What We Did In the Storm, page 2
‘What is it, Mum?’ asks Kit.
‘Please don’t call me Mum, darling, I hate it! There seems to be no celery for my Bloody Mary,’ she informs him. ‘I shall have to be very brave.’
Kit is about to sit in the kitchen chair, but Beatrice says, ‘Oh no. Chop-chop! Time to get ready, darling!’
‘You make a start. I’ve only got to shower and put on my suit,’ he replies. He turns to Charlotte and says, ‘I hate weddings. Sooo boring.’
Beatrice is aware that Charlotte not only loves weddings, but that she would have loved to attend one with Kit.
‘I wish I’d come over yesterday with you, darling,’ sighs Beatrice. ‘I do not like to be rushed.’
She hurries upstairs and commences preparations, worrying about her son as she applies a well-practised subtle smoky eye.
Kit has seemed rather down in the dumps lately. He has recently moved back home after splitting up with his latest girlfriend, and Beatrice thinks he now seems a little … lost. He has no job lined up, and he spends most of his time skulking round his bedroom all day, gallivanting to parties all night – so nothing much has changed since he was home from uni in the holidays.
Many of Beatrice’s friends wail about their empty nests, but she tells them, ‘Darling, I yearn for the day!’ although she is joking.
Kit’s father accuses his son of lacking a work ethic, but Beatrice defends him, saying that it’s just that poor Kit’s had a few false starts; he’s not yet found his true path; he’s a sensitive soul.
He gave up on the business course, as well as the foray into public relations. He was never keen on the idea suggested by his cousin to join him with the landscape gardening enterprise, and he only worked on one TV production as a runner. Sticking at things does not seem to be Kit’s forte.
Yet despite his mother’s unwavering support, he frequently mocks her.
‘Why do you need a PA?’ he challenged Beatrice only the other week. ‘You don’t even have a job!’
‘I do so, as you well know!’ she responded.
‘And what might that be exactly?’
‘I plan things for your father. Events. Charity functions.’
‘You don’t even clean your own shoes!’
Exasperated, Beatrice snapped, ‘Darling, you’re almost twenty-seven and you’re jobless and living with your parents, so I rather think you should sort yourself out before you start offering me career advice, don’t you?’
But then he looked so hurt, she felt awful.
Beatrice takes another sip of her drink, wishing she knew what would make her son happy, or at least happier.
She rolls out her shoulders and looks around the tastefully decorated bedroom. The whole place is spotless, but there are splatters of seagull shit on the window. She doesn’t know why they can’t cull the bloody things. If they gave her a gun she’d do it herself.
It is easier to stoke her anger about that than admit her disappointment that, yet again, her husband has let her down.
3
Hannah
Due to the wedding emergency, Hannah is one of the first passengers to be dropped off at Hawk, the largest holiday property on the island. She knocks, walks in, and is met by one of the bridesmaids, a girl with sparkly braces on her teeth who she’s never seen before, and she’s swiftly ushered upstairs. The master bedroom is already a hive of activity awash with decreasingly fizzy champagne and escalating fizzy anxiety.
‘Hurrah! The cavalry!’ squeals Jane, the blushing bride, rising from her chair where dewy make-up is being professionally applied, rushing towards Hannah in a haze of perfume. The girl’s fluffy dressing gown is gaping, and Hannah’s own impressive chest is squished against an ample, corseted bosom.
‘Yesss!’ shouts one of the younger bridesmaids, already in acres of tulle, running around in non-specific giddiness.
‘What a lifesaver!’ adds Jane’s mother, one of several Right Honourable Tresco regulars, lightly holding Hannah’s shoulders and air kissing her cheeks, careful not to make contact and smudge her own recently applied lipstick. Hannah has served this woman’s family in the bar for five seasons, and this is the first time the mother of the bride has ever acknowledged, let alone touched her.
‘Can I just get a coffee before I make a start?’ asks Hannah.
‘Of course, of course,’ says Jane.
While she’s in the kitchen making her drink, Hannah calls Alison, her boss at the pub, and is put back on shift to work early doors tonight. No point not earning now that her holiday’s been cancelled. Just as she’s adding milk to her coffee, she hears a scream upstairs and rushes back up.
‘What happened? Are you okay?’
‘A bird just crashed into the window,’ says Jane. ‘It nearly gave me a heart attack!’
‘Is it alright?’ asks Hannah. A small ghostly impression of the poor creature remains on the pane.
‘I don’t know. Will you have a look?’ says Jane.
Hannah goes back down to collect her coffee and checks outside. There’s no sign of the bird on the grass beneath the bedroom window, so it might have simply stunned itself and flown away, thank God. She applies a smile as she returns to the bride’s boudoir. There’s no need for her to share her thoughts on the omen with the wedding party.
Hannah’s hairdressing kit has already been brought up to this impressive holiday home from the much smaller worker’s cottage she shares with two other girls. She assumes Bobby did the honours, but anyone might have collected the bag because no one bothers locking their doors here.
‘It’s like Britain used to be in the fifties,’ enthused Bobby when he first introduced Hannah to the accommodation which has been her home for the last six years. ‘Honesty boxes for flowers and farm produce, and you can leave your bike anywhere and no one will vandalise it like they would on the mainland. No crime here. No pollution. It’s a proper paradise!’
At that time, Hannah hadn’t been on a bike since she was a small child, back when they visited her babcia in Poland. (Hannah’s actual name is Zuzannah, but nobody here has ever bothered with that, so she dropped it.) When she first met Bobby and his bright, rainbow-painted bicycle she had no idea that it was the principal mode of transport on the island and wondered why he might wax so lyrical about his place of work.
Now she understands people’s enthusiasm. The island is heart-achingly gorgeous. Wildflowers festoon gardens and fields, red squirrels cavort in trees, the air is pure. Walkers embrace the immaculate views and wave and smile at each other – the people who come here generally drop no litter to spoil the pristine beaches and the water is crystal clear, although bloody freezing.
Isolated from the mainland, Tresco engenders the sense of a true getaway. It is remote, as in it once took Hannah twenty-three hours to return to Croydon to see her mother – the journey entailing tractor, boat, ferry, train, tube, taxi, plus the obligatory delays. It is also exclusive, as in shockingly expensive.
And life here is from a time gone by – a time of fresh air and strolls along perfect sandy coves, of cheery bunting and fine paintings of vast horizons and cheeky sailors. A time of board games and sing-alongs and cream teas and old-school racism and servants and masters, where even today girls like Hannah work like dogs, while a few of the privileged guests treat them like shit on their deck shoes.
‘You are so lucky to live here!’ people exclaim.
Hannah knows she’s lucky.
But sometimes she can’t bear the everyone-knowing-everyone-else’s-business-in-and-out-of-each-other’s-houses-tight-knittedness of this community and she marches up to the cliffs to get away, where to the accompaniment of screeching seabirds and crashing waves, she can scream out loud.
4
Bobby and Hannah
‘Oh, she do look pretty, don’t she!’
‘I’m no expert on the fairer sex, as you well know, Miss Elisabeth,’ says Bobby.
‘Ooh, she do! A very pretty maid. Well, the dress and the hair. Shame about the face!’ cackles Miss Elisabeth – former teacher, former councillor, part-time postmistress, tour guide, community centre assistant, playgroup assistant and church volunteer. The oldest worker on the island. The woman is nothing if not adaptable. Everyone calls her Old Betty, but never to her face.
‘Do not let them hear you!’ warns Bobby.
‘And a lovely service. Proper lovely,’ she witters on.
Bobby nods. The church side of things has gone down well. Plenty of photo opportunities, which will hopefully flood social media and drum up business. Standing outside the church for the official poses, the bride indeed looks … bride-like. The hair is a triumph, adorned with tiny pearls to complement the gown, a beautifully draped off-the-shoulder number with shades of Vera Wang if he’s not mistaken. Bobby loves a little Vogue glamour on the island – a welcome change from Barbours and wellies. Everyone here smells like wet dog. Even those who don’t have dogs.
‘They done her up a treat,’ says Betty. ‘The bride with the beautiful blue eyes.’
The bride’s eyes are obviously brown.
Bobby is confused. ‘Blue eyes?’
‘Oh yes,’ nods Betty. ‘One blew east, the other blew west.’
‘Will you behave,’ he hisses.
Bobby makes his way across the path to praise Hannah. A good manager should give positive feedback whenever it is warranted. So many bosses only admonish, which saps morale.
‘An excellent job with the hair there, Hannah. Well done. I love the little pearls. A very nice touch.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Good tip?’
‘Fair enough.’ She looks away as she says it, so he guesses it wasn’t impressive.
‘It stands you in good stead going the extra mile like this – cancelling your own break, rushing to the rescue. The guests appreciate it. The Family will appreciate it.’
The bride’s people are friends with the island’s ultimate bosses, The Family. Bobby reports directly to The Family, who report to the royal owners, or rather the minions in their employ, and the royals, of course, report only to God. Many of the regular visitors, like Jane’s family, have been coming here to holiday for decades. Most tourists only manage a day trip over to see the Abbey Garden – it’s all normal folk can afford – but those who stay, those who come back year after year at peak season, like Jane’s clan, timeshare owners who visit several times each year, they are usually dripping with assets.
The bride has appreciated Hannah’s effort to the tune of an extra fifty pounds on top of her fee – and while Hannah is grateful for the cash, it is more a Blue Peter badge level of thanks rather than a full commendation. Jane’s family spend more than fifty quid on a round of drinks in the Old Ship most lunchtimes. And Hannah hasn’t gone the extra mile for them – as the crow flies from Land’s End, she’s gone twenty-eight extra miles.
Still, her effort has pleased Bobby, which means word will get back to her immediate boss, the redoubtable Alison, who governs the pub with an iron will and a slick of Estée Lauder lippy. A good word from Bobby might help grease the wheel the next time Hannah wants to swap her shifts.
The wedding party no longer notices Hannah. As soon as she’d fulfilled her purpose she was dismissed and subsequently ignored. Jane, her relatives, and Glorious Greg the groom – thus named due to his habit of declaring everything on the island ‘glorious!’, from the shooting and fishing to the evocative Malbecs he downs like water – are back with their own kind now. Even Primrose is on her best behaviour and part of the inner circle, sporting a pink cape affair with a giant bow attached to her collar.
The guest holding the dog catches Hannah’s eye and makes a funny face, followed by a wry smile, as if to say, ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’ He mimes shooting himself, which makes her laugh. She recognises this good-looking young man from a past visit, but she’s forgotten his name.
Hannah was invited to the church as an afterthought. It’s an open invitation, although regular visitors know that most islanders will be far too busy working to come to mid-week midday nuptials. A few, like Miss Elisabeth, have stopped by for a few minutes to see the couple outside St Nicholas’s Church – built in 1878 by the rather innovatively named Thomas Algernon Smith-Dorrien-Smith, although presumably not single-handedly, aptly dedicated to the patron saint of sailors. None of the workers have been invited to the reception.
Hannah needs a lie down. She’s tired after yesterday’s bad crossing, a disturbed night’s sleep in the B&B, and today’s early start. Her body clock is more used to late nights behind the bar than early mornings, although when she’d first come over as a chambermaid she’d worked totally different hours. Now, along with her bar work, she’s added ‘unofficial hairdresser’ to her skill set, not that there’s an official hairdresser on the island. She’s been doing cuts and colours for friends, workers, and a few guests for the last couple of years. She also gives housekeeping a hand when they need, and she recently started helping the interior design team.
‘You’ll soon be managing this place at the rate you’re going,’ said Bobby, teasing her. But everyone has to pitch in here.
Hannah watches Bobby walk over to shake Glorious Greg’s hand, beaming at the bride and doing his best professional fawning. Bobby has a low centre of gravity and a suggestion of bowlegs, possibly from spending so much time tootling around on his bike, overseeing the smooth running of the island business. A peal of laughter trills out at something he says. Hannah is about to head back to her room and get some rest when Old Betty grabs her arm.
She comes up close, the old girl’s teeth always a shocker, and says, ‘Lovely job on that hair! Silk purse out a cow’s ear!’
Old Betty has an unusual turn of phrase.
‘Miss Elisabeth!’
‘Pity she didn’t get the genes, hey? That bleddy dog had more luck than her!’
‘You did a lovely job with the church flowers,’ says Hannah.
Betty ignores the compliment, as women tend to, and says, ‘He has an eye for you, that youth. Proper ’ansome, him. Proper tall.’
The tall young man holding the dog’s lead seems to divine they’re talking about him and gives them a small apologetic wave and another grin. His mouth is beautiful.
‘He is a bit lush,’ smiles Hannah, who has a vague recollection of kissing him under a bunch of mistletoe at the pub last Christmas. But then, who didn’t she kiss under that mistletoe.
Betty leans in and whispers, ‘You take care! Hear me? You take care!’
‘Why?’ asks Hannah.
‘He’ll be gone soon enough. One of you’ll end up brokenhearted. Or worse.’
‘Are you the island soothsayer now,’ laughs Hannah, shrugging Betty’s fingers off and trying to make her escape.
The old woman sweeps her into a farewell embrace. Hugging Old Betty is like hugging a sack of sticks.
Just then the wedding golf buggy, decorated with pink and white ribbons to match the flowers in the opulent bridal bouquet, sets off to a cheer, the newly hyphenated Bamford-Lloyds waving regally from the back. All the workers wave in reply – if they didn’t it would be noted by Bobby – and Hannah sets off in the opposite direction.
She wonders how anyone could bear to marry someone like Glorious Greg. The man’s a buffoon. But Hannah will be thirty-two next year, and her mother has been nagging her that it’s time to settle down, time to start thinking about giving her a grandchild. It’s not that Hannah’s against the idea, but it’s not so easy when tourists are only here for a couple of weeks at a time, plus there are very few eligible workers on the islands, and most of them usually only stay for a season or two before disappearing. Anyway, she tells herself, she’s having a fun time as she is.
And she’s been stung in the past. Before she came to the island she was engaged to be married for an entire five weeks – well, her boyfriend at the time asked her, but never supplied a ring, and never mentioned it again. They broke up the following month when he suddenly left the country, claiming it was for a new job, although it turned out to be a new woman. Hannah blames herself for not seeing how flaky he was. She doesn’t have the best track record in her love life.
She sighs and walks on.
Buttercups and daisies, honeysuckle and wildflowers in pinks and blues that she can’t name, adorn the path as she makes her way down to New Grimsby. She’ll have time for a nap before getting changed for her shift at the pub. She meets Angie from the shop walking Sadie Dog the other way up the path and greets them both, to the dog’s delight. She waves to Isak from the cottage gardening team who looks to be in mortal combat with a giant dead Echium over in Tern’s front yard. She texts her mother again – Sorry! I’ll try to get over to see you soon.
A soft silence suddenly engulfs her, and she’s hit by a wave of nausea like she’s still at sea. She’s overtaken by a strange sensation where the world seems to tilt and darken. She has to steady herself on a garden wall.
Exhaustion, probably.
This strange episode is observed by one plump baby gull which sits on the nearest cottage roof, bleating heart-rending cries in the perpetual hope of food. A single magpie remains on the chimney opposite watching her impassively. It calls out three sharp, scornful cries, and swoops away.
Hannah salutes it and hurries on.
The Graveyard
May, After the Storm
The screeching is insane, the fight bloody. High above the church roof, attacks and retreats, feathers and fury. The larger gull dive bombs its rival aiming to impale it with an evil beak, intent on murder. The flock shrieks encouragement. Brutal.
The gulls are too intent on violence to notice the silent ones below.
Beneath the lush green grasses and whispering leaves of the watchful trees a favoured few are buried here. There will be no new grave. Miss Elisabeth feels it in her bones – there will be no body to bury. They will never find the missing girl.
