Page 27 of The Winter of Second Chances
The women looked at her and exchanged glances with each other.
‘Did you get a look at him?’ asked the younger woman.
‘No,’ said Annie. ‘I heard him. There was a bag, you see, on a ledge...’
‘Alfred?’ the younger woman asked her friend.
‘More than likely,’ said the older.
‘Who’s Alfred?’ asked Annie. ‘Should I be concerned? I’ve just moved down here. I don’t want to be on the wrong side of the local criminal element!’
The younger woman laughed. It was a sweet laugh which matched her sweet little face and her flowery dress and cardigan.
‘Alfred’s not a criminal,’ she said.
‘Alfred is Willow Bay’s homeless person,’ said the older woman with candour.
Annie felt her eyebrows rise.
‘Maeve!’ said the younger woman. ‘You make everything sound so...so brutal!’ She turned to Annie. ‘Alfred is homeless by choice, kind of. He’s sort of a nature man,’ she said. ‘Believe me, we’ve tried to get him into sheltered accommodation, we’ve had the council out to see him about support...’
‘Says he’s too long in the tooth,’ said Maeve. ‘Started coming quite a few years ago. Jolly good company when you get to know him. Stays for the summer, goes back to the city for winter.’
‘Too long in the tooth?’ asked Annie.
‘To live indoors,’ said the younger woman. ‘He says he’s lived under the sky too long; he can’t cope with being an “inny”.’
‘You make it sound almost romantic,’ said Annie.
‘She could make dog turds sound romantic,’ said the older woman. ‘Just moved here, you say? I’m Maeve. This is Gemma. You’ve met Podrick.’
At the sound of his name, Podrick, who had been very interested in a dead crab along the way, came bounding back up the beach.
‘I’m Annie,’ she said, ruffling Podrick’s fur.
A crunching sound behind her made Annie turn as a figure emerged from out of the cave. A hood pulled low over his eyes partially concealed his face, but she could make out a hooked nose and a wild black beard. He wore a long black wax jacket that grazed the tops of his boots and carried the dirty rucksack on his back. Seabirds flocked around him as he strode up the beach, the pebbles seeming to lie compliant under his feet.
‘Alfred!’ called Maeve.
Alfred waved his hand in response but didn’t turn or break his stride.
‘You nearly scared this poor woman to death!’ she shouted.
‘Sorry,’ came the voice beneath the hood. ‘No harm intended. Probably shouldn’t be so quick to meddle with things that don’t belong to her.’
He climbed the steps to the promenade, scaled the iron railings with ease and dropped down to the other side, picking his way effortlessly though the boulders until he had disappeared around the curve of the cliff, the birds following in his wake.
‘Bit of a backhanded apology,’ said Annie.
‘He’s all right,’ said Maeve. ‘Just a bit rough and ready is all.’
‘How does he survive?’ asked Annie.
Gemma replied: ‘He does odd jobs and gardening for the pubs and general handyman work around the village, so he does all right. The pubs quite often pay him in meals.’
‘There are worse things to be paid in,’ said Annie.
‘Quite,’ said Maeve.
