The Beachcomber

by Josephine Cox

  There was a little hand-drawn map. He studied it, mumbling as he read, “Straight up the High Street, past the Bull Inn; keep going, with the market square on your right. Then you pass the Town Hall. Cross the road to a terrace of cottages. You’ll find us at number eight … third along.”

  Folding the letter into his pocket, he could see the Bull Inn from where he stood. “By! I could do with summat to wet me whistle,” he muttered. But then he decided the pint of good stuff could wait. Right now, he had other priorities.

  Following Liz’s directions to the letter, he eventually came to the row of cottages, as she’d described. Number eight had a pretty red door and a black lion’s-head knocker. He was about to raise the knocker when there came a shout from some way behind him. “JASPER!” As he turned he was almost knocked over by a brown-haired lad, who wrapped himself around Jasper so hard that the old man could hardly breathe. “Oh, Jasper, you came to see us!” Looking up, the boy was in tears. “I never thought you’d come. I never thought I’d see you again!” Laughing now, he held onto Jasper as though he would never let go.

  Taking the lad by the shoulders, the old man smiled down on him. “By! Look at you … all growed up and handsome as ever.” Cradling his hands around the boy’s face, his voice shook with emotion. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d missed him. “What med yer think I’d not come to see you, eh? Yer shoulda known better.”

  The boy looked round. “Have you brought my daddy?”

  “No, son, I haven’t seen your daddy.” Now, as the boy dropped his gaze to the ground, the old man thought how like Robert he looked, and how much of a shock it would be for Kathy if ever she saw him. “Where’s yer mam?”

  “There!” Quickly hiding his disappointment, the boy pointed. Jasper turned and there she was, almost on them now. Waving and smiling, she began running, with the old man’s fond gaze following her every move. Lovely as ever, with her hair plaited back, and her figure slim and elegant as before, he felt a pang of sorrow at the way she and Robert had been torn apart in such a cruel way.

  Dropping her basket to the ground, she threw herself at him, holding onto him as fiercely as the boy had done, as though she was afraid he might suddenly disappear.

  After a moment, she drew away. “You can’t know how good it is to see you,” she murmured, and Jasper felt the same.

  Holding the boy’s hand, he followed her inside. “You look well,” he remarked. “You’ve not changed, either of yer.” Yet they had, he thought. They seemed older, mellowed somehow, and the light of joy had gone from their eyes. He supposed that was because of Robert, and the circumstances which drove them from West Bay, a place they loved as much as he did. At his words, Liz turned, her whimsical smile betraying what was in her heart.

  The cottage was warm and welcoming – like Liz herself, the old man thought. The living room was surprisingly open, with light wood furniture and a pretty Victorian fireplace, and at the far end, beyond the french doors, the garden seemed to stretch away forever. Still alive with late-blooming plants, it was a feast for the eyes. “You’ve got a lovely place here,” he told Liz, and she agreed, but, “It’s not home, Jasper,” she murmured. “It never could be.”

  “Come and see your bedroom.” The boy grabbed his hand. “I’ve made you a present.”

  Liz laughed. “He spent all week making it,” she explained, and Jasper said he couldn’t wait. “Take your case up,” Liz suggested. “You might as well unpack.”

  “Lead on,” he told the boy, who took him at a run across the room and up the stairs. When they got to the far end of the landing, he paused at one door and pointed to another. “That’s the bathroom,” he said, “and this is your bedroom.”

  Taking stock, the old man dropped his case to the floor and looked around. It was a pleasant room by any standards. There was a double bed with a cabinet alongside, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, and on top a vase of yellow chrysanthemums. The curtains were of plain blue fabric, as was the bedspread. On the walls were pictures of boats and seascapes, and when the sun poured in through the window as it did now, the whole room was bathed in light, bringing the seascapes to life.

  The boy ran to the dresser. “Look, Jasper! Here’s your present.”

  Jasper was amazed; it was a sailing ship, all decked out, its sails unrolled to the wind, its smooth hull brightly painted. “By!” He looked at the boy with admiration, and the smallest tinge of doubt. “Did you make that?”

  He nodded. “Mum bought me a model. At first I couldn’t understand the instructions and I got a few things wrong, then Mum showed me and I was all right after that.” He was quick to assure Jasper. “I made it all by myself. Honest!”

  “Well, you’ve done a grand job, son. Thank you.” He took the ship into his hands and examined its every feature. “I’ll tell yer what.” Replacing it, he gave the boy a hug. “When yer grow up, I reckon you’ll mek a fine craftsman. I expect you’ll make beautiful objects and travel the world. And I for one will be very proud.”

  The boy shook his head. “No, Jasper! I want to be a sailor, like you.”

  Jasper laughed. “You can be whatever yer like, son, as long as yer happy.”

  From the doorway, Liz watched them together. She recalled how Robert used to speak to his son in much the same way. Thinking on it now almost broke her heart. How could he have deserted them like that? Time and again she was forced to remind herself of it. Robert deserted her and the boy. How could she ever forgive him?

  Coming across the room, she walked into Jasper’s embrace. “You look well,” she said.

  He chuckled. “You know me,” he answered, “I haven’t got time to be owt else.”

  “The journey wasn’t too tiring, was it?”

  “Not so I noticed.”

  “Did you manage to get anything to eat on the way?”

  “No. I made straight here, lass.”

  “Good! So you must be hungry. I’ve got ham salad. And lemon meringue pie for afterward. I’ve been saving my coupons specially.”

  The old man’s stomach grumbled at the thought. “And have yer a suitable drink for an old man who’s traveled miles at yer slightest whim?” He winked at the boy. “I bet yer mam’s forgot what me tipple is.”

  She hadn’t forgotten, because when they all trooped downstairs, she poured him a glass of good ale. “You enjoy that while I set about getting the meal.”

  Raising the glass, Jasper drank her health and that of the boy. “I reckon me and the lad will sit in the sunshine awhile, if that’s all right with you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “That’s a good idea.” Her glance was meaningful. “We’ll talk later, when you can catch me up with all the news.”

  “Aye, lass.” He had not forgotten why he was here. “I dare say we’ve a lot to talk about.” At the back of his mind was the knowledge that he was obliged to tell her how Robert was gone for good. It was an unsettling prospect. For the moment, though, he would indulge the boy and do a bit of exploring.

  For the next half-hour the two of them roamed the garden. Robbie showed him his favorite tree, complete with tree-house. “It was here when we came,” he explained, “but it was falling apart, so I tidied it all up and made a door. When you’re inside, you can shut it and pretend you’re in the middle of the ocean, all on your own.”

  “And is that what you’d like … to be in the middle of the ocean, all on your own?” The old man had noticed how the boy’s voice trembled, and could only imagine what was going on in his young mind.

  The boy looked up at him, his eyes welling up with threatened tears. “Why didn’t my daddy come back for me?” Suddenly the tears fell, and he could say no more.

  “Come here to me, son.” The old man opened his arms. When the boy clung to him, he spoke softly. “Sometimes things happen that we don’t understand. But your daddy loved you, that I do know.”

  For a while the boy cried softly, but when Jasper deliberately brought his attention to a pigeon that
had settled on the tree-house, he was momentarily diverted. “I reckon he’s after some of our breakfast, what do you think?”

  The boy was instantly concerned. “I’ve got an apple in the tree-house.”

  “How long’s it been there?”

  “Only a week.” Already his tears were gone, but not the ache in his heart. That was hidden like before.

  “Will it still be crispy, d’yer think?”

  “It might be.”

  “Look, I’ll tell you what,” the old man suggested. “I’m partial to a crispy apple. How about yer fetch it down and we’ll share it?”

  “All right!” He liked that idea. “Why don’t we eat it in the tree-house?”

  Jasper gave a cry of horror. “What? Yer mean yer want me to climb up there?”

  The boy tugged at his sleeve. “Come on! It’ll be fun. You can be captain if you like.”

  “Gerraway with yer!” The old man laughed out loud. “If I were half the size, I’d never fit in that little house. Not in a month o’ Sundays, I wouldn’t.” He made a suggestion. “How about if yer show me the rest of the garden?”

  Content in the old man’s company, Robbie showed him some old birds’ nests, now deserted, that he had discovered. “I like this garden,” the boy confided as they sat together on the old rustic bench, “but I want to come home. I miss the sea.” A sadness touched his voice. “Mummy says we might go back one day, but not yet.”

  The old man’s heart was sore. “I’m sure yer mammy means to take yer back,” he promised. “Else why would she keep the cottage, eh?”

  The boy looked up, his eyes moist with tears but a smile on his face. “Yes, that’s right. Mummy told me we still have the cottage. Oh, Jasper, will she take me back? Will she?”

  “That’s summat for your mammy to decide, son.” He had more sense than to raise the boy’s hopes too high.

  Suddenly his heart lurched when the boy asked in all innocence, “Then, will Daddy come back?”

  Liz’s call that the food was ready spared him from giving an answer. He clambered off the seat. “We’d best go,” he said, feigning excitement. “We don’t want to miss that lovely lemon meringue pie, do we, eh?” He was thankful when the boy readily agreed, seeming to forget for the minute that Jasper had not answered his question.

  Liz had decided to set the table in the garden. “I thought you’d rather be outside,” she said. She knew Jasper from old.

  “I don’t mind admitting that I’d rather be outside than in,” he confessed. “I expect it comes of being an old sailor.”

  The next few hours were some of the best in the old man’s life.

  Liz had prepared a wonderful meal, all set out on a pink tablecloth. There were jugs of cold drinks, plates of crusty bread, and a delicious salad of ham, laid inside large lettuce leaves and surrounded by sliced tomatoes, thin rounds of apple and cucumber.

  “By, lass! This is grand.” Tucking in, the old man enjoyed every mouth-watering morsel, and when later the lemon meringue pie arrived, it went down a treat. “Is that one o’ yer specialities?” he asked, wiping the last crumb from his beard; she, proud of her cooking, promptly gave him another large helping.

  After the meal was cleared away, they went for a walk in the park. “Me and Robbie stroll through here often,” Liz explained. “The park belongs to the Duke of Bedford, but you’re allowed to go through, as long as you don’t stray too far from the path.”

  The park was huge: a vast, impressive expanse of lake and shrubberies, overhung with huge, ancient rhododendrons that reached into the skies and filled the world with color. On either side the parkland stretched away for miles, dotted here and there with herds of grazing deer, and in the far distance another shimmering lake danced in the evening sunlight.

  “This place can’t be all that different from heaven,” Jasper declared with awe. “I ain’t never seen anything so lovely.” Unless it was a boat in full sail across the ocean, he thought fondly.

  “LOOK AT THAT!” Pointing to the large stag coming toward them, the boy was wide-eyed with wonder. “If we keep ever so still, it might come near, so we can touch it!”

  The stag was magnificent: broad of chest, with large dark eyes and thick, strong antlers that could maim or kill in a fight. He kept his distance, wary, menacing. Then, while the three of them looked on in admiration, he turned gracefully, and ambled back to his herd. “Well, I never!” The old man was entranced.

  On leaving the park, Robbie had a suggestion. “Why don’t we go to the pub for a drink?”

  Jasper laughed, but Liz explained. “There’s a pretty garden behind the Bull Inn. Sometimes me and Robbie go in for a leisurely drink before going home. If you’re thirsty, we could call in now?”

  With a thirst on him like a sponge in the desert, Jasper didn’t need asking twice. “You’ve said the magic words,” he chuckled. “Lead on.”

  Woburn being a very old village, there were many little nooks and crannies, and old stone arches through which, once upon a time, carriages would make their way to the stables at the back. Now, though, it was people who sat beneath the arches, and the cobbled stableyards were pretty gardens, with tables and chairs and pinafored waitresses to fetch and carry for the thirsty visitors.

  “Two lemonades and a pint of beer, please.” Liz gave the order, and when it arrived they sat back and enjoyed the moment, chatting and laughing and simply enjoying each other’s company.

  Inevitably, and much to the old man’s concern, Liz and her son had many questions. The boy was mainly interested in the harbor and the boats and what Jasper himself had been up to, while Liz asked about the cottage, and its tenant.

  “He’s called Tom,” Jasper imparted with a knowing smile. “A nice fella. Keeps himself to himself mostly, but we’ve become good friends.” He laughed. “I even persuaded him into buying a sailing boat – smart little thing, it is – got many years o’ work in her yet, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “D’you think he’ll let me go on it?” Robbie was so excited he could hardly sit still.

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we, eh?”

  Liz was curious. “Is he married?”

  The old man shook his head. “He’s come to West Bay, like so many of us, to escape whatever it is that haunts him.” Beyond that he couldn’t say. “But I know you’d like him. He’s a fine, good man.”

  “And there’s no problem with the cottage or anything?”

  “Not that I can think of, no. I look after the maintenance, as always. He pays the rent and the money goes straight into the bank. The cottage is kept nice, just as you like it.”

  “So, everything is the same as when we left, is that what you’re saying?”

  The old man swallowed hard. Though she had worded her question carefully for the boy’s sake, he had seen the beseeching look in her eyes. He knew what she was asking, and his old heart lurched.

  Again, for the sake of the boy, and for Liz herself, he worded his answer equally carefully. “It’s more or less the same, lass.”

  She gave him a curious glance, and for a minute he was afraid she had more probing questions. But the moment passed when the waitress arrived to ask if there was anything else they would like.

  Liz shook her head and thanked her.

  The old man insisted on paying the bill, and they were soon making their way back to the house. “It’s been a lovely day,” Jasper told her. “I can understand why yer chose to settle in this beautiful place.”

  Opening the door, Liz let them in. “We’re not ‘settled,’ as you call it. We’re much like yourself, Jasper: in transit, always looking for the next port of call.”

  “I understand.” He looked into her sorry face and read her thoughts. Knowing the time had come for her to learn the truth, he took her aside. “Later, when the boy’s in bed, we’ll need to talk, lass.” There was no more hedging, no more wishing he didn’t have to tell her, because now there was no option. In fact, there never had been.

  It was nine
o’clock when the boy finally tumbled into bed. Weary and worn out by the day’s events, he threw his arms around the old man’s neck. “I love you, Jasper,” he said, and Jasper was deeply moved. “I love you too, lad.”

  Even before he got to the door, the boy was soundly sleeping. “Good night, son.” Quietly closing the door, he went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Liz was waiting at the table, with two mugs of cocoa and a look on her face that betrayed her anxiety. “Come and sit down.” Gesturing to the chair opposite, she reminded him, “Like you say … we need to talk.”

  “Aye, lass.” Seating himself, he sighed heavily, his old heart pained by what he must tell her.

  Sensing his dilemma, she anticipated his news. “It’s Robert, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, lass. It’s Robert.” He had to swallow the hard lump in his throat or it would have choked him.

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, Jasper! Is he back?”

  Again, he had to swallow hard. “No, lass. He’s not back. But there is summat yer should know.”

  A look of apprehension crossed her kindly features. “What is it, Jasper? Have you heard from him, is that it?”

  He shook his head. He had to get it over with, however painful it might be. “I’m sorry, lass, but I’m afraid Robert is dead.”

  Liz blanched, and tears filled her eyes. “How do you know?” she asked shakily.

  The old man took a deep breath before going on. “A young lady turned up, and what she told me is what I’ve come to tell you now.”

  “What young lady? Who is she?”

  “Her name’s Kathy.” He paused a moment, not wanting to shock her further, but seeing no other way. “She’s Robert’s daughter.”

  Pressing her hand to her mouth, Liz stared at him for a minute, her eyes wide with astonishment. “I never knew he had a daughter.” She looked him in the eye. “He never talked to me about his life outside of West Bay and I never asked. I was always afraid that, if I pushed him too far, he’d leave and I would never see him again.” Her regrets were many, but meeting Robert and sharing part of his life was not one of them. “Please tell me. What happened to Robert?” Though filled with a sense of dread, she urged in a small voice, “It’s all right, Jasper. Say what you’ve come to say.”