The couple had gone immediately to look the house over. Geoff, a handyman himself, and with some useful contacts in the building trade, saw no reason why they shouldn’t go ahead and start drawing up plans.
‘It’s more spacious than it looks from the outside.’
Geoff paused on the road to look back at the old building with its dipping roofline, small windows and cluster of outbuildings. Inside was a peculiar hotch-potch of old and fairly new, the preponderance of dark beams and flagged floors vying uncomfortably with various less than attractive attempts at modernization.
Outdated lead water pipes snaked along ceilings and disappeared through holes drilled into the thick stone walls. The electrics looked lethal. Seeing the house through Geoff’s eyes for the first time, Thea felt a twinge of doubt.
‘Bit of a mess, isn’t it?’ she said, biting her lip nervously.
‘So it needs gutting and a complete makeover.’ Geoff shrugged. ‘We can do it up to suit ourselves. We’ve loads of time. And it’s a good, solid building with great views of the estuary. The lounge could be really something with those exposed beams and the flagstones resurfaced. I wouldn’t mind betting we’ll find an original inglenook behind that hideous modern fireplace. Nice-sized kitchen. Have you any idea how you’d like it to look?’
‘Not yet. I’ve asked Bryony to pick up some brochures from that new DIY store.’
Bryony worked in a boutique in Birkenhead, and was often called upon to carry out some small errand while she was in town.
‘I think we need to keep the kitchen low key and natural. Lots of white, with maybe some walls taken back to the original brick?’
‘I agree.’ Geoff took her hand in his. ‘Chin up, love, we’re in no hurry. There’s loads of time.’
‘Loads of time to fall out over it, don’t you mean?’ Thea said with a mischievous sideways glance.
He gave her hand a squeeze.
‘That’ll be the day! When did you and I ever have a cross word? Not counting the time I put a white mouse in your school bag, of course!’
Stray tendrils of hair whipped by the wind that seemed constantly to blow here strayed across her face, blocking her vision. Brushing them away carelessly, Thea went into Geoff’s arms.
Life was good. She had a career she enjoyed, she had Geoff, the prospect of a lovely home and, of course, she had her ponies. Even Dancer hadn’t turned out the worry she’d anticipated. With Dominic keeping an eye on the injury and regular treatment and care, the little mare was improving fast.
‘Dancer by name and dancer by nature,’ Dominic had commented lightly on his next visit.
‘She’s registered as Dawn Dancer,’ Thea told him. ‘I haven’t named any of the foals yet. I can never make up my mind which to keep.’
‘You’ll have to let something go or you’ll be overrun.’
‘So Geoff keeps telling me. Doesn’t make it any easier, though. What about you? How are you finding your new job?’
‘Sure, I like it fine. Everyone’s friendly and there’s plenty of scope here for equine work. Oh, there’s something I wanted to ask you. My boss mentioned you were secretary to the local history group. I wouldn’t mind joining.’
‘Great! I’ll look out an application form. We meet every second Wednesday of the month at the church hall. We take trips to places of interest, digs, the usual things. They’re a good crowd. You’ll enjoy it.’
I’m sure.’ Dominic held her gaze for just a little longer than necessary and, to her chagrin, Thea had found herself blushing.
Richard drew up by the village green at Willaston, where Tracey stood waiting for him. She looked young and carefree in her blue and white striped top and white cargo trousers. Her glorious auburn hair shone and she carried a white canvas shoulder bag which she waved in greeting.
Richard leaned across to open the passenger door for her.
‘Hi, sorry I’m late. We had trouble with one of the tractors. Managed to get it sorted, though. Dad needs it tomorrow. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, sliding into the seat, planting a kiss on his lips and latching up the safety belt – all performed in one easy, fluid movement. Her amber eyes smiled across at him, mischievous, provocative.
‘Have you said anything to yours folks yet?’
Richard checked for oncoming traffic, then he released the brake, sending the car gliding smoothly away.
‘I haven’t had the chance yet, love. Well, there was Thea’s engagement party. I didn’t want to spread a cloud over that. Then what with the silaging and the haylage it’s been all go. I might even wait until the corn harvest is over and done with. Dad’ll be more relaxed then.’
‘But, that’s not till September and we’re due to go off on tour then. It won’t give them time to get used to the idea.’
‘It’s best this way, trust me.’
‘You know I do.’ She glanced out. ‘Where are we heading?’
‘The Thatch at Raby? It’s a nice evening. We can take our drinks outside and talk.’
Smiling, Tracey reached out and rested her hand lightly on his arm for a moment in one of the impulsive little gestures he loved so much, then she sat back to enjoy the drive through the gentle Wirral countryside.
Richard drove fast but safely, his sun-browned hands sure on the steering wheel, his clear-cut profile set, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was casually dressed in a tan-coloured polo shirt and lightweight trousers a few shades darker.
No one would have placed him as a farmer’s son who had been up at first light and done a full day’s physical work on the land. His hands, strong, sinewy, the fingers long and tapered, gave him away as the musician he yearned to be. He had started with the guitar as a seven-year-old at school. Now he played classical, blues, jazz, rock – anything. He loved all kinds of music.
Richard grinned suddenly.
‘What’s so funny?’ Tracey asked.
‘I was thinking of Dad when he got me my first tenor sax. I think it was for my fourteenth birthday. I couldn’t put the thing down. Dad said it sounded like a cow in labour!’
They both laughed, well aware of how far Richard had come since those early days. At school a bunch of them had got together and formed a jazz band. The years had seen some chopping and changing within the group, but Tracey and Richard had remained constant.
Eventually the band had settled down to its present form. The bookings had rolled in; first the youth club, then the local jazz society which had a keen following. They called themselves the Richie Dene Band – Dene being Richard’s grandmother’s maiden name.
They were now booked for gigs all over the north-west, and what was more, the sessions were satisfyingly lucrative. Despite his depleted wage packet from the farm, Richard was never short of cash.
In the autumn, all five players and Tracey planned to pack in their jobs and head for Ireland, where the jazz scene was big, and a twelve-week tour was scheduled.
The very thought brought a surge of excited anticipation to Richard, swiftly quelled by the prospect of having to tell his parents that he wouldn’t be around to work on the farm. He loved his parents deeply and respected their views and values, and knew how hard his news would hit them.
But he had to do it. He wasn’t a farmer and had never wanted to be one. The land and the livestock that were life and soul to his father left Richard not exactly cold, but with the clear certainty that this wasn’t his path in life. Music sang in his being every moment of the waking day and sweetened his dreams at night.
Hanging on his bedroom walls were his guitars – bass, classical and rhythm, a banjo, mandolin, trumpet, saxophone, French horn … and he played them all. Bookshelves were crammed with sheet music and books about jazz greats. His CD collection was legion; nobody ever had trouble wondering what to get Richard for birthdays or Christmas.
They arrived at the pub and took their drinks outside. Settled, the conversation turned inevitably to the tour.
‘Mum’s be
ing great about it,’ Tracey confided. ‘She’s running me up some lovely evening outfits. It’s great having a mum in the rag trade.’
‘Your mum’s a star,’ Richard agreed.
‘Oh, did you notice Thea and Geoff at the club the other night?’ Tracey went on.
He nodded.
‘I let it slip to Thea about the tour. She’s pleased for us, though she understands the trouble it’s going to cause.’
‘And Bryony?’
Richard almost choked on his orange juice. ‘You’re joking! My kid sister could no more keep a secret than fly to the moon!’
Bryony and her best mate, Liz, had met up for lunch at the salad bar of a popular café on Grange Road. Beyond the window the stream of Birkenhead traffic ebbed and flowed in rhythm to the traffic lights on the corner.
‘I really envy your sister,’ Liz said, checking her hair in the window, spiked this week in hues of electric blue. Evidently satisfied with her slightly bizarre appearance, Liz went on, ‘She’s one of those people everything goes right for. I should be so lucky.
Bryony grimaced.
‘Me too. Trust Thea to have a guy like Geoff Sanders.’
‘Oh?’ Liz studied her friend through narrowed, light-blue eyes. ‘Fancy him yourself, then?’
Bryony coloured guiltily.
‘I think he’s OK, that’s all. Anyway, he’s far too old for me. Twenty-six! Thea’s twenty-four.’
Liz studied her false nails.
‘My landlady knows a woman whose kids are in Thea’s class. She says they love her to bits.’
‘That’s no surprise. Thea’s great with kids, sort of firm but fair.’
‘I’ve never fancied having kids myself. What about you?’
Bryony considered, pouring the last of her sparkling water into the glass.
‘I guess if you’re happily married and settled with someone, then children are the next step.’
She looked up at Liz.
‘Yeah, I would, actually. Just like my mum, always tearing round after us, picking us up from swimming or tennis, dropping us off at youth club. She took everything in her stride and still managed to help Dad on the farm.’
Liz looked at her friend as if she had taken leave of her senses.
‘Sounds like hard work to me! Anyway, I thought you wanted to come with me, back-packing in Australia.’
‘I do!’ Bryony grinned, bright and bubbly. ‘Get a grip, Liz. I don’t mean I’m having kids tomorrow. Got to find a man first.’
Her smile faded as Geoff Sanders’s face rose in her mind. Trust Thea to have all the luck. If it was her, she’d have Geoff to the altar double quick, before anything happened to change his mind.
Thea glanced around the church hall – a spacious, convenient, if chilly, venue, where the Parkgate local history group were assembling with much chatter and a some laughter. On the long central table was a large cardboard box of documents, out of which members were taking random piles before splitting into groups. Spotting Dominic enter the room, Thea went to greet him.
‘Hi. You made it, then?’
‘Just about. I swear evening surgery makes a point of being extra crowded when you particularly want to get away!’ He laughed his words off. ‘Well, Thea. No other half tonight?’
‘Not so far, though there’s time yet.’ Thea paused. She had been in two minds whether to come herself. A headache had niggled all day, and she had felt generally out sorts.
Maybe she was coming down with the bug that was raging through the school, she thought. But it was a lovely evening and anyway, as a member of the committee she felt obliged to attend.
‘Chances are Geoff has been held up,’ she went on. ‘There’s always something needs doing on a farm, as you know.’
Dominic gave a nod.
‘That’s livestock for you! In fact, I was at the Sanders’s place this morning. They had a cow in trouble calving.’
‘I bet it was a bull calf – they always cause the most trouble.’
‘A heifer, so she was, and Mike Sanders couldn’t keep the grin from his face. The mother’s been a big prize winner and he thought the calf looked as promising. They really know their cattle at Roseacre. Their Friesians are the best I’ve ever seen.’
‘Yes, they win loads with them. Is it a popular breed in Ireland?’ Thea asked, curious.
‘So-so.’ A shuttered look crossed the good-looking face, so fleeting that Thea thought she may have been mistaken. Then the smile was back.
‘So what’s on the agenda tonight?’
‘Well, one of the members went to a furniture and bric-a-brac auction and came out with that box of tricks you see on the table,’ Thea explained. ‘It’s full of old documents – maps, deeds to local properties, fishing rights … that sort of thing. It’ll take weeks to sort through it all. I expect there’s a good deal of rubbish amongst it, though there’s always the chance you might come across something really interesting.
‘Anyway, we thought the best thing was to sort it roughly into categories and then go from there. I’m doing house deeds and shops.’ She held up a fat bundle of yellowing papers. ‘Think I’ve landed myself in it. The legal wording takes some swallowing. It’s all herewith, hereto and what have you!’
‘Want some help?’
‘You’re on,’ Thea said, handing him a pile of papers.
For several minutes they worked in silence, sifting, sorting, placing the documents into separate piles. Dwelling houses, farmsteads, holdings, shop premises. All at once Thea let out a startled little gasp.
‘Look at this! It says The Harbour House. It must be a set of deeds to the place Geoff and I are going to do up. I thought Dad had them all.’
‘It’s easy for these things to go astray, particularly when the building’s got a bit of age about it. Is it all there?’
She sorted hastily through her pile and found another page. Dominic did the same and came up with the final section.
‘Well now, and isn’t that a turn up for the books?’
‘Isn’t it just!’ More excited by the minute, Thea ran her eye over the faded copperplate with its stilted wording. ‘It’s headed The Harbour House School For Boys. Goodness! I never knew it was once a school. I don’t think Mum and Dad did either.’
Dominic took the documents from her.
‘It says for fifteen boys aged from seven years to sixteen. Not very big, was it?’
‘No, but that’s how it was in those times. Does it give a date? Oh, yes, look, Twelfth Day of August in the Year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Thirty-Five. I’ve got to tell Geoff. When we break for coffee I’ll ring him.’
Her headache forgotten, Thea delved further into the box.
A little later, she went outside and took out her mobile phone. Geoff answered instantly.
‘Deeds, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘Wow!’
‘Geoff, the house was once a school and none of us knew. Isn’t that weird? I’ll take them home with me if you like, then you can see them.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t make the meeting tonight. Dad wasn’t feeling too well and by the time I’d done the milking and fed everything the evening was half over.’
‘Not to worry. How’s Mike now?’
‘He’s OK. Just been overdoing it. Look, I was going to call at the Harbour House later on.’
‘What for?’
‘I want to measure up outside.’
‘For a garage, you mean?’
‘No, a boat.’
Thea grinned. She might have known what Geoff’s priorities were.
‘Why not meet me there later?’ he continued. ‘And bring those deeds with you. We’ll read through them together.’
‘OK. See you later, darling. ‘Bye.’
Some time afterwards she was driving carefully along the main street known as The Parade, graced on one side with houses and small shops in a pleasing mix of black and white timber, sandstone and old brick, and on the other by the saltmarsh with its crisscrossing waterways and a
ncient low harbour wall.
As she travelled, the feeling of being out of sorts returned in full force. Putting a hand briefly to her hot forehead, Thea thought longingly of home. She half wished she hadn’t promised to meet Geoff, and then felt a rush of guilt. It would be good to see him and show him her find.
Her route took her right through the village and down a rutted farm track, at the end of which stood her future home. She drove round to the back of the house and pulled up on the weed-matted cobblestones of the yard.
Geoff hadn’t arrived yet, Thea saw. Leaving her car, she delved into her bag for the big black iron key to the premises and fitted it into the lock. The solid oak front door, its layers of paint scratched and scored by the years, swung open with a creak.
Making a mental note to bring a can of oil next time, Thea went on and through into the main living area. At the far end of the room was a bow window with a seat and she made for it thankfully, aware of a sickly weariness.
It was very quiet and warm in the window, with the last rays of the evening sun slanting in through the dirty panes of glass. Yawning, Thea recalled she still had things to do before she could turn in. She hoped Geoff wouldn’t be too long.
Dust motes jigged and swirled in the golden beam of light before her eyes. Fighting sleep, Thea thought she heard the surging of the tide against the harbour wall beyond, where no tide had come for decades. She frowned, too overcome with tiredness to be bothered to look. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to slumber.
‘In heaven’s name, wench! How many times do I have to tell you? Fetch me another flagon up from the cellar, won’t you?’
Polly Dakin steeled herself, hating the smell of brandy on her father’s breath, determined not to give in.
‘Father, it must be nearly the hour for the mail coach to arrive. The driver will need you to help change the horses. Remember last time? You stumbled and almost got trampled on. You mightn’t be so lucky again.’
Across the Sands of Time Page 2
