is legitimate. Well, almost,’ he added with a grin. ‘People are desperate for new homes and planning permission will be easy to obtain now I own all the properties in question.’

  ‘But you don’t.’ Henry’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Sold it we did. The shop is no longer ours.’

  The words so softly spoken seemed to bounce around the room. Richard’s eyes opened wide in fright. The shock was so great that lights jazzed at the periphery of his vision. ‘You’ve sold my shop? My shop that I worked and stole and saved to buy?’

  ‘Wait till you know who bought it,’ Henry said, gripping his wife’s hand nervously. He’d known it was wrong. Hadn’t he tried to tell her and Rosita it was wrong?

  ‘I don’t care who bought it! It wasn’t yours to sell!’

  ‘But it was! You told me it was ours!’

  ‘Richard!’ his mother wailed as he stormed out.

  The door slammed behind him and he stood outside beside his father’s empty chair, trembling with disbelief and fear and sheer frustration. What a mess! Would there ever be a way out of the debts this would mean? He turned and glared at the door behind him, kicking it in rage. After all these years of deals, struggles, doing without, working around the clock, sometimes for weeks on end, to have everything ruined like this by his useless father!

  What could he do now? He was committed to an enormous loan. The big gamble was lost. At the eleventh hour, Lady Luck was calling in all bets.

  Chapter Eleven

  RICHARD LEFT THE house he had joyfully entered a few hours before with rage in his heart. How could his parents have been so stupid? The shop had been his, acquired first by stealing and then committing robberies when he was hardly more than a child. Since then he had saved for and bought what he now owned with hard cash. Hours of back-breaking work, living an impoverished life, sometimes in unbelievable squalor and discomfort, always with the minimum of needs. All for the big plan which, because of his father’s stupidity and laziness, he was now about to see fall into ruin.

  He drove the van back and parked it outside the newsagents, where he could see anyone approaching from either direction as well as the counter inside, and waited. His anger had cooled a little by the time he saw a smartly dressed woman step inside and slip behind the counter. So, it was a woman who owned it. Was that what his mother had been so anxious to tell him? Man or woman, he would go in and tell them that the shop had not been his father’s to sell and he wanted it back.

  The dissipated anger and the delicacy with which he’d have to deal with a woman, whose help he knew he would desperately need, slowed his steps and made him a fraction less confident. The next few minutes were going to be the most important in his life.

  He waited until there were several customers inside before he went towards the counter, to give himself time to look around and decide how he would broach the subject.

  The shelves were filled and neatly arranged, the edges decorated with frilled paper. Pens and writing paper filled a corner, a selection of pipes another, with a good display of lighters, fuel and flints close by. A rack of postcards with both comic and local views were on a stand near the window. The cigarettes, cigars and tobacco were on a shelf behind the till, with the small brass scales with which to weigh out half ounces and ounces of the loose
tobacco.

  The loose tobacco was as he remembered it, he noticed, as he watched a customer being served with an ounce of dark shag. The tall round tin still had a circle of damp flannel on top to keep the contents moist. Behind the neat display of magazines was a glass cabinet advertising Cadbury’s. Inside were rows of chocolate bars in their blue wrappers.

  Extra lights hung from the ceiling, which also had cards and small gifts on coloured string to entice buyers. The two young women laughed as they served and altogether the atmosphere was of brightness and cheerful friendliness. He was lost. This wasn’t the drab little place he remembered. How could he find the money to buy this? His nerves jangled in alarm.

  ‘Can I help you, Richard?’

  ‘Yes, Kate, you can. You can introduce me to the owner, please. I want an urgent word.’

  ‘Caroline Evans,’ Kate said with a smile. ‘Caroline, this is my brother-in-law, Richard Carey.’

  Rosita felt the floor tremble as her body reacted to the shock. She stared at him, unable to speak. He wasn’t really looking at her, his dark eyes continuing to look around the shop, wondering at the transformation that he hadn’t noticed on his earlier visit. When he remained silent, Rosita attempted to calm herself and she gestured to Kate to leave them.

  ‘I’ll make us some tea, shall I,’ Kate suggested. ‘Nice to have a cuppa before we deal with the till.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, you can go. I’ll see to things here.’ When Rosita finally spoke, her voice sounded to her like that of a stranger. Richard had still not really looked at her. He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, jacket hanging loose, tie carelessly knotted, gazing about him, obviously waiting for the assistant to leave. Rosita stood, one small hand on the counter, a picture of calmness, and studied him.

  He would be about thirty-eight now, and his dark hair was already sprinkled here and there with grey. The well-remembered eyes that were surprisingly blue, although they looked dark enough to be brown, were surrounded by a fine network of lines. But his face looked strong and lean; no sign of him slipping into the obesity of middle age although he was a large man. She thought of skinny Mr Carey and his even thinner wife and wondered how Richard had attained such a size, especially on the poor diet of his childhood.

  On the periphery of her vision she saw Kate wave goodbye and she responded, but her actions were dreamlike. After so many long years of imagining him grown to a man, Richard Carey was here, standing in front of her. She was waiting for Richard to look at her, wondering if he would recognize her after so long. She fervently hoped so. It was important.

  Richard watched as the shop door closed behind his sister-in-law. He knew he should have said something to her, arranged to go and see Idris, but he couldn’t. Not until this shop business was settled. With him it had always been business first.

  He prepared a polite smile and turned at last to face the woman whom he would have to persuade to sell his shop back to him, and gasped in disbelief.

  ‘Rosita!’

  ‘Richard.’ She wished the counter wasn’t between them. If she had been uncluttered by its protection she knew he would have taken her in his arms and hugged her, but he couldn’t. Not with the counter blocking her from him. Apart from his parents, he was the only person in the world who might have hugged her and the opportunity was gone. Although her thoughts were still in turmoil, she remained still, her hand resting, unmoving, on the wooden counter.

  ‘When did you get back?’ she asked, still in the strange voice. ‘Have you seen your mam and dad?’

  ‘They tried to tell me it was you who had bought the shop but I didn’t give them a chance.’

  ‘Then you didn’t know I was here? You recognized me at once?’

  ‘Of course I did. Mind, I saw you crossing the road and come inside and I confess I didn’t know you then. You hardly look the same as that unhappy kid I last saw. But looking at you now, I knew straightaway, even with the addition of glasses and the loss of your long hair.’ He smiled, the creases around his eyes deepening. ‘You’ve grown very beautiful, Rosita.’

  His gaze strayed to her hand and she knew he was looking for a ring on her third finger. She wished there was as simple a way to find out about him. The state of marriage didn’t have a recognizable symbol for a man.

  ‘Surprised that I bought the shop?’ She smiled at him, able at last to relax a little. ‘It’s the second one I own. The other is at the other end of town, in Station Row, run by a dear friend of mine.’

  ‘I’m not surprised that you’ve made a good life for yourself. When you have a childhood as down as ours, there’s only one way to go and that’s up. But my shop, well, that’s why I came, Rosita. It wasn’t Dad’s to sell. I want you to sell it back to me.’

  She was shocked, hurt, dismayed, but her hand still rested on the counter, the expression on her face still showed apparent calm. She didn’t know what she was expecting after he walked in, but it wasn’t this.

  ‘You do understand, don’t you?’ he went on as she didn’t reply. ‘It’s mine and the mistake can easily be rectified.’

  Disappointment finally broke the spell he had cast and she tightened her lips and said, ‘What? Sell this place? You must be crazy! I’d be ruined!’

  ‘Don’t let’s talk about it now. Come and have a meal with us. I’m taking Mam and Dad out later – if I don’t kill him first,’ he added, in an attempt to make her smile.

  She shook her head, the slick hair moving then returning to its immaculate place. ‘I don’t think so, Richard. Today belongs to your parents. I won’t intrude.’

  He recognized the firmness behind the softly spoken words and shrugged.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘I might be free in the evening.’

  ‘I’ll come here for you at six.’

  ‘Us,’ she said and again he felt the edge of her determination. ‘My partner will come with us too. If you want to talk business then we must both be included.’ She looked at him, wondering if there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘I look forward to meeting him.’ He was disappointed. Dealing with a man would be more difficult, he thought.

  ‘Her!’ she said and saw a brief look of relief on his face.

  After he had gone she slammed the bolts home on the shop door and told herself she was being stupid. Why should she even begin to think of Richard coming back into her life after a gap of so many years? Yet it had been her dream. A picture of him as she had imagined he would look was ever-present in her dreams. He was the only person from her childhood she could call a friend.

  She pulled herself up angrily. She was nothing better than a daydreaming child, drooling over some hoped-for treat. He was married. Of course he was married. Probably taking his wife to meet his parents for the first time that evening.

  She counted the money in the till and put it with the relevant form in the bank’s overnight bag. She was glad she had included Miss Grainger in the meeting arranged for the following evening. But, she promised herself, she would dress as attractively as possible. After all, in a life barren of love, Richard was her solitary claim to having once had a boyfriend. She planned her outfit as she walked to the bank and dropped the bag into the night-safe.

  Hoping the weather would be kind, she had chosen a summer dress in a floral print that was basically a pale green, with a full skirt, short sleeves and a low, square neck frilled around its edge that daringly revealed the swell of her breasts. She knew that it showed her slender figure at its best. High-heeled white shoes and a small leather bag with long straps to swing on her arm gave just the impression she wanted, casual and easy. A summer straw hat added to the effect she wanted to create. Over her shoulders she threw a white, lacy stole.

  Miss Grainger wore a cotton dress too, only hers was navy trimmed with white, with which she wore navy accessories. Her friend looked neat but businesslike, and Rosita smiled at her with affection. ‘You’re dressed perfectly for the occasion,
as always. Tonight, I feel more frivolous.’

  To her surprise, Richard wore the same shabby suit that was minus a button and scuffed grey shoes which showed splashes of mud. The shirt was loose, the trousers in need of pressing. He looked as though he were about to unravel and her expression showed her disapproval.

  Sensing her reaction, he explained. ‘Sorry I haven’t changed. I’ve been in business meetings all day and you don’t want to look too prosperous when you’re negotiating to buy something.’ In fact, he had only the clothes he stood up in and they were second-hand. He had used all his available money to invest in property and equipment.

  ‘Held your meetings in a field, did you?’ Rosita stared pointedly at his shoes.

  ‘Building sites are synonymous with mud,’ he said with an apologetic smile.

  They ate at a restaurant near the old harbour, where boats lay drunkenly in the thick glutinous mud of a receding tide.

  It brought Luke to Richard’s mind and he wondered if the man had ever forgotten the horrors of the Flanders mud. ‘Have you ever heard from Luke?’ he asked Rosita.

  ‘Only that he and a friend had a café in Calais. Since the war ended I’ve heard nothing. I hope he’s safe.’

  For a while they talked about the beach and the times they had spent with the solitary man, including Miss Grainger in their reminiscences.

  As they pushed away their plates and declined offers of coffee, Richard said, ‘Rosita, I want to buy back my father’s shop.’ He tried not to let his anxiety show. Leave something in reserve, he told himself. Pleading would come when all else had failed. ‘If I sell Mam and Dad’s house I can buy it and give you enough profit to set you up in something similar. What d’you say?’