Page 23 of Summer at Harbour View House
The insideof the house was in a far better condition to the outside. To their surprise, the lights and water worked, even if the taps ran a little gunky at first and a couple of bulbs blew out. Most of the furniture had been covered with bedsheets, which sent plumes of dust up into the air when Hannah began dramatically pulling them off, but after a short coughing fit, they located a hoover and began to tidy up.
The living room was small but cosy, with a wide bay window with views out over the dramatic coastline. The kitchen was cottagey, decked out with wood panels and with utensils hanging from hooks above the work surfaces. A back door led out into an overgrown patio behind the shed, but it was nearly as overgrown as the front garden, with brambles snaking across the paving stones, readying to snare unsuspecting ankles.
Upstairs, they found a bathroom and three bedrooms, two at the front and one smaller one at the back. They both chose one front one each, and as she stood by the window, looking down at the sea below, Natasha felt a sudden euphoric excitement. No, it wasn’t exactly what Tina had said, and no, it didn’t have a front door. The local beach was a jagged slash of grey pebbles, but it was there, and they were here, and for the first time since before her flat got fire damaged, she felt a sense of relief.
Perhaps things would work out after all.
‘Excuse me?’ came Hannah’s voice, and Natasha turned to see her leaning in through the doorway, one hand raised to knock on the whitewashed door. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I was just having a moment,’ Natasha said. ‘The views are good, aren’t they?’
Hannah came in slowly, as if waiting for permission. ‘I was wondering if we should put Charlie in the third bedroom, or maybe shut him in the kitchen?’
‘Charlie?’
‘The chicken. I figured he ought to have a name.’
Natasha smiled. ‘We should leave him in the shed.’
‘He might escape. And from my window I can see his little head poking out. He looks upset.’
‘At least his house has a front door.’
Natasha looked out at the view one last time, then had a sudden realisation. In all the excitement, she had forgotten something important.
‘Ah, Hannah,’ she called. ‘I think we’d better go and get the cases.’
They left “Charlie” wandering around in the shed and headed back down to the little harbour. As the road arched around the cliffside, the hedgerow became gradually lower, giving them a view down into the valley. Beyond the slate roofs of a couple of harbourside buildings, they could see that the tide had come in, and the cluster of tiny boats were now bobbing up and down in the water.
‘How quaint!’ Hannah gasped, clapping her hands together. ‘Do you think they do boat rides?’
Natasha watched the waves pummeling the cliffs beyond the relative safety of the natural harbour and grimaced. ‘I suppose you could ask,’ she said.
‘Oh, goodie!’
The road angled downhill. They had left their cases at the entrance to St. Juliot Lane, and as the end of the road came into view, Natasha’s heart sank. Their cases were nowhere to be seen. It seemed impossible that in a village as quiet as this that they could have been stolen, but there appeared no other explanation. She’d had the forethought to take her purse and phone with her, but Hannah had left everything behind.
‘Fiver for each, or fifty for a job lot,’ came a stern woman’s voice from just out of sight around the building standing on the corner. ‘Socks and knickers three for ten quid.’
‘Oh, is there a market?’ Hannah said. ‘How … rural.’
Natasha just quickened her pace, coming around the corner to find a handful of people standing in a semi-circle around an old woman whose clothing appeared made out of old fishing nets, and who had one foot up on one of Hannah’s cases while pointing at another open one. Some of the items had been taken out and hung over a harbour railing nearby. Natasha was briefly overawed by the gaudy colours Hannah liked to wear, before raising a hand.
‘Excuse me, those are our cases. What do you think you’re doing?’
A ripple of excitement passed through the assembled crowd of mostly old men and women.
The old woman glared at them. ‘Leave ‘e cases here and they’s common property. Wreckers brought ‘em in.’
Hannah leaned close to Natasha. ‘Oh, she’s talking about the Cornish Wreckers. I read about them on the internet.’
Ignoring her, Natasha said, ‘We only left them here because we were tired.’
‘Hah,’ the old woman said. ‘Kids these days got not stamina. ‘Walked ten mile and back each day to school, come rain or shine.’
Natasha, bristling with hostility, said, ‘Is that because the bus wouldn’t drop you down here either?’
A few whoops and cheers came from the crowd. The old woman pouted, swiped a curtain of grey hair out of her face, and adjusted her ropelike skirts.
