Ottercombe Bay, Part 1

by Bella Osborne

  ‘But now Reg has left you some money, could you try again with Gee-womb?’

  Daisy was already shaking her head. ‘No. I couldn’t trust him not to blow every penny. I’m better off on my own.’ She knew this was true, but she also knew it wasn’t that simple. Guillaume had hurt her greatly. It was rare that Daisy let down the barriers she had erected around her heart but she’d let him march in and he’d torn it to shreds. ‘Anyway, I like being on my own.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Tamsyn bluntly. Daisy looked taken aback. ‘I mean, you must miss your parents.’

  Daisy felt uneasy and pulled in a steadying breath. ‘Dad and I keep in touch. He seems happier in Goa. A little more at peace than he ever was in the UK. And of course, I miss Mum every day.’ Daisy thumbed her locket. She couldn’t begin to explain the emotions just thinking about her mother trawled up.

  Tamsyn patted her leg. ‘Your mum was lovely. It was sad she died. Such an awful accident.’

  Daisy swallowed. This was a subject she was uncomfortable discussing but she couldn’t let Tamsyn’s comment go unchallenged. ‘But we don’t know it was an accident.’

  Tamsyn became animated. ‘You don’t believe the rumours that your dad killed her, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Daisy. She was shocked by the statement, even though she was familiar with the rumours. Despite his best efforts, the suspicions had still reached her and she knew it was one of the main reasons they had left the area a few months after her mother’s death, just before her eighth birthday. ‘But someone else could have caused her death. We know she drowned but not how exactly. The inquest was an open verdict.’ This still haunted Daisy.

  Tamsyn bit her lip as if considering her next sentence. ‘Or it could have been suicide.’

  Daisy shook her head. This was an idea too awful to entertain. ‘But why? Why would she kill herself? She had people who loved her. Dad said she was the happiest person he knew.’ And she had me, she thought, how could she have left me? Daisy concentrated hard to keep control of the emotions starting to bubble inside.

  Sadness clouded Tamsyn’s face. ‘I guess we’ll never know,’ she said, giving Daisy’s leg another pat.

  Daisy paused for a moment while she considered something. She liked Tamsyn and she was beginning to feel she could trust her. She undid the clasp on the chain of her locket and handed it to Tamsyn. ‘I think this holds the key.’

  ‘There’s an actual key inside?’ Tamsyn’s eyes were wide like Bugsy’s.

  ‘No, I think it holds the clue to what happened to my mother.’

  ‘Is there a message engraved on it or a note inside?’ Tamsyn studied the locket closely.

  ‘No, there’s no message.’ Sometimes Tamsyn was hard work. ‘It was with my mother’s effects when the police handed them over. Dad has always maintained he’d never seen it before and even tried to give it back to the police but they insisted it was hers.’

  ‘So who’s right?’ asked Tamsyn.

  ‘I don’t know, but if my mother had it with her the night she died then I believe it holds the answer to what happened.’

  Chapter Seven

  When Saturday morning dawned Daisy wasn’t entirely sure how she had been roped into going to the local fête. She knew it meant a few locals selling plants and a bunch of screaming kids high on candy floss, but Tamsyn was excited and desperately wanted Daisy to go too. Perhaps she just wanted to share the ordeal.

  The little town was humming with activity as yet more cars squeezed into the already overfilled place. Daisy had wrestled her wayward hair into a flowery bandana and put on the only summer dress she owned. They joined the throng of people heading towards the recreation ground.

  Daisy was stopped at the gates by an overly smiley woman. ‘Fifty pence entry, please.’

  ‘What?’ said Daisy astonished. ‘You’re charging people actual money to come in?’ Daisy chuckled but she handed over her entrance fee and took the proffered leaflet.

  ‘It’s a shame Coral couldn’t come,’ said Tamsyn, appearing at her side. Today she was wearing a bustier top, floaty skirt and flip-flops that didn’t match.

  ‘She’s saved herself fifty pence – that’s very wise.’ Daisy scanned the leaflet. It was a timetable of events. ‘Events’ seemed a bit grand for the local fête.

  ‘I’m going to look at the buggy racing first and later the falconry display,’ said Tamsyn. ‘You coming?’

  ‘Buggy racing?’ It was like being in a parallel universe where Ottercombe Bay had woken up to the wonders of the twentieth century – still a century behind but, hey, it was progress, thought Daisy. Clearly the fête had advanced somewhat since she’d last been. She followed Tamsyn with a spring in her step and her expectations raised.

  Although Daisy couldn’t argue that there was buggy racing it was on a smaller scale than she’d been expecting. ‘They’re model cars.’ Daisy pointed at one speeding past and watched it hit a bump, momentarily leaving the grass.

  ‘No, they’re remote control,’ said Tamsyn, waving at someone she knew who was grappling with a controller. They both watched as a buggy on the other side of the course crashed into a tyre wall. ‘Whoops, let’s check out the other racing,’ said Tamsyn striding off.

  The other racing had Daisy standing there literally open-mouthed. ‘Goat racing? Since when did you get racing goats?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, they’ve been doing this for a few years. It’s great. They used to have teddies for jockeys but they kept getting eaten. You can bet on them,’ said Tamsyn pulling out her purse and heading over to a large blackboard where their old head teacher was frantically updating odds on an interesting list of names.

  ‘Hiya, Mr Templeton,’ said Tamsyn.

  ‘Oh, hello Tamsyn. Who are you betting on?’

  ‘Any top tips?’ she asked with an exaggerated wink.

  ‘Couldn’t say but Hairy Potter has failed to finish twice so you might want to steer clear of him,’ he said, with a tap of his nose. He looked past Tamsyn and watched Daisy for a minute while she giggled at the names on the board.

  ‘I know you as well don’t I?’ He narrowed his eyes. Daisy stopped giggling and swallowed hard.

  ‘Daisy Wickens. Hello Sir,’ she said feeling seven years old again.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Daisy. And where did life after Ottercombe Primary take you?’ He was looking genuinely interested, which made the very unimpressive answer all the harder to muster.

  Thankfully Tamsyn stepped in. ‘She’s been travelling round the whole of Europe.’ She emphasised this by waving her arms in a giant circle and almost knocking off Mr Templeton’s glasses.

  ‘Careful there, Tamsyn. That is wonderful, Daisy, well done you for continuing your education by taking in some of this wonderful planet. Will you be having a bet with us today?’

  Daisy opened her mouth and closed it again. Everyone always assumed that travelling meant she’d been on one long holiday when in reality she’d been an itinerant worker living on a sporadic and pitiful income, which wasn’t the sort of education he meant but she loved his optimism. ‘Thanks. I’ll have a pound on Billy the Kid, please.’

  ‘Good choice,’ he said, taking her money and giving her a ticket.

  ‘One pound on Barb. E. Cue and a pound on Hot to Trot. Thanks, Mr T,’ said Tamsyn, taking her tickets and leading Daisy over to a roped-off area. In the ring were some miserable-looking teenagers hanging on to a number of recalcitrant goats of varying sizes. Daisy was about to put her ticket away when a large goat snatched it from her hand and promptly ate it.

  ‘Hey Gollum!’ said the youth on the other end of the goat’s rope.

  ‘He’s eaten my betting slip!’ said Daisy, throwing up her arms.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the youth, dragging the goat away.

  ‘Great. I hope I don’t win now,’ said Daisy, as they watched the goats being taken round to the starting line.

  ‘Mr Templeton will honour your bet anyway. He always liked you at sc
hool,’ said Tamsyn. The truth was, like all the teachers, he pitied Daisy. She was always the poor little girl whose mother died. She could tell what they were thinking by the way they looked at her.

  They squeezed through the crowd to get a spot where they could see down the track to the finish line.

  ‘Runners and riders ready?’ asked the compère to nobody in particular. ‘On your marks, get set, go!’ A length of board was dropped and the goats were free to run the course. It appeared they all knew the drill as they set off at a good pace with only one stopping to try and steal a child’s ice-cream.

  ‘And I’m a Llama takes an early lead with Billy the Kid and Vincent Van Goat close behind …’

  ‘Oh great, I’m second,’ said Daisy, unsure if she was pleased or already worrying about the conversation she would have to have with Mr Templeton: Sorry Sir, the goat ate my homework … I mean betting slip.

  ‘I think mine’s at the back,’ said Tamsyn, trying to lean over for a better view.

  The commentator continued ‘… and Hot to Trot and Norfolk Enchants are the back-markers as we start the second and final lap. The carrots are now on the course so watch those runners gallop home.’

  He wasn’t wrong. The goats seemed to sense the arrival of the treats now in a tub at the end of the course and they went even faster.

  ‘… and as they come to the line the winner is Billy the Kid, with Goaty McGoatface in second and I’m a Llama in third.’

  ‘Ooh, you’ve won a fiver,’ said Tamsyn happily.

  Perhaps it was worth an embarrassing conversation with Mr Templeton after all. As it turned out he was completely lovely about it and she hadn’t been the first that day to have their ticket eaten, which made her feel a little better, especially when he reassured her the goat would be fine. Daisy put her five pounds away quickly to avoid a similar incident.

  They saw a crowd gathering nearby for another event and made their way to the front. They got there just in time to see a man raise his arm and say ‘Take the strain.’ Followed almost immediately by ‘Pull!’

  ‘Now this is something I am happy to pay fifty pence to see,’ said Daisy, whilst she and Tamsyn admired the sixteen men in straining shorts and tight t-shirts battling in the Tug of War competition.

  ‘There’s Jason,’ hollered Tamsyn, wildly pointing to the middle of the team on the right. Daisy was distracted by the person behind him. She was working her way up from his muscular thighs and perfectly rounded backside when she realised it was Max. His biceps were literally bulging as his team started to inch backwards. It was a most appealing sight to witness. Their anchor stumbled and in the confusion to get everyone back on their feet the other team took the advantage and pulled them over the line. Max looked like he was swearing under his breath until he glanced up and saw Daisy. She felt caught out and threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, which was behind her, but hopefully he wouldn’t think she was ogling him.

  The second round was over all too quickly but thankfully Jason and Max’s team won so it all hung on the final pull.

  ‘This is really exciting,’ said Tamsyn, her face total proof of her statement.

  ‘Take the strain,’ said the judge and both Daisy and Tamsyn tilted their heads to one side in unison as they watched the men’s muscles swell in anticipation. ‘Pull!’ The other team must have had a lucky first round because within seconds Jason and Max were inching backwards and the contest was over. Daisy was quite disappointed, she had been comparing muscles along the row and now they were all dispersing.

  ‘Best of five?’ shouted Daisy and everyone turned around including Max. He strode over, a frown etched on his forehead.

  ‘You’re still here then,’ he said.

  ‘Obviously,’ said Daisy, sensing the hostility emanating from him.

  ‘Thought you’d have run off by now.’ He indicated running with his fingers and chuckled. What had she done to him? It was him who had let her walk half the way home with two heavy boxes, she should be mad at him. And now she thought of it, she was.

  ‘I’m not stopping long though. I’ve far better things to do than hang around this provincial backwater.’

  Max’s eye twitched. ‘Don’t let us simple folk keep you from your big ambitions.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, you won’t,’ said Daisy firmly. Why did Max irritate her so much and how did it escalate so quickly?

  ‘We should go and get seats for the falconry display.’ Tamsyn tugged at Daisy’s arm pulling her away.

  Despite the altercation with Max, Daisy was enjoying the fête. It wasn’t what she had initially thought, or what the events schedule had led her to believe, it was far more entertaining. She chuckled as she passed a wheelbarrow full of cans of beer surrounded by disappointed men checking raffle tickets.

  A little girl skipped past with a bright pink teddy bear, hugging it so tightly Daisy feared it might pop its stuffing. Her mind filled with a memory of being seven years old and at the fête with her mother, the last summer before she died. Her dad had been working and it had taken her mum many goes to knock over the cans and win her a teddy. Her teddy had been white with a large yellow bow and she’d loved it dearly. Daisy was cheered by the memory but a lump caught in her throat and she realised she was crying. Even her happy memories made her sad, that was why she couldn’t stay. Daisy hastily wiped her eyes.

  The seats at the falconry display were a place on a hay bale, but Daisy wasn’t complaining. The cloudless sky was paint pot blue and the sun was gloriously warm. The falconry display was in a large arena and a series of T-shaped wooden posts had been knocked into the ground at various intervals. Daisy looked around, the ‘seats’ were filling up fast. An elderly man walked slowly into the arena dwarfed by a huge bird of prey on his gloved arm.

  Daisy looked closer. ‘That’s never Old Man Burgess. Is it?’

  ‘It is,’ said Tamsyn.

  ‘Bloody hell, have they embalmed him already? He must be at least a hundred.’ Daisy remembered the man being seriously old when she was a child and he appeared to have shrivelled up further and become even more prune-like.

  ‘Ninety-five,’ said Tamsyn. ‘He had a party just after Easter.’

  He had always reminded the children of a character from Scooby Doo and, true to their beliefs, he would regularly shout at the kids to get out of his garden, which only perpetuated the myth that he was up to no good. He looked frailer now, wobbling precariously when the large bird disembarked his arm and took to the first post.

  ‘Testing,’ came the Devonian voice with an added loud screech from the sound system. ‘Ahh that’s better. Good afternoon ladies … and gentleman, and welcome to the Ottercombe Bay … falconry display.’ He spoke as slowly as he walked. This could be a very long afternoon, thought Daisy.

  ‘Now, this is Nesbit … he is a sea eagle or a white-tailed eagle as they are sometimes called. The Latin name is … Haliaeetus albicilla. He’s six years old and … was bred in captivity. I have Nesbit’s favourite food here … I’m going to leave a little bit on each of these perches …’ Old Man Burgess continued to provide information about sea eagles as he walked the length of the arena placing what looked like bits of mince on each post. Nesbit was watching him closely and the audience was watching Nesbit, the children were enthralled. Old Man Burgess explained carefully what would happen next.

  ‘When I give the command Nesbit will fly to each perch in turn and then return to me here and that’s when you give him a … big round of applause.’

  Old Man Burgess gave a whistle and right on cue Nesbit took to the sky. He was impressive in full flight and a few oohs went up from the crowd as his vast wingspan propelled him across the arena, narrowly missing a few spectators near the edge. They all watched Nesbit get higher and higher with each rhythmic thrust of his wings and also further and further away as he flew out of the arena.

  Daisy leaned into Tamsyn and whispered. ‘Was he meant to do that?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’
came her hushed response.

  Muttering spread throughout the crowd as Nesbit became smaller and smaller.

  Old Man Burgess cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m afraid ladies and gentlemen … that’s the end of the falconry display but don’t forget Percy Winkle’s … racing ferrets will be in this arena in about half an hour’s time. Thank you.’ There was a final screech from the speakers and a smattering of weak applause. Daisy clutched her sides finally giving in to the laughter.

  ‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.’

  She had to pull herself together because Old Man Burgess was making a bee-line for them but she had a few minutes to compose herself given the speed he was walking. ‘’Allo Tamsyn, ’ow are you?’

  ‘Very well, thanks, Mr Burgess. I’m sorry about Nesbit. Will he come back?’ asked Tamsyn, anxiously biting her lip.

  ‘Don’t worry about Nesbit. He’s a little bugger, for sure, but he’ll be back when he’s … hungry. We’re still training him, my son and I. Still hopeful of releasing him one day.’

  ‘Around here?’ said Daisy rather loudly as she visualised what it might be like for a fish eagle to steal your chips or, worse still, poo on you from a great height.

  ‘No, no, no,’ chuckled Mr Burgess. ‘Isle of Mull, Scotland.’

  ‘Good. We have enough trouble here with the seagulls.’ She gave a grin but no one else was smiling. ‘Does he do this often?’ asked Daisy, trying hard to look serious.

  ‘Yes. He does bugger off quite a bit actually. But it could have been … worse.’ Mr Burgess nodded wisely.

  Daisy looked about her, there were a lot of disappointed faces and no eagle. ‘How could it be worse?’ she asked and Tamsyn shot her a look.

  ‘I once took him to a fête near Lyme Regis and they had a local owl … sanctuary there with the wee little owls all tethered to perches. Nesbit took to the air but … this time he went for one of the little owls. Tore it to shreds he did in front of the kiddies.’ Old Man Burgess was shaking his head and Daisy and Tamsyn were both looking wide-eyed and terrified. It was an image Daisy would struggle to erase.