Previously…

I put the cups in the sink for washing later and cast my eyes around the studio.

‘Now then,’ I said, ‘Let’s––’

My ’phone chirped. ‘Shit,’ I muttered under my breath.

Heather woke up and flexed her lungs, at the same time there was a knock on the door; I glanced at it and saw Jocasta and the girls outside. Philippa had her arm in a sling. I waved them in and answered my extremely persistent ’phone.

‘Yes?’ I snapped, none too politely.

‘It’s Dawn, you sound annoyed for some reason.’

‘Sorry, Dawn, can you hang on for half a mo’.’ I put my hand over the ’phone.

‘Can you sort Heather out?’ I asked Jo and the girls, who immediately descended on the flapping child while I retired out the back and continued the conversation outside.

‘Sorry, Dawn, all hell seems to be breaking loose at once. I can’t wait till you all come down.’

‘Yes, in a few days we’ll be Penmarris residents.’

‘And as mad as the rest of us. Did you ring for a reason?’

‘Yes, look, I heard that you now own that bloody great ship in the harbour, and we were wondering–’

I groaned––

And now the story continues…

‘So, I have great pleasure in opening this gallery. It’s about bloody time we had some culture here in Penmarris Cove. Where’s the scissors, then?’

~ §~

I couldn’t help smiling at Dotty, in her finest finery; dead fox draped around her neck and bits of birds on her head in the shape of a hat; looking more regal than royalty as she stood there doing her civic duty. I half expected animal welfare protesters with placards complaining about her cruelty to animals–something I agreed with but I was too much of a coward to say so–regarding her outmoded fashion statement, but she would have set Fifi on them. Then again, what she did or tried to do with the poor mole colony on her lawn would send out the RSPCA hit squads or God forbid, Rolf Harris (with optional didgeridoo) on a raid, if widely known.

Prior to Dotty’s stepping up, we had to endure a speech by the Lady Mayor–one Ms Prendergast. I could see that there was history between her and Dotty. If looks could kill, they would both be pushing up the daisies. I put a mental knot in my finger to ask Jocasta why these two wanted to throttle one another…

While the good Mayoress was boring the knickers off everybody with her speech, my mind sort of wandered–

I gazed around at all those present and smiled. All my friends were there; Jocasta, David and the girls–Phillipa still with the much written-upon plaster cast on her arm; Marcia and Brian Sinclair, our resident doctors and my once sworn enemy, Candice from the surgery was with her daughter Bethany who was standing next to young Sarah, Dotty’s young adopted sprog–as she liked to call her. I was slightly concerned about those two–they were up to mischief, I just knew it by the constant nudges and, giggles and whispers.

Then there was Katie, on the arm of Captain Hornblower–she was all over him like a rash and I think it did nothing for women’s suffrage to see a grown woman simper like that. The captain’s teeth shone so brightly in the sunlight that I wondered if he flossed more than once daily.

Glancing over at the humungous white streamlined plastic tub moored in the harbour, I wondered if I was making the right decision to keep her. The sun was glinting off the chrome bits, making me think that it must be a pig to keep everything “shipshape and Bristol fashion”.¹ Later on, Abby and I were going to be taken on a tour of inspection. What that entailed, I wasn’t sure but I think that the skipper mentioned something about splicing the mainbrace–it sounded painful and guaranteed to make my eyes water.

Millie, the resident estate agent had her iPhone glued to her lug’ole while doubtless arranging the sale of the vacant beach hut on the East Beach for a price that would buy a mansion in many other parts of the country. She had high hopes of a nice commission on that particular des. res.

My Abby and Heather were present–of course–and I smiled and gave them a little wave. Then there were some of the artists looking proud to be part of everything and done up to the nines in their best bibs and tuckers. These gifted people were showing their works at the gallery and were hoping to become rich and famous at some future, as yet unspecified, date. I was so surprised at the level of talent in these ’ere parts and I would be a bit miffed if everyone else’s works were sold before mine! Then I remembered that I was a bone fide professional artist and Mummy Dotty had already bought one of my paintings, so I shouldn’t be an ungrateful cow but be happy for others, should they happen to sell their stuff before mine.

My brand new assistant, Tracy looked very nice in a silky top and rather short white skirt. She had been a godsend to me and was very useful around the place. She had almost, but not quite, lost the “Dick Van Dyke” Cockney accent but I was working on it. I felt a bit like Henrietta Higgins saying things like the rain in Spain, etc. It was hard work, but someone had to do it. I was a bit concerned though as the last few days she hadn’t been as chirpy as before and she had dark circles under her eyes that Max Factor couldn’t totally hide.

Then to complete the throng, there were a fair number of locals and others I didn’t recognise. Altogether a splendid turnout, I thought. I just hoped that we had enough vols—aux—vents and canapés to go round!

It had been decided to use a room in The Toad and Tart for post opening festivities. The last thing I wanted was some oik throwing up over one of the paintings. See, I told you I was a hard-headed business woman.

It was a fine day and Mr Sun was behaving himself. I was wearing a long flowing peach dress with a matching bolero jacket, just right for births, marriages and gallery openings. Abby had her cream tailored business dress suit on and looked truly scrumptious and Heather was very pretty in a very fetching pink dress and a pink ribbon in her three hairs.

Everyone had glammed up for the occasion and even my sister Dawn–newly arrived Penmarris resident–complete with her brood, had smartened herself up and was wearing a blouse and skirt rather than something and jeans. I just wished that young Timothy, my only nephew, would stop picking his nose and inspecting the contents before eating them.

The Boy Scouts and Girl Guide Bands had played something on their brass instruments but I wasn’t too sure what it was, as the girls were playing one tune and the boys another. Pachelbel’s Cannon it wasn’t!

The only thing missing from this festive scene were the normally ever-present sea gulls, probably due to the presence of Mummy Dotty, but that may just have been a coincidence.

I frowned as I saw the old sooth-sayer standing over by the harbour wall, mumbling incantations to herself and looking decidedly sixpence short of a shilling. I was not looking forward to her next pearls of wisdom. If she could foretell the future, why didn’t she win the lottery and get some clothes that didn’t look like they had been recovered from a skip? Word had it though; was that she was quite rich and had money stashed away in various places (including under her bed) and spoke to her stock broker every other Wednesday. The more I saw of this place and its residents the more I thought that truth could be stranger than fiction.

~ §~

Back to the present and everyone was looking expectant as the Mayoress had finally stopped speaking and Dotty proceeded to cut the wide pink ribbon across the front door of the gallery.

‘I have great pleasure in declaring this gallery ope–––Bloody hell, what’s wrong with these ******* scissors––’

Repeatedly, she tried to cut the ribbon, but the scissors wouldn’t cut! I took a swift glance towards Sarah and Bethany and saw them tittering. In a trice–or maybe a thrice–I knew that the scissors had been replaced by trick ones. I rummaged in my handbag as Dotty began to look as red as a beetroot and ready to blast anyone with her twelve bore, hastily took the trick ones from her shaking hands and replaced them with my nail scissors.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled as she gave me a look that would have sunk the Spanish Armada and then she snipped the ribbon after the third go without further oaths or comments.

Everyone clapped and her face gradually returned to its more normal puce colour.

There was a bit of a tussle between Ms Prendergast and Dotty as to who should enter the gallery first. Dotty won of course with the judicial use of a couple of elbows and a feint to the left. I felt sure that she could play scrum half for the Penmarris Rugby Club, if asked.

The gallery looked gorgeous. All the paintings, drawings and other works of art were in place. It looked bright and airy with the large windows and well placed spotlights. The smell of paint had virtually disappeared and I was pleased to see Arthur Potts amongst the crowd who, erm, crowded in.

In an instant everyone was milling around looking at the artwork and making appreciative comments. Then I heard a Tracy-type squeal. She had seen it.

Without her knowing, I had put the drawing of her mum in a frame and hung it on one of the walls. It looked even better under the lights and I thought that she might be pleased to see it. I had made sure that it wasn’t something that she was bothered about keeping. She had told me over the inevitable cuppa only three days previously that she had made several similar sketches.

She bounced over to me with a huge grin on her face.

‘Cor, fanks ’Manfa,’

I sighed; we still had a long way to go with her elocution lessons, but today was not the day for quibbling.

‘You like?’

‘Wot?’

‘You like your drawing being shown?’

‘Yus; it’s great. I must get mum to come ’ere. She’d be right praad.’

‘That’s nice. You should ask her come and see your drawing.’ I was surprised that she wasn’t here.

‘Can I?’ she said excitedly. ‘She lives in Bodmin–so ’snot far.’

‘I thought she lived in the village?’

‘Erm no; like, Bodmin–’

‘That must cost a lot in petrol though; anyway she could stay with you for a few days if she can get time off, that is. Have you got room at your place?’

Her face fell for a moment and then lit up again.

‘Erm, yea, probly.’

‘Well if you haven’t let me know. We’ll sort something out.’

She brightened up again and then without thinking, she gave me a huge hug.

‘You are sooo brill, you are.’

‘I are…am?’

‘Yus,’

‘Oh look, Lady Fairbairn is looking at your drawing. I think you should go over there and explain that it’s yours.’

‘Oooh, she’d eat me alive–I’ve ’eard stories.’

‘It’s not true, she only eats humans when it’s a full moon; ask Sarah.’

I pushed her towards Dotty and then got caught up in a conversation with Ms Prendergast who was gushing over the gallery.

‘My dear, it’s toooo wonderful, divine, just what Penmarris needed––’

I zoned out again, nodding sometimes, shaking my head at others and trying bravely not to fall asleep–

Someone touched my shoulder.

‘Lady Mayoress, can I drag Samantha away, she’s needed urgently.’

‘Oh…right, of course.’

Ms P wondered off in search of another victim and I grinned at Millie.

‘Thanks, I was enduring terminal boredom with that woman.’

‘That’s what friends are for. Can I have a private word?’

‘Of course, let’s step outside and I can admire that wonderfully ostentatious, pretentious, flamboyant, gaudy, flashy, glitzy boat that appears to belong to me.’

‘Blimey, have you swallowed a dicker?’

‘Indubitably, now what is all this about?’

‘Let’s sit down by the harbour. Walls have ears’

‘I thought they had bricks.’

‘Ha, ha, you’ve been at the cooking sherry again?’

‘No, but I think our good Lady Mayoress has. She was slurring her words somewhat back there.’

‘She does like the odd snifter, or so I’ve heard–but let’s not get into that. You know the beach hut that I am trying to flog?’

‘You mean the bijou little residence with all mod cons and good lcn?’

‘lcn?’

‘Location, I thought you were supposed to be an estate agent?’

‘Never mind that, we are a misunderstood species. Anyway, as I was saying, I was there last night quite late. I had just finished some cod and chips–the haddock was off–and I walked over to the East Beach. I wondered if we could do a few more flattering photos of the hut to maximise its potential. Anyway I heard some noises coming from inside the hut. I sneaked over and put my eye to a crack in the wall boards and peaked inside. You never guess what I saw?’

‘Elvis?’

‘No, he’s on the moon–don’t you know anything?’

She looked around furtively and then continued. ‘Tracy.’

‘Tracy?’

‘Yes, Tracy.’

‘What about Tracy?’

‘She was in there. She had her jim-jams on and had made herself at home, using the tastefully appointed bench as a bed.’

‘Blimey!’

‘As you say–blimey.’

‘I thought–I mean I was under the impression–that she was staying at her mum’s place, though she’s just told me that she lives in Bodmin so maybe a B&B would have been appropriate. Anyway, sorry to interrupt, you were saying?’

‘Right. Anyway about the beach hut, a B&B it isn’t. There might be what is loosely termed as a bed in there, but the breakfast bit is stretching things a tad.’

I sighed; another problem to sort out. ‘You haven’t told anyone or done anything?’ I asked.

‘No. She’s a good kid, well I thinkk she is. I can’t understand a word she says. She should come with sub-titles.’

‘I’m working on her accent. Look can you leave it with me? I’ll have a chat with Abby and then see if we can’t do something about it.’

‘All right, shall we return to your gallery?’

‘ “Your gallery”, that sounds nice.’

‘Not as nice as “my, sodding great big ship lying in the harbour”.’

‘Don’t be course, Millie.’

‘No, ’M.’

‘Bloody cheek!’ I retorted and that set us off giggling like schoolgirls.

~ §~

After about an hour, when several of the works had been bought including I am pleased to say, Tracy’s drawing and one of mine, we all adjourned to The Toad & Tart for nibbles and nobbles.

Mummy Dotty had gone orf in the Rolls. She had to go and see a duke about a pheasant shoot or something–it was all death and destruction with her. Dawn and the clan had toddled off too as they still had crates and things to unpack.

I lost count of the number of people who came and congratulated me on opening the gallery. I had wanted to spend some time with my friends and family, but every time I got near one of them, I was dragged away by someone. Half the people I couldn’t understand and Mrs Pearson was particularly difficult to comprehend. What manglewurzels had to do with my gallery, I didn’t know or particularly want to.

Tracy had found a corner to sit in and was sucking on a coke through a straw. I really needed to speak to her before she disappeared, so in a lull in the conversation, I tore myself away from one of the more enthusiastic contributors of the gallery and went over to her.

I sat down and looked at her. Her face was flushed and she looked very pleased with herself.

‘Happy?’ I asked.

‘Mmm. Fanks again fer showin’ the drawing.’

‘That’s all right. Erm, where are you staying at the moment? I need to tell the accountant so we can have your employment contract sent to you.

‘I—It’s all right, I’ll pick the stuff up from the gallery. I’m not there, like often, yer know? An’ I might miss it comin’.’

I looked at her. She wasn’t a very good liar, but I wasn’t going to force it out of her. However, I couldn’t let things stand. I would have a think about it and speak to Abby before I decided what to do.

~ §~

The post gallery opening party went on for about another hour before I felt a touch on my shoulder. I was, at the time, giving Heather a nice cuddle and Abby had gone to get me another pasty. Well I was eating for two–I was eating Heather’s for her.

‘Ma’am.’

I looked up and there was Captain Pugwash. Something was missing and then I realised that Katie wasn’t hanging on to him like a limpet mine, for once. I hastily put on my sunglasses as I was worried about being blinded by the glare coming off his teeth.

‘Mmm?’ I said conversationally, wincing at the same time as Heather was practicing arm wrestling with my lickle ickle pinkie. God she was strong. I would have to reduce her intake of spinach or something…

‘Ma’am, you wanted to look over your yacht?’

‘Oh yes,’

I looked around and saw that the party was beginning to break up and those still standing were helping those that weren’t, out of the pub. I do hate those people that can’t hold their drink, don’t you?

Abby was trapped in the corner looking terminally bored while Ms Prendergastly was spouting about something or other.

‘I’ll just go and grab my sig other and we’ll be down at the quay in two shakes of a Finnan haddock.’

He looked at me strangely nodded and then smiled again. I would have to get stronger sun glasses.

Heather did one of her instant sleep thingies and was snoring gently and blowing bubbles–neat trick that–I placed her in her twenty-five in one, pushchair/cot/baby seat/space ship module and assorted other things (good from age 0 to 25 years) and wheeled her over to Abby whose smile had just reached rigor mortis proportions.

‘–it’s soooo good to have more culture in our little community, don’t you think?’ beamed Ms P.

‘–oh, Abby, I’m sorry I have to drag you away.’

Ms Prendergast turned to me. ‘Oh. Samantha, I was just saying––’

‘–I heard Ms Prendergast, but I think Jocasta is dying to speak to you.’

She glanced towards Jo, who was sipping her sherry and looking a bit bored. She wouldn’t be in a moment or two. I cackled evilly as Ms Prendergastly left us and homed in on Jo like a bloodhound who had just picked up the scent.

‘You are soooo bad,’ Abby giggled, ‘so very bad, but thanks for rescuing me.’

‘That’s all right, sweetie pie, we have to go and have the guided tour our little boat now; the capn’ will be down at the quay in a few moments.’

We said our goodbyes to the few remaining revellers including Jocasta who looked as sick as a ship’s parrot as she tried to extricate herself from being cornered by the formidable Ms Prendergastly and her verbal diarrhoea.

I smiled benignly and after a nod, left with Abby and Heather.

~ §~

It was barely a moment later that we found ourselves on the quay. The weather was fine, but a bit cloudy. I eyed the water in the harbour critically. Did I see waves?

‘A bit choppy,’ I said as we walked towards the tender–that’s a ship’s boat for all you landlubbers. I had read the brochure, so I was an expert now.

‘Rubbish, it’s as calm as a mill pond,’ Abby replied.

‘Hmm––’

The little motor boat reminded me of the one in Some Like It Hot and then I giggled as for some reason as I remembered what Joe said to Sugar, slightly off topic.

Sugar: ‘Water polo? Isn't that terribly dangerous?’
Junior: ‘I'll say. I had two ponies drowned under me.’

That thought steadied me a bit and made me calm down.

The captain was in the driving seat–I learned later that it was called ”at the helm”–and smiled as we approached. We didn’t need the lighthouse anymore, we could just plop him on the headland and get him to open and close his mouth at regular intervals–

One of his seamen was standing on the quay wearing a dinky sailor suit with “M.Y. Lady Olivia” emblazoned in red letters on his chest, compete with a hat. He looked somewhat uncomfortable and I bet he couldn’t wait to get back into a t-shirt and jeans.

‘Hop in, ladies,’ said the skipper.

First he helped Abby aboard with the buggy and then held out a hand to me. Somehow I managed to get into the boat without falling overboard and as soon as the seaman undid the knot holding the rope to the quay, he jumped in after us, making the thing rock a bit and give me the heaby-jeabies.

‘All set, then let’s go!’ said Captain Flint with gusto.

Abby gazed at me and smiled. Heather carried on sleeping and I looked towards the yacht as she came ever nearer. I was obviously an old sea dog as I wasn’t feeling seasick. I had heard that Nelson got seasick every time he put to sea, but I was made of sterner stuff!

As we approached the yacht I realised more and more how huge she was. From a distance she looked big, but up close, she was absolutely ginormous.

The captain was wittering on about ‘luxury, performance and comfort of the Tri-Deck 37m yacht, with its four full decks of lounging and activity spaces; three decks in the open air high over the seascape, with cruising, tanning, and sun worshipping opportunities galore–space for not only the whole family, but several generations to occupy and relish at the same time–and down the twin stern staircases, a swim platform to be enjoyed by many, with observation stations above––’

I stopped listening and just ogled. All this was ours! I couldn’t believe it. I wondered fleetingly how much she had cost and whether she had been bought by ill-gotten gains. Then I thought about what I could do with her and how I could use her to make others have a wonderful time and put such thoughts behind me. Giving her to the authorities would only be a gesture anyway. I could just imagine some government official using her for a fact finding mission to Lower Umbongo-Bongoland, the Seychelles–or even Brighton, maybe.

We arrived at the stern and were helped aboard the yacht by willing crew all dressed in the same sailor suits. I had almost expected to be piped aboard, but as I was not in the Royal Navy, I had to make do with a few nonchalant salutes. I was faintly disappointed that no one was dancing the hornpipe, but I couldn’t expect everything. Everyone seemed nice though and it was but a moment before Abby, myself and Heather were aboard and being shown into what was called The Skylounge.

Deep cream leather sofas and seats were dotted about and the walls were lined in wood. There was a fully stocked bar and 42 inch plasma TV screen on the wall. It was all the height of luxury and I was, for once, speechless as was Abby, who was doing her famed impression of a goldfish at that moment.

Not so Heather who had decided to wake up and sing a few sea shanties. The captain went over to the phone and spoke or rather shouted a few words as Heather’s volume increased by several decibels. None of us could hear ourselves think, so I grabbed a bottle out of my bag and headed towards her.

Just then, a woman came in wearing the female version of the boys’ sailor suit. Quite pretty actually, the suit I mean, not the woman–well she was pretty but well, let’s not go there. I have only eyes for one and that was my Abby, who I would be having strong words with if she didn’t stop ogling the woman like that, just ‘cos she had legs going up to her armpits, not that I was jealous, of course!

The woman approached. ‘Shall I take her for a while? I’ve got two of my own and you need two have a look round in peace.’

I was torn with being a possessive mum and wanting to see the yacht without distractions and in the end–as she looked competent enough and Abby had given me a slight nod–I said, ‘thanks,’ and handed our precious baby over to her.

Why did I feel a pang when she was no longer in my arms? Maybe that’s what all mothers feel. Not being her birth mother made me feel sad that I would never have the opportunity to give birth myself. Gazing over to Abby, I could tell instinctively that she knew what I was going through. Maybe we would be able to make a baby sometime so that Heather could have a little brother or sister?

I sighed; all this was for the future. With an effort, I snapped out of it as the skipper continued to give us a tour while Heather and the nice lady disappeared stage left–or should that be “stage port”?

I won’t give you a blow by blow account of the yacht, except to say that it was all the height of luxury. Mind you, the Master Suite took up the whole forward section of the main deck, had a king size bed and yet another 42 inch TV.

We were taken up to the bridge, which made the flight deck on the Starship Enterprise look like something Noah might have designed on his Ark, given the technology.

The skipper kept up his well used spiel about how fantastic everything was.

‘Powered by twin MTU 12V4000's M90's, rated at 2736 hp each, she will cruise at 21 knots and top-out at 23 knots.’

‘Do what?’ asked Abby intelligently while I stroked the polished wood steering wheel somewhat orgasmically––

‘She goes very fast,’ the skipper replied.

‘What if I press this button?’ I asked.

‘Try it.’ said the captain, a slight smile playing on his lips.

In the hope that it was not an ejector seat, á  la Jamesh Bond, I closed my eyes and jabbed it with my finger.

There was the tremendous noise of a ship’s foghorn that made not only me jump nearly out of my skin but Abby also; she nearly wet herself as she clutched at her vitals rather suggestively.

The seagulls around the harbour, still traumatised by Mummy Dotty, rose as one and started making rather a lot of noise. I saw at least two crash into each other and several others did a creditable impression of a kamikaze ’plane by diving for the sea bottom and not coming back up for air.

Millie, the font of all gossip, told me later that more than one fisherman fell into the harbour, Dotty blew the head off of one of her Greek statues with her twelve bore (she was aiming at a mole); Old Mr Potts clamped down on his favourite pipe and broke it in two and Buxom Beryl, The Toad and Tart’s, rather voluptuous landlady, who was having a quiet cornet on the quay, had a 50p lump of ice cream jump into the air and land in her ample cleavage, when she heard the racket of the horn.

‘Oops,’ I said in a small voice, my ears still ringing from the noise.

The captain and a few others had a good laugh at that. It was obviously their party piece and if that was what it was, it afforded them a certain amount of merriment. Now if I was a hard headed business woman, I would dock their pay and stick them in the brig with just bread and water and a few ships rats for company. But I’m a nice girl and would get my own back when I was good and ready. Who said that “La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid?”

We stayed aboard a little longer and then had to go. Heather needed to be fed, changed and put down for the night and I had to go and make sure that the gallery was all locked up ready for tomorrow’s normal opening. At the weekend, we were going to have a little cruise around the local beauty spots and might even make a foreign trip to Cornwall to stock up on our depleted tiddy-oggy supplies. I thought that it might be nice to take a few friends along and I sincerely hoped that it would be a hoot–but not a foghorn.

As the little motor boat sheared away from the yacht and putt-putted away from her, I looked at the waving skipper and crew and thought that they were quite a nice bunch of people. I might just let the captain off and not make him walk the plank after all.

~ §~

Abby went off up the hill with the buggy thing after we disembarked and said goodbye to Sailor Moon–the lady who had looked after Heather on our tour. I must find out her real name sometime, she was an absolute sweetie.

I carried on down the quay and made sure that everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion¹ at the gallery.

I stayed a while, did a bit of sweeping up and tidying. By the time I had finished, the sun was well over the yardarm, as we sea-persons say, and had started to give up the ghost and go down towards Australia. I decided to have a quick stroll along the beach and dip my toes in the water before heading for home. The sun setting on the water looked large, orange and very beautiful. The water lapped gently over my feet, cooling them and helping me relax after what had been a decidedly hectic day.

The breeze ruffled my thin dress against my bare legs and my hair moved gently over my bare shoulders. I had left my bolero jacket on the yacht and would have to remember to pick it up at the weekend. I had had a wonderful day and hoped that I would have many more days like it. All was quite on the beach except for a lone man walking a dog over the other side. It wouldn’t be long before the full force of the winter would unleash itself on the very spot I was standing and in some ways I was looking forward to that as I believed that all the seasons had a unique beauty that I was eager to see.

I had begun to get goose bumps on my arms, so sandals in hand; I walked back up the beach to the steps, the sand oozing through my toes rather pleasantly as I went. Gazing over the village, nestled on the hillside, there were already the twinkling of lights as people battened down the hatches for an evening in front of the TV or more interesting things like watching paint dry.

Glancing to the left, I saw the row of beach huts, brightly painted and well used in the summer. Now they were all locked up waiting for the nasty weather to pick away at the paintwork. The end one had a “for sale” sign on it and I glanced at the bright yellow hut for a moment. There was a light coming from a crack under the door. Tracy must be in there. I paused for a moment, hesitating, then I made my mind up and went over to the hut and knocked on the door.

I could hear a gasp and then something being knocked over, followed by a naughty word and then the light went off.

‘Tracy, it’s me, Samantha. Can we talk?’

There was a silence and all I could hear was the surf behind me and a few of the inevitable sea gulls.

The light went back on; it was, I think, one of those Tilley-type ones that made wheezing noises. Then there was the sound if a bolt being slid back and the door creaked open. There was Tracy, in pale pink satin pyjamas looking out at me with a terrified expression on her face.

‘Please, Tracy, can I come in. I only want to talk.’

Silently, she opened the door a bit more and I passed her. She locked and bolted the door behind her and then turned to face me. She was trembling slightly.

‘Shall we sit down?’ I asked.

A slight nod of the head and that look of sheer terror was all I got.

I sat on the bench across from the makeshift bed. To say that the amenities were crude would be an understatement. They say location is everything and it was very true with this beach hut. It was little more than a hut with a couple of benches, a table and sink with cold running water. God knows what she had to do if she wanted to go to the loo. Moot point really as the only toilet facilities she could use were the public ones about fifty yards down the road and they shut at sunset every day. I assumed that she used a convenient sand dune or something at other times.

She sat opposite me and I my heart melted as she began to cry. Immediately I went and embraced her. She sobbed on my shoulder for several minutes, her body heaving with the pain, or whatever it was that was causing this. I made shushing noises and stroked her back as she let it all out. It was hard for me. I had been there myself and had bought the t-shirt. I knew pain and angst and Tracy was feeling all of this and more.

Finally, the heaving slowed down she stopped and blew her nose on a tissue and wiped her eyes with another. She looked at me then, once again fearful at what I would say or do. It was getting chilly now and she had no heating except the warmth coming off the Tilley lamp and only a few blankets to keep her warm.

‘Look,Tracy, you can’t stay here. Whatever the matter is, we’ll sort it out. Get your things together and come back to our cottage.’

‘I–I, like won’t be sacked?’

‘No, of course not. Just come on and hurry up. I’m getting flaming cold here!’

A few minutes later, she had got dressed again, put her belongings together in a holdall–not that there was much–and she followed me out of the hut and closed the door; it wasn’t locked. I made a mental note to tell, or at least text, Millie about that, but not now, I had more important things to sort out.

~ §~

While Tracy was packing her things away, I texted Abby to expect us soon. We had a spare bedroom at Jellicle Cottage and that would do until we decided what to do.

We didn’t say much as we walked up to the cottage. She was sniffing a bit and I didn’t want to set her off again by talking about things that obviously were painful for her.

After five minutes we reached the cottage, to be greeted by several cats who wanted to be made a fuss of. Tracy seemed to be a natural cat lover, which would be in the plus column with both Abby and I. Whether there would be any more ticks in that column, only time would tell.

Abby opened the door as we made our way up the short path. She saw Tracy and immediately gave her a hug. My Abby was a girl and a half!

We ushered her in and settled her down in the little sitting room. She said that she wasn’t hungry, but Abby likes to fatten people up a bit and Tracy was soon eating some Big Soup– for the uninitiated, that’s soup with big bits in it–followed by a chocolate éclair. We had some too as we thought it rude not to join her.

Then she went up for a shower and to change back into her jammies, while I filled Abby in while Tracy was upstairs.

‘So,’ said Abby, ‘she really is homeless?’

‘Yes, but I don’t understand why. I pay her a fair wage and at this time of year, when the tourists have mainly gone home, there are plenty of places that she could stay which aren’t expensive.’

Abby shrugged. ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye.’

‘Two true, flower blossom–’

Just then Tracy came back down, her hair up in a towel turban.

‘Feeling better?’ asked Abby.

‘Y—yes fanks.’

‘Right,’ I said, getting down to business, ‘let’s get comfy and you can tell us all about it.’

I sat down next to Tracy on the overstuffed sofa with Abby sitting on the chair opposite.

Tracy looked at us, once again looking scared.

‘Don’t worry, honey,’ I said, ‘we can help you but only if you tell us what the problem is.’

She looked at us both and then took a deep breath.

‘It’s me mum.’

‘What about your mum?’

‘Shhh,’ I said to Abby. ‘Carry on, honey.’

‘She works at Tesco’s or like, worked. They gave her the push, cos they got in those self-service checkouts. She an’ two uvver women got the push. It was last in, first aht. Her landlord was givin ‘er grief, so I had ter send ’er some money, like.’

‘So that’s why you can’t afford to pay for somewhere to live yourself?’ I asked.

She nodded staring at her feet.

Abby and I did a sort of Vulcan mind meld without the touchy feely bit and I could see that we thought as one.

‘I thought you said your mum worked in the post office?’

‘I sorta bent ver truff. She did work in the post office at Peckham Rye, then we moved dahn ’ere and she worked at Tesco’s in Bodmin. She ’as a flat there.’

‘Does your mum like living where she is?’ I asked.

Tracy looked up.

‘Nah, she ’ates it. The land-lord is scum and wants to chuck ’er aht. She still owes two monfs’ rent.’

Tears began falling again. I wasn’t pleased that she had lied to me but I could understand her reason. She was ashamed of her circumstances and her mother’s and tried, like so many people to bend the truth so she had the best chance of getting a job.

‘All right,’ I said, ‘thanks for telling us the truth. It must have been hard. You look all in. Why don’t you go up to bed and we’ll sort something out tomorrow.’

‘You’re not angry?’

‘No, but you must promise in future to tell the truth. If you do it again, I don’t think I could trust you.’

‘I won’t lie ever again, I promise–’

‘Okay, off you go and we’ll see you in the morning. Make sure you get up early, we have to open the gallery at nine sharp.’

‘Yes ’M–I mean S’manfa.’

She hesitated for a moment looking very vulnerable in her jim-jams and scrubbed face – she looked about twelve and then she came over and hugged me and then Abby, who for once was lost for words and appeared to have something in her eye–

She gave us both a shy smile and then left the room.

Abby and I gazed at each other.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you seem to be good at looking after stray cats, I appear to be collecting the human variety.’

She smiled.

‘She is sweet, if a bit rough around the edges. We could send her to Mummy Dotty’s for finishing orf, but knowing Dotty she wouldn’t be that gentle. Are you thinking what I am?’

‘About my cottage? Yes, she and her mum could house sit for us and I could still come and go when I use the studio.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Abby, smiling.

‘I just thought of another plan,’ I said.

‘What’s that?’

‘There are still two éclairs in the fridge, crying to be eaten.’

‘I thought that was one of the cats.’

‘Shall we find out?’

‘Lets––’

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¹     Shipshape and Bristol fashion:   For origin see: http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/ship-shape%20and%20Bristo...

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To Be Continued…

Please leave comments…thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.