by Liz Fenwick
‘Lovely dinner.’
Gabriella laughed and put another sausage on Jaunty’s plate.
Jaunty pushed it with her fork. ‘It was. Food always tastes better outside and beside the water. There’s a freshness to it.’
Gabriella shook her head. ‘If I’d pulled a few fish out of the creek and cooked them then I might agree, but supermarket sausages and bagged salad? I think not.’
‘You have no romance in you.’
‘In fact, you are right.’ Gabriella looked away, blinking.
‘Why?’ The word slipped out and now she couldn’t take it back. Gabriella stared at her.
‘I . . .’ Gabriella stopped. ‘Never mind.’ She stood and poured water over the burning charcoal.
Jaunty put her hand out to stop Gabriella but she was just out of reach. Then she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Pain stabbed her chest. She sputtered.
Gabriella swung around. ‘Jaunty!’ She fell to her knees and took Jaunty’s pulse. ‘Cough,’ she commanded.
Jaunty tried to oblige and some sound emerged. But she wasn’t having a heart attack. It was a different pain, an unfixable one.
Jaunty swatted Gabe away. ‘Don’t fuss. There’s nothing wrong.’
Gabe didn’t believe her.
‘Clear up these things and let me be.’ Jaunty waved her hand at the remains of their dinner but Gabe grabbed Jaunty’s wrist and felt for her pulse. It was normal and regular. Maybe Jaunty was right and she was fussing unnecessarily. God, she must relax, but it was not something she was good at any more.
Placing Jaunty’s plate back in front of her, Gabe cleared everything except that and the barbecue, which could wait until tomorrow morning. Scolding herself for arguing with Jaunty, Gabe climbed back to the cabin, reminding herself that she and Jaunty hadn’t lived together for years. It was bound to take some time for them to adjust to each other.
Gabe turned and looked down to the quay before it was out of view. Her grandmother sat holding her wine, staring at the boat with the red sails that was leaving the cradle of the creek. In the cabin Gabe deposited the dishes in the sink and sighed. She needed to treasure each moment with Jaunty, not lose them in worry.
Halfway down to the quay she heard Jaunty laughing, but not her normal laugh. It was lighter, higher pitched. In fact, if Gabe didn’t know better, she would call it playful. What on earth had caused it? Jaunty was alone on the quay, after all.
‘Your boat is beautiful and in such fine condition for an old lugger.’
‘Yes, Jezebel has been well loved and in my family since the twenties,’ a deep male voice replied. Gabe went rigid as she reached the last step on to the quay. Her grandmother was chatting to a tall man with loose dark curls and the boat in question was the same one they had watched earlier; now it was tied to the quay. Jaunty handed her uneaten sausage to the stranger.
‘Gabriella, there you are.’ Jaunty smiled and her eyes gleamed. The man turned to Gabe. In the dwindling light, his skin looked pale and his almond-shaped eyes secretive. She stood tall and breathed out slowly to release the tension that had gripped her when she heard the unknown voice.
‘This is Fin.’ Jaunty paused.
‘Fin Alexander.’ He smiled at Gabe.
‘He’s the owner of that fine boat, Jezebel.’ Jaunty’s voice caught on the name of the boat.
He held out his hand and Gabe realised hers were in fists. She forced them to unfold then wiped the sweat from them on to her jeans before she took his hand. His grip was firm and he had a warm smile, but there was something about him that niggled at the back of Gabe’s mind. She looked from her grandmother’s smiling face to his. What was it about him that had made Jaunty so bright? Gabe stepped back. Why was he here?
‘I thought I could ask this young man . . .’ Jaunty paused and sipped her wine ‘. . . if he would help me up to the cabin rather than you struggling with me.’ Jaunty beamed and Gabe blinked. Her grandmother seemed so perky all of a sudden. Reluctantly, Gabe assessed the stranger. His shoulders were broad and his cheekbones were almost classical. She guessed he was older than her by at least five years.
‘I can manage quite well. No need to ask a stranger,’ Gabe said, wondering what spell he had cast over Jaunty.
‘It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been swept up by a handsome man,’ Jaunty said, laughing.
Gabe reminded herself to limit Jaunty’s wine intake in the future. Somehow, the thought of Jaunty in the arms of a stranger was all wrong.
He took the piece of kitchen roll that Jaunty offered him. ‘More than happy to help.’
‘Then, thanks.’ Gabe forced her mouth into a smile and, as her lips stretched, the skin cracked. She wasn’t sure why she felt uncomfortable about this, but she did. If it had been Mike Gear or someone else from the village she would have been relieved not to have to carry her grandmother; maybe it was simply because she didn’t know this man that she was uneasy.
Jaunty extended her hand to Fin and he grasped the frail one.
‘Thank you,’ Jaunty said as he scooped her into his arms.
A quick glance showed Gabe that his muscles had barely registered her grandmother’s weight. She must feel like a feather to him. Gabe bent and collected the cushion from the quay, not quite sure what to do with herself. Jaunty was clearly drunk. Her accent had slipped into cut-glass mode and she was a woman that Gabe didn’t know.
With her arms wrapped around his neck, an expression she had never seen before crossed her grandmother’s face, followed by a fleeting smile. Gabe wasn’t sure her grandmother was here or lost in her own memories . . .
Gabe grabbed her grandmother’s empty plate and glass then followed them up to the cabin, trying not to admire the stranger’s firm bottom. He made light work out of what would have been a struggle for her, and when they reached the terrace he placed Jaunty carefully on her feet. He looked into the cabin and his glance lingered on Jaunty’s paintings. They were valuable and the thought crossed Gabe’s mind that he might be a thief.
Jaunty smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, Fin. Would you like a coffee?’
Gabe stared, astonished. Jaunty never entertained anyone. The woman protected her privacy above all and it had been a struggle to bring friends home. Only a few had been allowed to come, and never their parents. After a time, Gabe had given up trying. Looking at her suddenly animated grandmother, Gabe blamed the wine.
‘Thank you, but no. I need to secure the boat for the night.’ He smiled. ‘And many thanks for allowing me to use the quay.’
Gabe just stared at Jaunty. There was nothing else she could do.
He turned to Gabe. ‘Thank you for the sausage.’
‘Um . . .’ How was she supposed to respond to that? ‘Thanks for helping my grandmother.’ She looked at him then turned away from his questioning glance. He nodded to Jaunty then disappeared down the path, Gabe watching his dark figure until it was out of sight. The wind blew in from the east, rustling the trees, a sure sign the weather was about change, and when Gabe went into the cabin again, Jaunty had disappeared. Gabe found her in her room.
‘What was all that about?’
‘What, dear?’ Jaunty stifled a yawn. ‘So tired. Must be all the fresh air.’
And the wine, Gabe added silently. ‘How are you feeling now? I’d like to call the doctor.’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Jaunty said firmly. ‘Do not call the doctor. I am fine, just old.’ She began to undress, but when Gabe didn’t move she said even more firmly, ‘Goodnight, Gabriella.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Close it behind you.’
Gabe followed the order but then stood staring at the door.
Four
Gabe paced the sitting room, glancing at the phone. Jaunty had been adamant that the doctor should not be called, but Gabe wasn’t so sure. The peace of the evening had been shattere
d by the arrival of the man, and he had certainly been a help – Gabe would have struggled to get Jaunty up to the cabin – so she couldn’t pinpoint why, but unease filled her. The stranger’s dark eyes came to mind.
She went into the kitchen to do the dishes and saw there was some wine left in the bottle. Pouring it into a glass, she walked to the big window in the sitting room. Rain had arrived without warning, lashing the windows, and the winds assaulted the Monterey pines on the point. The eerie half-light that preceded lightning softened the details of the landscape and added to the tension in the air. Gabe sipped the wine, then took a few deep breaths, trying to loosen her shoulders. It didn’t work. She jumped when lightning heralded the thunder that swiftly followed. She remembered the storms of her childhood, how even at sixteen she had crawled into Jaunty’s bed seeking reassurance. After a few tut-tuts, Jaunty would wrap her arms around her and pull her close. And it had been a night like this when they had received the phone call that had brought them news of her father’s death. She hadn’t cried. She couldn’t – it hurt too much.
Gabe shook her head. That was a long time ago. She knocked back the wine in one gulp then coughed. Not a good idea. Placing the glass on the table, she decided she’d do the dishes in the morning. Rain pelted against the windows and rattled the frames. In the wind she heard a note and thought of Hannah. The girl had talent, but it was early days. At sixteen Gabe had been full of promise too. At least today she had sung. Her throat hadn’t closed, killing her voice. She should be thankful, but instead she was restless. So much had been lost.
Thunder boomed. The storm was growing. The trees, with their leaves still on, were at risk of being uprooted. The next flash of lightning revealed one almost bent in half with the force of the gust. Gabe counted fifteen seconds. The storm was still some way away, probably over Falmouth, wreaking havoc with the boats seeking shelter in the bosom of the harbour. But maybe it was further away than that. She counted the next interval. No, it wasn’t moving. It was content to release its fury in one spot for the moment, and it was building the tension inside her. She waited for the next crescendo before she checked on Jaunty. Her grandmother was peacefully asleep; she was fine. In her room, Gabe changed into an old T-shirt. As she pulled the covers over her head, the chorus of a hymn from school, ‘Hail Queen of Heaven’, came to her:
Refuge in grief, Star of the sea,
Pray for the mourner, Oh pray for me.
A tear slipped down her cheek and a draught pushed through a gap in the window. Gabe shivered, then fell into a half sleep, dreaming of standing on stage unable to produce a single note, until a loud crack sounded and she came fully alert. A tree or a large branch must have given way in the ferocity of the storm and she slipped out of bed to check Jaunty. Goosebumps covered her skin as she walked through the sitting room. She flicked the light switch but the lights didn’t come on. Maybe a tree had taken the power lines down. The rain drummed on the roof while the overgrown buddleia scratched on the window.
She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing so that she could listen for Jaunty’s gentle snores, but she heard nothing. Finding the torch on the kitchen counter, Gabe walked through the cabin, checking it and her grandmother. Maybe the shed or even the studio had been hit. Gabe grimaced, thinking about her piano, but there was nothing she could do about it tonight. The storm was moving closer and she stood by the sitting-room windows waiting for the next flash of lightning. Through the raindrops covering the glass she could just about make out the dark silhouettes of the pines on the point. Then the hairs on the back of her neck rose as she peered into the darkness and lightning flashed, revealing the creek below. There was someone in the water!
She ran to the kitchen and thrust her feet into wellies before racing out of the door, making sure it was tightly closed behind her. The steps on the path were slick and as she ran she slipped and landed on her backside, but she pulled herself up and continued. The quay appeared empty when she arrived, but then she saw the mast had snapped off the boat. The weak beam of the torch revealed debris but she didn’t see the stranger. Gabe shouted over the wind while the boat bashed against the quay. Lightning flashed again and she saw what looked like a body in the water. The storm was picking up pace like an orchestra. She kicked off her wellies, marked where she had seen the body, and slipped into the icy water.
Her whole being contracted with the cold but she forced herself into action. Every second counted, but without her torch and the advantage of the raised outlook, she was swimming forward by instinct. The tide was flowing out again, pulling everything, including Gabe, with it. She was a strong swimmer, but the water felt different, overpowering. What if she didn’t find him? She was treading water, trying to locate him, but the swell made everything difficult. The whole time she felt the current taking her out to sea. Then she heard a sound, a human sound. Lightning flashed and she spotted the body again and struck out towards it, thinking of the hymn again, changing the words as she swam. Pray for the mariner, Oh pray for me.
Jaunty’s eyes fluttered open. The wind rattled the windows and her curtains billowed in the draught. She climbed out of bed, cursing her stiff joints, and tied the curtains back. Lightning illuminated the landscape and created an etched print. She pressed the switch and the lamp flickered before it came fully on. Walking to her desk she picked up a piece of charcoal and swiftly sketched out the looming shapes of the trees; a study in light and dark.
Tonight the river had brought a young man, so like Alex she could almost believe it was him, and Jezebel. Her senses hadn’t been wrong. Had the stranger and lugger appeared now to help her to remember what had happened? Or was it more likely to remind her what she had lost?
Jaunty dropped the charcoal, rubbing her fingers together to removed the sooty remains. The wind howled and she thought she heard Gabriella singing an old hymn, but Jaunty knew it must be her desire to hear her sing that was making the wind’s whining through the trees sound like music. Collecting her pen and notebook she settled back into bed, looking up at the ceiling as a thump hit the roof. The light blinked but remained on. She looked at her watch, then the bedside table. It was one thirty but the alarm clock showed one. The power must have gone off at some point. She hoped Fin had secured his boat well. He should be protected from the worst of the storm in the creek. It was a haven and had always been.
This cabin has been my refuge although when I bought it, it didn’t feel that way. This room was cold and so damp. A local builder helped me to make it watertight and since his true passion was boats, much of the walls and ceiling are wood cladded. Even now when I look at the way he fitted the cupboards I think of a yacht.
When Philip and I arrived here it was barely habitable but it was safe, safe for me but not for a small child. I had to build walls and terraces so an active toddler didn’t fall off on to the rocks below. I was grateful for the safety of the trees that protected us from winter storms and I became quite proficient at providing for us, fishing and foraging. You, Gabriella, won’t remember, but for years our only water came from a well and I didn’t have electricity installed until the sixties.
What I had here was so different from my childhood.
Looking back I wonder how I managed at all – but I did. Just getting water from the well was a long project when Philip was little. The well . . . Now it’s closed off, not needed, but several times a day I used to make my way to it. Have you ever found it? I suspect not, as it is so overgrown, but people still visit it I think. I used to find things tied to the holly tree beside it. Some said it was a holy well. I never believed it but they said there had been a hermit who, like me, had sought refuge in this place away from the world. Many people had come here seeking miracles and forgiveness from him and from the water of the well in the wood.
Jaunty’s eyes kept closing and with a sigh she put the pen and paper away. Maybe sleep would come again. Shutting off the light, she closed her eyes and liste
ned. The wind called to her and stirred the emptiness within. Everything was changing with it. Maybe there was hope after all.
All her muscles ached and despite the exertion Gabe was freezing. She fought the current to swim across to the body. What she was doing was madness. How could she save someone when she was struggling with almost everything she had to beat the current? The next flash came and she found him just feet in front of her, but the water pulled him just out of her reach. White horses converged where the creek met the river. The north-east wind was whipping them up higher and she lost sight of him again, lost sight of the shore. The body drifted further away and she forced her arms out to reach him. There was no movement. He was either dead or out cold but she didn’t have time to check or she’d be dead before too long. What the hell was she doing? she asked herself. She wasn’t going to be able to save him and she would probably end up killing herself. But she had to try, she had to.
The one thing she could tell as she lifted him by the chin was that he was the man from the boat. If she had thought him big when he carried Jaunty, he felt enormous as she fought against the current to try and reach the bank. He was a dead weight, pulling them both down. She didn’t want to think about dead. He must still be alive. She must survive. The wind grew stronger, swirling above them, whipping water at them. Slowing down, she took in a mouthful of water. No! Mother of Christ, Star of the sea, Pray for the mariner, pray for me. The words ran through her head with each stroke. She changed arms and pulled harder but opened her mouth at the wrong time and took in water again. Her muscles complained and her kicking wasn’t as forceful as it needed to be. The pull of the river was winning. Her muscles seized and she began to go under. He stayed afloat, held up by his life vest. Forcing her legs into action she stayed above the water. She could see the bank of rock covered with holly branches. There was no way she could get them to safety there.
