The Beachcomber

by Josephine Cox

  Peeking out the back window, she observed the same loving care and attention to detail: the tin bath hanging neatly on its hook, the flagstones washed clean, and the pegs on the line all lined up like little wooden soldiers. Even the brick walls were washed white.

  Mabel was flattered. “I like to potter about,” she answered. “If I had more spare time, I’d have it looking even nicer.” Going into the scullery, she put the kettle on to boil. “And how are you, my dear?” she called out. “Settling in all right now, are you?”

  “I’m doing fine,” Kathy answered, but did not sound very convincing.

  Returning with the tray, Mabel set it down on the table. “What’s wrong?” Pouring them each a cup of tea, she handed Kathy hers and sat opposite on the big armchair. “Family, is it?” she asked. In her experience it was always family that caused the worries.

  “I just can’t understand,” Kathy began, knowing she could confide in this dear soul. “My sister Samantha is beautiful, spoiled, selfish, and greedy. She has little compassion for those around her, she treats Mother like dirt, and yet, in Mother’s eyes, she can do no wrong.”

  “I see.” Mabel had heard it all before. “And why do you think that is?”

  “I’m not sure, but I imagine it’s to do with Mother’s personal disappointments.” Kathy had often thought about it and this was the only answer she had come up with. “I reckon Mother only wanted one child, a beautiful creature much like herself … someone people would pause in the streets to look at, and gasp with admiration.”

  “I see. And that was Samantha, was it?”

  Kathy nodded. “Then I came along … an accident, no doubt; plain and noisy with chubby legs and unruly hair. I spoiled all her ideas of being special, and having that one very cherished, magnificent child.”

  Mabel was having none of it. “You’re certainly not ‘plain,’ or ‘noisy.’ You’re a very pretty young woman with a beautiful nature.”

  Kathy smiled naughtily. “And chubby legs.”

  Mabel returned her smile. “We can’t all be perfect, but there are worse things than a sturdy pair of legs, my dear!”

  Kathy satisfied Mabel’s curiosity about Samantha, and in the telling, Kathy began to feel less disillusioned about the situation between herself, her mother and Samantha, though she knew things would never change. “It’s too late for all that,” she told Mabel. “Mother gets worse as she gets older. She’s one of those people who are never satisfied with what life gives them. She yearns for glamour and excitement … all the things she never quite seemed to acquire. You see, she married my father, a quiet, hard-working man who worked long hours to provide her with a lovely house and expensive clothes and other luxuries she may never have enjoyed. When Father was lost to us, she seemed to grow more arrogant and domineering. There was no living with her.”

  Mabel could see the regret in Kathy’s troubled eyes. “You loved your father very much, didn’t you, my dear?”

  Kathy nodded. “He was a very special man … he loved me for what I am, not for what I might have been. As for Mother, I can’t remember a time when she put her arms around me with affection, or told me she loved me, or held my hand as we crossed the road.” Her voice broke. “Do you know, Mabel, there were times when I thought she’d be happier if I’d never been born.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true, my dear. No mother could ever wish that.”

  It did Kathy’s heart good to talk with this sweet, kind old dear, who was more of a mother to her than her own had ever been.

  When it was time to leave, she wrapped her arms around Mabel and held on to her for what seemed an age. “You’re a lovely lady, Mabel,” she told her, and Mabel’s heart went out to her.

  “I’m here whenever you want me,” she reminded Kathy. “Don’t ever forget that, my dear.”

  On the bus home, Kathy recalled the old woman’s words. She was more content now than she had been in a long time. After all the niggling doubts, she was really happy with her new life.

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but you know how things are.” Irene had her own troubles. “I’d like to help you, but it’s not possible.” Pouring herself another drink, she poured one for Samantha, too. “He puts only the tiniest amount into my account; just enough for basic necessities. I have to ask him for every little thing, and even then he wants receipts.” Gulping down her drink, she was close to tears. “He’s moved into the spare room … though I don’t mind that, but he treats me like a stranger. It’s just awful!

  “I haven’t finished yet, though.” She grinned – a wonky, half-drunken gesture that distorted her face. “I’ve been thinking. If you were to help me, I could be rid of him.” Her secretive expression told it all.

  Samantha couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re drunk!”

  “Oh no I’m not.” Sidling up to her, Irene lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, at the same time glancing at the door to make sure he wasn’t hiding there like last time. “I’ve thought of a way to finish him off.” She giggled. “Then we can both enjoy his money.”

  Samantha thought her mother was losing her mind. “I might have been persuaded,” she confessed, “but you seem to have forgotten one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s cut you out of his will, hasn’t he?”

  Irene was taken aback. Unsteady on her feet, she fell into the nearest chair, eyes glazed over after hours of steadily knocking back the booze. “The bastard! You’re right, I forgot about that.” She forgot most things these days.

  Samantha stared at her with loathing. “Look at you! What good are you? I came here for help and find you drunk!” She began to shout. “You’re always bloody drunk lately.”

  Irene laughed. “You should try it, dear. It helps to pass the time of day.”

  Samantha was in no mood for this. “You disgust me!”

  “Don’t be like that, my dear.” Sitting up in the chair, she focused her gaze on this wayward, beloved daughter of hers. “Look, dear. You do what the solicitor said … go to your sister and tell her how things are. You know how soft she is … I’m sure she wouldn’t turn you away.”

  She giggled. “You might even find yourself a rich old man down at the seaside … that’s where they usually retire to, isn’t it?” Throwing her arms about, she laughed insanely. “Perhaps I should come with you.”

  “Who would want you? You’re becoming an old slag,” Samantha warned. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be the next one out on the street!”

  Slamming out of the house, she left her mother in tears. Yet, as she walked down the street to the bus stop, she thought on what her mother had said. Her sulky mouth turned up in a devious little smile. “You could be right, Mother,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s time I paid my little sister a visit.”

  But that would take money. “I need a whole new wardrobe, and money in my pocket,” she mused. “I might have to think of a way to earn some money fast.” Just then a man walked by and winked, obviously making a play for her.

  Though she rebuffed him, it triggered an idea in her mind.

  She smiled to herself. “Hmh! If the end justifies the means, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.”

  CHAPTER 11

  JUST AS THE postman was about to drop the mail through the letterbox, Jasper opened the door and saved him the trouble. “Morning, Ted,” he yawned. “What you got for me then?”

  Thinking Jasper looked a right sketch in his old, worn pajamas with his hair stood up on end, the postman turned the letter over in his hand. Squinting at the postmark, he told Jasper, “It’s from Buckinghamshire.”

  “Can’t be for me then,” Jasper remarked. “I don’t know anybody who lives in Buckinghamshire.”

  “Well, it’s addressed to you.” The postman checked the address. “There you are, it’s for you all right.” He handed the letter over. “Looks like a woman’s writing.” He laughed. “A woman from your past who’s tracked you down.”

  Jasper sh
oved the letter in his pocket. “If they’re after me money, they’ll be disappointed ’cause I ain’t got none.” He collected his milk and stepped back into the passage. “Come in, Ted. I’ve just this minute put the kettle on.”

  “Can’t.” Heaving his heavy sack onto his shoulders, Ted apologized. “Any other time I’d be glad to, but not today. There’s a union meeting at twelve. I daren’t be late for that.”

  Jasper knew all about these union meetings. “I suppose yer all planning to go on strike. An’ never mind the poor folks as won’t get their mail for weeks on end. What’s it all about now?”

  “I never said we were going on strike, Jasper, and I’ll thank you not to spread that about. It could cause all manner of trouble.”

  Jasper grinned. “What meks yer think I’d spread it about?”

  The postman shook his head, his smile as wide as Jasper’s. “’Cause you’re a mischievous bugger, that’s why!” Knowing how Jasper could always get the better of anyone in an argument, he bade him good morning and went on his way.

  “Good job yer know when to quit!” Jasper called after him in light-hearted humor. “I’ve a reputation for making mincemeat outta troublemakers like you.”

  With his milk under one arm and his paper under the other, he made his way to the kitchen. Throwing the letter on the table, he ignored it while he tucked into his bowl of porridge, helped down with two mugs of tea. “I don’t know anybody in Buckinghamshire,” he grumbled on. “It can’t be for me!”

  He finished his porridge and read his paper, and every now and then cast an eye on that small white envelope, but he made no move to open it. “It’ll be some damned silly company, trying to sell me summat.”

  A few minutes later, as he cleared the table, his curiosity got the better of him. Leaning down to examine the letter more closely, he was shocked. “My God!” Recognizing the handwriting, he snatched up the letter and tore it open. “It is!” he murmured. “It’s her!”

  As he read the letter his old face creased into a smile. “Well, I never.” He gave a delighted chuckle. “It’s from Liz! After all this time.” He read the letter again just to be sure.

  Dear Jasper,

  I’m sorry I haven’t written before, but I knew how you would be taking care of everything, so I didn’t feel there was any urgency. Besides, as I’m sure you can understand, I had a great deal to think about, and young Robbie was so upset about his daddy not coming back. It’s been so hard, trying to understand why he abandoned us like he did, but then I don’t really know the circumstances behind it all.

  I took Robbie away for a long holiday, and when he seemed so happy in Scotland, I decided to stay there for a time. I rented a house and Robbie went to school, and for a time it seemed as though we might make it a permanent home. But then, Robbie got homesick, and we decided to come back south. Since we’ve been back, he’s smiled a lot more, and slowly but surely he’s coming to terms with not having his daddy close by.

  Did Robert ever come back, Jasper? Have you heard from him? I miss your old face, with its whiskers and that mischievous grin. The truth is, I would very much like to see you, though I’m not ready to return to West Bay; it would be too painful … I know I would see him everywhere I went.

  Thank you for looking after the cottage, Jasper. I see from the bank statements that you have a tenant. Is it a man or a woman, or maybe a family? And what about Barden House? Is it falling to rack and ruin? I know I asked you to leave it the way it was, and I still feel that way about it. But I’ve begun to feel that maybe I didn’t have the right. It wasn’t my house. It was his. But, you see, Jasper, it was our home … the happiest place on God’s earth. To clean it, or to rearrange the garden, would be to change the memories, and I couldn’t bear that.

  Maybe he’ll come back and decide what to do with the house. Maybe he’ll look for me and his son, and explain his reason for abandoning us. We do miss him so much.

  I have many questions, Jasper.

  You’ll find a train ticket to Bletchley in the envelope, together with instructions from there and my address.

  Robbie and I would love to have you come and stay for a while … if you can bear to leave your beloved West Bay.

  Please say you will.

  All our love,

  Liz and Robbie

  Slumping into the chair, Jasper held the letter in his hand. “How can I tell her?” he wondered. “It might be kinder to let her go on thinking he abandoned them.”

  It was a terrible decision for him to make, but after a while he knew what he must do. “She’ll have to be told, but not in a letter.”

  Now that his mind was made up, he didn’t hesitate. Getting out of the chair, he went to the dresser, where he found a writing pad and pack of envelopes. “I’ll go and see them.” In fact, now that he’d decided to go, he began to look forward to it.

  Jasper was not a man of letters, so his reply was short and to the point.

  Dear Liz.

  It was wonderful to hear from you. I knew you would get in touch eventually.

  Thank you for the ticket. I shall be up to see you …

  He glanced again at the date on the ticket.

  … Thursday 25 September. Meanwhile take care of yourself. Love to you both, Jasper.

  Closing the letter into an envelope, he sealed it with the tip of his tongue. Then he copied down the address she’d given him, and laid it on the table beside the train ticket and travel instructions.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he muttered, “but you’ll happen not be so glad to see me as you think.” Imparting the sad news to that lovely lady was not something he looked forward to.

  That night, over a drink in the privacy of the cottage garden, Jasper confided in Tom. “I’m going away,” he explained. “There’s summat I have to do.”

  Tom had seen how the old man had been unusually quiet, and was concerned. “Is it serious?” he asked now. “I mean … you’re not ill, are you, Jasper?” That would be a shocking blow, for he had come to love the old man like a father. In fact, he seemed more of a father than his own had been, since he had deserted him and Dougie when they were small. When they lost their mother soon after, Tom put it down to a broken heart. After that they were shifted from relative to relative. It had been a harsh and unsettled upbringing.

  Jasper put his mind at rest. “No, lad, I’m not ill. But I’ve a terrible duty to perform, and it’s playing on my mind.”

  “Would it help to talk about it?” Tom could see how it was worrying the old man.

  It took a moment for Jasper to answer, but when he did, it was with a deep-down sigh. “Happen it would,” he agreed. “Aye, happen it would.”

  Before commencing, he took a fortifying sip of his tea, and there in that pretty garden on that pleasant autumn evening, he told Tom the whole sorry, beautiful tale of Kathy’s father, Robert, and the woman he loved.

  “Liz and her husband Gordon lived here in this very cottage for many years,” he began. “He had a thriving ironmongery business in Bridport and another in Dorchester, so they weren’t short of brass. But ‘brass’ doesn’t always make for contentment, and they were far from content. From what Liz told me, it wasn’t an ideal match. He was a bit of a bully and she, being the gentle, compassionate soul she is, suffered his temper tantrums with dignity.”

  He gave a tender smile. “She was trained as a nurse, so I expect she was used to handling every situation, but, because of Gordon’s nasty ways, over the years he lost her respect, and in the end he lost her love.”

  He described how it all ended. “Gordon took to womanizing. One dark night just before the war he’d been into Bridport … seeing this woman he’d taken a fancy to. It turned out later that the pair of them had drunk enough booze to sink a battleship. Anyway, he’d missed the last bus, so he decided to walk back to West Bay. Coming across the junction he must have stumbled; he was run down by a lorry … the driver said he just seemed to come out of nowhere. A car driver coming the other way witne
ssed it, too. He said the lorry driver couldn’t have done a thing to stop what happened.”

  The old man threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Gordon were killed instantly, and Liz was left on her own, though after a time she came out of her shell and seemed a far happier person than she’d been with him. But she was that lonely. Sometimes you’d see her walking the beach, deep in thought, and other times she’d call me in for a cup of tea and she’d tell me about when she were a girl and how she’d allus longed for a brother or sister. Then, like now, she felt terrible lonely.”

  Tom nodded. He knew how that felt. “She’s fortunate to have you for a friend. We both are.”

  The old man thanked him for the compliment, and added, “She were a lovely looking lady, still young …” He chuckled. “I can never tell a woman’s age.”

  Tom was curious. “Did she ever marry again? Is that why she moved away from here?”

  “No. It weren’t like that. Y’see, one day in early spring some nine years ago, a man came to stay in West Bay.” His memories took him back, and made him smile. “Oh, but he did love this place. He once told me how he left all his troubles behind when he stayed here.”

  He explained how Liz and Robert became good friends, and then how friendship blossomed into love. “I introduced them,” he said proudly. “Liz and I were collecting shells for her garden, when we bumped into him. I asked if he’d like to join us for a drink at the café, and before yer knew it, he and Liz were like old buddies.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he went on, “They saw each other most every day; when he went away, she watched at the window for him to come back. By! I’ve never seen two people so much in love … it were a pleasure to watch. It weren’t long afore Barden House was on the market, and he bought it. He were a businessman … worked hard and traveled far in his work. He bought the house, and spent time here, whenever his work allowed. They lived there together, and then they had a son.”

  He took a moment before going on, in a quiet, reverent voice. “Folks round here turned a blind eye to them not being married … we all reckoned Liz deserved same happiness. Then, one day last year, he went away and never came back. Poor Liz were broken-hearted. She spent weeks watching and waiting, but he never did return. Soon after that, she closed up Barden House, put this cottage up for rent, and left. She said she were headed for Scotland or Ireland or somewhere. Me and the agent were given joint responsibility for the cottage, and I’ve done my best by her. Yet, it’s a strange thing, working for someone you can’t contact.”