Just trust in me that whatever happens, it’s all for the good!
Love, Me x
How could a trip to Norwich be so important to my future? Unless I got off with Danny Lucas on the back seat of the bus, I couldn’t see how taking a tour around a load of ancient monuments was going to benefit me in any way at all. So I let my mind wander to the Danny thought again… Mmm, if that was what the letter meant then I was all for it!
‘Grace!’ My mother’s voice jolts me from my daydreams. ‘Are you awake yet? Wilson is getting desperate for his walk before you go to school!’
‘Mum, I’m on study leave! I keep telling you!’ I call back, taking one more look at the latest letter. I’ve no idea how this is happening, or why, but I’m not about to turn my nose up at a typewriter that wants to give me advice about life; it’s difficult enough being a teenager in the eighties. So if this little machine wants to help me through the next few years, then so be it! Getting letters on a battered old typewriter is hardly Electric Dreams or even War Games – two computer-based movies I’d enjoyed at the cinema. And I’m hardly going to turn into Matthew Broderick and start World War III now, am I?
‘Oh that’s right, I keep forgetting,’ Mum calls from downstairs. ‘Do you have an exam today?’
‘Mock exam,’ I correct her. ‘No, not today. I’ll be right down for Wilson. Just give me a minute.’
I pull on some jeans, a sweater and my battered old trainers and head downstairs to find Wilson, our shaggy mongrel of a dog, looking agitated by the door.
‘You’d think we didn’t have a garden!’ I tell him, ruffling his mottled grey brown fur.
‘You know he won’t use it for number twos,’ Mum says helpfully as she puts toast on the table in the antique silver rack she always insists on using. ‘Must have been where he lived before, perhaps they didn’t let him.’
We’d adopted Wilson after one of Mum and Dad’s house clearances. It had been for an elderly man who didn’t have many relatives, just a nephew who came up from London to oversee the clearance of his uncle’s home.
‘His neighbours say the dog kept him fit,’ he’d told us as Wilson lay curled up miserably in the corner on a blanket. ‘But none of them want to take him – I’ve already tried.’
‘So what will happen to him?’ I’d asked, looking with concern at the obviously bereaved dog.
‘I’ll have to take him to a dogs’ home, I guess. I can’t have him; I live in a tiny flat in Chelsea. They won’t allow any pets – let alone a dog as big as him.’
Wilson, not moving his head from the blanket, looked up at us sadly.
‘Mum…?’ I’d begun to ask.
‘No, Grace, we can’t. He’s so big! Where will we put him?’
‘We can find a space in the kitchen for his bed, I’m sure, if not in the lounge.’
‘But he’d need so much walking, Grace – look at the size of him.’
Wilson was pretty big; from my limited knowledge of dogs he looked like he might be a cross between an Irish wolfhound and an Airedale terrier. His coat was rough and looked like it needed a good brush, but he had the most gorgeous eyes that he had turned up to 100 per cent sad-dog mode as he watched us from his bed.
‘I’ll walk him,’ I told Mum. ‘I will!’ I’d insisted before she could respond. ‘Please, Mum, just look at him, we can’t abandon him. And you do advertise a full house clearance, and Wilson is part of this house. We owe it to him.’
Mum had of course eventually agreed. Wilson had come to live with us, and I was proud to say I’d kept my end of the bargain and I walked him every day. Although I suspected Wilson missed his previous owner a lot, he fitted in with us quickly and easily, and even though he was a big dog, he wasn’t the least bit of trouble – unless you forgot about his walk, then he’d wheedle and whine until you took him.
I grab Wilson’s red leather lead from the hook in our utility room. ‘I’ll be back in a bit!’ I call as I hook the lead to his collar.
‘What about your breakfast?’ Mum says, appearing at the utility room door.
‘I’ll get something later,’ I tell her. ‘We don’t want Wilson peeing on the floor now, do we?’
‘Make sure you do, Grace. You’re looking far too thin these days.’
As if!
‘Sure, Mum,’ I appease her. ‘I will.’
It’s the beginning of a beautiful summer’s day and there’s not a cloud in the bright blue sky as Wilson and I walk along our street, and head for our favourite seafront walk. Wilson loves the sea, but bathing a dog as big as Wilson isn’t the easiest of jobs. So I have to limit how often I let him splash around in the waves, because his thick coat always ends up soaking wet and matted with sand.
Most of the newer houses in Sandybridge are set back from the sea, with only the odd Victorian terrace sitting directly on the seafront, and most of those have been turned into B&Bs over the years, so Wilson and I have to walk through several streets, and along the high street a little way, before we can veer down towards the promenade and find our way to the beach.
It’s still quite early, so although the high street shops are just opening up to customers, most of the shops along the seafront are still closed, preferring to start and finish their days later so they can cater to the majority of the holiday crowd. The B&Bs are busy serving breakfast though, and Wilson isn’t the only one to pick up a waft of sausages and bacon frying as we pass by.
‘I’ll see what I can rustle up when we get back,’ I tell him. ‘Mum and Dad will have left for the shop by then. I’m sure we can do better than a bowl of Special K this morning, Wilson! Diet or no diet, I’m hungry!’
Wilson barks approvingly, and we continue on our way. We’re about to pass by the empty tea rooms when I notice some people inside – one of them is Charlie.
As if he senses someone is watching him he turns around, then waves when he sees it’s me.
‘Hey,’ he says as he runs over to unbolt the door. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Wilson,’ I tell him, as Wilson licks Charlie’s hand in greeting.
‘Hello, Wilson,’ Charlie says, rubbing the top of his head. ‘You didn’t say you had a dog.’
‘No, I didn’t, did I? You can’t really miss him either. Can I add him to my list of hobbies – he takes up enough of my time!’
‘And who’s this, Charlie?’ A woman wearing white painting overalls, who I assume must be Charlie’s mother as she has the same red hair as him, comes to the door to join him.
‘This is Gracie, Mum, and Wilson. We met last night at the football.’
‘Well hello, Gracie. What a pretty name,’ she says, smiling at me. ‘Won’t you come in? We can’t offer you much until we’re up and running. But I’m sure I can find you a cup of tea from somewhere. Any friend of Charlie’s is always welcome here.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs…’
‘Oh, call me Maggie, please,’ she insists.
‘Maggie. But I’m just taking Wilson for his morning walk. You really don’t want him in your shop when he wants a walk, it’ll be carnage.’
Maggie looks down at Wilson – who helpfully shakes himself at that very moment and removes several loose hairs in the process. ‘Yes… I can imagine.’ She looks at Charlie. ‘Would you like to take a break now, Charlie, and go for a walk with Gracie?’
‘Mum…’ Charlie flushes. ‘Maybe Gracie doesn’t want company.’
‘I’m fine with it,’ I say seriously. ‘It’s Wilson you need to worry about.’ I wink at him, and he immediately grins back.
‘What do you reckon, Wilson?’ Charlie asks.
‘Woof!’ Wilson amiably agrees on cue.
*
To Charlie’s obvious embarrassment, three pairs of eyes watch us with interest as we walk away from the tea rooms: Maggie, Charlie’s father Peter, and his brother Luke.
‘Sorry about them,’ Charlie apologises. ‘I don’t get out a lot, so they get a bit over-excited when I do.’ It’s Charlie’
s turn to wink at me now.
Today Charlie is wearing casual clothes like I am – a pair of blue jeans and a navy blue hooded sweatshirt. I’m pleased to see that, like me, he isn’t a slave to fashion, unless he needs to be.
‘I know the feeling. My parents are much the same. It’s worse for me though; there’s only me for them to embarrass. At least your humiliation must be somewhat diluted between you and Luke.’
‘Yeah, I guess there are some bonuses to having a brother.’ He looks over at me. ‘So you’re an only child?’
I nod.
‘Does it bother you?’
No one has ever asked me that before. People usually go along the lines of: ‘It must be great not to have brother or sisters to argue with, or nick your stuff.’ Or even: ‘Your parents must spoil you rotten, you lucky thing!’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I tell him after I’ve thought about it for a moment.
‘Good,’ Charlie replies. ‘That’s good. Do you ever let Wilson off the lead?’ he asks, changing the subject.
‘Oh yes, he loves the beach. But it usually means a good wash when he gets home if I do.’
‘Let’s go down on to the beach then,’ Charlie suggests. ‘The sandy one over the bridge. I’ll help you wash him if he gets too dirty.’
‘You’ll regret saying that!’ I tease. ‘But yes, let’s do that. It’s a lovely morning, and the beach won’t be busy yet with holidaymakers. Wilson will love it!’
We turn off from the tarmacked promenade, along a paved street, then down the narrow road that leads up and across the little stone bridge that takes us on to Sandybridge beach.
As we begin to walk across the sand towards Lighthouse Cottage where Mum and I had been clearing yesterday, I unhook Wilson from his lead and let him run free across the sand.
‘That’s better,’ Charlie says approvingly. ‘I like to see animals doing what they do best.’
‘You’ll see what he does worst in a minute,’ I warn him. ‘Wait until he hits the sea!’
We watch Wilson take big lolloping strides down towards the waves, then he launches himself hard into the water.
‘Wait for it!’ I promise.
Like a small child digging a trench in the wet sand, hoping he can encourage the sea to flow up to his sandcastle’s moat and fill it without the need for carrying buckets, Wilson begins to dig in the sand beneath the shallow waves.
Charlie watches open-mouthed as huge clumps of sand fly up over the top of Wilson, scattering sand all over him as he digs.
‘I see what you mean,’ he says, grimacing. ‘Ah well, at least he’s enjoying himself.’
‘He is that! Come on, Wilson!’ I call as we walk past him along the hard sand down by the waves. ‘You can dig another hole further along the beach.’
‘So you’re not at school today then?’ Charlie asks as we eventually persuade Wilson to abandon his hole and he gallops along in front of us.
‘No, study leave. I’m doing mocks at the moment.’
‘Like I should be too right now.’
‘Yeah, bad time to move schools. If you’re bothered like…’ I add, not wanting to sound like a swot.
‘Don’t worry,’ Charlie grins, immediately knowing what I mean. ‘I think by now you probably know I’m not one of the cool kids. I want an education. But the opportunity of a shop here in Sandybridge came up suddenly, and Mum and Dad were looking for a new business. If it had been next year they said there was no way they’d have moved me, but missing mocks… Well it just means I’ll be thrown in at the deep end next year with no practice.’
‘I guess…’ I didn’t think I’d have been too happy if Mum and Dad had suddenly announced we were going to move. ‘So what do you want to do after O-levels?’ I swallow awkwardly. ‘If you’re doing them, that is?’ I don’t want to offend him if he’s only doing CSEs.
‘Yeah, I’m doing O-levels,’ Charlie says, to my relief. ‘There’s a sixth form at the school, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m going to do A-levels, I hope, in biology, maths, and either physics or chemistry.’
‘Science bod, eh?’
‘Only stuff I’m good at. How about you?’
‘I’m not too sure yet – probably English, then possibly art or drama. Something like that anyway. Depends on my exam results.’
‘You’re the complete opposite to me then – Mrs Creative.’
‘Only things I’m good at,’ I mimic, and he laughs.
‘So you’re not going to follow in the family tradition then? Learn all about history and run an antiques shop?’
‘No more than you’re going to do Home Ec and end up running a café!’ I tease. ‘Nope, I hate history, bores the pants off me.’
‘I couldn’t follow in my parents’ footsteps even if I wanted to,’ Charlie says suddenly. ‘I’m adopted.’
‘Oh… I… I’m sorry?’ I try, at a loss what to say to this.
‘Don’t be,’ Charlie says matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve had a great upbringing, both Luke and I have, he was adopted too – we’re not related,’ he adds. ‘We were adopted at different times.’
‘Ah…’
‘So I guess that’s something we have in common. I don’t like history either, because I don’t have any of my own.’
Charlie is very pragmatic about all this. I’m not sure I would have been able to speak so rationally about it had it been the other way around.
We pause for a moment while Wilson begins digging yet another hole in the sand; only the sound of the gulls circling overhead and the ever-present sound of the coastal breeze breaks into our silence.
‘So you hate history but you’re going on a trip to a cathedral and castle on Saturday?’ Charlie asks suddenly. ‘You must really like Danny to do something you don’t like to be with him.’ He doesn’t look at me while he speaks; instead he keeps his eyes firmly on Wilson’s exploits on the wet sand.
‘That’s not the only reason I’m going. I —’
‘So you admit it is one of the reasons!’ Charlie interrupts triumphantly.
I decide to be honest. I like Charlie, and it isn’t as if I have friends falling over themselves to come for a walk with Wilson and me, let alone offering to bathe him afterwards.
‘So, maybe I do like him,’ I reply, trying to sound casual. ‘What’s wrong with that? You must have had crushes on girls before?’
Two round pink circles appear on Charlie’s pale freckled face as he stares out to sea.
‘Oh, are you… I mean, don’t you like girls?’
Charlie turns to me. ‘If you’re asking whether I’m gay, then no I’m not.’ He hesitates. ‘I just don’t have much experience with the opposite sex, that’s all.’
Another silence, this time a slightly awkward one, fills the gap between us on the sand.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ I tell him eventually, kicking at a piece of dry crisp seaweed with the tip of my shoe. ‘Everybody’s different.’
‘My brother had his first girlfriend when he was twelve,’ Charlie informs me with a worried expression.
‘Seriously?’ I reply, surprised to hear this. ‘What did they do on a date, watch Blue Peter?’
Charlie’s frown changes to a smile.
‘No, let’s give them a little credit,’ I continue, pleased to see him smile again. ‘Was it Grange Hill?’
‘All right,’ Charlie admits. ‘So I’m being silly. Have you had many boyfriends then?’
‘Nope. Not one. Not unless you count a quick snog on the back of the bus with Nigel Jefferson.’
‘Really?’ Charlie grimaces. ‘The same one that was at the football game?’
‘Yeah, I know, it wasn’t pretty. He didn’t even have the braces then. His buck teeth weren’t easy to deal with, I can tell you.’
Charlie grins. ‘You’re funny.’
‘Am I?’
He nods.
‘It was only a dare, you know? That kiss with Nigel. I didn’t fancy
him or anything. One of the other boys dared me to do it.’
‘And you did? I’ll be careful about daring you to do anything in future then, just in case you go through with it!’
I’m surprised that the thought of Charlie in my future fills me with so much joy. I like him. It’s been a long time since I’ve really liked anyone my own age. I usually just make friends with the girls at school for someone to hang out with in break time.
‘So you haven’t had a boyfriend, but you’d like Danny to be your first?’ Charlie openly asks.
I’m the one blushing now.
‘Yes… I mean, no. Oh, I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even like me.’
‘Yeah right, what’s not to like?’
I glance at Charlie. He has the same expression he’d had the previous night when he’d held out his hand to me.
But luckily for our awkwardness and us, Wilson saves the day. ‘Wilson!’ I shout, as he chases a terrified Yorkshire terrier along the beach. Never in my life have I been so pleased to see him misbehaving. ‘Stop it now!’
We manage to catch up with Wilson, apologising profusely to Mrs Chamberlain, who luckily I know through her visits to the antiques shop, and head off home to wash all remnants of sand from Wilson’s coat, and hopefully all feelings of embarrassment between Charlie and me.
Five
Remy (even I was calling him that now) hadn’t chosen to type me any more letters since the one the morning after the football game.
But this morning as my alarm goes off, and I try to force my eyes to stay open, I find myself wondering just why I’ve agreed to go on this stupid trip. It’s a Saturday, and even when I’m helping Mum and Dad on a Saturday I don’t have to get up this early.
It’s as I finally persuade my eyes it’s a good idea to stay open that I notice the now familiar piece of typed paper propped up in the spool of Remy. So I roll out of bed still rubbing my eyes, and go over to take a look.
Dear Grace,
So the day has arrived for your trip to Norwich.
I know the only thing you’re excited about is whether a certain boy will pay you any attention, but please don’t limit your enjoyment of the day to only that. Today things will happen to you that will change your life for the good, Grace. I promise you.
Letters from Lighthouse Cottage Page 4
