Safe Harbour (7 page)

Greystones – Sophie had only been in the place a few hours, but she loved it already, and as for Grandfather’s house, never, ever did she dream of staying in such a fine billet.

The house was called Carrigraun, and it stood like a huge grey sentry keeping guard over the sea-front, watching the fishing boats go in and out, and the passing of distant ships, from its huge bay-windowed glass eyes. In places, bits of paint were peeling, a result of winter storms and the salt-edged sea breeze that was carried over the waves.

Just imagine, living in a house near two beaches, mused Sophie. In fact, there were three, if you counted the rocky Cove with its rock pools and little caves.

South Beach was totally different from the other beach which disappeared in a beige, sandy line in the distance. Here it was shingly and covered in tiny stones of every imaginable colour. They both took off their shoes and socks and waded into the water. The shifting shale and stones hurt their feet, making them wince with pain, and the freezing water swirled around their ankles, sending jabs of ice into their veins. Still, they hopped up and down with excitement, shouting, ‘Ouch! Ouch!’ as they paddled about.

The strand was deserted except for two fishermen wearing protective rain-clothes and funny tweed hats, who
sat on two small stools holding their huge, tall rods, the lines cast far into the sea, as they waited patiently for a bite.

Sophie and Hugh watched and waited for ages, then, eventually bored, moved on. They used Hugh’s socks to knock the stinging sand off their feet and dry them before putting their shoes back on.

They crossed under a railway bridge, and seeing shops in the distance, headed for the town. There was a white-painted library, with a big notice about the opening times, and Sophie hoped that Grandfather would agree to let her join it, as he was unlikely to have many books that a girl her age might read back in the house.

They rambled past the window displays and the enticing bustle of shopkeepers and customers. Today was a day for exploring, not for hanging around listening to local chit-chat and shop gossip, though the people seemed friendly, and a few of them smiled at the children.

Suddenly they heard a familiar clip-clop sound behind them in the street and they turned to see Mr Devins. He had two old ladies in the pony and trap and they drew up outside the station. He helped them down, then carried their luggage inside.

Sophie and Hugh were delighted to see a familiar face and decided to wait for him.

‘Well! Well! If it isn’t the two little war orphans!’ he boomed out across the street.

‘Mr Devins!’ Sophie interrupted him crossly, ‘we are not orphans!’

‘I know that, Miss Fitzpatrick,’ he apologised, ‘it’s more a figure of speech, a slip of the tongue. Now, tell me honestly, how are you both settling in? The professor hasn’t starved you, or beaten you yet?’

‘Honestly, Mr Devins!’ protested Sophie, ‘our grandfather would never do such a thing, he’s a …’ she stopped, realising that she was defending a grandfather she barely knew.

Mr Devins was chuckling away to himself. ‘Don’t be getting yourself in a tizzy, lass, I was only pulling your leg. People around here have a lot of respect for the professor, a mighty lot of respect.’

Hugh, sensing his sister’s embarrassment, decided to take a hand in the conversation. ‘We went for a paddle on the South Beach! It was freezing cold.’

‘Aye!’ grunted Mr Devins. ‘Best to wait till summer comes when there’s donkeys and all on the beach. You’ll be able to swim every day. Do you like swimming, the pair of you?’

Sophie pasted a bright, lying smile across her lips, and opened her brown eyes wide. She wasn’t going to admit that neither she nor Hugh could swim a stroke. They had only ever been to the seaside twice before when she was younger – other than that there had just been the odd day-trip to Brighton. There had never been enough money for holidays. Her father could swim – any wonder, she thought, growing up in a place like this? He had promised that some day he would teach them, but it had never happened and Sophie was beginning to doubt that it ever would.

‘Well, where are you two off to now?’ Mr Devins asked.

‘We were thinking of going down to the harbour,’ she replied.

‘Let you hop in then! I’m heading down that way myself.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Lassie, I wouldn’t offer otherwise. I’m going home for an hour, then I’ve to bring someone from Windgates into Bray. Funny old thing, this emergency! What with petrol being rationed, me and old Sheba are doing great business,’ he confided.

The trap tilted and dipped as they stepped in, then off they trotted. Mr Devins gave them a running commentary on each house they passed, telling them who lived there and what they did, until a few minutes later he deposited them at the curved harbour.

There, the fishermen had nets spread over the railings and on the grey wall and the ground, and were busy mending them. A pile of lobster pots lay in a heap against a boathouse and Hugh nearly sent them all flying when he picked one up to look at it.

‘Leave those pots alone!’ shouted a cranky old fisherman.

They ran down the slope of beach and climbed among the boats lying there, sitting in them and pretending to row. Time seemed to fly by, there in a world of their own.

‘I’m starving, Soph! When is it going to be lunchtime?’ demanded Hugh finally.

Sophie leapt out of the boat. Oh no! The station clock had shown almost midday probably about an hour ago!

‘Come on, Hugh! Run!’

They ran helter-skelter the whole way along the seafront and skidded along the gravel driveway of Carrigraun, both sweaty and out of breath. Through the window they could see their grandfather, sitting at the dinner table waiting for them.

Hugh’s hands were filthy and Sophie had a smudge of tar on her dress.

‘Quick, Hugh!’ she said in a panic.

They washed their hands and brushed their hair and joined their grandfather.

He had finished his bowl of soup, and Nancy appeared immediately and plumped two steaming bowls of vegetable soup in front of them. It was scalding hot, and Sophie, knowing that the old man would be impatient for his main course, almost burnt her mouth trying to swallow it down. Hugh kept blowing across the top of his bowl and onto the curved silver spoon.

‘Manners!’ muttered Grandfather, but Hugh just ignored him, and kept on blowing.

‘Grandfather! We’re sorry. We didn’t realise the time,’ Sophie apologised.

‘Hmmmph!’ was his only reply.

He chose not to speak to either of them again until after their main course of salty ham and potatoes and broad beans and carrots.

‘Well then! What did you think of the place?’ he demanded suddenly.

Sophie considered. She wanted to be honest, and yet did not want to be disloyal to Grove Avenue and London. ‘It’s
very nice, Grandfather, and I would think that it’s a very healthy place to live.’

He threw back his grey head and laughed, thumping his hand on the table. Under his whiskers, Sophie could make out a dimple. Had she sounded stupid, she wondered?

‘I think it’s spiffing – like a book,’ said Hugh. ‘But still, it’s not as nice as home,’ he added wistfully.

Grandfather stood up. ‘Remember,’ he stated, ‘this is your home for the moment – while this war madness continues.’

Over the next few days both of them ran wild, coming back to Carrigraun only to eat and sleep. Every morning Grandfather disappeared off into his study to work, and for the most part ignored them. They still had a few days left before starting school.

Nancy was kind to them and occasionally told them stories about the locals of Greystones. Sometimes Sophie felt like she was in a kind of a dream, a no man’s land, where no one really minded what Hugh and herself, the two outsiders, were up to.

Then one day the rain lashed down and they had to stay indoors. Overnight the sea had become grey and menacing, the waves churning and battering against the rocks across from the house. It was like some ancient creature trying to cross a moat, flinging itself against the sea-front, dashing itself backwards and forwards, as yet another huge swell gathered force, far in the distance. Salt spray filled the air and overhead hung a black stormy sky. The whole of Greystones was wrapped in a blanket of mist which seemed to deny the existence of an outside world.

Sophie and Hugh had tried to venture out, but the wind had stolen their breath, driving them back, and the stinging rain had drenched them to the skin. Hugh looked like a very small drowned rat, and Sophie’s hair clung like a damp cap
to her skull.

Nancy scolded them sharply for being so stupid, and made them hang their saturated clothes near the big old range to dry. They both hunched up close to the fire, trying to dry themselves off with towels.

It was awful being forced to stay inside. Carrigraun seemed gloomy and dreary, like a prison from which they could not escape.

Grandfather was busy working in his study and would be annoyed if they disturbed him, so it was up to Sophie to keep Hugh quiet and out of harm’s way.

Luckily she found a worn-out pack of cards and she sat down at the dining table to play with him, hoping he was too young to notice that the four and ace of clubs were missing, and that they only had two queens. He could only concentrate for about an hour or so, then he got restless.

‘I’m bored!’ he said.

‘But you’re winning!’ she consoled him. It was a bit of a job, but she was doing her best to make sure he won most of the time.

‘Bored with a capital B,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Let’s play tag!’

‘No, Hugh!’ she replied.

‘Then hide and seek – please Sophie! You can hide first!’

‘Oh all right then. But not too much noise, do you hear!’ she added, bored herself.

Sophie ran up the stairs, wondering which room to pick. In the end she settled for the large walk-in hot press. It was lined with shelves of towels, bed linen, and men’s shirts and
clothes. She would wedge her way into the deepest corner, and maybe drape a towel down to hide behind. It was very dark inside as only three small holes let light in from the outside, and she hoped that Hugh wouldn’t take too long to discover her.

Hunkered down, she ran her hand along the slats of varnished wood. Someone had scratched something on one of the slats – maybe a name or a secret message?

There was no sign of Hugh, so she got back up and opened the door a fraction, letting in a shaft of light. She could read it now: NEIL – her father’s name. It was carved out in deep, long straight lines. She pulled the door closed again. He must have hidden here too. It comforted her to think of him running around this house many years ago.

She could hear a step outside and got a terrible urge to giggle. The door was flung open. ‘Got you!’ screamed Hugh, all excited, as she emerged into the blinding light.

‘Ssh! Ssh!’ she warned him. ‘Grandfather!’

They took turns all afternoon. Yelling and shouting with excitement when they got too close or found each other. Then Hugh was gone for ages and ages. Sophie searched upstairs and downstairs, under things, behind things, and still she could not find him.

Where in heaven’s name had he got to? He wasn’t in the garden as it was still pouring outside.

‘Hugh! Hugh!’ she called softly, beginning to get worried now. As if drawn by a magnet or some strange warning instinct, she tiptoed back upstairs and opened her grandfather’s bedroom door.

There was a large double bed in the centre of the room, with a heavy sea-blue silk quilted cover on it. At one side of the bed a table almost toppled over with an uneven pile of books and a dusty old bedside light.

‘Hugh! I hope you’re not hiding in here,’ she whispered.

She looked at the huge dark wardrobe; on one side of it was a doorway to what must be a dressing room.

‘Hugh!’ she pleaded urgently.

‘Sophie, look!’ Hugh almost jumped out from behind the dressing-room door. ‘Look what I found!’

Sophie nearly died with fright – it was a leg, a wooden leg! Hugh was waving it around like it was a cricket bat.

‘Stop it, Hugh! You might break it.’

‘There’s lots of them, look!’

Sophie swallowed hard when he swung open the cupboard door to reveal a collection of legs – some flesh-coloured, one white and gleaming, looking almost like bare bone, and two shaped to resemble a normal adult leg.

‘Hugh! Come away!’

But her brother was over-excited, showing off. The legs must have scared the daylights out of him when he discovered them. Now he was getting his own back on her with his display of bravado.

‘Don’t touch them, Hugh!’ she ordered, but he just ignored her.

He was pretending to limp around the room, lifting up one leg and trying to balance on the wooden leg. ‘Arrgh my hearties! I’m a big bad pirate and I want your gold!’ He
paced up and down, getting more reckless.

Sophie couldn’t calm him down. She turned back towards the bedroom just as the large looming figure of her grandfather appeared.

‘What are you doing? How dare you invade my bedroom!’ His eyes were cold and unflinching.

Sophie’s face flamed with guilt. She should have made sure that Hugh hadn’t come into this room. Hugh had managed to knock the rest of the legs out onto the floor, where they lay in a grotesque pile.

‘What is this! What have you done?’ roared their grandfather.

Hugh began to giggle – not the right thing to do at all as it made the old man angrier.

‘Pick them up carefully and place them back where they belong!’ he ordered stonily.

Hugh looked like some kind of octopus, with legs sticking out at every angle.

‘One by one – carefully!’

‘Grandfather, we … we’re sorry, honestly!’ pleaded Sophie. ‘We didn’t mean to do any harm, it’s just that it’s so wet outside and we got bored, Hugh wanted to play. We didn’t mean to touch your things …’

‘I told you both not to come into my room. Do you two understand English? You have plenty of places to go in this house. I have accepted having the two of you foisted on me, but I am at least entitled to my own privacy in my own home.’ He was shouting now.

Hugh was trying to look contrite. ‘I never saw an artificial
leg before, Grandfather,’ he said. ‘They’re funny-looking things!’

Her grandfather raised his hand as if to hit the child but Sophie forced her way between them. ‘Don’t touch him!’ she warned.

‘You want to see what an artificial leg looks like? Then I’ll show you!’ Grandfather began to roll up his brown tweed trouser leg, exposing the pale painted shape that replaced the flesh and bone. There was a grotesque raised scar at the top, a bump of mottled skin like a line dividing the real from the unreal.

Horrified yet fascinated, the two children stared. Hugh’s eyes were almost popping out of his head.

‘Are you satisfied now, you young pup?’ Grandfather demanded. He stood, almost swaying with emotion in front of them. ‘Now get out of my sight, the two of you! Go to your rooms!’

They both ran off, relieved to get away from him. Sophie made sure that Hugh went into his own room despite his pleas to stay with her.

She flung herself on her bed, utterly miserable. She was so ashamed of their behaviour. They should never have gone into Grandfather’s room – it was all their own fault. They had broken their promise and invaded his privacy. He must think that they were two very bad-mannered children. What if he wrote to their parents or the authorities to complain about them? Where would they be sent then?

Sophie knew that she couldn’t leave things the way they were. Oh why did Hugh have to be so bold sometimes! If
only he hadn’t gone into the bedroom!

Grandfather probably thought they were jeering at him. His poor leg! She wondered what had happened to him. Maybe he had fought in a war like Dad was doing now. Still, he shouldn’t have tried to hit Hugh, no matter how annoying he was. He was still small.

Nancy slipped a tea-tray wordlessly into her room, refusing to be drawn into conversation or forced to take sides.

Mrs Kellett, Sophie’s teacher in her old school, had always said never to be afraid to apologise and say sorry. She said that it took backbone and good character always to do the right thing.

Sophie made up her mind what she would do. She marched up to her grandfather’s study and knocked on the door.