by Carla Blake
The lottery win had helped of course. She hadn’t hit the jackpot, but she’d won enough to turn her back on her insipid, little life and start again, and she was truly grateful for the opportunity. Although, if she was honest, the fact that she’d hadn’t managed to hit the big one did kind of chaff. After all, it was probably a once in a lifetime thing, winning the lottery and the chances of her enjoying the same kind of luck a second time were remote to say the least, but she couldn’t help wishing that if this did turn out to be her one and only slice of good fortune, that she’d really done it in style. The whole she-bang. The jackpot. The ‘ I never have to worry about money ever again and screw you,’ kind of money.
Still, she shouldn’t complain, and whilst she did feel guilty whenever ungrateful thoughts filtered into her head, she also had enough sense to realise that she’d been very, very lucky indeed and that if she invested just a little of her win, she could live quite comfortably for the rest of her life.
Why she’d worried at all about buying the bloody fleece was beyond her. Not when she could afford to buy ten of the gorgeous things.
Closing the front door of her cottage, which had been a real find, tucked away in the fields behind Trehen, close enough to the village to walk down for groceries, but far enough away to avoid the worst of the tourist season and the hordes of sun burnt, pasty scoffing visitors, Roisin wandered down the path and again gazed up at her little home. She loved it here and adored the cottage, set as it was, in an acre of land with a small vegetable garden round the back together with a pond currently inhabited by a family of Moorhens who resided amongst a bunch of brown, velvety reeds and only came out if they were sure she wasn’t going to move, and now that she had been here a while, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Climbing into her car, a small, black Jeep, bought because the salesman assured her it wouldn’t show the dirt - yeah right - it looked filthy all the time living down here, Roisin lowered the electric window and breathed deep of the crisp Cornish air, smiling at the way it had knocked her for six when she’d first arrived and how, after a day walking about in it, she would want nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep till she was ninety. Now, though, it hardly affected her at all and she was thankful for it, because it was such a lovely day. Blue sky. Sunshine. And warm. And on a day like today there was only one place to be. The beach.
Her little boat was waiting for her at the harbour when she arrived twenty minutes later. She would have liked to have it moored closer to home, but up where she lived the coastline was dominated by towering cliffs, sudden drops and rocky landings and there was no way anyone could safely moor a boat there. The beaches were off limits too, reserved for the surfers and the fishermen and the families clambering onto the sands with buckets and spades and no idea what time the tide came in. Still Lithwittle wasn’t that far away and they took good care of her little ‘putt-putt’ as he dad liked to call it.
The tide was in, as she knew it would be, and after parking the Jeep in the car park up top, and thanking God for resident parking permits, ten quid for a day’s parking was bloody steep regardless of how much you had, Roisin wandered down to the harbour, onto the slipway and aboard her little boat ‘ Ocean blue.’ The name was not her choice, but there was no way she was going to change it. Superstitions ran deep in the nautical world and re- naming a boat was strictly taboo. ‘Ocean blue’ was always going to be ‘Ocean blue.’ Which was just as well. Her mother had wanted to christen it “Tinkerbell’s landing.” She still had no idea why? She couldn’t stand Tinkerbell. Or Peter Pan. Captain Hook was more her style. Someone with a bit of go in him.
Ronnie wandered over just as she was loading the small box of provisions she’d brought with her into the tiny galley. As usual Ronnie was wearing a pair of cut off jeans, a faded sweatshirt and espadrilles on her feet. In fact, Roisin had never seen her wearing anything else, come sun, rain or on very rare occasions, snow. Ronnie was hard core and Cornish through and through.
“Taking her out then me lovely?” She asked now as Roisin stood up and eased the twinge out of her back. “ You sure you’re up to it?”
“Of course.” Roisin shot back, slight irritated, but not surprised that Ronnie had chosen this exact moment to turn up. She knew what she wanted. A free ride out to sea and once out there, well, let’s just say she’d found out the answer to that one to her cost. And she was blowed if she was falling for it a second time.
Once had been enough.
God, she’d been naïve.
Last July it had been and there Ronnie had been, all sun kissed and capable and so different from the tourists who constantly asked her if she took out fishing parties and if not, could they hire out her boat? Could they heck! She wasn’t letting a bunch of amateurs with rubbish rods and leaky buckets on board her precious vessel. But Ronnie hadn’t wanted any of that and stopping off with two takeaway coffees in her hand and the insistence that Roisin had one, she merely offered advice on the boat, the weather and the best place to catch Mackerel, and Roisin had fallen for it. Inviting her onto the boat without a second thought and inviting a day she was never likely to forget.
The sun had beaten down. The wood on the boat creaking and groaning under the sun’s drying rays as they had chugged out of the harbour a little after ten, the small but reliable motor soon carrying them out onto the glistening sea, where cracking open a couple of beers, they had watched Dolphin swim with the surfers and heard, far off in the distance, the cries of excited kids and even more excitable dogs.
“This is the life.” Ronnie had said, tapping her beer can against Roisin’s. “ Why anyone would choose to live up country is beyond me. You got any food in that cubby hole of yours?”
Roisin had, but she hadn’t been expecting to have to share it and there wasn’t much of it. Still, she split what she had in two and contented herself with the thought that when she got back on dry land, she’d treat herself to dinner at the farmhouse restaurant she liked.
Ronnie, though, ate like she hadn’t done so in weeks and looked rudely disappointed with Roisin told her that was all she had.
The rest of the morning seemed to pass in relative peace however and bobbing about on the sea, they waited for the tide to go out further than just a few feet. They fact they could still hear the holiday makers herded in one place told them something, and Roisin could just picture them, gathered on the rocks like brooding hens waiting to peck at the first spit of sand with buckets and spades and collapsible tents that would take off at the first sign of wind.
Seagulls swooped overhead and a Kestrel hovered at the cliff edge, searching for mice amongst the long grass. A groups of walkers armed with rucksacks and walking poles appeared on the cliff, pointed at them and then wandered on whilst the sun warmed the wood of Roisin’s boat and rendered the metal parts too hot to touch.
Yawning, Ronnie then declared she was tired and bagging the best place on deck, stretched out, folded her arms behind her head and appeared to go to sleep. Watching her, Roisin shook her head and wondered what on earth had possessed her to invite her on board before trying to find what comfort she could to read the book she’d brought along with her.
She must have dozed off as well because when she woke up it was to find Ronnie back on her feet and staring out to sea, her left hand shading her eyes, and with a weird expression on her face.
She was also topless, having removed her sweatshirt, and the tops of her breasts were already starting to redden as she sensed Roisin looking at her and completely without embarrassment at her naked state, pointed out towards the horizon.
“You hear that?” she asked, oblivious to Roisin’s startled expression. “ Can you?”
“Hear what?” Roisin queried, raising her eyebrows at Ronnie’s swaying breasts. “ You’re gonna burn, you know.”
“No, I’m not” Ronnie said, shaking her head. “ I do this all
the time. It’s no big deal. You should try it, get some sun on that lovely body of yours.”
Roisin blushed. “ No, thanks,” she said. “ And I’d prefer it if you put your top back on, at least while you’re on my boat.”
“Why? Nothing you ain’t seen before. Oh, don’t tell me you’re a prude! Come on, Roisin, they’re only tits. You’ve seen tits before haven’t you.”
Yes I have, Roisin thought, but I haven’t seen yours and I don’t want to now.
Sticking to her guns, she insisted Ronnie get dressed, but Ronnie merely laughed and jiggling her ample bosom in both hands asked if Roisin had heard the singing?
“What singing?” Roisin said, getting up to turn the engine back on and get the hell back to harbour. Suddenly she didn’t want to be out at sea anymore and she especially didn’t want to be out here with Ronnie. The woman was really starting to creep her out and she wanted her off her boat as quickly as possible.
“Back then.” Ronnie replied, staring out to sea. “ Sounded like a woman. But really sad, you know. Like she’d been crying.”
The engine fired into life and Ronnie, startled from her reverie, planted her hands on her hips. “ Whatya doing?” She demanded. “ Tide’s not fully out yet, you won’t get onto Shale beach for at least another hour.”
“We’re not going to Shale beach.”
“Oh, right. Where we going then?”
“Back.”
“Back?”
“Yep. Back to the harbour. I’ve changed my mind. This was a bad idea.”
“What? Why? I thought we were having fun? I thought we could.. there it is again! Quick! Stop the engine.”
Roisin ignored her. She couldn’t hear singing, or anything else that could possibly pass for it either. Just the gently putt-putt of her engine and the occasionally cry of a seagull.
But Ronnie was practically hanging over the side by now, and tutting, Roisin wondered whether she could get away with tipping her and her vulgar, swaying breasts into the brine.
The fragmented snatch of a woman’s voice, however, made her hesitate and frowning, she stepped over to stand beside Ronnie and cupped a hand to her ear.
Ronnie was right! Someone was singing. A sad, lonely lament. A haunting refrain that made goose bumps stand up on her arms and her spine turn to jelly.
Ronnie, however, was jubilant. “ See!” She exclaimed, pointing at the waves. “I’m not hearing things! Who do you think it is?”
“How would I know?” Roisin shrugged, rubbing at her chilled flesh. “Someone on the beach?”
“We’re miles away!”
“Another boat?”
Ronnie spread her hands at the vast expanse of empty sea. “ Erm.. where?” She queried. “ Listen! There it is again.”
Roisin listened, her hands back gripping the wheel. The voice was there. Faint and broken as if the voice was being caught by the wind and whipped away.
Against her better judgment, she twisted the key and turned off the engine.
The singing continued. Soft and beguiling and she caught herself staring out to sea, smiling and wanting to burst into tears at the same time. The voice pulled at her, beckoned her, drew her in and she felt herself swaying. It soothed her.
Warned her.
Her eyes snapped back to Ronnie.
Just as Ronnie wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her roughly against her naked chest.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Roisin exclaimed but got no further as Ronnie smothered her mouth with her lips and kissed her roughly. Her tongue pushing at her mouth. Her arms wrapped tightly around her. Almost crushing her as she pulled Roisin against her breasts, making it impossible for Roisin to do anything but make muffled protests against the embrace and finally hit her.
She didn’t know what else to do and it was desperation that made Roisin ball her hands into fists and thump her hard on the backside. Once, twice, then over and over, until finally, Ronnie let go.
“Okay, enough!!” Ronnie cried, releasing Roisin from the kiss and allowing her to take two shaky steps back. “ What the fuck’s the matter with you? You know you want it. Come on! It’s obvious. You’ve been staring at my tits for hours! Why else would you invite me onto your boat if not for a shag?”
“Cos I thought you might like a sail! For God’s sake! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Giving you what you want! Come on Roisin. We’re in the middle of the sea. No one can see us!”
“I don’t bloody care! I do not want to.. kiss you! Or anything else. And I haven’t been staring at your tits, other than to wish you’d put the bloody things away! We’re going back to the harbour.”
“Oh, no, we’re not!” Ronnie cried and grabbed her again. This time hooking her foot around Roisin’s calf and pulling until Roisin lost her balance and crashed to the deck.
Stunned, Roisin lay there trying to gather her wits, but Ronnie was already on her. Her hands pawing at her clothes, her fingers pulling, shoving, somehow getting her T-shirt over her breasts and bundled under her chin before snapping open her bra and shoving it aside, all before Roisin had time to realise Ronnie’s hands were behind her back. Then her breasts, bare and fully exposed, were at the mercy of a hungry mouth that was already eagerly seeking out her nipples.
It was too much and yelling “ No!” Roisin shoved her body upwards , trying to dislodge Ronnie and get the hell away from her, but Ronnie was heavier and taller and she remained exactly where she was, her tongue wrapped around Roisin’s hardening nipples, her hands seeking to get inside her shorts.
Horrified, Roisin gasped in shock, which Ronnie took to be a sigh of pleasure and redoubling her efforts to get inside Roisin’s shorts, she wasn’t expecting what Roisin did next. She pulled her hair.
It made Roisin feel like a spiteful, little kid doing it, but Christ, the woman was practically raping her and to Roisin’s mind she bloody deserved to have her hair pulled.
She didn’t even care that much when she felt the roots rip.
Ronnie did though and yelping, she lifted her head from Roisin’s breasts and slapped her hard across the face. “ You little bitch!” She spat. “ Why can’t you lie still and just take it eh? Why you gotta scream and shout and pull me fucking hair!?”
“Cos I don’t fucking want it!” Roisin yelled back, using one hand to dab at her swollen lip and the other to push Ronnie off. “ Now get off my bloody boat. Go on! Get off!”
“Make me.” Ronnie scoffed. “ Go on. Make me! You can’t, can you? And let me tell you something else me darlin’ I could have you right now if I wanted and you wouldn’t be able to do a bloody thing about it. But you know what? I’m not gonna bother. I’m gonna save you instead. For another time. When you least expect it.”
Roisin sneered in her face. “ You’re mad!” She cried. “ Crazy!”
“Yeah, maybe I am, but at least I’m not a tease.”
“And you’re not welcome on my boat either. Get off!”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going. See you round me lovely.”
And getting to her feet, Ronnie grabbed her sweatshirt, tied it around her middle and dove off the side of the boat.
She hit the water with a splash rocking ‘ Ocean Blue’ gently from side to side.
Roisin, lying shocked and breathless, waited a full minute before sitting up and straightening out her clothes. Then she peered over the side.
Ronnie was already a fair distance away. Her strong arms carrying her closer and closer towards the nearest beach. She pitied the poor holiday makers who got in her way.
Starting the engine, Roisin chugged her way back to the harbour.
She didn’t go home that evening. Shaken by her encounter with Ronnie, and knowing that if she went straight back to the cottage she’d spend a restless nigh
t tossing and turning and wondering what she could have done differently, Roisin left her car in the car park and wandered over to the pub, sure that after some proper food and a decent conversation with local folk who weren’t about to try and rape her, she’d feel much more confident about going home to an empty house and silence.
The pub was busy. Tourist season was in full swing and most of the larger seating areas were taken over with families, their legs dotted with traces of sand whilst they gleefully examined dubious looking creatures languishing in buckets.
The landlord, John, greeted her at the door and guided her towards an empty seat at the rear of the pub. He indicated at the mayhem with a nod of his head. “ Love ‘em and hate ‘em.” He said, surreptitiously pointing towards a family stuffing themselves with fish and chips. “ But at least they ain’t here all the time. Now what can I get yer? Yer look a bit green round the gills lass if yer don’t mind me sayin’ so. Rough seas today?”
“Crappy company.” Roisin replied. “I’ll have a white wine please. Heavy on the wine.”
The landlord nodded and went off to fetch it. Moments later the door to the pub creaked open and a bunch of excited children suddenly burst through, all of them swarming towards the furthest corner where an elderly Cornishman, dressed in waterproof trousers, a navy blue jumper and a grubby white hat, complete with regulation anchor motif, sat waiting for their arrival.
Stroking his beard and gaining a rueful smile from Roisin, who couldn’t think of a more stereotypical example of nautical life, he winked at the gathered kids and introduced himself as Barnacle Bill.
Roisin switched off. Her wine had arrived and Bill was a regular visitor to the pub, regaling the tourists with hairy, old stories of shipwrecks and smuggling and the best way to tie a knot that ‘ no land lubber fingers could ever undo.’
She switched back on though when she heard Bill mention singing.
She’d almost forgotten about the woman’s voice both she and Ronnie had heard from the boat, but when Bill started to tell a story about hypnotic singing and sailors of old lured to a watery grave by the sound of singing, her ears pricked up again.