The Beachcomber (33 page)

Getting out of bed, he sat by the window, listening and hurting, and helpless to do anything that might ease her sorrow.

After what seemed an age the sounds died away – first the pacing, then the sobbing. When silence fell over the house, the old man wasn’t sure whether the sound of her grief wasn’t preferable to that awful, crippling quiet. After a minute or two, he was tempted to knock on her door to see if she was all right. But then he heard the soft patter of her feet against the lino floor, then the window being thrust up on its pulley. And now the same quiet patter of feet as she returned to her bed.

Not long after Maggie’s arrival, Kathy had taken her friend out and headed straight for the fish and chip shop. Afterward, they sat by the harbor and enjoyed what Maggie described as “the best bleedin’ fish an’ chips I’ve ever tasted, gal!”

They walked along the shoreline and sat in the sand, talking and reminiscing, and wanting the day to go on forever. When it began to grow dusk, they made their way to the bar at the caravan site, and Maggie said she “wouldn’t mind one day getting a job here.”

Taking their drinks outside to a table, they watched the sun go down, and Maggie eyed every young man that passed. “I could go for that one!” she whispered, or, “Oh, no! I couldn’t fancy
that
one in a million years!” and Kathy thought it was just wonderful to have Maggie here by her side, though, with her high heels, wild hair and outlandish clothes, Maggie stood out a mile. But that didn’t matter. It was Maggie, and Maggie was a one-off, something special.

They were sitting companionably together enjoying a second drink when suddenly Tom turned up to join them. From the start, and with a twinkle in her eye, Maggie obviously approved.

The three of them sat and chatted and Maggie made them all laugh, and later, when Maggie said she was ready for her bed, Tom gave her a peck on the cheek and for a while she was unusually quiet.

Kathy and Maggie made their way back to the house, and once or twice Maggie saw Kathy turn to smile at Tom as he strode away, and he, too, had eyes only for her.

“You’ve found a good ’un there, gal!” she told Kathy as they entered the house. “Hang onto him. Men like him are few and far between.”

Kathy understood. “I will,” she said, and meant it.

“Cor! It’s been an ’ell of a day!” Maggie said, falling into the nearest chair. “I don’t mind tellin’ yer, gal, I’m whacked!” Looking sheepish, she asked, “Would you think me a selfish bugger if I went off to bed?”

Kathy assured her she would think no such thing, and Maggie followed her up the stairs to her bed. “Thanks, gal,” she said, giving her a crushing bear hug. “I’m glad I came.”

“So am I,” Kathy told her, and quietly closed the door.

Not long after, Kathy went to bed. For a while she lay there, thinking of Maggie and the fun they’d had. And Tom too. Never a night went by when she didn’t go to sleep thinking of him.

Finally she dropped off, content and happy.

Lying there, wondering how the boy would cope when he was told about his father, Jasper closed his eyes time and again, but there was no sleep in him. He heard the downstairs mantel-clock strike every hour between two and five, before he finally sank into the pillow and succumbed to the weariness which suddenly lapped over him.

When morning came and the watery sun filtered in through his window, he woke with a start. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was already eight o’clock.

“Good God! I’ve never slept so late in all me life!” Springing out of bed with as much enthusiasm as his old bones would allow, he quickly washed and dressed and made his way downstairs.

Liz and the boy were already in the kitchen. “Sit yourself down, Jasper,” Liz told him. “I’m cooking porridge … how does that sound?” Turning from the gas-stove, she smiled on him.

“Aye, lass, that sounds like a right treat.” He was shocked to see the dark hollows beneath her eyes, and the pale, pinched features, suggesting that – like him – she had spent most of the night lying awake.

Blissfully oblivious to the tension in that tiny room, young Robbie chatted away, excited about an idea he’d dreamt up to entertain the old man before he set off back to West Bay. “We can go and see the barges if you like?”

Just then, Liz brought their breakfasts to the table. “Not today, Robbie,” she said cautiously. “I think Jasper would prefer to stay around the cottage for today.” Recruiting the old man’s support, she asked with a smile, “That’s right, isn’t it, Jasper? You’d rather stay around the cottage, at least for a while?”

“Aye, lass, that’s right enough.” Addressing the boy, he said with a cheeky grin, “I bet you that pigeon’s out there, looking for a bite o’ that juicy apple.”

The boy’s eyes shone. “Will it?”

“I’m sure of it, lad. We’d best have us breakfast, then we’ll sit outside, shall we, and keep a lookout?”

They ate their breakfast and while Liz and the old man sat quiet and thoughtful, the boy chattered on.

When breakfast was over, Liz suggested the boy should go and see if the pigeon was there, while she and Jasper had a little chat.

As the boy sped out the door, she turned to Jasper. “I don’t know how to tell him.” Dropping into the nearest chair, she rubbed the palm of her hand over her eyes. “Never a day goes by without him asking after his father. He’s been so good, asking so many questions, and never getting any real answers, and now … oh, Jasper! How do I tell him his father is never coming back?”

The old man knew how hard she must be finding it all. “Look, would yer like
me
to tell the lad?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no! I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s my place. I can’t shirk that responsibility.” Getting out of her chair, she kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks all the same.” Looking out of the window, she saw the boy climbing out of his play-house to shin down the tree-trunk. “He’s a treasure,” she murmured. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.” She looked appealingly at the old man, her voice quivering. “Will he ever forgive me, do you think?”

“Oh, he’ll forgive you all right.” The old man had few doubts about that. “The lad loves yer, and besides, he’ll know it weren’t your fault, any more than it were his.” Jasper paused. “Do folks around here ask … about his father?”

Liz looked down at her left hand, which was bare. She touched her finger and looked back at the old man. “I did worry, after we left West Bay. People there were kind to us, tolerant. They never mentioned the fact that Robert and I weren’t married – and it never seemed to matter.” She sighed. “But I knew that in the real world it would be harder. I tell people I’m separated. But now I suppose I should say I’m widowed.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Jasper awkwardly rose to his feet and patted her shoulder. “There, there.”

“I suppose a part of me always knew, deep down, that Robert was married. All he ever said to me was that he wished he could marry me. But I didn’t care. And neither did anyone else at the time. As long as it isn’t hard for Robbie.”

“You just tell them whatever you like, lass, whatever makes life better for the pair of yer.”

Liz straightened her shoulders. “Will you be there when I tell him … please?”

“Whatever yer want, lass.”

“Then let’s get it over with.”

Liz led the way into the garden. While the old man made for the seat, Liz called her son across. “Robbie … sweetheart! Can you come here a minute? I’ve got something to tell you.”

Bounding across the garden, Robbie arrived breathless before them. “What?”

Patting the seat beside her, she slid an arm around his shoulders. “It’s about your daddy.”

“Oh!” He began leaping about. “He’s coming home! Is he, Mummy?”

When it seemed Liz might lose her composure, the old man’s sober voice cut through the boy’s excitement. “Sit down, son. Let your mammy finish.”

Astonished, Robbie looked from one to the other, realization dawning. “No!” Backing up, he stared at his mother. “He’s not coming back, is he? That’s what you want to tell me, isn’t it?” His voice rose to a crescendo. “DADDY DOESN’T WANT US! AND NOW HE’S NEVER COMING BACK!” Taking to his heels, he ran for the tree-house. “I hate him. I HATE HIM!”

Going after him at a run, Liz called up to where he’d hidden himself in the farthest corner of the tree-house. “Please, Robbie, come down. It isn’t like that.”

“Tell me the truth. Is he coming back?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m sorry …”

“GO AWAY!” In a sudden rage he ran across the floor. Flinging the hatch cover over the opening, he threw himself on top of it; the sounds of his crying tore at both their hearts.

“Come away, lass.” When Liz too began softly crying, the old man tenderly moved her aside. “Let me talk to him, eh?”

Unable to speak, Liz nodded.

“Robbie, lad.” Going steadily up the ladder that rested precariously against the tree-trunk, Jasper made his way up. “Oh, be careful!” Liz was fearful that the ladder might fall and he would be injured.

“Don’t you worry, lass,” he called back. “I’ve climbed too many masts in my time to be worried about a rickety old ladder.” All the same, when he heard the trap-door shift back an inch or so, he smiled to himself. It told him the boy was concerned about his safety, too.

Almost to the top, he decided to try the old trick of distracting the boy’s attention. But first he winked at Liz, so she would know he was up to some trick or other. “Oh!” In a loud voice he called out, as if to Liz, “I nearly went there, lass. By! If I fall off this ladder, I’m likely to break me back!”

“You get off my ladder!” Robbie’s voice sailed down to him. “I don’t want you up here. GET DOWN!”

The old man secretly chuckled. “You invited me to your play-house, and now I’m tekkin’ you up on it.”

There followed a banter between the two of them, with the boy urging him to get off his ladder, and the old man insisting that he had every right to be there, and, “What’s more I’m coming inside, so you’d best open that trap-door, else I probably
will
fall and break me neck!” And for effect he yelled out, “Oh, my God! I nearly went then. Watch out, lass … stay back in case I tumble.”

Suddenly the trap-door opened and there was Robbie peering out, his face stained with tears and his eyes red-raw. “You can’t get inside here,” he warned. “You’re too fat.”

“FAT!” Feigning indignation, the old man edged his way up toward the opening. “Move aside, lad. I’ll show yer whether I’m ‘fat’ or not, yer cheeky young rascal!”

Much to his own surprise, and not without trepidation, the old man managed to squeeze his bulk in through the opening. “There y’are!” Reaching his gaze into the farthest corner where the boy was sitting, he softly chuckled. “You’d best not call me “fat” again, ’cause I got through the door, and now I’m coming over there.”

Seeming little more than a shadow, the boy began to cry. “Leave me alone, Jasper.”

“I can’t do that, son.” Carefully, on all fours, he made his way across the floor. “I can’t have you crying and not do owt about it.”

When he reached the boy he took him into his arms. There they sat – the two of them – an odd sight in that tiny, cramped corner. With the boy’s head on his shoulder, the old man told him in as kind a way as possible why his father had left them. “It weren’t his fault. Y’see, son, he never wanted to leave you, only he got poorly, and went away so you and yer mammy wouldn’t see him hurting. Then, he just never got better.”

With big, wet eyes and the sob still in his voice, the boy looked up. “
I
was poorly once, when I had chickenpox.”

The old man nodded. “I remember.”

“Daddy looked after me too. He told me stories and made me laugh, and he never sent
me
away, did he?”

“No, son, he didn’t.”

“So, why did
he
go away? Why didn’t he stay and let us look after him, like he looked after me?”

“Because sometimes it’s hard to know what to do for the best. Y’see, when a man gets ill, he begins to wonder about all manner o’ things. And when it comes down to it, the only thing he’s worried about is his family … them that he loves.”

“Do you think he loved me and Mummy?”

“Oh, son!” He pressed his arm tight about the boy. “He loved you more than anything in this whole wide world. He told me that once … he said as how if he hadn’t got you and your mammy, life wouldn’t be worth living. You made him very happy, lad. You and yer mammy were very precious to him. Whatever else yer believe, yer must
allus
believe that.”

“When somebody doesn’t get better, they go to heaven, don’t they?”

“Aye, lad, if they’ve been good, that’s where they go all right.”

“Daddy was ‘good,’ wasn’t he?”

“I’d say so, yes, lad.”

“Jasper?”

“Yes, lad?”

“What does heaven look like?”

The old man couldn’t help but chuckle. “I can’t say as I’ve ever been there, and I reckon I’m not ready to go yet, but, well, I’d say as it looks summat like this pretty garden … with flowers and birds, and all kinda lovely smells an’ colors.”

The boy was quiet for a time; the sobs subsided and he drew away. “I want my mummy now.”

Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes. “’Course yer do, lad.”