Page 13 of The Island Girls

He knew that anyone who had a spare room would have a little notice in their front window. All he needed was to find the best spot. He walked down the High Street towards the quay, as far as Castle Street, and turned in to the left. Here were the lanes and alleys that ran back and forth behind the quay, and here would be the ideal place to settle – close to the water and the action of work that went on there.

The houses were all terraced together with doors that opened directly onto the pavement at the front. Each one had a small, bricked courtyard at the back. Every few houses, the terrace was broken by a ground-level alley that ran through to the lane at the back. These lanes separated the back courtyards and each had a wooden gate in the high brick wall, giving access into the courtyard. He could see that, in this part of the town, there was only one shared toilet between four houses, and through a gate that was left hanging open, he saw a communal water pump. The many chimneys atop each house all piped thick smoke into the air from the fireplaces and wood-fired kitchen ranges inside.

The dank air smelled faintly of fish and smoke, and of the coming winter night. It was only three in the afternoon, but dusk was hanging around the chimney tops, ready to settle the town under its dark blanket for night-time. Charlie wondered if he’d find a place to stay today, or if he’d be better off paying for a room in a pub for the night.

As he turned a corner, he came across a pair of young boys, playing with marbles and sticks on the edge of an alleyway. They looked up to him, then gave him a second look, obviously realising he wasn’t someone they knew.

‘Evening, lads,’ Charlie started. ‘Know of any rooms to let around here? I’m looking for lodgings.’

‘My mum’s got no rooms, what wiv me and me brothers and thevacees. But Mother Rogers has got a notice up in her window.’ He pointed to the end of the lane. ‘Down Strand Street, then down Blue Boar Lane. Just a few places back in from the quay,’ he added.

‘Sounds perfect to me.’ Charlie smiled and fished a farthing out of his pocket, flipping it up in the air for the lad to catch.

‘Cor, thanks! C’mon, Frank, let’s get some sweets at Setchfields,’ he cried as they ran off towards the High Street. Charlie smiled as he watched them run, remembering the rows of glass jars full of all kinds of different-coloured sweets that he’d seen that the little shop sold as he’d passed.

The boy’s directions were good, and he easily found Mrs Rogers’ home in Blue Boar Lane. He could hear the industry of the quayside going on at the far end of the narrow, dark lane and he followed the sound. At the end of the lane, where it opened onto the quay that he recognised, he saw that on one side was the Lord Nelson, and on the other the Jolly Sailor. Across the water, between the quays, a ship was being unloaded of its cargo and he could hear the noise of the gasworks coming up from the east. There was plenty of work here, and Blue Boar Lane would be a very handy spot to base himself.

Just as he turned to go back into the lane, he heard the hubbub from inside the Jolly Sailor as someone opened the door. Perhaps there was time for a quick half pint before knocking on Mrs Rogers’ door.

The pub was warm and welcoming, and he found himself in easy conversation with the barman while he drank his beer, and might have been tempted to stay for longer. But it would never do to have too much beer inside him as he met a new landlady. He said a cheery farewell to the men at the bar, and stepped back outside. The night was dark now.

Turning back into the lane, the reek of old fish and the filthy state of the drains hit his senses. Overhead hung a line of laundry, strung across from one side of the lane to the other. These must be the poorest of the poor, he thought, looking at the tiny houses in the dank, darkening light, though he had seen there were alms houses just a stone’s throw away too. At least this woman could afford her own home. There was the notice in the window, as promised:

Room to let: 8s per week

Full board (coupons required)

1s extra for weekly laundry

That she was charging less than she could get for an evacuee spoke volumes to Charlie. This woman’s home must not be considered suitable for the children sent down from London, and she must have found it difficult to get boarders. He was pleased to solve one of her financial worries today, and smiled as he knocked on the door and readied himself to impress Mrs Rogers with his best manners.

8

BROWNSEA ISLAND, POOLE – SUMMER 1998

Rebekah lay in bed with the curtains wide open, watching the steady progress of small puffs of dark clouds as they sailed across the moon. The sounds of the sleeping island soothed her through the open window and she smiled to hear the occasional pipping of the little pipistrelle bats as they flew between the trees. The sound always reminded her of a little clay bird whistle she’d been given as a child, which she would fill with water and then blow into the pipe, making a tiny, warbling sound just like the call of the bats she now knew so well.

An owl called softly in the distance and Rebekah drifted to sleep, nestled luxuriously in the softness of her down pillows and quilt, overcome by tiredness as only can be felt after a day spent walking and working in the fresh pine-scented woodlands of her island.

The knock, when it first sounded, went unheard, as if it was simply the breeze getting up a little and rapping a branch against a window on the other side of the cottage. But with its second report, it became strong enough to rouse her and she lifted her eyelids a touch. The third knock created the moment of her waking fully. She thought through the possibilities as sheslipped her feet from under the soft covers and pulled on her robe. There were only the staff of John Lewis who were staying as guests within the castle walls overnight, or else the campers on the island with her tonight. One of the former could have wandered off for a midnight walk and lost their way back to the castle. The latter could be more worrying – there was nothing any of the campers could need from her unless there was a real problem; perhaps a child had gone missing, or a camp fire was out of control?

She turned the landing light on as she passed the top of the stairs, not that she needed to see where she was going, but rather to let the knocker know she was on her way.

Rebekah unlatched the door, flicking on the porch light to better see who was responsible for disturbing her sleep. She put in a substantial effort to change her facial expression from a somewhat grumpyyou woke me upinto the perfectly composed customer service provider’show may I help you?But as the light shone onto the warm and lovely face that greeted her when she opened the door, Rebekah knew that she gaped with a look that read quite obviously:I wasn’t expecting anyone like you.

He stood taller than Rebekah so that even though he was beneath her on the step of the porch, his eyes looked down a little into hers. He was large without being bulky, and probably muscly beneath his waxed raincoat. He had an aura of strength mingled with gentleness, a face that exuded meekness. In the dusky gloom of the yellow porch light, the shadow of dark, bristly stubble lengthened, making him look more haggard than he probably was. There were delicate laughter lines around his eyes but deep creases in his forehead that reminded her to breathe and ask him what was wrong.

‘Firstly, I am so very sorry to wake you at this awfully late hour,’ he said, glancing at his watch and covering his face with one hand. ‘But I saw the cottage and at first thought I mightjust sleep here until I realised someone probably lived here, and after I’d opened the gate – which has such a loud squeak to its hinges, don’t you think? – then I was worried that you – or whoever lived here – might hear me and be worried about intruders, so I decided to go ahead and knock. I’m so sorry. I’m rambling. Actually, that’s probably where I should have started,’ he said and seemed about to continue but Rebekah took this opportunity of a minor break in the flow of his very long account to interrupt him.

‘Is anyone in danger?’ she asked, pointing down towards the campsite.

‘No, no, not at all. Sorry. It’s just me – and I’m fine, but?—’

‘Then why don’t you come inside. We’ll have a cup of tea, and I can see how I can help you,’ Rebekah offered. Tea. She’d been awake now for several minutes and if she was expected to stay awake any longer, she was going to need a cup of tea. Strangely, it wasn’t until later that it had even occurred to her that this might have been dangerous – the business of welcoming a completely strange man into the cottage at night, while she was half undressed and all alone. But something about his meekness had spoken safety to her, even in those first few seconds of meeting him.

He followed her inside, pattering out apologies and politely taking his boots off at the door before slipping off his wax raincoat (quite unnecessary on this balmy summer night, Rebekah thought) and hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair.

‘How do you like it?’ she asked him over her shoulder and saw in his face something of a frightened rabbit. ‘Tea,’ she explained. ‘How do you like your tea?’

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