Gull Island

by Grace Thompson

  There was just time for a pint and he headed for the public house on the corner. A car passed as he waited to cross the road. It slowed as it reached the junction and he glanced at the driver for the nod that he could proceed. He also saw that there was another person, a woman, slumped down in the passenger seat as if hiding. He was curious and it was only after he had entered the public house that he realized he had just seen his brother, Idris.

  It must have been his wife Kate in the car with him. Perhaps she was ill? Abandoning the drink he had bought, he went out and knocked on his brother’s door.

  ‘Richard? Come in! I’m so pleased to see you.’ Kate stepped back for him to enter. ‘What a pity, you’ve missed Idris. Gone to see your mam and dad, he has. He often goes in the evening, after the children are in bed. Glad of a bit of company, they are.’

  It was eleven o’clock when Idris returned and he shook Richard’s hand then hugged his wife.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to talk – there must be lots to catch up on.’ Kate smiled. ‘But first I’ll make some cocoa, shall I?’

  ‘Hello, brother of mine. I wondered when you’d get round to calling.’

  ‘I saw you earlier,’ Richard said in a low voice, staring at his blond-haired, blue-eyed and still very handsome brother. ‘Passed me in a car just outside the pub on the corner.’

  They looked at each other and their eyes showed there was still animosity between them. ‘Did you now? Well, there’s a surprise. Pub first, eh? I didn’t rate myself and Kate lower in your affections than the need for a pint of beer.’

  Idris offered no explanation of the mysterious passenger sitting so low in the car that she was barely visible, so Richard added nothing more. Instead he went straight to the root of his troubles.

  ‘Idris, why didn’t you stop Dad from selling my shop?’

  ‘Why should I? They’re both old in case you haven’t noticed. Time for them to relax instead of minding the shop for someone who hadn’t seen them in twenty-three years.’

  ‘Yes, it’s twenty-three years since you told the police that I was the one breaking into houses and taking cash, isn’t it, Idris? I was just a child, trying to feed us all.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’

  Kate returned with a tray and saw the two men glaring at each other like dogs about to close in deadly battle.

  ‘Don’t worry, you did me a favour, although I didn’t think so at the time. Idris, I need that shop and the new owner is being difficult about selling it to me.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be any problem to me!’ Idris winked at Kate and went on, ‘A bit of a tart like Miss Evans? I’d soon persuade her to be nice to me if she had something I wanted.’

  ‘Idris!’ Kate laughed. ‘Don’t talk about my boss like that.’

  Richard tensed his jaw and wanted oh so badly to punch his brother. But he remembered his promise not to reveal to Kate that she worked for her half-sister and he swallowed his outrage. Enmity between Idris and himself would never fade. The air trembled between them even on this, their first meeting for more than twenty years.

  Two days later, Richard went to the station to meet the train bringing his friend and partner Monty. He’d hated asking Monty to abandon his plans for a holiday with his sons, but circumstances merited the urgency. The quiet time Monty had hoped for, while the deal Richard had set up was clarified and details settled, was no longer possible. Once Monty had heard of the difficulties, he had agreed to come at once.

  His friend’s calm face was balm to Richard’s troubled mind and as he picked up Monty’s suitcases and walked to the van, he felt that already things were improving.

  A room had been booked for him at a small boarding house and when he had unpacked, they went to a café, ate, and talked.

  ‘You’d better start at the beginning, Richard. Tell me everything that happened from the moment you walked into the shop we thought was ours.’

  Monty was quiet for a while after Richard had finished explaining. Richard waited patiently for his friend to assimilate the information.

  ‘This house your parents have bought, will you be able to sell it easily?’

  ‘I suppose we might, although we’re bound to lose money, with legal fees and everything.’

  ‘The first thing we must do is find them a place to rent and put the house on the market.’ He frowned then, and said slowly, ‘Richard, I suppose they did buy this place? They didn’t rent it and put the money in the bank, did they?’

  ‘Of course they bought it. I mean, why would they rent when they had the money to …’ As the words came out of his mouth they lost momentum. Would his father have rented rather than spend an amount of money larger than he had ever seen in his life? The more he thought about it the more likely it became. Throwing the money for their meal on the table, he grabbed Monty’s arm and hurried to the van.

  ‘It’s the most unlikely hope in the world, but it’s the only hope we have! And I won’t rest until I’ve asked.’

  Jumping out of the van, they ran down the small streets to the row of houses near Red Rock Bay and banged impatiently on the Careys’ door. Richard had a key but he was too excited to search for it. Taking a deep breath, he asked the question that would go a long way towards achieving their goal.

  ‘Seventeen shillings a week we pay rent,’ his mother told them, nervously. ‘We could have found somewhere cheaper, mind, but we like it here, near the beach and we thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Mind? Mam, I’m as pleased as – Heavens above, you’re the best mam a man could ever have!’

  He picked her up and danced her around the room, then Monty introduced himself and did the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE FACT THAT the money from the sale of the shop was still available was an enormous comfort to Richard and Monty, but it didn’t go any way to meet the real hurdle. Rosita still refused to sell them the property they so urgently needed.

  Whenever Richard tried to discuss it with her, he made things worse. Dealing with her was like trying to juggle with red-hot pokers. Appealing to her sense of fair play only added to her determination not to give an inch. Trying the romantic approach only earned him an earful of abuse. If anything, it was the romantic approach that brought out the worst response. To add to his feeling of frustration, the romantic approach was beginning to be less and less a ploy and more and more a reality.

  His many creditors were beginning to press. The council were at the point where a decision and a date for the work to commence was an urgent necessity. Sleeping in his parents’ spare room, renamed by him as the spare-me-from-this room, on a narrow iron bedstead, with ill-fitting curtains and bare floorboards, was a luxury after some of the places he had called home, but he was beginning to wonder if he would ever achieve anything better.

  If only Rosita could be persuaded to give up the shop, things would all slot neatly into place. Everything was poised for him to succeed. If she refused he was going to join the thousands who never quite make it, those with egg on their faces who always end up with nearly-but-not-quite situations in life.

  He stood at the top of Red Rock Bay and looked down at the sands. There was no future in looking for a miraculous change of heart. There was nothing more he could do. No words he could find to persuade her. He was beaten. It was pointless to keep going over and over the facts, looking for a chink of hope. He had to face it. He and Monty were finished.

  Still staring down at the empty beach, he began to consider the best way to scrape enough money together to give Monty back most of what he had invested. If he could settle his friend’s debts and return his investment, his conscience would be at least saved that burden. He got into the van and drove off to look for him.

  When he told Monty of his decision, Monty wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘No, Richard. When I became your partner I was prepared to accept the fortunes we might have made. Like a good gambler, I’ll accept that we didn’t succeed. Now, why not go away somewhere and think ab
out a fresh way to tackle Miss Jones?’

  Instead of addressing his many problems, Richard spent more and more time contemplating a life of comfort with Rosita. What if he resold the properties he had bought and went into partnership with her? A newsagent chain was not what he had hoped for in his middle and old age, but it was tempting.

  Then he would shake himself out of such a cowardly retreat. No. He would persuade her somehow. She had to give in and let him buy the shop. There was the tricky problem of getting rid of the shops on either side of the newsagent, places they already owned. Selling empty properties in a far from excellent state of repair wouldn’t get back what the places had cost when they were still viable businesses.

  Back to Rosita. She remained the only one to help them. How could he persuade her? He couldn’t go cap in hand and beg. Not to a prickly woman like Rosita. Yet somehow he had to get that last shop and build those flats. Once that had been achieved he would make money at a faster rate than she could imagine. He’d show her what business was all about! But first he had to gain her confidence and persuade her to help.

  It was a burglar that changed things in his favour. An unknown person who, like Richard had once done, broke into a house to steal.

  The house shared by Miss Grainger and Rosita was on a corner with gardens on three sides. It was empty for long hours of each day, with both women working at the shops and, in Rosita’s case, at the factory as well. So it was unfortunate that when the man decided to break in and take what he could find, it was during Miss Grainger’s one afternoon off.

  She was sitting in an armchair having eaten lunch, her eyes closed, lightly dozing. The tray from which she had eaten was on the corner of the coffee table. She didn’t hear the slight click as the latch was eased open, or the padding of plimsolled feet as the man stepped cautiously across the tiled hallway.

  There was carpet on the stairs and the man climbed silently and began opening drawers. Bottom one first, so he didn’t have to waste time closing them again. He worked quickly and when all the drawers had revealed their contents, he moved to another room. It was when he was on the landing that he disturbed Miss Grainger’s sleep. A weak board creaked and she sat up and glanced at the clock, unaware of what had disturbed her.

  ‘Rosita, dear? Is that you?’ Groggily she stood up and went into the hall, in time to see the man running down the stairs towards her. He was emitting a low growl of anger at seeing her between himself and the door. Leaping down the stairs at her, he looked enormous.

  She ran back into the room and reached for the telephone. The man followed and pushed her roughly aside and snatched the phone, causing her to fall against the table. A chair tipped over, the tray fell with a clatter as the table too overbalanced and fell with her as she tried to support herself. Everywhere there was threat, danger and fear. The noise and confusion surrounded her and entered her mind like a dark cloud.

  Everything slowly cleared and it seemed that minutes had passed, then she was staring at the tea leaking into the carpet from the broken teapot. She looked at the man who was staring down at her, panting as though he had been running. Glaring at him, she tried to demand that he leave at once, but she lacked the breath to speak. Her face contorted in a superior expression of outrage, the words forming in her brain, then her eyes showed renewal of fear and her features changed again, from imperiousness to a grimace of pain.

  The intruder raised his arm as though to strike her with a back-handed slap but he didn’t actually touch her as a severe pain in her chest made her cry out. She was aware of him standing over her, still panting, then of him running out of the house, banging the door back on its hinges. But then everything became dark and vague as if seen through a black muslin curtain, as pain enveloped her again.

  Rosita left the factory and went to the Careys’ shop to help Kate with the evening rush. Really, she admonished herself, I must stop calling it Careys’ shop. It’s mine and one day it will have my name above the door. Kate was standing at the door, obviously looking out for her, and as soon as she came in sight, she ran towards her tearfully.

  ‘Kate? What is it? What’s happened?’ She saw Idris standing just inside the shop and asked with clear sarcasm, ‘Your poor husband unwell again? You can go if you like, I’ll finish up.’

  ‘It’s Miss Grainger, she’s the one that’s ill! Taken her to hospital they have. Quick! You’d better go quick!’

  Not thinking of a taxi in her haste to get to her friend, Rosita ran wide-eyed through the main square, past the park where the thump of tennis racquets could be heard and into the hollow, antiseptic corridors of the hospital. She found a nurse and was told quietly that she was five minutes too late.

  ‘The house had been robbed, my dear. The shock of finding that thief in the house must have brought it on. A heart attack it was. It would have been very quick. She wouldn’t have suffered,’ the nurse told her kindly, as Rosita changed colour and almost fell. She was guided to a chair. ‘Your mam, was it?’

  ‘No,’ Rosita said thickly. ‘Not my mother. Someone far more important!’

  She waited until the medical staff had finished then went to see her friend for the last time. Staring down at the kindly woman who had been such a dear friend and had meant more to her than anyone else in her whole life, she choked back tears and wondered how she would continue without her. The eyes, so intelligent yet always without censure, whatever she said or did, would never smile at her again, the still mouth never share another joke or piece of harmless gossip.

  She stumbled from the building and for the first time since she had been accepted as Miss Grainger’s temporary lodger, didn’t know where to go. She walked around the streets for a while, wondering at the laughter of people she passed. Surely no one should be laughing at a time like this? Then, as the light began to fade on that terrible day, she went to the Careys’ house, intending to talk to Richard.

  At the doorway, where Henry’s chair stood waiting for him to return to its comfort the following morning, she hesitated, then turned and went back to the house. Miss Grainger had family and friends. It was something she could do for her friend – write or telephone to tell them what had happened.

  She spoke to the police, who told her there would be an inquest and assured her they were doing everything they could to find the man responsible. She lived through it all as if in a dream.

  Three days later the funeral took place, with several of Miss Grainger’s cousins and nephews arriving for the ceremony. Friends from the dress shop came too. And some of the Careys, including Kate and Idris, but Rosita was unaware of many of them. Richard had called round several times but she was unable to talk to him, saying abruptly she would see him when the funeral was over.

  She had kept herself busy with tasks in the house that had been the only home she had known. Since the death of Miss Grainger, she had scrubbed and polished and cleaned out every cupboard and odd corner so the house was immaculate for that final gathering.

  She had no idea where she would live after leaving the house she had entered as a homeless young woman and stayed as a friend. There wasn’t a thought in her head beyond preparing the house and arranging the funeral. Everything after that was a blur. She was like a puppet with an unknown force pulling the strings. Visions of a future without her dear friend beside her were cut off the moment they began. It was too painful to bear. Grieving had to come first.

  When the men returned from the cemetery, a will was produced and Miss Grainger’s final wishes known. The house and its contents were left to a widowed cousin. With the exception of £500 for Rosita to buy a car, the bank account was to be shared between the nieces and nephews.

  Rosita held her breath. For a moment she put aside her grief. Now for the business interests. If Miss Grainger’s shares in the shops were left to members of her family, she would be back where she had started, but her fears were groundless. The fifty per cent shares in the two shops owned by Miss Grainger were left to Rosita unconditionally, includ
ing stock and any money in the business account.

  Grief and relief had left Rosita in a daze, not able to go to the factory and unable to help in either shop. A neighbour, Betty Sweeny, who had occasionally helped Miss Grainger in their first shop in Station Row, was asked to run the business and, to Rosita’s surprise and relief, made an excellent job of doing so. A week after the funeral, on 30 June, Rosita went to see Richard.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he began. ‘I know how much you loved her.’ They were in the living room of the Careys’ house and Mr and Mrs Carey had left them alone.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. I’ve had to leave the house, of course. I’ve moved into a hotel for the moment, thrown my few belongings into the room above the shop. But I have to find somewhere to live soon.’ She spoke briskly, hardly looked at him, and she sat as far away from him as the room would allow.

  ‘What about the rooms over the shop? I mean the one in Station Row,’ he added quickly. The last thing he wanted was to help her feel more permanent in his own property! ‘It’s empty, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s such a mess. It would take ages to clean and decorate and I don’t have the time. I don’t know how long Betty Sweeny will manage the shop and I still have my factory job.’

  ‘Let me help.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I have to deal with my life myself. It’s the only way I can cope with being on my own. Oh, Richard, she was so much more than a business partner. She was like a dozen friends, one for every occasion, she was my advisor and mother, all rolled into one loving person.’ She stood up and he came over and attempted to hold her but she slipped away from his arms and stood staring out of the window.

  ‘Let me help,’ he said again. ‘At the moment we don’t have much I can get on with, not until I’ve decided on the best way of getting us out of the present mess. So, let’s go now and look at the place and then choose some wallpaper and paint.’