Summer at Coastguard Cottages

by Jennifer Bohnet

  If she were honest, though, she’d known for some time that an eruption in her own life was inevitable. The ground beneath her feet had been trembling for a few years now. The big final quake, destroying everything in its path, was getting nearer. Could she honestly say the changes she was facing, had initiated, were unwelcome? No. That was what this trial separation was all about – her trying to gain control of an uncertain future. She just needed to let her natural optimism rise and fight the frightened feelings about what the future might hold.

  Watching a small sailing boat beating its way back into harbour, Karen decided she wasn’t going to worry about anything over the summer. She’d follow her own mother’s default philosophy for once: ‘Remember, Karen, life has a habit of sorting things out one way or another if you leave them alone.’

  Karen had always secretly thought the philosophy was a bit of a coward’s way out, much like the old cliché ‘least said, soonest mended’, but this summer she intended to test the validity of both. With any luck, by the end of summer, decisions would have made themselves.

  *

  Bruce Adams, slicing onions and mushrooms for his chicken casserole supper in ‘The Bosun’s Locker’, heard a car arriving and guessed it was Karen. Good. Karen’s arrival signalled that summer proper was about to begin. Although, of course, it would be a new version of summer. His first without Gabby. He muttered to himself as his eyes began to stream. Damn onions.

  There had been a lot of firsts in the last six months. Months in which he’d learnt how quickly life could change as well as the true meaning of loneliness. No siblings, either his or Gabby’s, to give support, no cousins to offer a comforting word, no children to share the despair of heartbreaking loss. Just him. Alone.

  Of course he had friends who’d offered their sympathy, attended the funeral, and then, muttering ‘Time’s a great healer’, slowly drifted away, back into their own lives where they didn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of not knowing what to say to him. All he really wanted was to be able to talk to someone, anyone, about Gabby. If he couldn’t talk about her, he was afraid the essence of her would disappear from his memory.

  Karen had sent him a lovely letter after the funeral offering to help in any way she could and looking forward to seeing him in the summer. Would she understand his need to talk about Gabby?

  After the funeral he’d taken the silver-framed photo of Gabby and him that lived on the mantlepiece of the sitting room of the flat and placed it on the breakfast bar. Taken last summer, here on the terrace in front of the cottage, the two of them had their arms around each other and were laughing at some shared joke. As a couple they’d laughed a lot. Always had, from day one. He’d never quite understood how the vivacious American girl he’d fallen in love with the day she appeared in his life asking for a job could possibly love him in return. But she had.

  He’d started his renovation business eighteen months earlier and had recently begun to put out feelers for a freelance interior designer to join the team. He hadn’t advertised, simply hoped to find someone recommended via ‘word of mouth’. Gabby had arrived unannounced one Friday afternoon. He’d done his best to ask her the right questions, and looked at her portfolio (which was excellent), all the while knowing he was going to offer her the job anyway. Bruce sighed, remembering those long-ago days when he and Gabby had laughed and loved their way through life. What was that famous song line about days – ‘We thought they’d never end’. But they had.

  These days it had become a ritual for him to talk to the photo, tell Gabby his plans for the day as he ate his breakfast. Not that he had many plans these days, but talking to Gabby every morning had become an essential part of his routine. He couldn’t imagine not doing it now.

  Unable to leave the photo behind for the summer, he’d wrapped it carefully in bubble-wrap and placed it between the shirts in his suitcase. Within five minutes of arriving at the cottage he’d retrieved it and placed it on the shelf in the small alcove in the kitchen that held favourite bits and pieces they’d collected over the years.

  He poured the bottle of white wine sauce over the chicken pieces, mushrooms and onions and placed the pot in the oven and set the timer. Briefly he thought about asking Karen to join him for supper.

  ‘What d’you think, Gabby?’ he said, glancing across at the photo. ‘Tonight or tomorrow? Tomorrow is better, I think. Don’t want to look desperate for company, do I? I expect she’s looking forward to a quiet night to settle in.’

  Besides, he’d decided this evening he’d fetch the bag from the communal outhouse and sort out the flags, a job he and Gabby had always done together as they enjoyed a glass of wine, and something he’d been putting off doing. But people were arriving and would expect the flag to be flying. He couldn’t disappoint them.

  The summer ritual of flying the flag that Gabby had started years ago would begin tomorrow and kick-start summer. You have to fly flags – you can’t leave the flagpole empty, she had always said.

  *

  Karen glanced at her watch and wondered about wandering along to say ‘Hi’ to Bruce. He’d have finished supper by now and might be glad of some company for an hour. The last time she’d seen him at the funeral, he’d looked heartbreakingly adrift, as if he didn’t quite remember who he was without Gabby at his side. He hadn’t come down at Easter, telling Karen in a phone call that he couldn’t face the cottage yet without Gabby.

  This summer was going to be hard for him. At least she had the consolation that Francesca and Wills would at some point both put in an appearance.

  Picking up the bottle of red wine she’d opened to accompany her own supper, she went out onto the front terrace and made her way along to The Bosun’s Locker, waving to Joy and Toby as she passed No. 5.

  Bruce looked up as she opened the wooden gate that separated the small patio, with its flagpole belonging to The Bosun’s Locker, from the main terrace.

  ‘Karen. Lovely to see you. How are you?’

  ‘Thought you might like to share a glass with me?’ she said, holding the bottle aloft. ‘Drink to summer. Unless you’re busy?’ she said, looking at the pile of material she recognised as his flag collection.

  ‘Almost sorted,’ Bruce said. ‘You know where the glasses are. I’ll just finish tidying up this lot.’

  In the kitchen, as Karen reached for two glasses, she saw the picture of Gabby and Bruce. The memory of the perfect summer evening it had been taken on just a year ago flitted into her mind. Whoever could have guessed tragedy was so close?

  She glanced out at Bruce carefully folding the last flag, remembering with affection the day he and Gabby had arrived in their lives, twenty-seven years ago. In those days the cottages and grounds had still been rustic, the amenities basic, and her parents had voiced trepidation about the young couple who were the new owners, the changes they would want to initiate.

  At first sight, Bruce and Gabby had been a most unlikely couple. Her, extrovert and people-gathering. Him, friendly but reserved in the beginning. The realisation that they too genuinely loved the old-fashioned cottages, which had survived over one hundred years of buffeting by the storms that thrashed the coast every winter, had come as a welcome relief.

  Joining Bruce out on the terrace, Karen poured the wine and handed him a glass. The flag bag was full again, the green, black and white Devon flag remaining alone on the table.

  ‘First one up tomorrow as usual,’ Bruce said. ‘Normal summer routine. Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers. Here’s to...’ Karen hesitated. It would be insensitive to drink to a good summer when it was going to be such a difficult one for Bruce. ‘The next few weeks. And a sunny summer with not too much rain,’ she added.

  Bruce gave her a diffident smile before taking a sip of his wine. ‘Long-term forecast is good, I think. Derek not with you?’

  Karen shook her head. ‘No. Too busy at the moment. He’ll be down when the children come.’ Maybe. But there was little point in saying anything to Bruce just
yet about the state of her marriage.

  Bruce glanced along the terrace. ‘No news about No. 4 yet. Still going through probate, I suspect. Sad to see it empty.’

  Karen nodded. ‘Hope someone in the family decides to keep it rather than sell it.’

  ‘Joy was telling me that No. 3 has been rented for most of the summer,’ Bruce said.

  ‘Has Charlie told her who it is? Someone we know already?’ Karen said, surprised.

  Bruce shook his head. ‘Just a friend of Charlie who needs a place to stay for a while. No definite arrival date yet. Maybe next week.’

  Karen sipped her wine thoughtfully. A long summer rental of any of the cottages was unusual. Charlie himself always came down for a week or two with a group of friends, and always around the time of the owners’ annual meeting when joint decisions regarding maintenance, etcetera, were taken.

  Wills had once described Charlie’s friends as ‘totally fit’, so summer could be interesting – or not.

  *

  The next day, awake at 5.30 a.m., Bruce decided it was pointless to stay in bed in the hope of falling asleep again. Four hours sleep a night seemed to be the maximum he could hope for these days as he tossed and turned his way through the hours of darkness.

  In town there were familiar noises accompanying the new day. Buses changing gear to climb the hill, car doors slamming, the rattling of the jeweller’s security shutter as he unlocked the shop across the road from the apartment. But here – nothing.

  It always took him a couple of days at the cottage to adjust to the silence surrounding him. Seagulls were the only early risers here and the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks below was the only other noise he could hear. Even when all the cottages were occupied in August there was little movement or noise before half past eight. Something to do with everyone being on holiday, Bruce supposed. No need to rise early. He had to admit he liked the all-enveloping morning silence. He’d get up and have his first coffee of the day watching the breaking dawn from the terrace.

  Sitting there, waiting for the sky to lighten completely, Bruce planned his day. Finish his coffee before raising the flag. A drive along the coast for supplies – including a visit to his favourite bookshop. After that he’d treat himself to lunch somewhere. At some point he’d need to talk to Karen and enlist her help in carrying out the promise he’d made years ago to Gabby. He hadn’t wanted to mention it on her first evening. Too soon.

  He glanced along the terrace towards The Captain’s House. Karen had been rather quiet last night. Not her usual self at all. Apart from the brief ‘He’s too busy’ comment she hadn’t mentioned Derek. Gabby would have picked up on that and gently probed – something he hesitated to do. He’d hate Karen to think he was intruding. Overstepping boundaries between friends. On the other hand, he’d like her to feel free to talk to him if she wanted. He’d wait a couple of days and see if she talked to him, asked his advice, before asking her if she was all right.

  Carefully, he clipped the Devon flag to its rope and pulled it to the top of the mast where it fluttered in the breeze. Always the first flag of the summer, the Devon flag would be raised every day until the annual communal barbecue on 4th July, which Gabby, proud of her American roots, had instigated, and for which the stars and stripes had specifically been bought.

  It was very rare for anyone to join him for the morning flag-hoisting, but the lowering of the flag every evening was different. Nine o‘clock was sundowner time, when everyone migrated to The Bosun’s Locker if they were around, either with a drink in hand or a bottle to share.

  Gabby had always had a plate or two of nibbles to pass around every evening. Nothing fancy: cheese and crackers; crisps; maybe some crab sandwiches if she’d been to town. Things it was well within his capabilities to provide. He just had to get organised.

  Lady Luck was smiling on him, Bruce decided, as he manoeuvred into the last available place in the car park.

  Taking Gabby’s wicker basket from the front seat he made for the embankment. A walk alongside the river was one of the pleasures of summer down here. They’d always made it a part of their shopping routine before facing the supermarket crowds when they made the effort and drove over to Dartmouth. That and lunch afterwards in the Royal Castle Hotel. For some reason, in recent years, Gabby had always preferred to shop in Kingsbridge, although she did like lunch in the Royal Castle.

  This morning the tide was in and there was the usual activity out on the river. A teenage boy handed him a flyer as he passed the fishing-trips kiosk. Bruce smiled and said ‘Thanks’ before briefly glancing at the paper.

  A day at sea fishing? Something he’d never done – never been tempted to do. His days here had always been spent with Gabby. Filled with ‘couple’ things. There had always been places to go, books to read, restaurants to try, films to see, friends to meet up with. Memories to be made together. Six months since she’d gone but the numbness was still there. No point making memories now there was no one to share them with.

  Already, in this first week of being alone down here, he was struggling to fill his days. He’d never been one for hobbies as such. Not even when he was younger. He doubted sea fishing was for him, though. A short trip on the Dartmouth ferry was enough to have him reaching for the sea quells.

  He sighed, inwardly acknowledging he was going to have to think seriously about what he was going to do with ‘the rest of his life’, however long that might be. Sea fishing might be out but there had to be something else.

  He stopped as he saw a small girl skipping along the embankment towards him, not concentrating on where she was going and dangerously near the edge. Her parents were yards behind pushing a buggy, laughing and chatting happily together, seemingly unaware of the risk their daughter was taking.

  Instinctively he moved nearer the edge himself, ready to put a restraining hand out should she need it. Which she did. She stumbled and would have fallen over the edge if he hadn’t grabbed her.

  ‘Whoops,’ he said. ‘Not time for a swim yet.’ Holding her hand he looked towards the parents.

  ‘Hey, you! Let go of her,’ the man shouted as he ran towards him.

  Shocked, Bruce let go of the little girl’s hand and straightened up.

  ‘You, young man, can stop shouting at me. Your daughter very nearly went over the edge. I caught her just in time. Children are very precious. You should look after her better.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said a woman sitting on a nearby seat. ‘I saw what he did. If he hadn’t grabbed her, she would have gone over. He deserves your thanks.’

  Bruce smiled at her gratefully as she got up and walked away.

  ‘Sorry. I guess I overreacted. But these days...’ The man shrugged.

  ‘Keep a closer eye on her if things like that worry you,’ Bruce said. He smiled down at the little girl. ‘And you, young lady, you stay away from the edge of the quay.’

  Bruce turned and walked briskly away. How could anyone not realise how quickly children could get themselves into trouble and take more care of them? But it wasn’t just anger he was feeling. He was shaking from the rush of an emotion he hadn’t felt for years. The crippling sadness they’d both felt with the three miscarriages Gabby had suffered before they’d given up on their dream of a family.

  Thankfully, by the time he reached his favourite coffee shop, he’d stopped shaking. The large ‘For Sale’ sign on the nearby three-storey townhouse caught his attention. Normally that would be just the kind of property he and Gabby would have been interested in renovating. Mentally he made a note of the estate agent’s name. He’d call in later and get the details. It would be good to have a project on the go again. He’d throw himself into work and try to fill the new gap in his life.

  He stopped in the act of pushing open the café door, to the annoyance of the woman following him in. How could he even think of renovating a building without Gabby? Without her to oversee the interior details, he’d be lost.

  ‘Sorry’ he mutte
red, ushering the woman past.

  Where had these sudden thoughts come from? Only last week he’d decided that, in September, he’d wind up the business. Find something else to do. The word ‘retire’ had flitted through his brain. He’d even been vaguely thinking about moving down here. Living in The Bosun’s Locker permanently. It was big enough for just him.

  Sitting waiting for his coffee, he sighed inwardly. The business had always undertaken work up country, both he and Gabby wanting to keep Devon as the place they escaped to from the pressure of work.

  But now, why not? Move here and maybe do just one local renovation a year to keep his hand in and stop him getting bored. He’d need to suss out the local builders, find an interior decorator. Were local architects any good? Bruce could feel the lethargy that had settled over him in recent months lifting as possibilities flitted through his brain.

  He’d go to the estate agent’s and pick up the details of the townhouse, see if there was anything else that caught his eye, and then do some serious thinking about his future. He’d work his way back into some sort of life. Gabby would expect nothing less of him.

  *

  ‘Right, that’s the spare ribs marinating and the spicy chicken legs rolled in their coating. What shall I do next? Cut up the veg for the kebabs?’ Hazel asked.

  ‘Please. I’ll get on with the macaroni salad once I’ve got the pumpkin pie in the oven,’ Karen said.

  The two of them were in Karen’s kitchen preparing everything for the 4th July barbecue that evening. The first communal get-together of the season.

  ‘At least the weather is good. Remember the year of the thunderstorms and floods?’

  ‘Never forgotten it,’ Hazel said. ‘God, was it scary.’

  ‘How big a macaroni salad do we want?’ Karen held up the bag of pasta. ‘All of it?’

  Hazel nodded and Karen poured the lot into the saucepan of boiling water on the Aga.