by E. Earle
That was one thing I had to grudgingly give him, I suppose.
Calloway had found Ben annoying at times, which I found ridiculous. I think Calloway was a dog man through and through and that was probably the only reason why Ben didn’t like it- that and because the detective kept comparing him to a dog. Bad idea.
Time was going fast and August was fast approaching. I had four weeks before I would have to go back to Warwickshire to resume my life working at the college, and I found in myself a sudden wish to stay put. The thought terrified me. I had worked so hard for that position, and what was I going to do now? Throw it away? No chance.
But even as the thought of refusal came in my head, the sight of the ocean and the promise of further adventure started to unravel these confident thoughts of returning.
I caught Ben looking at me, as though he knew exactly what I was thinking. I raised an eyebrow and scratched him under his chin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. It would be nice not having to explain my thoughts and for someone to just… know.
“My dad used to take me to the museum all the time,” Brynn suddenly said, jolting me out of my thoughts. “I had a thing for pirates and Old Marley used to have the best stories. Half of his stock in there was dedicated to pirate ships, treasures and the likes.”
I could see the excitement in his face as he talked about the museum, telling me about his favourite stories and how he used to want to become a buccaneer and get his own boat. It was nice not to argue with him.
“Well, if Craggys takes off, maybe that’s something to think about,” I said optimistically as the road narrowed, trees hanging over and shielding us from any sun.
“What?”
“Getting a boat,” I said. “We could do boat trips around the coves. If you know so much of the history here, maybe you could curate it.”
Brynn snorted. “You’re the one who used to work in a museum, maybe you should.”
“How do you know?”
“Jessica told me. She said something about a chair being stolen from your museum back home?”
“A desk,” I corrected.
He shrugged as though it was no different.
I stared back out of the window, my mood improved and enjoying being lost in the wilderness. There were times like this that the restlessness within me calmed. I felt peace when I saw places of natural beauty- I don’t know why. It was as if it gave me comfort that places like this still existed- places I could still escape to if I wanted.
Five minutes later and the road opened out. We drove through a small village full of tourists seeing the original houses from hundreds of years back, all here to learn more about the history and the culture. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I could smell fresh fish. It made me hungry immediately.
Ben seemed to think of as well.
“I grew up here,” Brynn said unexpectedly.
I watched him lock up the truck in the tourist car park. “I thought that house your uncle has was your dad’s?” I said.
“It was.” Brynn looked like a weight had been taken off him stepping into civilisation. We had been working so hard at Craggys, I hadn’t even thought if my staff needed a break. “My folks divorced when I was two. My mother moved here and opened a little pub.”
“She did?”
“Yep. We’ll pop in for a drink on the way back if you like?”
I raised an eyebrow. Brynn suggesting a pub stop? “What about Bag-”
“The guys can look after it without the two of us for once,” Brynn said, his voice brooking no argument. “Come on.”
I watched him as he walked ahead of me. He was wearing black jeans and converse- a change from flip flops I suppose with that wave motif t shirt on. I learnt that Jack printed t shirts in his spare time, and this was a t shirt to endorse Craggys surfing school. Wondering whether I should get all the staff to wear one, I realised I was standing still by the truck.
Brynn turned around impatiently, dark eyes squinting in the sunlight. “You coming?”
Dumbly nodding, Ben and I followed him. People stared at us as usual, but I was getting used to it. Brynn acted as though there was nothing strange about walking around with a talking cat (not that he knew), and I think Ben liked that. He liked the attention full stop and sauntered ahead of us with his tail high in the air, sniffing this and that.
The streets were narrow and cobbled- I loved that- but my sandals were finding it difficult to manoeuvre. I slipped for the second time, about to land on my arse when Brynn’s arm snaked out and grabbed my elbow. I looked up at him, my face turning red with embarrassment.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
He laughed at me, making me scowl and wouldn’t let go of my arm until I had shoved my rogue sandal back on. Upon release, I followed him over a tiny bridge over a river heading to a port. People were sitting on their boats, nattering and smoking- two old men were eating pasties on a green sloop and my mouth watered.
We passed several fishmongers with stock already snapped up by local restaurants, pubs and locals. My stomach rumbled angrily and I wished that I had had breakfast like Brynn had suggested. There was a tiny art gallery and several tourist shops dotted around the narrow walkways and I promised myself that I would buy a postcard to send to Kayleigh.
She had been pleased when I told her I was making something of Craggys. I think she still wanted me to sell it, and after an uncomfortable conversation about Barry putting me in the banker’s pocket with it, she supported me when explained I had to make it successful. Selling it was no longer an option and even if it was… I doubt I could take the money now.
At last we came to Old Marley’s museum. I had to admit, that even I was excited walking up to the place. It seemed to breathe history and promise dark adventures. It was an old building, looking as though it dated back four hundred years at least, its stones reliable and wind worn. It was separate to the village, surrounded by a large expanse of space that was wasted and overgrown.
“Wow,” I breathed coming to a standstill in front of a tall iron gate. “It locked?”
“Nah,” Brynn said, pulling rusted chains from the gates. “The villagers know the situation about Old Marley. No one would dare disrespect his property here.”
He opened the gates and they opened with a wheezing sigh. I walked ahead, trying to keep up with Ben. “Oh God, wow,” I said, seeing that behind the building was even more land, which led down to the beach. “No wonder his brother wants it.”
“Yeah well, he can’t have it,” grunted Brynn. “Fair, it would bring a lot of business to the village, but that means the other pubs, hotels and activity coaches would find it difficult to compete. We don’t want a corporate giant down here.”
“I suppose not,” I admitted. “Be a shame to pull this place down.” I saw a huge rose bush climbing up one side of the museum and wondered what else was growing in this untended wilderness. There were a few signs too faded by sunlight to read properly, thrown in a heap near another pile of old junk. A sign hung above the door, flaking with paint saying, “Museum of Pirates and Plunder.” I raised my eyebrow at it, seeing a wood cut out of a mermaid roped up beneath a boarded window.
It had its own charm, in a dilapidated and spooky fashion.
“How we getting in?”
Brynn looked uncomfortable then. “I’ve been looking after Old Marley recently,” he admitted, pulling out a key from his pocket. “He said I could have a look.”
“What? You’ve been taking care of him?”
Brynn shrugged. “I’ve known his since I was a kid. He was buddies with my granddad.” He paused, a strange expression of conflicting emotions passing over his face. “He needs looking after. He’s been getting off the booze and seems a lot better.”
I frowned at Brynn, knowing there was a whole lot more he wasn’t telling me, and I wasn’t sure whether I even had the energy to know more. “Fine,” I sighed impatiently. “Open it up then, let’s have a look.”
After a few moments of
struggling with the lock, Brynn opened the door. At first, the smell of age and dust was overpowering, the darkness flooding outside to pool around my feet. I stepped around anxiously, not a big fan of spiders crawling over my toes.
Ben shot right in and I rolled my eyes. I blinked as I walked in, taking a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light within.
A counter covered in forgotten brochures, books, wood and other junk was the first thing I was able to make out of the dim light. I looked above my head at a chandelier with blown bulbs and cobwebs for company and traced the faint outline of fishing nets nailed to the ceiling. I raised my eyebrows in amusement.
“Go further through,” Brynn urged behind me. His enthusiasm was evident in his voice and I wondered what he was so excited about. From the looks of it, this place was full of abandoned junk and 90’s tourist gifts.
How wrong I was. Brynn pulled me further in, apparently impatient with my slow and faltering steps (sorry if I didn’t want to break my neck) and gave me a tour. He showed me his favourite pirate exhibit full of myths and legends of famous local pirates, drawing me in with talk of buried plunder still not found, hidden away in the coves somewhere.
I picked up Ben as we continued- I didn’t want him to step on glass and I think Ben was content simply to be cuddled. Brynn introduced me to the weaponry used on ships, swords, cannon balls, daggers and an original cat-o-nine-tails. I stared at it, my nose wrinkling at the thought of how many men’s flesh it had stripped and sneezed suddenly.
“Sorry,” I apologised. “Dusty…”
Brynn shrugged, looking nostalgic. “Yeah…” He put his hands into his pockets and turned around in a circle, as if going back in time to when he came as a child. “This used to be a great place- could still be.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise and then shrugged. “Sure- the stuff they’ve got in here is great,” I admitted. “But it needs a load of money to make this place habitable and suitable for the artefacts- not to mention respectable.”
Brynn nodded reluctantly. “This place has been a Museum for as long as I can remember,” he said. “Before that it used to be a pub I think- they say that it was the smugglers favourite to visit.” He winked at me. “Best wenches in Devon they said.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah? You obviously haven’t been to the Midlands.”
We spoke like this back and forth as we continued the tour, teasing each other about each other’s accents and how our individual places of birth was superior. It was nice to be light-hearted for once, just enjoying a bit of jibing. I hadn’t spent time with my friends at home for a long time.
Over a year back I had helped care for my Granddad with my family as he battled through cancer. It was even more traumatic as besides from Andy my Stepdad, my Granddad was the only stable male figure I had ever had throughout my life. He was a figure of stability, authority and inspiration. He taught me the rights and wrongs, the importance of being loyal and most of all- family.
Sometimes when I got upset about his loss, I felt as though I had to justify why my grief was so severe- why it hurt so much. He wasn’t just my Granddad- he was my dad. Barry had gone, and Granddad had been there. It was that simple. I had craved to be loved as much as his children and for a long while I had worried about it. I have no idea why- my worries were sometimes ridiculous sounding even to myself.
Whilst caring for him, I shrank away from my friends. I didn’t want to socialise- no I can’t go to that party, no I can’t go out, no I can’t go round their house, no. No. NO.
I was where I belonged at my Granddad’s side, and when he left, a huge ugly wound had ripped into my chest. My friends stopped asking me to go out. They didn’t know about my problems, but why would I tell them? They would say, “Oh, we didn’t know that was happening.” The amount of friends who had stepped back for good and allowed me to sink into that pit of grief and stay there was staggering.
“Ellie?”
My eyes jerked away from space and focused on Brynn. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been talking to you for the past few minutes and you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He frowned at me and led the way out, sensing that I had dark thoughts on my mind. “How about something to eat?” he asked, locking the door behind him.
I looked at my watch. “But what about-”
“You worry too much,” he said impatiently waving me off. “They’ll survive. Riley’s working behind the bar today as extra help, so we’ll be fine.”
We walked back the way we came and turned down an alleyway overhanging with flowers. We soon came to an opening with a well in the centre. It was one of the most picturesque images I had seen that I would have taken a photo if it hadn’t have been for the tourists.
We went to his mother’s pub called The Captains Keg and I was slightly relieved to hear that she was out. That was the last thing I needed- a mother asking me questions about her son.
“You ever had scallops?” he asked as we took a seat upstairs. The place was small and cramped- but it suited it. Every inch of the walls was covered in something dedicated to some nautical theme or other. The locals had shouted a few greetings to Brynn and I was sure a couple of people had whistled at me. I had ignored it, but by the time we were upstairs, my cheeks were red from the murmuring of “ginger cat” and “new bird”.
“No,” I said, noticing that two old men were grinning at us whilst playing dominos. One of them waved at Brynn and he waved back. “You seem to know everyone…”
“I did tell you I grew up here.”
The two old men suddenly clocked Ben and started gesturing between themselves and laughing. I rolled my eyes as Ben went over to get some fuss.
The waitress looked alarmed at the sight of seeing a cat in the pub as she took her order, but when she saw me with Brynn she said no more, besides politely asking his name.
Ben got attention wherever we went, and I would be damned if any place refused to have him in. I found it hypocritical considering cats had been hired in nearly every establishment to keep down mice and rats. They were useful lodgers.
It was a nice experience simply sitting there, talking about Ben, the Midlands, how Brynn started the surfing school from nothing. He had started out by giving his school mates lessons, to doing lifeguarding in the summer to eventually being hired at Craggys as Manager. He explained it had been tough when the old owner had sold to Marshall and Barry. Marshall didn’t like new ideas and Barry never appeared. I was glad Barry didn’t. I was scared if he had, then I would be tempted to ask Brynn questions about him, and that was not on my to-do list. No one needed to know that part of my life. No one. Except Ben.
Our scallops came, covered in a delicious garlic sauce with chunks of bacon and thick slices of home baked bread. There was a lot of it, and I was glad, not caring about liking my fingers clean of the sauce. I did however hold back form licking the plate- although if I was at home there was no way that that would have happened.
The sudden thought of home made my gut clench. I would have to talk about my return to Brynn soon.
But not now, a thought inside my head said. I nodded to myself and allowed myself to enjoy the moment.
Chapter Six
We returned to Craggys to find it heaving. Random trekkers for the festival had come and wanted surfing lessons, we had run out of food again and the music was blaring from the next feeling.
Ben sat with Old Marley in his favourite corner away from the bustle of the shack, and I was glad to see the old man drinking coffee instead of Stella. I was even more glad when he waved at me.
“See it did you?” he said, his voice raspy.
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through me that could have been from the sunlight, but I knew was from seeing a glint in his eye. “I did indeed,” I said, wrapping an apron around my waist.
“She’s a beauty isn’t she?” he said with a nod.
“She is that,” I agreed.
“You have a brilliant collection.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Young Brynn says you used to work in a museum?”
I stopped myself from raising my eyebrows in surprise that the two of them should be talking about me. “I did,” I admitted. “In the Midlands.”
Old Marley nodded as if he knew. “They like coal too much up there,” he said as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh.
I ordered him a cheese toastie- not because he asked- he never asked for anything here, but because it was tradition now and I wanted him to feel welcome. I didn’t mention anything about the thugs who were looking for him and suddenly frowned in concern. Turning around, I caught Brynn staring at me.
Subtly gesturing to Old Marley in question Brynn mouthed: “Don’t worry.”
Rolling my eyes seemed to happen more than usual on a day like this, so I rushed behind the bar and got lost in the work.
More food came, orders were taken, and Brynn took in new clients for the afternoon surf and for the next few days until we were full. Brynn refused to teach anyone who was drunk and warned some teenagers about it sternly.
I watched him discuss the afternoon’s lesson with a couple of slim girls with long dark hair and found myself scowling. One of them kept touching his arm and laughing too loudly. My scowl deepened when I saw her face.
Had to look like a ruddy model didn’t she.
Alarmed why I was feeling this way towards a gorgeous girl I didn’t even know, I went back to serving drinks hot and cold, enjoying the sight of the till becoming fuller and fuller.
My smile started to grow.
Take that, Barry.
The next day went pretty much the same way (without the visit to the museum) but with the addition of newly printed t shirts Jack had done for Craggys.
We all wore one, customising it how we wanted. Jessica turned hers into a crop top, Jack and our new temp Riley, cut the sleeves off theirs, and I made the neck larger on mine so it fell over one shoulder. Brynn and Charlotte kept theirs the same way, and Donny refused to wear one full stop.
