Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons

by Lorraine Jenkin

“What’s this?” she said, swinging the pad around with the top of a greasy finger. Her face fell as she registered the contents. “Oh,” she said as the sparkle disappeared from her features.

  Lettie looked at her quizzically, trying to read her and put her finger on the change that there surely had been in the woman in front if her. She’d seen the pyjamas before, although perhaps not worn with such confidence, certainly not at this time of the day and definitely not without a bra. Was it the hair, the way it escaped from the loose ponytail and fell around her face, the glow in her cheeks or simply the look in her eye?

  “Oh dear,” said Lisa biting her lip and looking up at Lettie. “Oh shit.”

  “What’s the matter? I’m missing something here, aren’t I? Are you and Rizzo…?”

  Lisa shook her head, looking back down at the pad.

  “Does he…? Well, I presume he fancies you?”

  Lisa took a deep breath, and then blew it back out, blowing the hair that dangled over her face up into the air. “I had no idea,” she said, pushing the pad away from her and looking back to Lettie and then to Doug who put his hands up in a None of My Business way. “I, um, didn’t come home last night…”

  “Ooo-er!” smiled Lettie, “anyone exciting?”

  Lisa ignored the question and continued. “Rizzo was asleep on the sofa when I came in – I think he had been there all night, so he, he would have guessed what would have happened – I still had yesterday’s clothes on you see…”

  Lettie nodded and shrugged her shoulders, “Well, that’s life I suppose” and then she stopped, “hang on – yesterday’s clothes? Not – surely not Malcolm?” Lisa took a deep breath and tried in vain to keep the smile from her face at the mention of his name. “Oh, bloody hell, Lisa!” said Lettie, “how long has this been going on? And Jill – did she find out? Is that why she left in such a hurry? Oh, bloody hell, poor Jill.”

  Near the surface emotion welled up into Lisa’s eyes. “He told me they were just business partners…I didn’t know…” she whimpered, suddenly realising how lame she sounded. “Oh,” she sobbed, “what have I done?” and she crumpled into easy tears as she covered her face with her hands.

  Lettie shook her head, her shoulders dropping and she looked at Doug as she debated what to say. In reply, he shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” she said eventually, “I suppose it’s none of my business what you and Malcolm do, apart from the fact that Jill is my friend.” She paused and then muttered, “Business partners? Christ, they’ve been married for fifteen years,” she watched as Lisa’s shoulders shook, the tears falling between her fingers.

  “He said that there had been nothing between them for years and that it was Jill that asked for the arrangement; she’s had boyfriends for years apparently,” she sobbed.

  “Bollocks has she,” said Lettie crossly, “they moved down here to get away from his last mistress from what I gather.” Watching the girl suffering across the table from her, Lettie softened, “Oh Lisa, I ‘m sorry – I’m just sad for Jill. Look, it’s none of my business and if anyone needs a kick in the nuts, it’s Malcolm; he’s the one who has been unfaithful, the manipulative shit. I suppose what we need to worry about now if anything is Rizzo; he has been a bit odd lately. I just hope he’s OK.”

  Lisa sniffed hard and looked down at the table, cross with Lettie for bursting her bubble, cross with Malcolm for lying and playing her for a fool and cross with herself for offering herself as a combination of the three wise monkeys, not wanting to see, hear or question any of the suspicious circumstances that now so obviously surrounded her lover.

  “Well, I’m still wet,” said Lettie, getting up and wanting to be out of the way of Lisa and her self-pitying sniffs. “He offered to cook us lunch today,” she looked at the kitchen clock that showed eleven thirty, “so I suppose he’ll be back soon; we’ll check he’s all right then.” She left the room followed by Doug, and Lisa was left with the remainder of her bacon sandwich that went from being a delicious treat to a congealed blob on a plate. No longer was it needed to replenish the energy consumed by a night of passion, but instead signified her greedy need for indulgence, heedless of the consequences.

  She pushed the plate away and felt suddenly stupid in the baby pink pyjamas. How could she have felt sexy and confident padding around in them? Her breasts fell from their imagined gravity-defying position of pertness back to their sweaty position of bumping around her soft waist. Her backside merged once more with her thighs and her hair returned to lank and fell round her cheeks in a style that paid no regard to her face shape. Chucking the rest of her sandwich into the ever-ready jaws of Alfie and Molly, she clomped slowly up the stairs to return to the safety of her tracksuit bottoms.

  The conservatory felt snug and warm as the wind howled around it. Doug was sat in the sagging old armchair that had belonged to Lettie’s grandfather, his knees high because his bottom was so ridiculously low. He was flicking though the sports supplement whilst Lettie trawled through the main news. They filled each other in on titbits of interest as they arose. Every now and then Lettie would look up at the corrugated plastic roof as if to check it was still intact as it shifted and creaked in the wind. Rain lashed onto the plastic with the sound of an old lady weeing into a metal bedpan. The wind that was funnelled along between the old buildings that lined the river buffeted the house and shook the old sash windows.

  Doug looked up at Lettie, noting her concern, “Don’t worry, everything’ll be fine. These things blow over eventually.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” she admitted, “just as long as it doesn’t take my roof off with it first!” Doug was about to explain what his comment related to, but saw the smirk in her eye and smiled. A crash was heard outside and the pair looked up quickly to see a plastic lid bowl across the garden. “Oh, bugger it,” said Lettie, exasperated, “that’ll be the compost bin.”

  She pulled herself from her chair and opened the door into the garden, which was wrenched from her hand by a fierce gust and slammed back on its hinges. As she raced across the garden to rescue the lid that was now pinned against the buffeting shiplap fence, caught up in the honeysuckle, Dougie followed her out and tried to secure other items around the garden with the heavy rocks that had edged the flowerbeds.

  There was a sudden flash in the dark sky and they both started as a loud boom was heard.

  “Oh dear,” said Lettie sharply, stopping her groping amongst the vegetation from which she was trying to dislodge the lid without wrecking too many of her treasured plants. “That was a flare.” Another followed in quick succession. “Two – that’s for the lifeboat,” Lettie told Doug. “I wouldn’t fancy being out there in this, would you?” Dougie shook his head; he had never sailed, but he knew that some of Lettie’s friends were in the lifeboat crew and having seen the size of the waves crashing onto the beach that morning, he didn’t envy their task.

  They returned to the safety and warmth of the conservatory, drenched once more by the unrelenting rain. They resumed their reading, but Doug knew that Lettie was no longer concentrating as the sound of the swollen river outside steadily rose to compete with the rain. “Do you get flooding?” he asked as Lettie rose once more to look out of the window.

  She turned and smiled at him. “What are you – my gynaecologist? No, not really,” she resumed more seriously, “but what I am worried about is Rizzo.” She ran her hands through her still damp hair, flicking it off the back of her wet T-shirt which still clung to her in a way that Doug tried hard not to stare at. “I just hope, I’m just thinking – I hope that he hasn’t gone to the beach. He usually goes there when his tortured soul needs time to feel sorry for itself.”

  “Surely not in this?” said Doug, “he’ll be soaked through – no, he’ll be in a nice warm pub somewhere, eating chocolate cake and drinking hot toddies.”

  “Mmm, I’m not so sure,” said Lettie slowly, “he does tend to go ‘missing’ in times of grief – he went off for two nights before when he and his parents
argued last and he slept rough on the cliffs. Came home like a wild man, well, wild for Rizzo anyway! Dirty, ripped clothes, but with his soul thoroughly cleansed.”

  Doug laughed at the thought of the delicate Rizzo living off the land. “What did he do after that? Write his memoirs?”

  “No,” she smiled, “I think he phoned his dad, apologised without a hint of sincerity in his voice and was immediately reinstated onto the Riser Civil List!”

  “What can we do?” asked Doug. “Shall we go to the beach to see if we can see him?”

  “Hmm, hang on,” said Lettie and she scampered quickly up the stairs. She returned with a worried look on her face. “He’s taken his fossiling bag and jacket; they always hang on the back of his door – it’s like a shrine of honour to his craft.”

  Dougie looked at her intently for a while and then said, “Come on, let’s go and see if we can spot him.” Lettie nodded and went quickly for her jacket and heavy boots. Lisa appeared sheepishly at the bottom of the stairs, her long beige T-shirt returning her to a shapeless sack and draining all the colour from her previously pink cheeks.

  “What’s up?” she asked quietly, not sure how Lettie was going to react. “You’re not going out in this, surely?”

  Dougie quickly explained as he tied the laces of his boots, brought to Lyme with the idea of a pleasant hike on the hills, not a trudge through torrents of rain looking for a tormented drama queen whose fantasy had gone astray.

  “Oh,” said Lisa quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I hope he’s OK; he does love the cliffs, doesn’t he.”

  “Yeah, the dickhead,” said Lettie with a roll of her eyes. She turned back to Doug, “Ready?”

  “Yep!” he said, “synchronise watches, erect hoods etc,” and they clomped out of the door.

  “I’ll make some soup or something…” Lisa called pitifully after the two figures as they strode away, the rain soaking their coats in seconds and followed by the two dogs oblivious to the wet and thrilled at the idea of their second walk already that day – and not even lunchtime.

  Chapter 69

  Spotting the Pilchards

  They strode briskly through the streets, deserted but for the occasional figure running for cover. Shop keepers stood in their windows eyeing the weather disdainfully, trying to decide whether it was worth staying open or whether people would be exhumed from their guesthouses by desperation and hyperactive children and feel the need to buy plates with Greetings From Lyme Regis painted dully across them.

  As Lettie and Doug reached the promenade and left the shelter of the buildings, the wind immediately buffeted them and sea spray soon joined rain in soaking them. They held hands and scuttled through the gale, each holding their hoods tightly under their chins to stop them blowing back and exposing more of their faces than necessary. An A-Board pointlessly advertising ice creams lay on its side amongst a scattering of mushy Impatiens petals from the hanging basket that swayed above it, now just a ball of sodden moss.

  Bins lay overturned, their contents spilling out onto the stone flags and being quickly blown around the promenade. A metal gate crashed repeatedly against the wall and then its frame as the vacant second home would have no one to run out and fasten it for at least the next month. It was only the seagulls that seemed to be enjoying the weather, soaring in the gusts, making no headway despite their best efforts.

  Doug and Lettie eventually reached the back beach and stood by the railings, where Rizzo had eaten his panini two hours earlier. The view was awesome. Waves crashed angrily against the inadequate sea wall, which was failing to keep the wilderness behind it from piling over into the sea. Pebbles stacked up against old wooden groynes and were sucked back with each wave and then thrown out, with a deafening rumble, with the power of the next.

  Rain, no longer being absorbed by the now-saturated cliffs, poured in muddy rivulets over the sea wall to join the saltwater beneath it. Lettie tugged at Doug’s sleeve and pointed to a spot two hundred yards along the beach. He squinted through the weather to see a large pile of mud that had slumped onto the beach and which was now being slowly eaten away by the waves that crashed around it.

  “That’s new,” she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the howling wind. Doug nodded as he followed her finger up the cliff, “See where that scar is fresh? It’s a biggie, no doubt about that.”

  As they looked at the landslip, each trying to imagine what it must have been like when it happened, a small flash of red appeared on the far side. Lettie clutched Doug’s arm. Oh my God, she said to herself, as there was no way Doug would hear her over the wind – it couldn’t be? They turned to each other and then back to the red that had now disappeared from sight. Lettie scooped a tendril of sodden hair that had been plastered across her face and pushed it back into her hood and Doug lent further forward over the railings as if the extra six inches would change the reality of what he saw.

  The red returned and seemed to be scrambling up the mud. Repeatedly it would slide back down and disappear momentarily from view, only to reappear on a slightly different route. Above it, mud that had turned to the consistency of slurry from the rain, slopped intermittently onto the pile.

  “What’s he doing?” shrieked Lettie, “that stuff is lethal! It’s like quicksand; he’ll be drowned in it.” Doug heard the panic in her voice and saw the tremble in her hands.

  “What do we do? Can we get to him?”

  “No, the tide is too high – we’d be swept away. Oh, shit, shit, shit,” she said, wretched in her exasperation. She thought for a few seconds, her eyes staring at the red blob hoping that it would turn out to be a red buoy that had been washed up or an old fertiliser bag fluttering in the wind. But the blob had arms that moved in a clawing fashion and were surely tiring from the effort.

  “The lifeboat,” she said. “It’s got to be the lifeboat,” and she turned and sprinted off to the phone booths that were thankfully only a few hundred yards away, cursing that she hadn’t thought to bring her mobile phone. Doug stayed at the railings, watching helplessly as the red clad figure repeated its slow ascent, an ascent that took him closer and closer to the wet mud that slopped down onto the top of his mountain, making it more treacherous with each new addition.

  Chapter 70

  Fish Food

  Rizzo was absolutely exhausted. He was also terrified and very cold. His walk along the beach had been the therapy that he had desired and he had relished the rain on his face and the wind slapping against his jacket. He’d skipped lightly over the rock pools that were as much rain as saltwater and even hit the occasional rock with his fossil hammer in the style of an eco vandal, having no knowledge or concern for whether the offending rock would possess anything of any interest and, if so, paying no regard to how he might best expose it. He had noticed the tide coming in, but being in an inlet, hadn’t paid a great deal of notice to it, still feeling romantic about the idea of being swept to his doom.

  He watched idly as the last boat in the bay battled its way home to the safety of the harbour, excited by the power and ferocity of the waves around the small vessel. As he stared at the boat, he saw the sodden souls on board staring back, stopping in their efforts to hang onto their course for a few seconds. Three figures in long yellow macs stood rocking, facing the solitary figure on the beach. Rizzo thought smugly how ridiculous the crew was – out in such weather and risking not only their own lives, but the lives of those who would have to rescue them. But, as he stood and stared, shielding his face from the fierce southerly wind with a dripping hand, his feet were swamped by an unexpectedly large wave.

  He scrambled backwards up the pebble beach, the stones slithering under his feet. His balance was poor and a large dollop of bladderwrack didn’t have to try very hard to finish him off and, tripping, he sat down firmly on the drenched beach.

  He scrambled back to his feet and turned back to the boat, as if embarrassed by his fall. The crew were no longer interested in him and had resumed their battle to
retreat to the refuge of the harbour.

  Rizzo glanced at his watch and then the sea; he had been out longer than he thought – there was no point in being swept to his doom if he were not there to see the results. They would be missing him by now. Lisa would be crying, the tears falling onto her pink negligee, her beautiful hands shaking with grief. Lettie would be feeling wretched about her previous sarcasm and the three of them would be sat around the kitchen table. Waiting. Waiting.

  Another wave caught his feet and dragged him back to reality – yep, better get moving. He jogged cumbersomely across the beach, trying to stick to the sandier parts, avoiding the slippery rocks and the shingle that moved beneath his feet.

  As he came to the headland of the inlet, he realised with horror that the waves were now beginning to lap the cliffs; he was going to get very wet. Looking desperately about him for an escape route, he saw that there was no chance of scaling the near-vertical cliffs; their structure was such that any handholds or platforms of safety would be likely to crumble and he would fall to his doom in the raging sea or on the jagged rocks below. Not surprisingly, he decided that this type of exit from this world of injustice was not one he was ready for just yet. His eyes swept the cliffs once more to make sure that there were no ridges to which he could scramble and wait out the high tide for a few hours and then made his decision to take his chances along the beach.

  Through the weather he heard a “whoosh” followed by a large bang and he recognised it immediately as being a flare. Another one confirmed the call for the lifeboat. Damn, he thought, I bet that boat has reported seeing me. It instilled in him an urge to make it safely back and he decided that when he reached the promenade, he would hover round for a while, so that he would be seen in his red jacket safely on shore. If questioned, he could nonchalantly mention that, yes, he had been out there earlier, but of course he had been aware of the power of the sea and thus had returned in plenty of time. Reported by day trippers; no doubt a bit out of their depth…