"I found some more seals," he said instead, watching her scroll through the images. "They have their pups this time of year but I'll need a boat to get out to them." She came to the images he meant and zoomed in on the pictures of their heads in the water.
"They're so cute," Becky said. "I hope you can get some pictures of the pups. That'll be amazing." When she looked up he was smiling at her.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing."
He continued to look at her, and there was something about it that unsettled her. "Anyway, are you hungry?" she said, and picked up her bag. She drew out the sandwiches.
"Mmmm," Rob replied absently. Then he went on. "Actually I am, but I was thinking about having a swim first. You fancy it?"
"Really? Isn't it cold?"
"No, it's okay," Rob replied. "Actually, there's this other little bay just around that headland I want to check out." He pointed to the south. "You can see it on the map, but you can't get there by land, the cliff's too steep."
"And you want to swim there?" Becky immediately sounded dubious.
"It's not far. Honestly, it's just the other side of that stack of rock." He pointed less than thirty metres away. Becky was a good swimmer. It was no distance for her.
"I didn't bring my swimsuit," she said.
“I did,” he replied and pointed to his camera bag where he had packed a towel and her bikini. He began pulling off his t–shirt.
A few moments later, smiling at her own daring, Becky stood with her toes in the clear, cool water. She felt both exposed and excited. She looked around and saw Rob walking down to join her in his swimming shorts. Behind him the little beach and the path back up to the cliff top were empty. Rob took her hand and together they waded deeper. There were stones under their feet, little round pebbles polished smooth by the waves, but her feet were too numb to feel them. When the water swished up her thigh and splashed onto her stomach she gasped. She looked across at Rob.
"It fucking is cold," she said.
In response he just took a deep intake of breath. "Yeah. I lied a bit," he said. "But we're in now." A moment later that was true as he pushed himself forward and dived into the water. For a second or two he was gone, and Becky watched his body swim away from her under the cold water. Then she copied him and plunged forward.
Becky had swum weekly until her early teens, even entering some competitions until she managed to convince her mother that it wasn't the future she saw for herself. The training had made her comfortable in the water, and now she opened her eyes, watching the rocks – magnified under the water – slip past her. When she broke surface it was straight into a smooth easy stroke, and she quickly overtook Rob with his weak breaststroke. When her muscles were warm she stopped and trod water to wait for him. Looking down she could still see the bottom. The sunlight played on the rocks below her.
"It's just around there," Rob breathed heavily when he caught up, and carried on swimming past her. She had forgotten where he wanted to go, but set off again, following him around the edge of the tiny bay. She felt a moment's fear as they came close to the headland, but once she saw there was another bay just around it, she relaxed. It was smaller than the main bay, but still had a place where they could come ashore. When they climbed out she felt the instant warming of the sun.
It was a beautiful spot. Here, the cliff behind them was steep, so that anyone on the path above would never see the little beach below. And above the beach, even more secluded, there was a small grassy area. Smooth weathered rocks formed an encircling wall around them, and the ground underneath was short springy grass.
"This is awesome!" Becky exclaimed. "A secret beach!" But when she swung to look at Rob his expression surprised her. He was looking at the way the water was dripping from her swimsuit. He looked around, then promptly sat down on the grass, and held out his hand for her to do the same.
When they were lying down together Rob's arm stayed on her. He began running his finger across her bare stomach, then higher to her breasts.
"Erm, Rob?" she asked. "What if someone comes along?"
"They won't." He rolled onto his side, leaned over and kissed her. Becky responded only half-heartedly, so that Rob quickly pulled back.
"Honestly, I haven't seen anyone all day, not even at that other beach where you can get to. No one’s going to find us here.” He moved his hand further down her belly and onto the wet fabric of her bikini bottom.
“Rob! What’s got into you?” Becky asked. But she was beginning to waver now.
“You have. You always have.” Rob leaned over to kiss her again.
Forty-Six
When they were finished they lay back, breathless on the grass. For a short while Becky had been able to forget how exposed they were, out in the open air, but now she felt like the very cliffs around them might have watched what they just did. She picked up her bikini, wrung out the remaining water, and quickly pulled it back on. Beside her Rob did the same with his shorts. When they were at least partially clothed, she felt better.
"I'm hungry now," she said, and Rob laughed.
They swam back keeping pace with each other, and this time Becky didn't feel the cold at all. Instead she felt almost overwhelmed with how lucky she was. Lucky to have met a boy like Rob. A boy who loved her so much he sometimes literally couldn’t resist her. Lucky to have found a job like they had, in such an incredible location. Lucky also that they could afford to take it – Julia's bursary had relieved them of the financial worries that affected most of her friends. She almost didn't want the swim to end, but as they re-rounded the little headland and saw the first beach, Becky's sense of peace was suddenly interrupted. Pulled up on the shore, not twenty metres from where Rob had left his camera gear, was a small sailing dinghy, its sails lowered into the boat. And on the beach were an older couple, complete with old-style orange life jackets.
"No one about, huh?" She turned to Rob.
"Whoops," he said in response.
"Do you think they saw anything?" Becky said. She was a little worried now, but not very. Besides, the logic of the situation reassured her. They hadn’t seen the boat from the other bay, and even if it had sailed past, they probably would have been invisible in their spot on the shore.
"I don't think so," Rob replied. "They would have come from the mainland side. Wouldn't they?"
Becky gave a theatrical shudder anyway, and an indulgent smile.
But the couple appeared to be paying them no attention at all. They were exploring the beach, and as Rob and Becky swam slowly closer to the shore, they seemed to be inspecting something in the rockpools at the north side of the inlet. And then they disappeared completely, behind a ledge of rock. It gave Rob and Becky the opportunity to come ashore and get back to where they had left their clothes. Becky felt a little exposed again, running up the beach in her bikini with the knowledge of how, moments before, she hadn’t even been wearing that, but when she looked across the couple was still out of sight. Quickly, she used Rob's towel to dry herself and then as a shield to remove her wet bikini and slip into her clothes. Rob was less bashful. He simply turned his back and pulled his wet shorts off, showing his white behind. His timing couldn't have been better, since the other couple reappeared moments after he had pulled his jeans up.
Now that they were decent, it was almost impossible for the two couples not to acknowledge each other. There was no way that Rob and Becky couldn't see the sailing dinghy, and for their part, the couple sailing it must have wondered who had left expensive-looking camera equipment unattended in such an isolated spot. So when she felt the man's eyes on her, Becky raised a hand. But rather than nod, or raise his hand in return, as she expected him to do, he made a different gesture which she didn't understand. Becky watched as he walked back to his dinghy. She noticed now that the couple had a dog with them, a young Border Collie.
"Come on, let's eat," Rob said. He was sounding much more relaxed now. He pulled her bag towards her and began to dig inside i
t. But before he could hand her any food Becky's eye was caught by a glint of dull silver in the rocks nearby. At the same moment Becky realised the man had now left the boat and was walking towards them, a plastic shopping bag held in both hands in front of him.
"I say," he called out as he drew near. Becky and Rob both stopped what they were doing and waited.
"I'm really sorry," the man went on as he came close enough to speak normally. "But I'm afraid I have some bad news."
There was a moment when Becky was baffled. What bad news could this total stranger possibly have for her? Unless they had seen her and Rob in the other bay? She glanced at Rob who was frowning too.
"We didn't realise there was anyone else here when we landed," the man said. He had a brown moustache tinged with grey, and its corners jiggled up and down as he spoke. "So when we were letting the sails down we just let Jess run around. We didn't notice what she was up to until it was too late."
Rob was still frowning, but by now Becky had worked out what had happened, and she began to smile a broad smile.
"I'm afraid she found her way into your bag there," he pointed to Rob. "She had her way with your lunch. She's a terrible thief. I thought I’d better come and confess."
Now Becky could see clearly that the glint of silver was the shredded remains of the foil that had been wrapped around the sandwiches.
"Here." The man held out the bag he had been holding. "We packed far too much to eat anyway."
The dog – Jess – now came running up, and began sniffing at the empty remains of the foil, and the man shooed her away. Becky realised what was in the bag the man was offering.
"We couldn't," Becky told him. "We can't. We can’t take your lunch."
"No, really. I absolutely insist," he told her, his moustache jiggling. "Jess has eaten yours and it's a long way to the shop."
Becky looked at Rob, seeing the laughter in his eyes. She took the bag. Inside was another packet of sandwiches, this time wrapped in Clingfilm.
"Tuna fish," the man said by way of explanation. "Not caught on the way unfortunately, but still fresh enough!"
Forty-Seven
Neither Rob nor Becky made the connection, the following evening, as they chatted with Ted in the Hunsey Tavern. Despite their initial plans they hadn't come back as regularly to the pub – the fact that most of the guests from the Lodge headed there for their evening meal made it feel a bit too much like still being on duty. The subsistence salary for the job also meant they didn't have the budget for eating out every night. But they only had two rooms filled by then, and Becky was still keen to get out and explore the island more.
And while Ted hadn't exactly come to treat them as long-term Hunsey locals, he wasn't averse to sharing the local island gossip.
"You allow dogs over at the lodge?" he asked Rob, who frowned then shook his head.
"No, we’re not allowed. Why?"
"Hmmm. Good thing probably.” Ted paused for a minute, and it seemed he might be finished. But then he continued. “Couple staying with me, in the rooms upstairs, they come every year, with their little doggy." He stopped again and sucked in air through his teeth.
"It picked up some poison yesterday." Becky felt a chill, as if she knew where this might go.
"Was in a right state. Looked like it was already dead when they took it to the vets." He shook his head. "Vet managed to save it but it cost a pretty packet, and right ruined their holidays.”
Becky's hand went to her mouth. "Oh, that's awful," she said.
"Reckoned it was probably something put down for rats."
While Rob was able to recover his mood fairly quickly, Becky felt a sadness that lasted for the rest of the evening. And even though they wouldn’t have any dog owners staying with them at the lodge, she still shared a warning on its Facebook page.
Really sad news here on Hunsey, a visiting dog unfortunately picked up some rat poison and nearly died. Really horrible. Please be careful if ever using these products!
Forty-Eight
The Rural Dorset Creative Circle was held in the church hall in the village of Spifton Matravers every Friday evening. The activities undertaken there ranged from poetry recitals, reviews of current and classic literature, music appreciation and discussions on any cultural affairs that might be taking place or upcoming in the area from where the group drew its members. The actual agenda for each week was emailed out in advance by Marjorie, the group's organiser and its driving force. However, the real reason that anyone actually came, although never listed on the email, was to have a good old gossip.
Almost all the members were in some way creative – or aspired to be so. There was Roger, a keen amateur local archaeologist, who had written a number of books and pamphlets on the history and pre-history of Dorset, which were available in the gift shop of the Dorchester Museum. There was Amy, a talented musician who – had she not felt an obligation to stay loyal to Dorchester District Council's planning department – might even have had a career with her folk music. There was Marjorie herself, who was a prolific, if not particularly talented, poet.
Another regular attendee of the group was one Geoffrey Saunders. Indeed, the regular Friday meeting was often the highlight of his entire week.
It hadn't always been this way for Geoffrey. In fact, it was only two cruel rolls of life's dice that had diverted Geoffrey from a very different existence where he would never even have heard of the Rural Dorset Creative Circle.
Fifteen years earlier Geoffrey had been a promising member of a team of insurance investigators – an intrepid band who visited businesses to assess whether their claims of damaging fires, high value thefts, or expensive accidents were actually made fraudulently to secure handsome insurance pay offs. The then thirty-year-old Geoffrey was a tenacious investigator whose insightful approach had cracked several high profile cases. He was regarded as someone who could ‘think out of the box’, too. It was Geoffrey who argued that claims should only be accepted in a handwritten form, and who brought in graphology experts to look for swirls and loops of certain letters. But it was also Geoffrey who volunteered to help organise the Christmas parties, and who engaged most on the occasional team building days. Most in the company assumed that, when his time came, Geoffrey would head up the team, and from there it was not a big stretch to assume he might even climb into the upper echelons of the company itself.
When Geoffrey came to work one morning with an ultrasound scan of his wife Anne's belly, and inside it the foetus of their baby girl, there was very real happiness for him and his new family. But rather than marking the beginning of a joyous new chapter in Geoffrey’s life, it was really the beginning of the end.
The pregnancy proceeded normally at first. Anne suffered a little from morning sickness but nothing to make anybody alarmed. Yet at the twenty-week check, the midwife discovered she had unusually high blood pressure. A urine test was arranged. This revealed the presence of proteins that the doctors agreed was a possible sign of pre-eclampsia. It was a rare condition that in a very small number of cases could lead to more serious issues closer to the birth. But equally it could not. At this point the odds were very much on the side of Anne and her actuarial husband.
But as the baby grew inside her, so did the list of problems that the doctors became aware of. The sickness didn’t ease up. Anne suffered from dizzy spells, and terrible headaches. And then, just before Anne began her maternity leave, and over breakfast one morning, she dropped her cereal spoon and started to jerk violently. Moments later she had slipped from the chair and continued convulsing on the floor. Geoffrey was upstairs getting dressed, but he came sprinting down, only to be confronted with his heavily pregnant wife wide-eyed on the floor and foaming at the mouth. He didn’t panic, he knew what to do – they’d read all the books by then. So he also knew what it was before the doctors confirmed it – it was a seizure brought on by the now-developed condition of eclampsia. That first seizure turned out to be just a mild one.
It was
the beginning of the end. Despite a cocktail of drugs the seizures kept coming, until there was no choice but to perform an emergency caesarean, under general anaesthetic. When Anne woke from that, and Geoffrey had to tell her their daughter was stillborn, he thought it was the hardest thing he would ever have to face. But just a week later he realised that was wrong. At midnight the following weekend, Anne went into cardiac arrest as a result of the trauma on her body.
She died before Geoffrey could get to the hospital.
Arguably, Geoffrey died that night too, since he would never be the same man again.
Initially he was simply stunned by how quickly life could turn. And when that wore off, Anne’s death provoked a profound, and some felt ill-considered re-evaluation of what remained of his life. True, he probably had never dreamed as a boy of becoming an insurance investigator - after all, who did? But was that a good enough reason to leave his job? To leave London and hide away in the middle of nowhere? His friends thought not, but they were unable to change his mind, because hiding away was what Geoffrey wanted to do. He didn’t want to recover. Not when Anne wouldn’t. Not when their baby girl couldn’t.
But as Geoffrey learnt from bitter experience, even the hardest pain is softened by time, and his kindly nature eventually shone through from the blackness. Geoffrey had no urgent need to work since Anne had been covered with an excellent life insurance policy (one of the perks of the job). So he volunteered for local good causes, as many as he could find. He finally admitted to himself that what he had dreamed about as a boy was to be a policeman – and being a bit old to start down a whole new career path, he instead tried his hand at detective fiction. Though he never thought he had much talent for it, it was these stories that led Geoffrey to respond to an advert in a Dorchester newsagents for the inaugural meeting of the Rural Dorset Creative Circle.
The Glass Tower Page 23
