by Jan Jones
It wasn’t Leo on the phone, it was Noel. Noel sounding hard and urgent and suddenly grown up. “Ma, can you get down here?”
“What’s wrong? Where are you? Noel, what’s happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m at the brewery. The river’s burst its banks. It’s raging through the town. It’s like a wild thing, Ma. Can you come at once and bring Frances. Bring everyone. We need as many as possible to sandbag the town.”
Even through her horror, Penny wasted no time. She grabbed the address book and set her daughter to phoning friends and neighbours as she drove them down to the harbour as fast as was safe.
“And your father,” she said. “Alice needs to know this. She’ll never forgive us if they’re happily having tea at home on the Heights road, not knowing her constituents are being flooded out.”
The Market Street car park was still dry, so she parked at the top and they pounded through the rain down to the Seagull. Clammy wetness seeped into her denims as they splashed through New Cut to the main road where water had no right to be. “We might both need new jeans after this,” she joked breathlessly.
“Cool,” said Frances.
Penny had lived in Salthaven all her life and she’d seen the harbour flood before, but she was stupefied by the sight that met her eyes. A great rush of water, twice the width of the river, was streaming between the shops towards the sea. The mid-section of the Crown & Anchor bridge appeared to float surreally across it. The tops of the railings bordering the river were only just visible above the water, forming insubstantial wrought iron lines leading to the wide turbulent harbour. The grey of the sky and the grey of the sea merged, forming a new coastline, a place she didn’t recognise. “My God,” she breathed to Frances.
She saw Iain Ramsay, soaked to the skin, hauling a sandbag on to the stack in front of the brewery office. “How can we help?” she yelled over the noise of wind and water.
“Bags are up by the stable,” he called back.
As she struggled back with her first sandbag, Penny realised with a sick jolt that Firefly was nowhere in sight. There was a rowing boat tethered to the fish-and-chip shop door, and another couple of skiffs tied to a lamp post further down the street, but none of the small cruisers that normally lined the river were anywhere in evidence.
No. Dear Lord, no. Please let Leo be all right. Please. She pictured the boat swept out to sea or smashed to pieces - and retched uncontrollably. She tried ringing Leo’s phone again with numb, water-clumsy fingers, but couldn’t get a signal. Where was he? Her whole mind twisted into a muddled, inarticulate, desperately anxious prayer.
Noise beat against her ears. People moved around her, pushing against the water in waders or rolled-up jeans, purposeful and determined, all busy, working together. All of Salthaven must be here, all of them except the one person she desperately needed to know was safe. And not only Leo. Where was his son? Where were his parents? Ten minutes went by. Half an interminable hour. The sky stayed grey. Penny’s muscles ached with heaving sandbags. The phone remained dead. Where was he?
“Penny,” said Leo’s voice, loud and warm by her ear. He was drenched, his clothes torn, but he was grinning from ear to ear and vibrantly alive. “I might have known you’d be in the thick of things.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. The relief at seeing him was as painful and piercing as a blow under her ribs. Then, “Where have you been?” she yelled. “Why didn’t you call? I’ve been so worried.”
“My phone is out of battery. I had to knock up the photographer the old-fashioned way. He’s got some cracking shots. Are you crying?”
“No, of course not. It’s raining, in case you hadn’t noticed. Oh God, Leo, I didn’t know what had happened. Where’s your boat? Where’s Daniel?”
“Daniel and Mum are at home. Dad is somewhere around here, helping. Firefly is up at Oakerby Ground. Conditions were looking pretty bad on the way back from Thwaite Hall so we moored at the boatyard and called a cab home. Dad and I came on down here to pick the car up and... Well, as you can see, we stayed to help. Obviously.”
Obviously. She’d treasure that later. For now though, “I don’t believe it,” she shrieked. “The one time you don’t ask me for a lift and it has to be now when I’m out of my mind with worry! Fabulous timing, Leo. Really.”
“I’ve been bothering you too often recently. I didn’t want to...” Leo put a muddy hand to Penny’s cheek, stricken. “Penny, I’m so sorry.”
Penny blinked and pulled away. She didn’t know what had come over her. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re safe.” She sniffed and blinked and tried again. “Look over there. Julian and Alice are helping Iain Ramsay. I got Frances to call them.”
“Fantastic!” Leo splashed away, shouting for his photographer. “Photo over here. Few words, Alice?”
Penny didn’t know how long they all worked at staving off flood damage, but as the rain finally blew itself out and a thin evening moon shook itself free from the clouds, it was apparent that the river was at last receding. “Thank goodness,” she said, then squinted at a gush of water still pouring out of New Cut. “Where’s that coming from?”
“Somebody left a tap on?” joked Leo wearily.
Iain Ramsay waded up to them. “That’ll be your Noel,” he said, pride in his voice. “He’s been keeping the spring pumping out all this time.”
“Spring? What spring?” asked Penny, splashing after the men up to the Seagull yard, only to see her incredibly wet, incredibly filthy son working a stand pump fixed into the well as doggedly as if he was rowing for his life.
“The brewery spring,” said Iain. “The water that we use in all our beers. We don’t tell people because of industrial espionage.” He grinned to show he was only half joking. “We can’t run the risk of it backfilling with seawater or the pipes would be contaminated for weeks. That means we needed to open the sluice channel to keep the water going in one direction only. The pump failed, so your Noel’s been doing it by hand. You can stop now, son. Water’s going down.”
Noel let go, staggering with exhaustion. Caitlin wrapped herself around him, hugging him to her.
“That’s why the Seagull can’t move all its operations up to Lowdale, Ma,” gasped Noel over Caitlin’s shoulder. “The beer really wouldn’t taste the same made with any other water.”
It would be another week before the next issue of the Salthaven Messenger was out, but plastered all over the website in the meantime was the photo of Alice up to her up to her knees in river water, bailing out the brewery with her hair dripping and muddy smears across her face. Her media gurus leapt on it with joyful cries and sent it viral in no time flat, making Salthavians even more proud of her.
By contrast, the photo of a plump, well-oiled, impeccably-suited Terry Durham presenting after-dinner business awards at a Country Club some way inland that same evening appeared only in the Messenger. That was the only place it needed to be seen, along with Leo’s article on the historic finagling of the Westcliff caravan park land and the coincidence of Market House being owned by ‘Murdath Ltd’, another rearrangement of Terry Durham’s name. That photo, and the one of Alice, were seen by every Salthaven resident, most of whom turned out to vote in Alice’s debate on whether to amend the Local Plan and allow a shopping mall in the town centre.
The landslide victory was the largest ever recorded at the library. Terry Durham fixed a genial smile to his face and pumped Alice’s hand as thoroughly as if he himself had won, before sauntering out with his cronies to the Harbour View Hotel for a consolatory slap-up meal.
Penny wondered if she ought to pass across a wet-wipe for Alice’s fingers, but on reflection, decided it was probably a sisterly act too far. Everyone streamed out noisily after the vote, agreeably stimulated by the favourable result and the comfortable knowledge that they all thought the same way as everybody else. That left Penny and Leo to make their way over to the debating table, congratulate Alice and say insincerely that yes, they really must get toget
her for a meal some time when none of them were quite so busy.
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Penny. She glanced at Leo. “Only, it’s for Leo to offer it to you, really.”
“An interview? Absolutely,” said Alice.
“Well no,” said Leo. “I mean yes, obviously. But the thing I really want to say is that the friend I’m sub-letting my London flat to is leaving the country to be the paper’s New York correspondent for a couple of years. He’ll be off next week.”
Alice tried not to look bewildered. “Congratulations to him.”
“Leo doesn’t want to give up the flat,” said Penny, “so I - we - wondered whether you and Julian would like to take it on. It would save you doing Westminster and back in a day the whole time. And with winter coming on and the transport issues that always seem to happen this time of year...”
“It’s quite small,” said Leo, “and I’m afraid it’s the top floor of a Victorian conversion without a lift, but it’s in central London and not expensive, considering the normal prices in the area.”
It wasn’t often Penny saw either Julian or Alice lost for words. She took a mental snapshot of the moment to enjoy later.
“Yes,” said Alice, finding her voice. “If you mean it, yes.” She checked with a quick glance at Julian that he agreed with her. “But why?”
Leo waved a hand at the emptying library. “Because of this, really. Salthaven has made me welcome. I’d like to think I was giving something back. If that takes the form of helping to make sure our MP isn’t too exhausted to do her job, that’s fine by me.” He looked at Penny. “Also, I owe Penny and you are family, sort of.”
Only just, apparently, thought Penny, looking at Alice’s appalled expression.
“Anyway, you’re busy and I’ve got a report to file. I’ll give you a ring in the next couple of days to sort out the details. Well done on tonight.”
They turned and walked away, leaving Julian and Alice still stunned.
“That,” said Penny, sotto voce, “was the most satisfying thing ever.”
“Wasn’t it just? And the best bit is I won’t have to worry about cleaning the flat or insurance or getting involved with the residents’ disputes for at least the next four years.”
A ripple of warmth ran through Penny. “You’re planning on staying here that long?”
Leo smiled at her. “Oh yes, I think so. Especially as I now have a handy local bungalow that I can borrow whenever my parents are allowed to bring my son up here for a holiday.”
“I hear from the landlady they’re perfect tenants,” said Penny, stepping around a threesome of chattering cleaners arriving to tidy up the library ready for the next day. She crossed the road to where she’d parked the car. “They take her out for a meal to say thank you and leave flowers when they go.”
“Were you really worried?” asked Leo.
“About the vote? No. It was never in doubt after your article.”
“Not about the vote, Penny.”
Something in the quality of his tone stopped her. She put her keys back in her pocket and turned to face him.
“About me,” said Leo. “On the night of the storm. I haven’t quite been able to ask you before. Were you really worried about me?”
A strange tremor rocked Penny’s heart. She looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I was. I was frantic, if you must know. The whole time I was sandbagging the Seagull and being cheerful and Blitz-bright for everyone else, I was screaming inside because I didn’t know where you were. It was horrible.”
“Penny...”
This time she didn’t move away when he reached out to touch her cheek. Nor did she move away when his mouth came gently down on hers. Her hand slid inside his jacket to hold him, the way she’d wanted to hold him during the storm.
The kiss went on longer than either of them quite expected.
“Wow,” said Penny, somewhat inadequately, when it finished.
Leo’s hands remained lightly on her arms. “That was nice.”
“Um. Yes. Yes, it really was.”
There was a small pause. He quirked an eyebrow. “But?”
Her heart was still going pit-a-pat with the unexpectedness. Why did men always do things at the unlikeliest of times? She caught at words through the whirl of emotions in her head. “But... but I think I need a while to get used to it. It feels a bit ... soon.”
“Not wrong?”
Penny touched his face swiftly. “No, not wrong. Not wrong at all. It’s just that it’s a big step.”
Leo let her go so gently she felt she was still being held. “I can live with that,” he said. “I’m not going to hurry you, Penny, not on this. I’ll be in Salthaven, pestering you for lifts, inviting myself to meals and mining your local knowledge for a long while yet. We’ve got all the time in the world to get this right.”
All the time in the world.
“Perfect,” said Penny.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Any mistakes are my own, but I owe thanks to
The Lake District for being endlessly inspirational
My village war memorial, for reminding me of the Pals Battalions
Cat Camacho for knowing everything there is to know about town planning
Unsung graffiti artists for brightening up railway journeys
Jane Dixon-Smith for re-imagining the Penny Plain covers
and you, if I’ve forgotten to include you
OTHER WORKS BY JAN JONES
Full Length Novels
STAGE BY STAGE – Cambridge-set romcom featuring a musical theatre company
A QUESTION OF THYME - herbs, healing, humour and love
~ the Newmarket Regency series ~
THE KYDD INHERITANCE – secrets and skulduggery in Regency England
FAIR DECEPTION – secrets and scandal in Regency Newmarket
FORTUNATE WAGER – secrets and sabotage on the Regency racecourse
AN UNCONVENTIONAL ACT – secrets and subterfuge in the Regency theatre
...
Novellas
PENNY PLAIN MYSTERIES
quirky, cosy novellas, set in a harbour town on the edge of the English Lake District
1: THE JIGSAW PUZZLE – old jigsaws, switched paintings, new friendships
2: JUST DESSERTS – ice-cream, jam wars, a lost aeroplane and the WI show
3: LOCAL SECRETS – graffiti, town planning, a brewery and a WW1 mystery
4: THE CHRISTMAS GIFT – pilfering, old photos and a memorable Nativity
...
Other novellas
WRITTEN ON THE WIND – trees, old ways & mobiles set on the North Yorks moors
FAIRLIGHTS – a pele tower overlooking the sea, secrets stretching back for years
WHAT THE EYE DOESN'T SEE – a village post office sees everything. Doesn't it?
AN ORDINARY GIFT – a time-slippish paranormal mystery, set in Ely
ONLY DANCING – romantic suspense with 70s flashbacks
(in the pipeline…)
A DISTURBANCE OF SHADOWS - a theatrical time slip, with very present ghosts
RAVELL’S LUCK - a Regency Fairlights story
A RATIONAL PROPOSAL – Newmarket Regency #5
Non Fiction
QL SuperBASIC – the Definitive Handbook
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Jan Jones was born and brought up in North London, but now lives near Newmarket, equidistant from Cambridge, Bury St Edmunds and Ely. With all this history on her doorstep, it is no wonder that the past plays a large part in her writing.
Jan is an active member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, who are without doubt the loveliest band of professional writers anywhere on the planet. Their unfailing support and friendship is unrivalled, their parties are legendary and the annual conference is unmissable. Website at http://www.rna-uk.org/
Jan won the Elizabeth Goudge Trophy in 2002, the RNA Joan Hessayon debut novel award in 2005, has been shortlisted three times fo
r the Love Story of the Year / RoNA Rose, once for the Romance Reader Awards and once for the RoNA Paranormal. She writes books, novellas, serials, poems and short stories for women’s magazines. She can be found at www.jan-jones.co.uk, http://janjones.blogspot.co.uk/ and is (far too often) on twitter as @janjonesauthor
Little known fact: A former software engineer, Jan co-designed and wrote the Sinclair QL computer language SUPERBasic. Due to a surprising level of demand, she recently released a Kindle edition of ‘QL SUPERBasic - the Definitive Handbook’ - a mere thirty years after writing the original. To her astonishment - and with gratitude to all those in the QL community - it is selling steadily.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Acknowledgements
Other Works by Jan Jones
About the Author