Page 21 of Summer at Harbour View House
‘Yeah. I suppose so.’
They walked up the street a little way, following the road as it curved tightly around the hill, before dropping away into an adjacent valley, narrower and more desolate than that of Penkoe. At the crest of the hill was another set of steps leading up. Unlike those of 14A, these were broken, overgrown, and looked barely navigable. A mesh of brambles defied anyone to climb them.
‘What are we going to do?’ Hannah said. ‘Do you think that man next door would lend us a pair of pruning shears?’
‘Probably in return for some kind of unpleasant favour,’ Natasha said. ‘Look, we can just climb up the wall. It’s a shame we left the cases down by the harbour. We could have used them as steps.’
She walked along a little way. The hedgerow was basically an overgrown retaining wall with another overgrown, wind-hassled shrub hedge on top, bordering some kind of garden that was too high above them to see. Natasha poked about, looking for some kind of foothold.
‘Here, look.’
Hannah came wandering over, the chicken close behind, following like an obedient dog. ‘Is there a way up?’
‘There’s a hole under the hedge. It’s probably where animals pass through. You’re probably lighter than me, so I can give you a leg up.’
‘But what if there’s an animal in there? Do foxes bite?’
‘It’s a trail. There won’t be any in there,’ Natasha said. ‘Look, do you want me to go first? You’ll have to push me.’
‘Okay.’
Natasha, feeling just enough of a sense of adventure to overcome her growing frustration, stuck a foot into the hedge, hoping to find something solid to brace herself again. Brush and rocks gave way, but eventually she felt a mesh of deeply buried branches and tested her weight.
‘Right, just give me a shove.’
‘Three, two, one!’ Hannah cried, pushing Natasha so softly that the chicken might have done a better job. Reaching for the thickest branch she could see, Natasha hauled herself up, diving headfirst into the hedge.
Shrubbery pressed in all around her as she found that the animal trail was far narrower than it looked. As she struggled through the gap, she felt Hannah pushing on her feet.
‘Put your back into it,’ she said, in a way that reminded her fondly of her garden-loving father. ‘I’m stuck.’
‘I’m trying,’ Hannah said. ‘You’ve got something on the bottom of your shoe, though. I think it’s dog mess.’
Natasha just groaned. ‘I’ll worry about that if I ever get out of here,’ she said, gritting her teeth and jostling herself back and forth, reaching forward into the grass, trying to find something with resistance she could use to pull herself forward. Handfuls of damp, overgrown grass came off in her hands, then finally her fingers closed over something made of wood that was poking into the ground. She hauled herself forwards and finally managed to stand up, the grass rising to her knees.
To her surprise, the piece of wood was the leg of an overturned and half rotten picnic table lying nearly buried in the grass. Natasha, wiping clods of dirt, grass, and twigs off clothes now stained and muddy, turned around.
The hedge bordering the property came up to her waist, but from here she could see over the hedge that bordered the road below, to the dramatic coastline beyond. After passing their property, the road dipped sharply down, ending at what was little more than a narrow gorge with a patch of grey sand sandwiched between jagged cliffs that she assumed was the aforementioned beach called Winter Vale. A handful of people were braving the waves pounding its shoreline, or climbing up on the rocks on either side to investigate rockpools buried among the slate rock formations. Beyond the beach, the coastline stretched away, dramatic headlands jutting out into the English Channel. She could see a couple of distant curves of sand, but the only house she could see from here was the one next door, and of that only the roof was visible above an overgrown hedge of fir trees.
She had purposefully avoided looking at their house until she had mentally prepared herself for the anticipated disaster. The dream of spending the summer lording it up in a beachfront glass palace was gone, and the best she could hope for was that it was habitable. She closed her eyes, then took a deep breath and turned around, opening her eyes again.
It wasn’t as bad as she had feared, but Tina’s description left a lot to be desired. It wasn’t much smaller than the place next door, but the two-floored, white-washed beach house was clearly in some disrepair. A couple of drainpipes hung loose, and one of the downstairs windows was cracked. A tree was growing up through the roof of a small shed tacked on to the house’s left side, but at least it wasn’t through the house itself. From what Natasha could see, the roof was mostly intact, just a couple of tiles missing. If they were only staying for the summer, that shouldn’t be a problem.
‘Are you still alive?’ came Hannah’s voice from behind her. ‘Do you think there are snakes?’
Natasha turned. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good. I’m sending the chicken up.’
‘The—’
Before Natasha could complete her thought, the chicken appeared in the gap beneath the hedge, ducked its head, then strutted through as though it owned the place. It pecked at the grass a couple of times, then sauntered over to where Natasha stood, clucking expectantly as though waiting to be fed.’
‘Is there another way up, do you think?’ Hannah said. ‘I really don’t want to get my clothes ripped or covered in mud.’
Natasha rolled her eyes, then looked down at her own stained and torn clothing. While it was pretty overcast, the forecast was for better weather from tomorrow, so hopefully she wouldn’t need too many clothes.
‘Hang on,’ she called. ‘I’ll go and see if I can find something to cut through those brambles. Why don’t you go back to the harbour and check that our cases are still there?’
