The Beachcomber

by Josephine Cox

  Kathy assured him she was interested. “I’ll be staying at the house,” she told him.

  They chatted all the way to West Bay. Kathy didn’t learn any more; except that her father would turn up every now and then, and after a while he would leave. When the taxi came to collect him, the woman would wave from the window apparently, but she never came out. “They do say as how she was a shy little thing.”

  Kathy did not enlighten him as to her identity. It was better that way, she thought.

  By the time they got to West Bay, the sun had gone down. The first sighting she got of the house was when they turned the corner and he declared, “There she is, Barden House. Looking a bit more tired than the last time I saw her.”

  He drew up and got her portmanteau out of the boot. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out, Miss,” he said, casting his eye over the run-down garden. “Shame. It’s such a lovely house an’ all.”

  Kathy wasn’t listening. Having got out of the taxi, she stood gazing at the house, through her own eyes and, inevitably, through the eyes of her father. Bathed in the soft light of a nearby street-lamp, the house gave off a warm, welcoming feel: even though, as the driver said, the paint was peeling off the window-sills and the garden resembled a jungle, the house was pretty as a picture.

  In the half-light it was impossible to see the extent of disrepair, but the house seemed strong, square in structure, with wide windows and a deep porch. Myriads of climbing flowers had grown over the porch, their many tentacles drooping down either side, like two arms embracing. Kathy thought there was a peculiar enchantment about the place.

  Now that she was really here, actually here, at the house where her father and his love had hidden away from the world, Kathy began to realize the happiness he must have found here.

  Her thoughts were shattered when the taxi driver exclaimed, “How in God’s name did you manage with this!” Puffing and panting, the driver half-carried, half-dragged the portmanteau to the front door. “It weighs a ton.”

  Apologizing, Kathy got the house-key from her bag and opened the front door. “Just drop it inside, if you don’t mind,” she asked. “I’ll be fine now.”

  When the front door swung open, the musty smell wafted out to greet them. “You’d best get the place checked out for damp,” the driver suggested. “Being close to the water an’ all, you never know.”

  Fumbling for the light-switch, Kathy groaned when there was no response. “Maybe the bulb’s gone,” she said hopefully.

  “I wouldn’t like to say.” The driver also tried the switch, to no avail. “The house has been empty a long time. They’ve probably cut off the electric. Water, too, I should imagine.”

  Going back to the car for a torch, he tried every switch downstairs and still there was nothing. “There’s a guesthouse back down the road a bit,” he suggested. “If you ask me, you’d be better off booking in there, at least until you can get the electric back on.” He shivered as the damp took a hold of him. “You can’t stay here,” he said, “you’ll catch your death o’ cold.”

  Kathy was torn: she wanted so much to stay in the house, yet she knew the driver was right. It was chilly, even in July, and the electric was definitely off. Even if she stayed the night, she wouldn’t be able to sleep for the cold, and in the morning there would be no hot bath. Besides, she didn’t know if there were clothes on the bed, or clean sheets anywhere; if there were, would they be damp and moldy? “I should have traveled overnight,” she muttered. “At least I could have got things sorted out in daylight.”

  Checking in at a guest-house was the only solution as far as she could see, but it was not what she wanted; anyway, she didn’t have money to throw away on such luxuries. It was a dilemma and, the more she thought about it, the more she was tempted to stay in the house, however cold and uncomfortable.

  Suddenly, Maggie’s remark came into her mind. “It’s the seaside, ain’t it? There’s bound to be caravans.”

  Excited, she asked the driver, “Is there a caravan site around here?”

  He nodded. “As a matter of fact, yes, there is …” He realized her line of thinking and approved. “I’ll take you there. It’s just the other side of the harbor.”

  He was about to trundle the portmanteau back to the car when Kathy had an idea. “If you’ll lend me your torch for a minute, I’ll take only what I need for tonight.”

  So, while he went to turn the car round, Kathy opened the portmanteau. She took out a clean set of undies, which she thrust into her bag, and grabbed the toiletries bag. Then she shut the portmanteau and was hurrying down the path in no time.

  Passing the harbor, with the boats shifting about and the water making patterns in the moonlight, Kathy thought how beautiful it all was. “I can see why you were happy here, Dad,” she murmured.

  “What did you say?” The driver strained his ears.

  “Nothing,” Kathy answered. “I was just thinking out loud.”

  “First sign of madness,” he said, making her smile.

  Turning into the caravan park, he asked if she wanted him to wait. “If they’ve got nothing for you, I can take you on to the guesthouse?” Thinking it was a sensible idea, Kathy readily agreed.

  As it happened, the clerk at the desk was most helpful. “We’ve a canceled booking,” she told Kathy, “but I’m not sure if the manager will let the van out for just one night … in case we have a last-minute request for a long booking.” All the same, she went away to find him, and when she returned a few minutes later her quick smile and easy manner told Kathy she was in luck. “He says we’re not likely to get any other customers tonight, so he’ll take your booking.”

  While the clerk got the necessary information together, Kathy went out to the driver and paid him. “You’ve been a great help, thank you.”

  He wished her well. “I know a few useful blokes,” he told her. “Painters, plumbers and such.” He scribbled down his name and address. “Jack of all trades, that’s me,” he said, before he drove off into the night.

  The clerk gave her the keys, a long form to sign and a small cardboard box, sealed over with a length of sticky tape. “You’ll find everything you need in there,” she advised. “One night … leaving tomorrow at ten a.m.” She laboriously scribbled it all into her ledger. “You’ll have to pay in advance, I’m afraid,” she said apologetically.

  Kathy handed over the money, thanked her.

  “I’ll take you down there,” the girl said, “seeing as it’s dark.” Grabbing a torch, she led Kathy out of the office, along a lamp-lit, meandering path, through rows of caravans. There, right at the top, stood number eighteen; the number clearly highlighted by the two gas lamps either side of the door.

  Once inside the caravan, the girl bustled around, lighting the gas mantels. Staring around at what she could see, Kathy was delighted. In front of her was a tiny kitchen with cooker, and to her left there was a comfortable living area, with seats all around the bay window, and a little table jutting out from the wall. The curtains were bright and cheerful; candy stripes on white in the kitchen; and splashes of flowers against a yellow background elsewhere. To the right a door led into a cozy bedroom. In here, too, the curtains were of a bright, colorful fabric, the same, exactly, as the corner of the eiderdown peeping out. “Oh, it’s lovely!” Kathy exclaimed. “Thank you,” she said to the clerk.

  “My pleasure,” the girl replied. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” She hurried out, back into the night.

  Kathy gazed around once more, thrilled with her good fortune. Suddenly realizing she’d had little to eat since early morning, she felt her stomach turning somersaults. Dropping her toiletries and undies onto the bed, she went out, clicking shut the door behind her. “There must be a chip shop,” she mused. “It can’t be proper seaside without a fish-and-chip shop.” After all, there were all those fishing-boats in the harbor.

  The clerk put her mind at rest. “Go down this road –” she pointed to the road on the right – “you�
��ll find a chip shop on your left.” As Kathy walked out the door, she called out, “Or you can get a roll at the bar here.”

  Kathy declined with thanks. “I really fancy fish and chips.” With mushy peas and a few bits of pork crackling, she thought, licking her lips in anticipation.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw a telephone box. “I wonder if Maggie’s back from the Palais?” That was where she planned to spend this evening, Kathy recalled.

  One by one, she dropped the coins into the box. The operator took the number, but eventually told her there was no answer. “She’s probably still on the town with her new fella,” Kathy mused, disappointed, as she pressed button “B” to get her coins back.

  The farther she got down the street, the more Kathy could smell the fish and chips. “That’ll do for me,” she muttered, quickening her steps. At that minute, for many reasons, she wished with all her heart that Maggie was here.

  There was a queue in the shop. “It’s a ten-minute wait if you want cod,” the woman told her as she came in the door. “Dabs and fish-cakes are quicker.”

  Kathy assured her she was willing to wait. “I’m in no rush.”

  From some way behind in the queue, Tom studied her for a minute. With her face turned slightly away it was difficult to see her features clearly, but he suspected she was very pretty, with that handsome profile and thick, shoulder-length hair. In the short time he’d been in West Bay, Jasper had managed to introduce him to quite a number of people, despite his efforts to keep himself to himself, but he could not recall this particular young woman. His suspicion that she was a new arrival was confirmed when the woman in front of her asked, “You’re visiting West Bay, are you? Only, I saw you getting out of the taxi earlier.”

  Kathy told her that, yes, she was a stranger in West Bay. “But I hope I’ll be staying for a while.” In fact, once she was settled, it was Kathy’s intention to seek work. It was the only way she would be able to pay for the many repairs the house obviously needed.

  The queue moved swiftly on. Kathy got her fish and chips and walked away. Dipping into the bag, she wolfed down a chip, which was so hot it nearly burned her mouth out. “Be careful,” Tom warned her with a disarming smile. “The chips are always straight out of the fat and scalding hot.”

  Kathy laughed, a wonderful free laugh that made others turn round. “Serves me right,” she answered. “It’ll teach me not to be so greedy.” When his dark eyes smiled down on her, she felt a rush of embarrassment. Lord, he’s handsome, she thought. Maggie would be chatting him up if she was here.

  As she walked on by, Tom was shocked to his roots. “My God!” Swinging around to watch her leave, he realized he had seen her twice before. This was the same woman who had risked life and limb when she ran out in the street to hail a taxi. The second time he had seen her had been in the churchyard. He could hardly believe it. “It can’t be!” It was inconceivable. And yet here she was again, passing so close to him he could have touched her.

  It was unnerving, to say the least.

  Deciding to take a walk along the harbor, Kathy was unaware that she had caused such chaos in Tom’s mind, though she was inevitably curious about him. Once or twice she glanced back, smiling. “What’s wrong with you, Kathy Wilson?” she chided herself. “Anyone would think you’d never seen a good-looking bloke before.”

  Munching on her chips, she sauntered over the bridge and on toward the house, where she sat on the garden wall, legs dangling, her quiet eyes taking note of everything: the peeling window-sills, the beautiful solid wood door with its deep-etched panels, and the garden in the foreground with its cavalcade of weeds and giant thistles. “So much work!” she groaned. “So much money!”

  She must decide how to tackle it, what was urgent, and what could wait until she could afford to get it done.

  For a long time she sat there, thinking and calculating and trying desperately to draw a picture in her mind of her father and the woman, Liz. “A shy little thing,” the taxi driver said, “… waved him goodbye from the door.”

  Kathy was glad her father had found love and contentment, even if it was only from time to time. “I don’t blame you, Dad, for wanting to get away from Mother,” she whispered. “I’m glad you found someone who treated you right … somebody who loved you the way you deserved to be loved.”

  A sense of peace took hold of her and for a long minute she was quiet, contemplating her own future. “I know why you gave me this house,” she murmured. “You wanted me to be happy here … and maybe, just maybe, to find love.” She smiled. “Already, London seems a long way off. That day, when I took flowers to the churchyard, I had no idea what was in store. I knew nothing about what you’d done … this house, and the fact that you had left it to me in your will.”

  She chuckled. “You should have seen Mother’s face when she handed the deeds over … I think she’d rather have been handing me a poisoned chalice. And Samantha! What a terrible fuss she made. In the end she got what she wanted – they both have. Mother’s getting wed, secretly hoping he’ll pop his clogs and leave her a rich widow, and Samantha’s been promised the house, and all Mother’s jewelry. What do you think to that, eh?”

  A quietness came over her, a kind of resignation. “I might be divorced and nearly broke, and you’ve left me a house that needs money spent on it, but I’m richer than either of those two will ever be.” Kathy truly believed that. “Thank you for this lovely house, Daddy,” she murmured. “I’ll look after it, I promise. I’ll get it done up and make it my home.” With a sense of abandonment, she threw out her arms. “I’ll probably stay here for the rest of my life.”

  Overwhelmed, she gave vent to her emotions, the tears rolling down her face. “I feel close to you here, but, oh, I do miss you so. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know how much.”

  From a distance, Tom heard the tail end of her words. Listening to her emotional, one-way conversation he recognized a kindred spirit. “She’s just a lost soul … much like yourself,” he muttered.

  Quietly, not wishing to be seen, he went away, back to his cottage and his own company.

  That was the way he preferred it.

  Not yet ready to return to the caravan, Kathy took a leisurely stroll around the harbor. Leaning on the railings, she finished off her fish and chips and watched the boats in the water. There was something incredibly soothing about watching the water, and here it was like she had never seen before. Where the harbor outlet tapered down to a narrow funnel, the trapped water thrashed against the high walls, moaning and fighting as if trying to escape.

  Just now, one of the late fishermen started his boat’s engine and headed it toward this turbulent funnel of water. As it traveled the short distance before it came out into open sea at the other end, the little boat was swayed and pushed dangerously close to the high walls. In the end, though, the fisherman skillfully negotiated the waters, and a few minutes later he was headed for the fishing sites, his lights low and his engine running softly.

  Having a fear of deep water, Kathy was filled with admiration.

  When the boat was out of sight she screwed up her fish-and-chip paper and tossed it into the nearest bin. After a long, lingering glance at the house, she returned, slightly reluctantly, to the caravan.

  Less than an hour later, after a quick wash, she was undressed and in her newly made bed. Moments later, she was fast asleep, wearied by the long journey, and the emotional turmoil of seeing the house, in what she believed was a private moment. If she had realized someone had overheard, albeit innocently, she would have been mortified.

  Not far away, in his cottage on the hilltop, Tom was pacing the floor. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts, too active. Kathy had somehow brought back memories of his wife, and now he could not rid himself of everything else that went with it: the guilt, the belief that he should have tried harder to save them, the agony of knowing he would never see them again. Yet even while he tortured himself, he knew he had done everyt
hing humanly possible on that day. Thinking about it now merely hardened the rage inside him. He wanted revenge. He could taste it.

  But he wasn’t ready yet. Now, just when he thought he was almost on top of it, when he was beginning to feel the time was almost right, his thinking had been thrown into turmoil. By this troubled woman, a pretty stranger who had intruded in his life as though for a purpose.

  This evening, after he had inadvertently caught the end of her heartfelt outpourings, he had known her presence here had nothing to do with him. He felt foolish for ever having thought it might be.

  All the same, she had unearthed something deep inside him, something he had tried hard not to acknowledge. Feelings of loneliness and need. The normal, manly feelings that were stirred by the sight of a warm, beautiful woman. For a long time now he had felt like half a man. Kathy’s touching words, her open, infectious laughter had only made him realize how lonely he really was.

  But what a strange coincidence, he thought, to have seen her three times; twice in his native London, and now here, in this quiet, tucked-away place where he had sought refuge.

  Beyond sleep for the moment, he put on his jacket and went out into the night. Up here, out on the cliffs, there were no lamps to light the way, only the moonlight, which hung low in the clearest of skies, shining down like some kindly beacon to guide his footsteps.

  Picking his way through the low bracken, he went softly along the well-trodden path toward the cliff-edge, and down, side-stepping, half-climbing, half-sliding, to the bottom. Once he was down on the promenade, he cut around by the wall and onto the beach, almost all of which was now swallowed by the incoming tide. The sound of surging water sang in his ears, and the familiar tang of salt air stung his nostrils.

  For a time he walked the beach as he had paced his room: frantic; driven by the same demons that had brought him here. With the sea lapping at his feet, he pushed onward, to where the ground slipped away into the sea and there was barely enough room for a man to walk.