by M. P. Wright
The brass alarm clock on the bedside table said nine fifteen. I yanked the bedding away then swung myself out onto the edge of the bed and looked down at the empty mattress beside me. I stumbled across the room to where I’d hung my trousers over the back of a chair and pulled them on, then slipped my vest over my chest and walked barefoot downstairs and into the kitchen. Estelle was standing over the sink with the cold tap running, slicing the green caps and stems off some of the reddest fresh strawberries I’d ever seen. As I walked over towards where she was stood, my shadow passed across the wall in front of her and Estelle turned and jumped in surprise, holding her hand to her chest.
“I’m sorry, Estelle. I didn’t mean to make you leap outta your skin like that.” I held up my arms, the palms of my hands splayed out in front of me by way of a further, unspoken apology.
“Joseph! You scared me half to death creeping up on me. Are you OK? You’re looking kinda peaky, didn’t you sleep too well?”
“No . . . I slept fine, thanks. I think I have the leftovers of a bad dream still rattling around in my head. I get ’em sometimes. They make me feel kinda cranky first ting, that’s all.”
“Bad dreams, hey? You know that’s Mother Nature’s way o’ telling you to lighten up, young man? Benny told me ’bout your troubles. Ain’t nuttin’ like worry to unsettle your sleep. Perhaps you and Trute can find yourselves a small measure o’ peace these next few days while you stoppin’ here with us. I say there ain’t nuttin’ like the sea air to restore the body and spirit.”
I looked out of the open kitchen door into the garden. “Where’s Truth, Estelle?”
“Oh, she’s down in the meadow with Momma Cecile, feedin’ the goats. The two of ’em seem to be gittin’ on like a house on fire.”
I flinched at Estelle’s mention of the old woman and her choice of words. I struggled to push a smile into my mouth as she continued to talk excitedly about her mother and the child.
“Trute ate herself a full cooked breakfast of eggs and bacon, she wolfed it down like she hadn’t been fed fo’ a month. She and Momma took themselves off to explore for a while.” Estelle, a concerned look on her face, looked me up and down as I stood barefoot on her kitchen floor. “Speakin’ of a cooked breakfast, it looks like you could do with feeding up. That’s the way to git you started in a better frame o’ mind. We can’t be having you mopin’ around just cos o’ some bad dreams.”
She turned to the stove and placed a large black skillet onto the hob. Then, with a cloth wrapped around her hand, she lifted up a boiling pan of hot water and poured some of it into an enamel wash bowl that was sat on the draining board, and then filled the remaining water into a matching jug. “Here, while I cook you up someting to eat, you take this out into the yard and freshen yo’self up. There’s a small mirror, cut-throat razor and some soap and towels laid out for you in your room. You need anyting else, just holler out.”
I felt a whole lot better after I’d washed and shaved. I tipped the dirty shaving water down into a drain in the yard. As I watched the bowl empty I got the feeling that any lingering remnants of the nightmare I’d endured as I slept were now flushing themselves away into the sewers below me. I changed into a fresh pair of khaki lightweight trousers and a pale-blue short-sleeved shirt and went back downstairs to the kitchen, where Estelle was dishing up two fried eggs from a iron spatula onto a plate to go with the mound of bacon and grilled tomatoes she’d cooked for me.
“Here you go, come on, sit yo’self down and git this eaten. Benny said to tell you to go on down to him when you’re finished up here; you’ll find him up to his neck in motor oil down at the garage.”
She smiled at me as I sat down to eat. In front of me was a teapot, its spout steaming, and a rack full of hot toast. I felt Estelle rest her hand on my shoulder.
“Befo’ you fall into bad habits with my husband for the rest o’ the day, bring those clothes you an’ Trute bin wearin’. I’ll git ’em washed and hung out to dry, ain’t no point in wasting all that sun we got shinin’ down on us, is there?”
I began to tuck into my hearty breakfast, my hitherto uneasy state of mind comforted with every glorious mouthful I consumed.
I found Benny in his garage, just as Estelle had said I would, only he wasn’t working underneath a car. He was sitting behind a large wooden workbench with a long length of green baize felt that had been laid across the rough timber surface. Sat on top of the felt were a half-dozen pistols of different calibre and a double-barrelled 12-gauge shotgun, each of which was in various stages of being broken down and cleaned.
At Benny’s feet lay Claude. The wolfhound shot up off the floor and growled as I walked towards his owner but quietened down as soon as he recognised who I was and that I was no threat to his master. Alerted by his faithful hound’s grumbling, Benny looked up from behind a pair of brass wire-framed spectacles that were perched at the end of his bulbous nose and grinned at me as he ran a bore brush through the barrel of a blue-hued Colt 45.
“Hey there, Joseph, how you doin’, brother?”
“I’m fine, thanks, Benny. You thinkin’ o’ startin’ a war or someting?”
The big man laughed at me as he began to reassemble the gun in front of me.
“Nah. I already had my war, son; in fact, I brought this here shooter back home from some crap hole out in the Far East: 1952 I tink it was, Korea. I went out there on the Empire Fowey in the summer o’ ’50: travelled in style too, the Fowey was an ocean liner. I was a corporal in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers. I won this damn ting playin’ poker with a bunch o’ drunk Yanks. I’d got the better hand, fo’ sure. When it came to seein’ what I was holdin’, the owner o’ this handgun had little else to play with. It was either this here hunk o’ metal or the dumb bastard’s front plate, and I didn’t have much use fo’ no second-hand dentures.” Benny laughed to himself then laid down the pistol next to a small pot that was filled with springs and screws and tiny mechanisms, all of which were soaking in paraffin. Benny looked down at his collection of firearms and nodded towards them with his head.
“You own one o’ these tings, Joseph?”
“Yeah, I got me a Smith & Wesson .38. It was my service revolver; I got it wrapped in an oiled rag in my bag up in the bedroom.”
“You got shells fo’ it?”
I nodded my head slowly before replying. “Well, the ting ain’t no good without ’em.”
“Well, ain’t that the damn trute.” Benny picked up the shotgun from the bench and opened up the breech, inserted a couple of double-ought buckshot shells into both barrels then snapped it shut. “You keep that water pistol o’ yours close by, son. If what you said last night ’bout those fellas who killed that old man, Doc Fowler, is right, then it’s probably wise to assume that sooner or later they’re gonna come lookin’ fo’ the two of you round here. Let’s just be sure we’re ready fo’ ’em when they do, hey.”
*
Later that morning Benny had me pull Loretta’s Mini Cooper into one of the larger garage buildings at the rear of the petrol station. He stood by two large double doors while I backed the car in, closing them as soon as I’d cut the engine off. Inside on a metal trolley were a spray gun and some large tins of red vehicle paint. Benny pulled on a pair of dirty overalls then picked up a roll of masking tape and some old newspapers and dropped them on the bonnet of the car. He rested himself against the side of the door panel as he pushed a screwdriver into the gap around the lid of the paint tin and began to prise it open.
“Best we give this nasty jalopy of my niece’s a new paint job. May as well be covering your tracks while we can. When it’s time fo’ you to move on, I got a motor that neither the police nor anybody else is gonna be lookin’ for you to be drivin’ ’bout in. Here, come take a look next door, I gotta little surprise fo’ you.”
I followed Benny towards the back of the garage and through an adjoining door that led into a dark, smaller lock-up. His huge frame stopped dead and flicked on t
he light switch on the side of the wall then grabbed hold of my arm, drawing me close towards him. He put his arm around my shoulder and stuck his other out in front of him, like a circus ringmaster, to proudly introduce me to his “little surprise”. In the middle of the outbuilding stood a hulking great military-style jeep that resembled a tank more than it ever did a car. Benny dragged me over towards the monstrosity and started showing me around it like he was trying to sell the damn thing to me.
“This, Joseph, is an ex-army Series II short wheel based Land Rover. Take a good look, cos you don’t git much finer than this on four wheels.” Benny clapped his hands together, sending a ringing sound around the lock-up, then began to walk around the sizable automobile to show it off. “OK, it comes in one colour, an’ that’s shitty green. It’s got itself a 2.25-litre petrol engine and a four-speed manual transmission. On a full tank o’ gas this ting can git you from the shithouse to the swamps without you even having to change down into second gear, and it’s gonna be a damn sight more agreeable for gittin’ ’bout in than that midget mobile you dragged yo’ sorry ass all the way down from St Pauls in. Tell me you ain’t impressed, son?”
I tried not to let my lack of enthusiasm for the ugly Land Rover dent Benny’s keenness in his motorised pride and joy. Life has taught me that there are times when underestimating a man’s passion for what he holds dear can be an imprudent thing to do. Now was one of those times.
Later that afternoon, just after lunch, Benny drove the Land Rover out of his lock-up, parked it up on the forecourt then came and stood next to me as I was watching Truth play out in the garden. It was good to see the little girl out in the fresh air having fun. I smiled to myself as she laughed while chasing Claude the dog between our drying clothes hanging on the line. But in reality my mind was troubled by worry. Was the heavy burden of my promise to protect the child from forces whose strength and numbers I was as yet unable to calculate really beyond my capabilities? To all intents and purposes I’d taken off out of St Pauls knowing the trouble I’d be getting myself into without a back-up plan or any thought of the consequences of my actions. All I knew for sure was that I had to keep Truth safe at any cost.
Benny put his hand on my shoulder, bringing me back from my private world of dark thoughts. He dangled the keys of the Land Rover in front of me.
“Here, rather than moping ’bout here with a face like a wet weekend, why don’t you take that pickney out for a drive. Go git yourselves an ice cream an’ a change o’ scenery. It’ll do the pair o’ you good.”
I looked up at Benny and he rattled the keys in the air then pushed them into my hand. His eyes bore into my own, his lined face contemplative and edgy.
“Loretta, she told me ’bout your late wife back home, son. I’m sorry fo’ your loss, I really am. It’s a hard ting to have to endure, losing what you love, specially a child. Estelle and me, well, we lost t’ree to miscarriage. Fair broke her heart each time the Lord saw fit to tear her unborn offspring outta her belly like he did. No rhyme or reason to it, Joseph. It’s just the Lord’s way, but it didn’t lessen the heartache any. Now, from what I can see, that child there, Trute, she’s seen more than her fair share o’ heartache herself. That kid probably only ever seen a handful o’ smiling grown-up faces in her tiny life. Ain’t no good gonna come o’ you starin’ into space lookin’ like you got the blues when she’s around. You need to git a beam runnin’ across that good-lookin’ mug o’ yours, even if you don’t feel the smile inside of you, brother.”
Benny nodded his head to himself as he thought about the wise words he’d just spoken then turned and began to walk back towards his home. I watched him kicking off his boots as he stood at the kitchen door, and without turning around he called back to me before going inside.
“My old man, he used to say to me, ‘Bein’ a parent, it’s the hardest damn job in the world. Full o’ worry and wonder in equal measure. But once you a father, you always a father.’ Perhaps it’s time fo’ you to start bein’ like a father again fo’ a while, Joseph. You got enough worry in your life fo’ sure. But you never know, maybe that child Trute’s gonna bring you some o’ that wonder that’s bin missin’ from outta yo’ world fo’ so long.”
*
With the sun blazing high above us in the afternoon sky, Truth and I made the short two-mile drive from Benny and Estelle’s home, rattling along the Worthy toll road down to the small fishing village of Porlock Weir. I parked the cumbersome Land Rover in a dead-end, narrow road next to a row of ivy-clad, grey slate Gibraltar cottages. I got out and helped Truth from the passenger seat and then we made our way across the main street towards the tiny quayside. The air was warm on our faces as we stood admiring the view in the harbour. The fragrant scent of fuchsias and jasmine growing in the hedgerow behind us clashed with the strong aroma of discarded fish and ozone that drifted up from the jetty below. Overhead, the herring gulls weaved and bobbed, voicing shrill calls to each other as they darted about for leftover scraps on the dockside. Truth, her eyes drawn towards the mysteriously altering colours of the sea, put her head to one side as she stared out across the Bristol Channel at the small white-tipped waves and listened as they rolled gently back and forth onto the shingle beach.
I watched as the little girl curiously gazed along the shoreline, fascinated by her new surroundings; there was a look of enthrallment that had become etched on her face and a faint smile broke at each corner of her mouth as she watched a large fishing boat come into view out on the headland. It was only then that I realised Truth had never seen the sea before. I knelt down beside her and took hold of her petite hand in my own oversized mitt. She shot me a quick enquiring glance of uncertainty then looked down at my fingers wrapped around her own before returning to gaze back out across the harbour towards the ocean.
“You wanna go take a closer look?” I pointed out across the beach towards the sea. Truth nodded slowly without looking at me, absorbed by the new landscape in front of her.
We made our way hand in hand along the harbour wall until we reached a series of steep granite steps that led down to the stony beach. This wasn’t the fine golden sand I remembered from back home; in fact, this wasn’t like any beach I’d ever encountered before. The large pebbles felt uncomfortable to walk on and I was grateful to reach the shoreline, where the shingle was small and less painful underfoot. As we continued to wander along the flinty strand, gentle waves rose and fell at the water’s edge, just missing our feet. I looked back at the foreboding, steeply wooded slopes that rose up behind us, and which led back to the high moors beyond.
Truth and I walked for over half an hour without speaking a single word to each other, both of us happy to exist in our own little silent worlds. Despite the day’s glorious weather, I felt that the expansive and barren shoreline gave off a bleak aura of remoteness and decay that seemed to want to seep inside of me and put me oddly on edge. I suddenly felt empty to the pit of my stomach and a shiver ran through me that put goosebumps on my arms. I shuddered as I looked out across the channel at a small group of dark clouds that hung ominously across the Welsh coastline, and I wondered what kind of misfortunes and heartbreaks this stretch of ancient landscape had witnessed over the years.
Truth was still enthralled at watching the waves ebb and flow at our feet. She occasionally offered up a quiet giggle or gasped as the water just missed the tops of her shoes and rolled back out to sea again. As we continued to trek across the beach towards a rocky outcrop ahead of us, I remembered something that Benny had told me earlier in the afternoon. I called back to Truth, who was still dodging the waves.
“Hey, Truth, did you know that this part of Somerset was once crawling with smugglers and pirates?”
Truth stopped and dragged on my arm for me to halt too. The expression on her face was confused; her small nose was scrunched up and her eyes squinted in the sunlight as she looked up at me.
“What’s a smuggler, Joseph?”
“It’s like a thief, you know, s
omeone who takes someting that doesn’t belong to them. Smugglers used to steal anything they could get their hands on. On this stretch of the coast, if a big ship got into trouble out at sea and sank, its cargo could get washed up on the beach. If it did, that’s when the smugglers would arrive. They’d come and take whatever was around, mainly at night, so they didn’t get caught.”
Truth nodded again as she pondered on my answer for a moment then kicked at the pebbles with the toe of her shoe. I looked back up the beach towards the village in the distance then turned on my heels and gently spun Truth round to face me.
“Hey, how ’bout you and me, we head back towards the quayside and try and find some place to git you an ice cream. That sound good to you?”
The mere mention of the word “ice cream” lit up her little face so much she darted out in front of me, pulling at my arm to hurry me along. Truth’s sheer excitement at the mention of such a rare treat lifted my spirits too and I found myself suddenly smiling.
I found a newsagent opposite the harbour that sold ice creams. I bought Truth a large vanilla cone with a chunk of chocolate sticking out the top of it, which she lapped at as we walked along the High Street back towards the Land Rover. I laughed to myself as I watched Truth biting into the cold dessert, her face and chin covered in a thin layer of milky white cream. As we reached the car, she took hold of my hand and yanked on my arm.
“Joseph.” The child hesitated for a moment and twisted on the heel of her shoe as she thought about what she was going to ask me. “Joseph, do you think smugglers take children?” Truth bit into her ice cream again then looked back towards the seafront.
“What makes you think smugglers would take children, Truth?” I unlocked the car, opened up the rear door and helped the little girl to get in. She turned to face me, her eyes glazed over with a watery film.
