Children played with their inflatable dinghies within the safety of the harbour walls and dogs splashed about in the shallows – apart from Alfie who wasn’t allowed in until after the meeting – first impressions were too important. Dougie walked slowly along the harbour, looking at the giant stones beneath his feet. To his right, the upper harbour wall stretched high above his head and sloped outwards towards the sea in order to deflect and drain the powerful waves as they crashed against it in stormy weather.
Dougie watched idly as a man assisted an older lady up the steep flight of steps that led to the high wall, rising up and down over a little nook with a seat that many thousands of lovers must have sat in over the centuries, indulging in relative privacy.
The world is full of odd folk. Many people are beautiful, but most are odd in some way. Some are too tall or too short, too fat or too thin. Badly dressed, oddly dressed or style personified. But most will have a something that sets them apart, stops them being perfect or merely run of the mill.
A business man with a tattoo on his hand, a smart lady with socks under her elegant sandals, a badly fitting top or someone who for whom it looks wrong to smoke. Part of the delight of people watching is the spotting of the oddness in each and everyone. Dougie wasn’t a great people watcher, knowing most of the people he saw at home took the skill out of it, but these two intrigued him.
The lady was in her, say, early sixties, glamorous to a point, with a large grey bouffant of hair, swept back from a classically attractive face. She wore a yellow summer dress and had a neat silver mac over it and a scarf around her neck. But what made Dougie stare was her shoes. They were the shoes of a much younger woman, one who hadn’t started to think about turned ankles or comfort and these were her oddity. It was as if she were from one of those children’s flip books whereby one can put together a head, a body, legs and feet to create silly overall effects. In her case the hair, face, dress and legs all matched perfectly – but the shoes? No, they were wrong. The woman had a playful air about her, as if she were trying to impress her companion into saying, “well, she had the energy of a woman half her age.”
They must be a new couple, thought Doug. Otherwise she would never be bothered to climb those steps to the top wall and she certainly wouldn’t skip up them in the way she was doing, not in those shoes.
Her companion, on the other hand, was a complete flip book model. His pale balding head was washed out by a beige sports jacket over a white shirt, grey slacks and brand new deck shoes. It was as if he was a nine-to-five suit during the week and had been suddenly required to buy an outfit from the catalogue for a day at the beach before going to visit his mother. It was obvious that he was trying to impress, but his attempts to skip up the steps were even more unsure than those of the woman whose hand he was being allowed to hold.
Dougie saw the beige man offer the lady his arm and the two promenaded along the wall, reminiscent of years gone by when women were feminine and men were gallant and silent. Then something clicked in Dougie’s mind about one of his O level English Literature books – yes, he knew now why Lyme Regis had seemed somehow familiar to him all along. Persuasion and that bloody simpering Louisa Musgrove – the complete dissection of which had helped to put him off reading until his late twenties and it was only now that he was even thinking of any so-called serious literature. Yes, Louisa and her bloke, now what had he been called, had walked along the Cobb and then, that’s right, she’d fallen down those Granny’s Teeth steps.
Dougie had never been able to picture what had been meant by Granny’s Teeth, but a blood curdling scream soon brought him to understand: ten yards in front of him, the girlish sixty-year-old lay sprawled on the ground, clutching her ankle. The beige man was faffing beside her. Whereas Louisa Musgrove had swooned gently away into a state that nearly killed her, the modern day heroine tried to sit up, but instead could only scream “Feck!” through her clenched teeth.
Dougie and Alfie ran over, the fannying about of the beige man giving Dougie the confidence to take charge as much as his forester’s first aid training allowed him to.
”It’s OK, it’s OK, just try and sit still. Don’t move anything if you can help it. Where does it hurt?” He put his hand on her shoulder to reassure her and she looked gratefully at him, trying to regain her composure.
“It’s my ankle; I must have turned it on these steps.”
Dougie finally realised what the Granny’s Teeth were – half a dozen stones jetting out from the main wall in a curve; big gaps looming between each step and certainly no handrail to protect the user.
“Grace wanted to jump down the last one,” the beige man said pathetically, “I didn’t really have time to catch her.” The woman glared at him, for revealing her foolishness.
“OK, Grace, don’t worry about that now,” said Doug. “Look, your shoe is half off, I’m going to take it off very gently, and then we’ll get you comfortable. Alfie, get your head out. Can you phone for an ambulance?” he asked the man and then returned to Grace who clutched at his arm as she grimaced more “fecks” (much to the sadness of the beige man who would rather have liked to be clutched himself).
Doug laid the shirt that he had slung over his arm onto the stone and after checking nothing else was hurt, Grace adjusted herself, with his help, to sit on it. Seeing that she was still not comfortable, Doug sat behind her and leant against the sea wall.
“Now,” he said, “if you want to, you can lean back on me. Alfie, lie down. You just want to be as comfortable as possible; it may take some time for the ambulance to get here. Alfie, WILL you lie down.”
“Twenty minutes, they said twenty minutes,” said the returning beige man, desperate to be involved, but not really knowing what to do and a bit put out to find his lady love between the thighs of another.
“OK, twenty minutes, that’s fine,” said Doug and asked the man his name. “Right, Brian, can you put your jacket over Grace to keep her warm; it’s likely she might go into a bit of shock and therefore we need to keep her wrapped up and all cosy, like.” Grace tittered, rather enjoying being the centre of attention and certainly happy resting on the chest of this lovely stranger, her earlier curses quite forgotten.
At last Brian had a role and he crouched beside Grace like a thoughtful child watching an anthill, and spent the time before the ambulance arrived fussing over her, tucking and re-tucking the beige comforter around her and patting her hand.
The ambulance finally pulled up after jolting over the rough stone road and took easy control, splinting the ankle after Dougie had told them what had happened and what he had done.
“Do you want me to call anyone for you?” asked Doug, as Grace was being strapped onto the stretcher.
“No, thank you,” she replied, “both my daughters are working in town today. Brian – perhaps you could call Lettie for me, no, perhaps Alex for me? Tell her what’s happened, but not to worry, but perhaps she or Richard could collect us later.”
Lettie? Alex? Richard? Both daughters working in town? It couldn’t be, surely, could it?
Dougie called his goodbyes and good lucks and no, it was a pleasure to be cuddled up with such a lovely lady on a Saturday afternoon and he would love to do it again some time, should she ever need him. By the time the ambulance doors had shut, Grace was once more the charming gentlewoman, who never complained, with the energy and spirit of a girl half her age. Brian was once more a role-less faffer, trying to tuck in her blankets whilst those handsome young ambulance men got all the attention.
Chapter 58
The Icing on the Cake
Instead of the three o’clock rendezvous, Dougie and Alfie spent the afternoon on the beach. Doug skimmed stones, read a paper and ate an ice cream. Together they climbed up the steep cliff path and wondered along the landslips, Alfie now wet from saltwater, heavy with sand and coated in dust from the many rabbiting opportunities.
Dougie wasn’t sure what to do considering the circumstances; he didn’t want to
be in the way when Lettie had other things on her mind that would be more important. He felt like a commuter feels when some selfish bastard throws himself in front of their train; sorrow for the outcome, but, come on, couldn’t they have done it some other time? He decided he would get a guesthouse for the night and then phone Lettie, or maybe Alex, the next day.
Doug and Alfie started their walk from stony Monmouth Beach that abutted the Cobb’s high wall until Doug also had the urge to walk along the top of it. It was a beautiful early evening as he strolled along, watching the waves lapping ineffectively against the wall and tried to imagine what it must be like in the throws of a storm. A few couples ambled along the harbour below him; it was still a bit early for the holidaymakers’ pre- and post-dinner promenade – they would still be trying to remove sand from their crevices and tone down their uneven sunburns.
At the end of the wall sat a lone figure, her legs swinging over the edge as she looked out to sea. At her side sat a small blob that Doug assumed, from this distance, was another dog. As they passed Granny’s Teeth, Doug peered over the edge at them and wondered why on earth anyone would choose to walk down them – let alone hurl themselves off in high heeled shoes into the arms of a man who looked as if he couldn’t catch a cold, let alone an average sized pensioner.
He continued along the wall, deeper sea now to his right and a small sheltered beach to his left.
The woman on the harbour wall leant back, undid something in her hair and shook her tresses free as if unwinding after a long day’s work. He could see her shoes placed on the wall beside her and watched as she untucked a white blouse from the confines of a black skirt. She reached a hand out and stroked the head of the small dog to her side and the dog moved its head to find the best spot.
Doug smiled in spite of himself and stopped, wondering if he should intrude on her content little world. Alfie also stopped, but then his ears pricked up and he stood bolt upright and started trotting towards the smaller dog, his tail wagging wildly. Then that dog turned and, wagging its tail, left its mistress and ran to greet Alfie. The two dogs stood next to each other, nose to nose and wagging as if welcoming an old friend. Doug walked towards them just as the smaller dog gave Alfie’s nose a gentle lick.
“Hello you!” said Dougie, bending down to stroke the little dog. “And what’s your name?”
“Oh, she’s Molly,” said a voice beside him. “She’s a right little flirt aren’t you, dog?”
Dougie looked at the woman and smiled. Her thick hair fell over her shoulders, momentarily hiding a pretty, tanned face. He watched as she in turn stroked Alfie, scratching his ears. “Now this, is what we call a proper dog, isn’t it, Molls, not a little scrap like you.” Alfie jumped up at the woman, resting his paws on her legs. “I’m sure I recognise you, dog,” she said, a puzzled look crossing her face as she looked up into Doug’s blue eyes and liked what she saw. “They say that black Labs all look the same, but we know different, don’t we, dog?” She took hold of his collar with one hand, still scratching his head with the other.
She read the tag, then dropped it and pushed Alfie off her legs, wiping his sandy paw prints from her skirt. A look of puzzlement came over her face, then a small smile. At the same time, Dougie was beaming, having put two and two together just seconds earlier.
“You’re not…Dougie? Are you?” she asked quietly, biting her lower lip in a way that made him want to kiss it.
“And, you’re Lettie…” he grinned, his deep blue eyes twinkling at her. She nodded, her eyes smiling and her mouth clenched into a grin that, if released, would burst all over her face.
Doug threw back his head and laughed. He felt he didn’t know what to do, so he did what came naturally, which was to hold his arms wide to gather her into his embrace and she fell into it three quarters laughing, a quarter tearful.
“What are you doing here?” she laughed. “Did you – have you come to find me?”
“Well, yes, I suppose I have!”
He explained about Alex’s phone call.
“I’m just so sorry that I didn’t try harder to contact you after the Tenby thing. I just thought… Well, I just thought that you didn’t want to see me. I sort of gave up really. I had no idea about the crash – you see, your text came through and I assumed that that was it.”
Lettie stood back and looked puzzled. “A text? I sent you a text? Saying what?” Doug repeated the message that had ruined his last few weeks. He knew it off by heart; he had looked at it so many times to try and work out whether it could possibly have had any other meaning. He so wanted there to be an easy explanation. He wanted her to explain and then step back into his arms.
A light went on in Lettie’s head: “Oh my God, I know what that was – my phone was found in the car before it was scrapped – it had been damaged so I had to get a new one. I was actually texting you before the crash – I must have sent it without realising.” She stopped to think. “Yes, I remember now, I was trying to text you something about, I don’t know, stealing a silver tea service or some such rubbish. Oh, Doug, I am so sorry. No wonder you didn’t phone me. I thought… I thought you couldn’t be bothered to find out what had happened. I phoned you a few times at home that weekend – I couldn’t remember your mobile number ‘cause I didn’t have my mobile and I haven’t got it written down anywhere else. So I phoned your home phone – but no one answered. Alex and Rich tried too, but they couldn’t get an answer either.”
Doug groaned. He had sat there listening to the phone ringing for a few nights because he had been too proud to answer it. That also explained why she hadn’t received his calls asking what was happening. Looking back, at what he now saw as self-indulgent misery, he felt so shamed. He’d been crying about some woman who had dumped him twenty years before, that he hadn’t really even liked that much, whilst poor Lettie had been lying on a hospital trolley.
They looked at each other, again unsure. Their foibles, which now seemed such an unexplainable waste of opportunity, had halted the smiles and happiness. Neither knew what to do next. Doug could easily forgive her, but wondered whether she could him? Lettie thought his reaction was understandable, considering what had happened, but could he forgive her stubbornness and the ease with which she gave up on him?
Doug looked at her hesitant face and did what his hand wanted to do. It reached out and took hers and the smile returned. “Shall we…shall we start again?” he whispered.
“That would be wonderful!”
They turned to see where the dogs had gotten to and saw them cavorting around on the beach below. They walked in silence back to Granny’s Teeth, Dougie delighting in how soft her hand was and she enjoying having the whole of her hand enveloped in his.
“I think I helped your mum today,” laughed Doug. “Was it her that fell down these steps?”
Lettie squealed. “Was that you? Fantastic!” Doug laughed as she explained that her mother’s new suitor was one of Dougie’s original competitors and how her mum had suggested that she should go out with her nice young helper, not that no-hoper from Wales.
Doug was happy to help Lettie down the steps and she was happy to be helped, despite having raced up and down them thousands of times without mishap as a child. They walked onto the beach and watched the dogs, their conversation now easy. Both were smiling like fools and Doug had somehow managed to hold Lettie’s other hand as well.
He sneaked in a little kiss on her cheek and she didn’t seem to mind. She wiped a splash of saltwater off his face as the dogs shook themselves over them. The dogs ran in and out of the sea, chasing sticks, stones and each other.
Eventually Lettie shivered, it was nearly dusk and she only had her waitressing blouse on.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s go home.” And she led him from the beach and into her life.
Chapter 59
Menu Planning
Matt Fitz-Hughes travelled to Highgate in North London and was taken to a swanky restaurant where the food, wines, champagn
e and then port flowed. Jed was a rather rotund, expensively-dressed man who was used to things going as he planned and from the way he charmed everyone from the waitresses to Matt himself, it was easy to see why.
North London Independent Programmes was a small, but successful, concern and its ‘Rags to Riches’ series had made its name as a quality player in the field. Jed had set the company up from his front room and it had grown, in parallel with his waistband, in just the way his business plan had predicted.
“Right then,” said Jed. “I need to know everything about the Pryces, their house and the land around it onto which they might be able to extend. Also, other elements such as potential problems with neighbours and planning permission.”
Matt couldn’t see any of the two thousand neighbouring sheep objecting to a new bathroom. He showed Jed the photos that he had taken for him to get a feel for the place and the people. Once Jed was satisfied that all the practical angles were covered and that the Pryces were truly the characters that Matt said they were, he put the details on the table.
“Right,” he said, his manner giving no hint of the bottle and a half of wine, two glasses of champagne and three glasses of port that were swilling around in his system. “This is the deal – we send a crew to film them, their home, their problems and their life in general. This introduces them to the audience and makes them see why they should have the cash to do the rest. It’s quite straightforward and is usually a tour of damp patches, faulty wiring and carbon monoxide detectors – in this case, I want the “tea-bark” or whatever you call that toilet, the tin bath, the rabbit skinning and all that. I want the characters to be extracted and shown to our viewers – I want them to love these people.
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