The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox
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formal suit for the odd occasion he might need it. All the smaller items, such as underwear and everyday bits and bobs, went into the drawer beneath. Shoes and plimsolls went under the bed.
When all that was done, he emptied out the toiletries, and a few personal items, which he laid on the bed. The photograph of his wife and children he placed on the dressing-table. That finished, he put the case on top of the wardrobe.
After taking the toiletries into the bathroom, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
By the time he’d boiled the kettle and found teapot and cups, the old chap was back. ‘If yer mekking tea, I’m gasping after that long trek up the hill.’ He gave a cheeky wink. ‘I’m a glutton for me tea with a spoon o’ sugar if yer please. You’ll find spoons in that there drawer.’ Pointing to a small drawer alongside the cooker, he placed his box of goodies on the table.
Taking the items out one by one, he counted them off. ‘Sugar, tea, toilet roll … can’t do without that. Now then, let’s see what’s next. Oh yes … loaf o’ bread, marge, a pinta milk, and a tin of spam.’ Dropping the empty box to the floor, he sat in the chair and waited for Tom to bring his tea. ‘I reckon you’ve enough groceries to be going on with,’ he told Tom.
He gratefully accepted his mug of tea. Tom seated himself at the other end of the table. The old man slurped at his cup and wiped his moustache. Tom laughed and shook his head; Jasper was a real gem. ‘Where did you get all this stuff anyway? I didn’t see any grocery shops down there.’
The old fellow explained. ‘There’s four shops altogether: the fishmonger’s, and next door to him the fishing-tackle shop. Then there’s the baker’s – she bakes her own bread every day; it’s allus fresh and crusty. An’ round the corner there’s the little shop as stays open a bit longer. It’s run by a right nice lady, name of Amy Tatler. She sells everything from matches to newspapers. By! She’s been running that shop for as long as I remember. I reckon she must be even older than what I am. Fit though … and smart with it.’
He scratched his chin, gazing up to the ceiling as if working out the years. ‘She never wed as far as I can mek out, but she’s a kind, quiet little woman, never lets on what she’s thinking. All on ’er own, she is. By! It’s a crying shame …’
For a minute, the old chap’s thoughts seemed elsewhere, before he visibly shook himself. ‘She pretends to close at five o’clock like the rest of ’em, but you’ve only to knock on the door and she’s there at yer beck an’ call.’
Tom sensed the old man’s fondness for this woman. ‘Sounds to me like she might be lonely?’
Jasper shook his head. ‘Naw! Not Amy. She knits and sews, and keeps herself busy.’ Again, for a fleeting minute, he lapsed into that odd silence. ‘I can never understand why she never got wed, though … She were allus a pretty woman as I recall, and even now she’s pleasant to the eye, an’ pleasant in nature.’ He shook his head. ‘Seems a waste, but there y’are.’
Tom nodded. ‘You really like her, don’t you?’ That much was painfully obvious.
Shocked that another man had found out his secret, Jasper blushed bright pink. ‘Gerraway! What would I do with a woman at my age, eh?’
Tom said no more. He knew when to keep quiet, so for a time he sipped his tea and the old man did the same, and all that could be heard was the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, until suddenly Jasper was on his feet and slapping Tom on the back. ‘I’m glad the cottage found its rightful tenant.’ He took a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Tom. ‘I’ll be here in the mornin’ to mek sure yer all right. Meanwhile, here’s me address if yer should want anythin’.’
‘I won’t, thank you all the same.’
‘Well, just in case, yer can find me easy enough. Yer go down the hill and over the little bridge; turn left at the pub. Yer can’t go wrong. My humble little home is right at the end of George Street, next to where they park the boat-trailers.’
‘I’m sure I won’t need to trouble you,’ Tom assured him. ‘But thanks for all your help. You’re a lifesaver.’
‘Fine, but don’t forget now … I’m there if yer need me. I’m a light sleeper, so just tap on the window.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tap too hard, though, or that yappy dog next door will wake the whole bloody street!’
He bade Tom goodnight and was gone.
Afterwards, Tom sat at the table for a while, sipping his now-cold tea and reflecting on his actions. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve done the right thing after all,’ he mused aloud. ‘Coming here … leaving it all behind.’
During the lengthy journey here, he’d had nagging doubts, but they were gone now. After meeting Jasper and finding this cottage, he felt in his heart that everything would come right.
A moment later, when the sleep weighed heavy on him, he cleared away the cups, made sure the house was locked up, and went upstairs.
First, he took a long, lazy bath. Afterwards he climbed into bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
It had been a busy day.
Over the coming week, Jasper was a godsend.
Tom had settled into the cottage as though he was born to it, and the two men became firm friends. Though he would have liked to cut himself off from the world, Tom knew there were practical things he must do, such as letting his bank and other agencies know his change of address, and sorting out the rental agreement for the cottage. He had thought about applying for a telephone to be installed. Having a telephone line to the outside world went against all Tom’s plans – and it would be expensive. But he worried about whether he should have a line for emergencies, and for keeping in touch with his good friend Lilian and his brother Dougie. In the end he decided to wait and see. There was a payphone just down the road.
‘I expect you’ll want to arrange deliveries of milk and newspaper too,’ the old man suggested, but Tom refused that idea. ‘I think it would be better if I walked down to Amy’s and collected them,’ he decided and, for once, Jasper agreed.
By the evening after his arrival in West Bay, Tom had managed to get most of the practicalities dealt with and out of the way. To celebrate, he and Jasper paid a visit to the pub, where they drank a pint of best bitter and chatted to the locals.
Afterwards, Jasper introduced him to Amy. ‘Any friend of Jasper’s is a friend of mine,’ she said. Tom was astonished at how tiny and vibrant she was. Looking into her deep brown eyes and noting the sunshine of her smile, Tom could understand what Jasper had said. Yes, he thought, she has a goodness that shines out. And, like Jasper, he was filled with admiration.
The next morning, Tom was up early. For whatever reason he had found it difficult to sleep. ‘Must have been the beer,’ he groaned, rubbing his stomach with the flat of his hand.
As he couldn’t sleep, he got washed and dressed and made his way downstairs, where he searched the cupboards, greatly relieved to find that Jasper had allowed for all occasions. The bicarbonate of soda in a glass of water was just what the doctor ordered.
While the kettle was boiling he threw open the back door and stood watching the sun come up. ‘Looks like it’ll be a glorious day,’ he murmured. Already the air was warm and the skies blue, with no hint of a cloud anywhere. ‘Makes a man feel good!’ He had not even spent forty-eight hours in West Bay, and already he was beginning to relax.
He drank his tea, and a few minutes later he had put on his jacket and was making his way to the clifftops. High above the world, striding through the fields and on towards the sea, he felt like a man out of his time. It was a weird and wonderful feeling.
Down below in the hamlet, Amy was sorting the newspapers, with the help of Jasper, who every morning insisted on lifting the heavy bundles as they came in. ‘Look!’ Amy had caught sight of the man at the top of the cliff. ‘It’s odd for someone to be walking the cliffs