Josephine Cox Mother’s Day 3-Book Collection: Live the Dream, Lovers and Liars, The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox
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what sparked the laughter, but suspected it might be the old man’s doing. ‘What a character!’ Already she really liked him.
She realised with a flush of interest that the other man was the bloke from the chip shop. He cut a fine figure in his boots and oils. He and Jasper seemed to know each other. Curious, she observed them for a time, watching as the man leapt from the boat to clamber up the wall to the top. There he swung himself over athletically. She thought him too handsome for his own good. ‘Better not let Maggie loose round him,’ she muttered light-heartedly. Brusquely, she turned towards the house. ‘Right, Kathy! The sooner you’re inside, the sooner you can start settling down,’ she declared nervously. ‘It’s your house now. It’s up to you.’ All the same, the ordeal of entering what had been her father’s love-nest was not something she was looking forward to.
Taking the key from her pocket, she opened the front door. As it swung gently open, she remained where she stood, peering inside, her heart bumping nineteen to the dozen, until she could hardly breathe.
Another minute, a deep breath, and she walked anxiously over the threshold.
The smell of damp invaded her nostrils; the feeling of having trespassed was strong in her. She moved further in. Without lights and with the curtains closed, it was semi-dark, with only the open door and the sunlight against the curtains giving her enough light to guide her way. ‘I’ll need to see about the electricity,’ she reminded herself.
Going to the first window, she threw open the curtains; the effect was amazing. The sun burst in and lit the room with a warmth and glory that took Kathy by surprise. It was a large room, open and spacious, with high ceilings and the prettiest fireplace, surrounded by dark blue tiles with splashes of tiny white roses, so realistic they might have been picked fresh from a garden.
Gazing round the room, she was reminded of what her mother had said about the house. Kathy smiled. ‘Oh, Mother! How could you be so wrong?’
Certainly it wasn’t the expensive, ornate furniture her mother coveted. Instead it was fine and simple. By the far wall stood a sideboard in light-coloured wood, with long legs and a shelf underneath. Four beautiful blue meat-plates rested atop it, standing proud against the wall. There was a unit of shelves beside the fireplace, each displaying three small porcelain figures, all of which were of children. Some were playing, others lying on their tummies reading, and one, which Kathy thought was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, was of a small girl holding an array of brightly coloured balloons, her face uplifted and full of absolute joy. It made Kathy smile.
There were two paintings on the wall: one of the harbour, with boats and the fishermen; another of a garden filled with bloom and colour. It was not too difficult to imagine it could be the garden to this house.
In front of the fireplace was a thick, cream-coloured rug, now slightly discoloured by dust and neglect. Either side of the fireplace stood two deep, comfortable armchairs, one with a high back. Upholstered in plain dark blue, they complemented everything in that room.
Opening both windows wide, Kathy let the sunlight momentarily bathe her face. She didn’t feel so much like an intruder now. Instead she was already relaxing, beginning to settle.
She went into the kitchen, where again she opened the window, pleasantly surprised when she saw how spacious it was. There was a white enamelled cooker on the wall opposite the window, with a pine dresser one side and a wooden kitchenette the other. The sink had shelves underneath, with a pretty curtain skirting the lip of the sink. There were white and blue frilly curtains at the window, and a pine table and four spindle-chairs in the centre of the room, the table being spread with a cloth of the same fabric as the curtains. A cornflower-blue vase stood on the window-sill, its once vibrant roses long ago faded.
Plucking out the flowers with her fingertips, Kathy laid them on the drainer. It felt strange, removing flowers that had been lovingly put there by the woman called Liz.
Suddenly she gave a cry when a hidden thorn tore at her skin, making it bleed. Licking away the blood, she thought it strange that the flowers had withered, while the thorns were as hard and sharp as ever.
Going upstairs, Kathy walked from room to room. She found a good-sized bathroom with two very large windows. The room itself seemed far too large and oddly shaped for the meagre contents. Because only the newer houses were built with a bathroom of sorts, Kathy guessed this one might be a converted bedroom. It contained a small sink, toilet, and a bath with cast-iron legs. Here again she opened the window, and at once the room was transformed with the inrush of sunlight.
There were three bedrooms, each with a bed, wardrobe and dressing table. All the beds were covered in eiderdowns of varying colours; all the colours were warm and gentle: much like the woman herself, Kathy suspected.
The main room overlooked the harbour. Square and spacious, it had a good feel to it, Kathy thought.
Leaning out of the window, she took a great gulp of air, drinking in the magnificent views at the same time. It was only when she turned that she saw the small photograph on the bedside cabinet. With hesitant footsteps she went over to it and, taking the photograph into her hands, she stared at it for what seemed an age, her heart turning somersaults and the tears never far away.
There were three people in the photograph: a woman of the same description the old man had given and who she knew must be Liz; a boy, taller than she’d imagined, his laughing face looking up at her and the sunlight making him squint. Standing between them, the man had his arms round the other two. She ran a sensitive finger over his features. ‘Why did you have to leave me?’
As the tears began to spill, Kathy sat on the bed, her gaze intent on her beloved father’s face, her mind in turmoil with questions, and her heart like a lead weight inside her. ‘You look so different,’ she murmured. ‘Jasper was right,’ she conceded, ‘you are different.’ In a casual, short-sleeved shirt, his hair gently blown by the breeze and with a look of contentment in his dark eyes, her father seemed years younger than she remembered.
She sat there for a long time, the photograph clutched tightly against her chest and the sobs echoing in that long-deserted room. In his free, bright smile, she could see with her own eyes how happy he had been here, with that other family he had protected so fiercely.
The sobs were bitter, yet not condemning. The emotions she had pent up, the resentment and anger, all of that poured away, until all that was left were memories, and a great well of gratitude, because he had found contentment.
In Cliff Cottage the two men played their last game of cards for the evening. ‘Time I were off to me bed.’ The old man yawned. ‘One more hand, then I’m away. What d’yer say, Tom?’
‘You’re right, it’s late.’ Getting up from the table, Tom stretched his arms almost to the ceiling, his body aching in every bone. ‘I think my back’s broken from lifting all those crates!’ All the walking he did had kept him fit, but lately he had come to realise he needed work of some kind, to keep him sane as well as supple. ‘I’ve been thinking … I might take Jack up on his offer to go out fishing with him,’ he confided. ‘I need to do something … at least until I get my life sorted out.’ Which meant hunting down the monster who killed his family.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ The old man paused before asking in a softer voice, ‘That other business you’ve been brooding about, is it done with?’
Tom was taken aback. ‘What business is that?’ Though he feigned ignorance, he knew well enough what the old man was on about.
‘Don’t get me wrong, son.’ The old man was growing to love and respect Tom like a son. ‘I’ve known all along that summat bad drove yer to West Bay. I’ve seen that same look on blokes during the war – brooding, keeping it all locked up inside till it drives a man crazy.’
When Tom made as if to reply, Jasper put up his hand. ‘No, son. Whatever it is, you’ll deal with it, I’m sure. Like I said, it’s none o’ my business. You’ve never said, and I never asked,’ he explained. ‘If a man wants to keep his business to hisself, that’s fine by me.’
Tom