Summer at Coastguard Cottages

by Jennifer Bohnet

  ‘My nose thanks you. As for a bottle or two…’ Guy shook his head. ‘I’ve decided I’ve been drinking too much alcohol on my own, so I’m trying to cut back on it, but I’ll still be happy to have a glass or two of wine with Chris. I’m just trying to stop drowning my sorrows in whisky.’

  *

  Carrie came to with the shrill ringing of her telephone joining the worst headache she’d ever suffered in her life. It took her several seconds to register she was lying on the settee and that the external noise was the phone and not a part of her pounding headache. The phone naturally stopped ringing the moment she found it down the back of the settee.

  Struggling to her feet she went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The sun was setting over the back of the house and the kitchen clock said eight-thirty. She’d slept the afternoon and most of the evening away then. She made herself a cheese sandwich and ate half of it before picking up the phone to ring and apologise for the missed call.

  ‘Max. I’m sorry I missed you. How are you? How’s the locum fitting in?’

  ‘All good here. Just wanted to check on how you’re doing.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Carrie answered automatically.

  ‘What’s the house like?’

  ‘Beautiful. A house anyone would be happy to own.’ Carrie sighed. ‘I’d really like to keep it but I’m not sure it’s practical to do that. It’s not as if I’m likely to have a family in the near future who would appreciate it.’

  ‘Has something else happened, Carrie? You don’t sound your normal self,’ Max said.

  ‘That’s because I’ve got the hangover from hell,’ Carrie said. She hesitated before adding, ‘Dom came to see me this morning.’

  ‘And?’ Max said when she paused. ‘You got drunk together?’

  ‘Not together, no. Just me. He’s back with his pregnant ex-wife.’ Her voice was flat as she told him. There was a brief silence before Max spoke.

  ‘Carrie, I know I should be saying I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I am sorry you’ve been hurt but, trust me, he wasn’t the right man for you,’ Max said gently. ‘Definitely not good enough.’

  ‘That’s the reaction I’m expecting from my parents.’

  ‘Well, three of us saying the same thing must tell you something,’ Max said.

  Carrie sniffed, trying to keep the tears at bay. ‘But I’m getting old, Max. I want children before it’s too late.’

  ‘You’re not thirty yet so there are a few years left before you need to start panicking over that. And after everything that’s happened recently, you of all people should realise you never know who or what’s around the next corner. The next time you walk down the village street the local squire might sweep you off your feet.’

  ‘Don’t think there are squires these days,’ Carrie said. ‘And anyway, didn’t local squires just love and leave the village maidens? Which, come to think of it, would be about right for me.’

  ‘Carrie, stop it! These days I admit you’re more likely to meet a second homeowner escaping the rigours of the banking world, but you never know,’ Max said.

  Two minutes later, when the call ended after Max had given her a rigorous pep talk, Carrie finished her sandwich. Deep down she knew Max was right, but what if she never met anyone to have a proper loving relationship with? That was the crux of her worry.

  The sound of the church clock in the village striking nine o’clock brought her out of her thoughts. She’d lock up and go to bed. She was stiff from sleeping on the settee for so long and it would be good to stretch out properly in the bed. Her head still a bit tender, she drank another glass of water with two headache tablets. An early night and then tomorrow she’d try and put some order into the shambles her life was currently dissolving into. There were decisions that needed to be made and hopefully, after a good night’s sleep, she’d be more capable of arriving at the right ones.

  It was two a.m. when she woke needing the bathroom. Back in bed she tossed and turned for a while, unable to get back to sleep, before making a decision. Throwing off the duvet and grabbing her dressing gown from the chair, she crossed the hallway to Robert’s study. She’d read the letter the solicitor had given her all those weeks ago.

  Sitting at his desk in the study where he’d maybe sat to write it, she opened Robert Trumble’s letter to her. Carefully, she took out the page of creamy, upmarket paper and began to read:

  Dear Carrie, my never forgotten daughter,

  I’m sure the events leading up to your reading this letter have come as something of a shock to you, but I hope you’re happy with your legacy and that it goes some way to making up for my rejection of you. I wanted to try and make amends, if that is at all possible.

  Your mother and I were together for two years before things changed between us when she became pregnant with you. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t want a child, and I refused to marry her and told her to have a termination, which she refused to do. We rarely saw each other after she’d told me the news. She did let me know when you were born and I went to the hospital to see her and to hold you just the one time – you were a beautiful baby and I’m sure you’ve grown into a beautiful woman.

  At that time I did offer to help financially, but the offer was rejected as being too late. Your adoption was already underway; your new parents were collecting you the following day. I know it broke her heart giving you away, but your mother desperately wanted to give you the best possible start in life and that included growing up in a happy family. That day was the first of many in the coming years when I wondered if I’d done the right thing.

  I’m not sure these days why the thought of marriage was so abhorrent to me at the time – I certainly regret never having known you. I now realise too how wrong I was to deny my parents the knowledge of their only grandchild. All in all, I fear I’ve been very selfish in the manner I’ve lived my life for many years.

  Tony, the pub landlord, will answer any questions you want to ask about me, so please talk to him. I hope the two of you can be friends. He’s been like a son to me over the last few years and is the only person I’ve ever told about you.

  Do as you will with the money, etcetera, that I’ve been able to leave you, but I hope you use it wisely and above all enjoy it. I’ve always thought the Devon house would appreciate having a family living within its walls again. I wonder if you already have a family? Could I be a grandfather without knowing? How ironic would that be!

  Carpe diem, Carrie – carpe diem!

  Yours regretfully but with loving wishes,

  Robert Trumble

  P.S. Due to a chance encounter, Tony knows the name and current whereabouts of your mother if you wish to trace her.

  Carrie placed the letter on the desk and rubbed her eyes as sadness engulfed her. She hadn’t known exactly what she’d expected the letter to say, but she’d definitely not expected that P.S.

  *

  It was one of those hot July days when everything seemed to be at a standstill, caught up in some sort of entrancing magic, when the letter arrived.

  Receiving post at The Captain’s House was a rare event in summer and Karen glanced down in surprise at the letter the postman had left on the mat. Picking it up she saw it was addressed to The Chairperson, Management Committee, Old Coastguard Cottages. Strange.

  Carefully she opened the letter. From a large investment property firm, it informed her they were interested in buying all the cottages for redevelopment and would she put the enclosed proposal to the owners at the upcoming AGM. An event they would be happy to attend in order to explain their plans in person.

  Karen flipped through the proposal details, including the prices they were prepared to pay for individual cottages, and whistled under her breath at the value they’d placed on The Captain’s House. They must want the complex badly to offer that kind of money. With a deep sigh she sank down onto the bay window seat. Well, that was her idea scuppered before she’d even had time to write the business plan for her bouti
que B&B. Even if she didn’t want to sell – and she most definitely didn’t – if everybody else wanted to, she wouldn’t even have a choice, as it was quite clear from the letter that the developers wanted all or nothing. She’d have to agree for the sake of people like Hazel and Simon, Charlie, Bruce – no, Bruce had his own plans for The Bosun’s Locker, so he wouldn’t want to sell. She needed to talk to him. The deceptively polite and businesslike tone of the letter written on embossed notepaper hid its true message: her life at Old Coastguard Cottages was under threat.

  Bruce was making a salad for his lunch when she walked along to see him.

  ‘Want to join me?’ he asked.

  ‘Thanks. I need to talk to you.’

  Bruce glanced at her.

  ‘Sounds serious.’

  Karen nodded. ‘It is and not in a good way.’

  Once the salad was on the table and Bruce had insisted on pouring her a glass of wine, Karen handed him the papers.

  ‘These came this morning.’

  While Bruce read the letter and detailed proposal, Karen stood by the wall looking out to sea. The thought of having to give up this special place made her want to cry. What a summer this was turning out to be. As if her dying marriage wasn’t a big enough problem to cope with, now she was faced with this threat to the house and her plans for the future. Finding increased energy to deal with everything was going to be difficult. She already felt tired and despondent.

  ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can go poke their offer into a dark orifice,’ Bruce said. ‘I’m not selling – and I’m sure you’re not.’

  Karen turned to look at him. ‘But what if the others all want to? They’re talking about an awful lot of money. We might be forced into agreeing.’

  Bruce shook his head. ‘Nobody is blackmailing me into a sale I don’t want. And that’s what this boils down to. Blackmail to get us all to sell.’

  ‘So how do we get the others to agree with us?’ Karen said.

  ‘First we tell them about the offer and that neither of us has any intention of selling to a development company. Then I’ll talk to the planning department at the local council. Find out their views on the proposal.’

  ‘What about agreeing to the developers coming to the AGM. Have to admit I’m not keen on that idea,’ Karen said.

  Bruce shook his head. ‘No. I think everybody needs to discuss it first – maybe call an extraordinary general meeting later in August if need be. In the meantime, I’ll also put some feelers out about the company – it’s not a firm I’ve heard of but I’ve friends who might know more.’

  ‘May I come with you when you go to the council?’ Karen said. ‘I should run my plans for The Captain’s House past someone official to make sure I’m allowed.’

  Bruce looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘I’m pretty certain my marriage to Derek is about to be kicked into touch and I need to make plans for an independent future,’ Karen said. ‘I was thinking about moving into The Captain’s House permanently and turning a couple of the bedrooms into a sort of boutique B&B. Guy seem to think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Selfishly, I think it’s a great idea too,’ Bruce said. ‘It’ll be nice to have a resident neighbour.’

  Karen sighed. ‘Fingers crossed the council will agree. And everything crossed for being able to stay here.’

  Later, back home, she put the letter and proposal into the file containing the management committee papers, ready for next week’s AGM. It seemed that, for once, the AGM would be more than a quick run-through of necessary maintenance, the collection of the annual-charges cheques and on to the sparkling wine. Any Other Business was sure to be a heated discussion.

  Thank God Derek wouldn’t be around for the AGM – not that he had any say in whether they even considered the offer. All she could see was Derek rubbing his hands together and telling her to ‘Sell sell sell’. Well, she wouldn’t, and she’d make damn sure she and Bruce tried their hardest to persuade the other owners not to even think about accepting the developer’s offer.

  *

  Guy had hesitated before accepting Karen’s invitation to the supper party she was arranging to welcome Chris and his wife, Sandra, for their holiday. But knowing he couldn’t avoid Chris for the rest of summer, he’d smiled at Karen and agreed to go despite his trepidation about how Chris would welcome his presence.

  Now, as everyone stood about in the evening sun, drinking wine and chatting as Wills tended the barbecue, he relaxed. Chris had slapped him on the back before loudly telling Sandra, ‘Had one of the best holidays ever here with this man.’

  Guy had been stunned. He’d always assumed their friendship had been more one-sided – with him being the needy one as the stranger in the camp all those years ago.

  ‘You should have kept in touch, you know. So, what direction did you take in the end, career-wise?” Chris asked now.

  ‘Photo-journalism,’ Guy said. ‘Karen says you lecture these days?’ he added, throwing the conversation back at Chris. There was no way he was ready to tell him about his life for the past few years.

  Chris nodded. ‘Bet you never thought of me as a university lecturer, did you? Must say I never really saw it coming myself. Sort of drifted into it.’

  ‘It happens,’ Guy said. ‘Life takes over.’

  Bruce, with Girly at his side, joined them and, as he and Chris greeted each other, Guy patted Girly and tuned out of the conversation.

  When Wills carried a large platter of steaks, burgers and sausages over, everybody sat at the teak picnic table already loaded with salads and baked potatoes. Guy found himself between a strangely subdued Karen and Simon; sitting opposite were Bruce, Chris and Sandra.

  ‘You all right?’ he said, looking at Karen.

  ‘Worried about the buy-out letter and how people will react to it,’ she said. ‘Also wishing I could start putting my own semi-secret plans into action and worried they’ll never get off the ground now,’ she added quietly for his ears alone. ‘And then, of course, there’s Derek.’ She picked up her wine glass and took a big sip. ‘Life’s a bitch right now.’

  ‘Buy-out letter?’ Chris asked.

  ‘A firm of developers wants to buy all the cottages,’ Bruce said. ‘Karen and I are both determined not to sell but…’ He shrugged.

  ‘They’re offering a lot of money,’ Simon said. ‘Hard to turn down. Has anyone told Charlie about it yet?’

  ‘I told him about the offer last night,’ Bruce said. ‘He didn’t give any indication what he thought. Simply said the discussion at the AGM should be interesting.’

  ‘Master of the understatement is Charlie,’ Chris said. ‘So, in theory, this could be our last summer here. Better make the most of it.’

  ‘Thanks for that positive thought, brother dear,’ Karen muttered.

  ‘Who’s up for the Regatta Ball this year?’ Chris said, ignoring her. ‘It was a good night last year. We could use it to celebrate the status quo. Or as a grand finale to the end of an era. Simon? Bruce? Karen? Guy?’

  Bruce was the first to shake his head. ‘I’ll give it a miss this year – thanks, Chris.’

  ‘God, you’re so insensitive at times, Chris,’ Karen said, standing up. ‘And, for the record, I won’t be going to the ball either. Right, I’ll fetch the desserts. Please change the conversation before I return.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Guy said and followed her into the kitchen.

  He caught hold of her hand as she went to open the fridge. ‘Hey, are you all right?’

  Karen sighed. ‘I can’t stand Chris being so flippant about this place. It’s been a large part of his life as well as mine. It’s been the one staple thing in my life and now there’s a strong possibility I’m going to lose it.’ She caught her breath. ‘I know it’s only bricks and mortar but they’re very special bricks and mortar to me. Derek selling our home doesn’t help either.’

  Guy could see she was on the verge of tears and he fought the urge to put his arm arou
nd her and give her a hug; tell her everything would be fine. But he couldn’t do either of those things, so he squeezed her hand gently.

  Opening the fridge door, she took out a huge bowl of fresh strawberries. ‘Could you take this out, please, and I’ll bring the ice cream in a moment. I need a couple of seconds to myself. Thanks.’

  Karen heaved a sigh of relief as Guy took the strawberries out. The need for a few seconds to herself wasn’t just because of Chris’s hurtful, flippant attitude. She’d needed Guy to step away and give her some space before she threw herself against him and asked for a comforting hug.

  *

  The day after reading the letter, Carrie went into the garden and picked a bunch of roses and daisies to place on Robert’s grave before going to the pub for lunch in the hope Anthony Trumble would be there. She might not like the man, but right now it seemed he was the only one who could answer the increasing number of questions buzzing around in her head about Robert Trumble.

  Standing in front of the Trumble family grave, Carrie felt an unexpected wave of sadness sweep over her for the man she’d never known and who, in reality, had been no more than a sperm donor. Would he have been a good father? Would his life have been better, happier, if he and her mother had married? Would she be a different person if he, they, had been a physical presence in her life? The questions went round and round in her mind.

  She loved Elizabeth and Malcolm more than she could ever tell them; they’d been the best parents ever. Gentle, honest and loving was the only way to describe them. She hoped she’d absorbed some of their traits even if they weren’t in her genes naturally. What was it the experts said? Genes are not destiny – environment and education play their part too.

  It was impossible, though, not to wonder if she was who she was because of the environment she grew up in. Would she have turned out differently if she’d grown up here, in this village, as a child, with a university lecturer for a father as opposed to living on a farm with Malcolm as her father?

  These were not the kinds of questions Anthony Trumble, or anyone else really, would be able to answer, even if she voiced them, but there were definitely others he’d be able to help with if she could persuade him to talk to her. Robert had clearly been fond of him so she’d try to see beyond his obnoxious, surly manner towards her and be polite to him.