The Beachcomber (8 page)

Tom could feel his pain; it was much like his own. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“Aw, no!” Jasper bucked up. “It were a long time ago. But, like I were saying, I’d been to West Bay as a lad with me mam and dad … had the time o’ me life, I did, an’ I never forgot. Well, I just kinda wandered back, if yer know what I mean … got casual work wherever I could: helping the fishermen; serving at the pub; a bit o’ gardening ’ere and there. I were a handyman then, an’ I’ve been a handyman ever since. Helped out where I could during the war, being as I were too old to fight in it.” He chuckled. “An’ I’ve never regretted one minute of it. The more I stayed, the harder it got to leave. There’s a kinda magic about the place that wraps itself around yer. Teks a hold on yer heart an’ won’t let go.” He laughed. “Mind it don’t get
you
the same way.”

“Right now, I wouldn’t care if it did,” Tom confessed. He glanced at the old chap, thinking he looked extraordinarily well for his age, and he told him so.

“Ah, well, that’s ’cause I’m allus on the go. Seventy-three year old, an’ I’ve never once had to see the doctor … except to register, o’ course, an’ I broke a toe once but it soon mended.”

“You’re a lucky man, Jasper, to be so content.” Tom had forgotten how that felt.

Jasper’s response was a question. “You never did tell me yer name, sir?”

Tom laughed. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he chided, “it’s not ‘sir’!” Taking one hand off the steering-wheel, he grabbed Jasper’s outstretched hand. “The name’s Tom Marcus, and I’m ready for some of that ‘magic’ you were just talking about.”

The old man pointed ahead. “There she is: Cliff Cottage; pretty as a picture.”

Tom looked, and what he saw took his breath away. With thatched roof and white-painted walls festooned with masses of climbing roses of every hue and color, it looked enchanting. “My God! It’s perfect!” The cottage was bigger than he had thought, and as they drew up in front of it, he could see the well-tended gardens stretching back as far as the eye could see.

Getting out of the car, Jasper led Tom through the small white gate, and along the flower-lined path. “I know this place inside out,” he imparted proudly. “I tend the gardens … clean the windows, and last summer I painted the whole house from top to bottom.”

The more Jasper told him, the more Tom thought how, like the cottage, the old fellow was amazing.

“Right then, Tom Marcus, let’s see what yer think o’ the inside.” Taking a key from his waistcoat pocket, Jasper slotted it in the lock and, turning with a flourish, he swung open the door. “In yer go!”

Stepping back to allow Tom by, the old fellow followed, giving detailed commentary as they went from room to room. “This ’ere’s the living room,” he said. “Not so big, mebbe, but like I said, it’s cozy and warm, and of a winter evening the glow from the fire throws out a cheer … an” there’s a whole supply o’ logs in the woodshed … small-chopped and neatly stacked.”

Tom’s gaze roved over the room; with two windows, one facing west, the other south, the light poured in and filled the room with evening sunshine. Surrounded by clean blue tiles, the fireplace contained a vase of fresh-smelling flowers. “That’s my doing, is that.” The old man caught the look in Tom’s eye. “Picked ’em this very morning … must’a known yer were coming.”

He gave a wink, and Tom smiled. “I bet there isn’t much you
don’t
know,” he declared.

The furniture was good: there was a brown leather sofa on one side of the fireplace, and a matching armchair on the other. The big green rug in front of the fire set the whole room off a treat. Against the back wall stood a small oak dresser, with nothing on top but a large, round china bowl.

The curtains were of plain beige color but “expensive material,” according to Jasper. “The lady had good taste,” he told Tom. “A quiet soul she was,” he imparted fondly, “… kind-hearted too.” He added quietly as an afterthought, “She had
her
troubles too, poor soul.” When he realized Tom was waiting for him to expand on that remark, he swiftly moved on. “Right then, son, here’s the kitchen.”

Tom followed dutifully, sensing that whatever the old chap had been about to say with regard to that “kind, quiet lady” he had thought better of, and that was all right by Tom. He knew from experience that, occasionally, and for whatever reason, there were some things best left unsaid.

The kitchen was small but functional: there were pretty floral curtains at the window, and a smart white kitchenette with dropdown front and glass doors at the top. On the shelf near the window there was a stack of recipes and cookbooks by favorites such as Marguerite Patten. “Used to pride herself on being an excellent cook,” Jasper revealed.

Both upstairs bedrooms were finished in the same subtle colors. The largest one had a theme of green: smart pink-and-green patchwork eiderdowns, apple-green curtains to match; a dressing table and wardrobe of adequate size.

The second room was done out exactly the same, though finished in blue.

Between the two rooms was a tiny bathroom, which was small but adequate. This too was a light, airy room. Emanating from a small dish of broken blossom in the windowsill, the sweetest of fragrances filled the air.

There was soap and towels already laid out, as if Jasper really had been expecting a visitor. “The thing is,” he said after Tom made the comment, “I wanted it to look nice in case I had to show anybody over.” His face creased into that wonderful, homely grin. “Though, if yer happy with it, I’ll not be showing nobody else, will I, eh?”

Outside, in the twilight, the garden reflected the same love and care. There was a lawn surrounded by flower-beds and corner shrubberies, a delightful summer-house and orchard farther down, and from the terrace there was the most magnificent view imaginable.

Tom stood at the end of the terrace, lost in the scenery. The endless sea shimmered and danced in the flickering light and, as the sun was beginning to dip in the heavens, the whole sky was marbled with rivers of red and yellow. “It’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.” He could hardly tear himself away.

Raising a thumb upward, Jasper suggested mischievously, “I had a word with ’im upstairs and asked him to show yer what he could do.”

Quietly smiling at Jasper’s outlandish remark, Tom still had the look of wonder on his face. “I know what you mean now,” he said, “about the ‘magic’ taking hold.” Already his soul was beginning to quieten. Here, in this seemingly timeless place, he was experiencing the first real joy since the day of the tragedy.

“So, does that mean you’ll stay?” Having taken a liking to Tom, Jasper wouldn’t let go.

Tom didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll need the cottage straight away,” he answered, “if that’s all right? I mean … do you need to contact anybody … will the agent want to see me before I take on the tenancy? I can stay at the pub if that’s the case.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to. Somehow he felt as though he belonged in this delightful, cozy cottage.

Jasper had no doubts. “Look, it’s the weekend, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re already the new tenant. There’ll be time enough to tell him on Monday. I expect he’ll be around to have a chat with you … checking you out, like … papers to sign, that kinda thing. But I’m sure he’ll agree with me that you’ll do fine. So don’t you worry, son, it’ll be all right.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Jasper handed him the key. “I’m away now, but I’ll be back in about half an hour.” He began talking to himself. “Let me see, you’ll need bread … milk too, an’ tea if you take it. Oh, an’ you’ll want to start a fire … it’s an old cottage … gets a bit chilly when the sun’s gone down, even in summer. I’ll need your ration book, if that’s all right. Give me a list of what you’d like.”

He carried on talking as he went out the door, addressing Tom in fatherly tones. “You’ll find everything works … electric, water … there’s a bulb gone in the back bedroom, but I dare say you’ll be sleeping in the front one so it won’t matter. All the same, I’ll have one fitted afore you know it.” He clapped his hands and softly chuckled. “Glad to have you aboard,” he said, and left whistling.

Following him to the door, Tom watched the old man walk down the hill and away out of sight. “It seems I’ve found a friend,” he mused, “and a home.” It was a good feeling.

After collecting his portmanteau from the car, he first hung up his clothes in the wardrobe: four shirts – two short-sleeved, two-long-sleeved; two pairs of trousers; a casual tweed jacket and a 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 mustache. 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’ around 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.

Afterward, 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. Afterward he climbed into bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

It had been a busy day.