Gull Island (36 page)

Her ankle was swollen and rather stiff. If she was going to make her way back to the causeway, she ought to start. She looked at her watch. Four o’clock. Plenty of time; it was still too dark. At five, she began to make her way slowly down from the shelter she had found and crawled to the middle of the grassy plateau above the beach. The tide was out. It seemed
impossible
that all that swirling water had gone. She had to get across as soon as she could now it was light, and the prospect made her ankle throb in
anticipation
of movement.

Luke woke early and couldn’t return to lazy slumber. It was irritating not to be able to sleep when it was pointless to be awake. He sat up in bed and read, tried again to close his eyes and rest but eventually gave up, washed in the large china bowl and went downstairs. He made tea and went out
into the glistening dawn. The air was clean and sweet; the storm had moved on but there were still sudden gusts that rattled loose metal somewhere and made it screech and grate complainingly.

The night had left a litter of fallen branches and assorted rubbish around his doorway. It had also left a newly washed array of brilliant greenery: the leaves of stunted trees near the cottage were dust-free and polished. He stood and admired nature’s handiwork for a moment, then pushed the larger pieces of wood away from the door with Wellingtoned feet and went onto the beach.

A gust of wind hit him as he left the lee of the cottage and made him stagger. The noise seemed far less than when he had been inside but the wind was still fierce enough to block all other sounds. A stick flew up and hit him as he went to check on his boat.

He had been right about the driftwood. For a while he worked
methodically
, putting the largest pieces in a pile ready to be sawn into useable lengths and filled a woven basket with smaller pieces. He looked across at the island, realized his glasses were covered in salt, cleaned them and looked again. The grass beyond the beach was a very bright green in the early-morning light. Perhaps he would walk over and see what the storm had brought. It would mean being late but there wasn’t anything Jeanie couldn’t deal with; she was a very capable person.

He stood enjoying the still-blustering wind and the sense of being the only person in the world. Then he thought he saw a movement over on the island. Not a fisherman, surely? Not in weather like this. It must be flotsam. It was amazing what turned up on the sea’s edge after a strong wind and high tide. But he continued to stare.

There was something waving in the wind. An edge of cloth? A sack, perhaps, caught in the rocks. Then the object moved and he saw something waving rhythmically. There was someone out there! There must have been a shipwreck. He looked around wondering how best to deal with the
emergency
. The boat? Or walk? The boat would be risky and would mean going a long way following the shore before making for the island to avoid the strong currents. But if the figure was an injured man, how could he get him safely back? Better run to the phone box, but no. This was his person. He was here and it was up to him to perform the rescue.

A motorboat would be the answer. He waved back frantically until he was sure the person had seen him then disappeared into the cottage before hurrying towards the next bay, where the water was always deep and where he moored his boat. He prayed as he ran that the boat hadn’t been damaged by the storm and was relieved when he found it apparently unharmed. He had taken a blanket and as a precaution an extra anchor.
The engine started without fuss and he headed for the island, warily avoiding the dangerous currents that pulled so fiercely.

Throwing the anchor overboard, he jumped into the swirling water, waded ashore and walked to the figure lying on the sand.

‘Rosita!’ He stared in disbelief at the bedraggled and exhausted woman. ‘Whatever possessed you to—’ He wasted no more time in explanations and recriminations; taking off his sweater he gave it to her, and also the jacket he wore, and wrapping her in the blanket he carried her to the boat.

He was filled with remorse as he turned the boat towards the shore. Why hadn’t he sensed she was in trouble? He had always believed he had an extra sense where Rosita and Barbara were concerned. He had lain in his bed, complaining about not being able to sleep, and all the time Rosita had been out there in desperate risk of hypothermia and death. He smiled
reassuringly
at her.

Dressed in his jumper and with her hair awry, her face devoid of
make-up
, Rosita was startlingly like her mother. Her colouring was different – she obviously followed Bernard Stock in her brown eyes and darker skin – but seeing her now was like turning back the pages of time and seeing Barbara as she used to be, shabbily dressed and surrounded by the unruly Carey mob.

His heart ached with happiness at the memories. Why hadn’t he snatched the opportunity when it offered itself? Euphoria changed to harsh truth and less happy memories flooded back as he stepped out along the road back to the cottage.

Because his father had frightened him with fears of his unacceptable sexuality, that was why. He hadn’t had the knowledge, maturity or confidence to realize his father had been wrong. It had taken Martine to make him accept that. He smiled at Rosita again. ‘We’ll get you to hospital within the hour,’ he said softly.

Fixing up a simple crutch to support her injured ankle, he helped her to the car after wrapping her in extra blankets and feeding her hot soup to continue the warming process. She was dressed in a pair of his trousers and several jumpers, a scarf was wrapped around her head and Luke thought she looked utterly beautiful.

‘You’re so like Barbara,’ he said in admiration. To his alarm she reacted strongly.

‘NO! I’m NOT like her and never could be!’

‘All right,’ he soothed, seeing her face tense with the threat of tears. ‘Not in spirit, I know that. Barbara was far too unsure of herself to manage what you’ve achieved, but just now and then, an expression …’ His voice trailed off. Rosita was determinedly not listening.

As they turned right at the T-junction at the end of the lane, Richard was hurtling towards them from the left. They missed each other by less than a minute.

Richard searched and, finding Rosita’s car, he wailed in his grief and drove straight to a telephone box to tell the police of his find. He stood and stared across at the island until they came, convinced she was dead. He answered their questions mechanically and then watched as they went over and searched the small island.

Numb, drained of all emotion, he prepared himself for confirmation of his fears. He felt lightheaded and deathly ill. The world was going on around him without him taking part. He saw the men walking methodically over the higher area of the island, pushing vegetation aside with sticks at each step. Now and then, one would pause and bend down. Each time that happened, his heart would leap painfully as his body came momentarily back to life.

All he could do was wait for the words he dreaded. They would find her body, he knew they would. When a motorcyclist arrived with the message that she was safe, and in hospital, he didn’t believe him for a moment, so certain was he that she was dead.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked stupidly.

The following day, Rosita came home with nothing more than a strapped ankle to show for her stupidity. She sat propped up on her couch while Richard fussed and watched her every move.

‘I never thought you were such an old hen,’ she teased.

‘I never thought you had less sense than a day-old chick!’ he retorted.

The flat was full of visitors for most of the following three days. Besides Richard and his mother coming every moment they could spare, there was Monty, Kate and of course Luke, who wouldn’t leave until he was certain that she was all right.

On one of the rare moments when there were just the two of them, Richard asked why she had been so foolish. Rosita didn’t try to explain. She couldn’t talk about what Hattie had said and the way she had revealed her casual attitude to the new life within her. It was bound up with Rosita’s unfortunate childhood and very painful. How could she explain the disturbed memories and thoughts that had caused her to be so careless about her own life? She did tell him Hattie was expecting a baby.

‘I didn’t ask who the father was but there’s no doubt, is there? It must be Idris, your oh-so-charming brother.’

‘There was something going on, but I didn’t want to tell you,’ he said. He didn’t develop the subject. Rosita stared at him, surprised at how shocked he looked.

‘Now,’ Richard said brightly, ‘Mam wants to know what she can make for your tea.’

‘Poor Kate,’ Rosita whispered sadly.

‘Poor you! It’s yourself you should be thinking of now, not other people’s problems. It’s just you and me, Rosita, that’s all that matters now. Remember that, won’t you?’

Between them were thoughts unshared that isolated them from each other. Luke, to whom she had told everything, insisted she discuss it with Richard but she refused. The time wasn’t right. Instead, she created added enthusiasm about their engagement party, now only days away.

With the shops running satisfactorily, Rosita luxuriated in a few days of doing nothing. Three days before their engagement was to be announced, Richard called with the books from the shops. Her ankle was still painful but she put away the stick she had been using, determined to cope.

‘On Monday I’ll be back at the shop,’ she told him.

‘Only if you come out for a meal tonight and prove your ankle is strong again, and if you agree you’ll need an assistant for a while,’ Richard said firmly, and for once she didn’t argue.

They went to see Mrs Carey on their way to the restaurant, Rosita laughing at the awkward way she walked.

‘There’s lovely!’ was Mrs Carey’s greeting. ‘On your feet again. And thank goodness too.’ She brought a chair forward. ‘How about a nice cup of tea, then?’

‘We can’t stay, Mam. We’re just off to eat. There’s a table booked for half an hour’s time.’

‘Come tomorrow and stay longer?’ She turned her head enquiringly, like a little bird, Rosita thought affectionately.

‘Tomorrow for sure,’ she said.

‘Was that the door?’ Mrs Carey said a moment later. ‘What a night for visitors. Now who can that be?’ she chattered on, asking herself questions and guessing answers. She went to the door and came back with Hattie.

‘Glad you’re here,’ Hattie said. ‘I saw the van go past the house and guessed you were coming here. Got a bit of news, I have, see. I’m going to have a baby.’

Mrs Carey sat down suddenly and stared at her. ‘Getting married then, are you?’ Her first thought was relief that she would be getting from under Kate’s feet, unaware that she had already left.

‘Well, it’s up to him, really.’

‘Who?’ Mrs Carey demanded. ‘Tell us the father’s name.’

Hattie turned and smiled sorrowfully at Rosita. ‘Sorry, Rosita.’ Into the silence she added, ‘It’s Richard, see.’

Rosita stared at the tableau of people, frozen by shock. Then, with a low scream, she left the room. Richard moved then and tried to stop her but she pushed him away from her as if he were unclean. ‘Don’t touch me!’ Somehow she reached the street and getting into Richard’s van, ignoring the wrenching pain in her ankle, she drove to Gull Island. ‘Please be there, Luke,’ she repeated time and again like a mantra.

There was no car parked beside the cottage or behind it. Luke wasn’t there. In her distress she blamed him for not being there, blamed Richard for letting her down and blamed her mother for having a daughter like Hattie, a daughter so like her mother she made the same mistakes as Barbara and dealt with them in the same blundering way.

She sat looking out across the water to the little island that was bedecked with jewels that were in reality her own tears. She drove back to Station Row and left the van beside her Anglia. Richard could come and fetch it but she wouldn’t let him in.

Hearing his footsteps, knowing instinctively it was him, she went to the top of the stairs and waited while he knocked and knocked on the door. He opened the letterbox and shouted through.

‘Rosita! Aren’t you even going to listen to what I have to say?’

No, she said silently. Being on my own is the safest way to live.

She ran a bath, soaked for a while then went to her lonely bed. This, she thought to herself, is all my future holds – work and hours spent alone – but at least it won’t be peppered with heartache.

A knock at the door the following evening started her heart racing, within her a tiny core of hope. Yet she didn’t for one moment consider talking to Richard. She went to the top of the stairs and looked down. A hand came through the flap and waved at her. It was Luke.

‘I’ve brought a gift for your engagement,’ he told her when she opened the door. ‘When will you have the party? A pity it had to be delayed, but if you will go on survival tests in the middle of a storm—’ He saw from her face that something was wrong. ‘Rosita? What is it?’

She told him calmly and without a break in her voice and felt proud of her strength. Instead of sympathy, Luke stared at her in disapproval.

‘You ran off and didn’t even allow him to speak? You saw Hattie and Idris together, didn’t you?’ His voice was low but disapproval was clear. ‘I thought you loved Richard?’

‘I did – I do – but there’s no future for us now. I can’t bear to think of him with that … that creature.’

‘Didn’t it occur to you that she might be lying? You know it was Idris she was having an affair with.’

‘He was one, yes, but how many more? She named Richard.’

‘A single man would be a better bet for her, surely, than a man married with two children and his sister’s husband at that.’

‘He must have been with her or there would be no point in naming him.’

‘You didn’t even ask him.’

‘I panicked.’

‘You’re so afraid to trust people, yet when have your friends let you down? Never!’

‘Hattie is like my mother, callous and uncaring.’