Looking at the state of the house, and Gerry’s fragile frame, I feel guilty for persuading Ted to drive me around today.
“He’s been an excellent tour guide. I only hope I haven’t deprived you of his help.”
“Good for him to get out. Terrible job, having to babysit your old dad and do his packing for him,” Gerry says with a warm smile. “Though one benefit of my vision going is that I can’t see what he’s throwing away. ‘Make sure you keep the good china.’ ‘Yes, Dad. Sure, Dad. That breaking sound? Oh no, that was the stuff you didn’t like.’ ” He chuckles.
We chat away; Gerry and Sandy ask me lots of questions about my visit. They are both so friendly, I feel myself relax, bask in the warmth of their easy company. When Ted reappears in a clean blue linen shirt and dark jeans, holding two plates of crab salad, Sandy says, “Ted, why don’t we let Laura stay in the cottage for a few nights? I’ve no bookings in this week, and it will be nicer than staying in town.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’m fine where I am—” I say, embarrassed to have Ted put on the spot. “This crab looks wonderful, you really didn’t have to feed me.”
“Always looking after everyone but himself,” says Sandy. Then she points to the tiny white cottage, just before the garden wall. “Laura, wouldn’t you rather wake up to this view? Best spot on the island—it might be small, but it sure is cozy. I’ve taken over the running of the place for Gerry. You can stay for free in exchange for a five-star review,” she says with a wink.
I imagine the stark beauty of this wild bay, with rocks jutting out from the sea and the long sweep of sand stretching for miles down the coast, is exactly the kind of scene Love Life subscribers would like to see.
“It is a stunning view, you’re so lucky to live here, Gerry.” I realize too late what I’ve said and feel the skin on my neck prickle with embarrassment. “I mean, to have lived here. Sorry.”
Gerry gives me a reassuring smile, then reaches out to briefly press a shaking hand over mine.
“Best view in the world. I was born in this house, so it’s etched on my eyeballs—though, with the changing tide and sky, it never looks the same one hour to the next.”
“So, what do you say, Laura?” Sandy asks. “Get some sea air into those London lungs? It’s a shame to have it there sitting empty.”
Looking down at the little cottage, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to stay here. This place, this beach, this view all feels much closer to the Jersey my mother described than the glass office blocks of St. Helier. I glance up at Ted, anxious that it isn’t him who’s inviting me to stay in his garden. I can’t read his expression as he hands me cutlery.
“It is tempting, I’ve never slept so close to the sea before.”
“Yes!” Sandy claps her hands together.
“But I insist on paying. I’m on a work trip, so they’ll cover the cost.”
Sandy flaps a hand in the air at me, as though to say, “We’ll work all that out later.”
“Then you can come to my party this evening,” says Gerry, “we’ll give you a proper Jersey welcome. I’m having a bit of a do on the beach later. Though I’ll have to start walking down there early, it takes me so long to get anywhere these days. In fact, if the party starts in four hours, I might start walking now.” He opens his mouth into a wide, silent laugh.
“Oh, Gerry, what nonsense. You’re faster than me, you old goose,” says Sandy.
I tell them I wouldn’t want to gate-crash, but Gerry insists. Sandy says I can meet the locals and quiz them on stories about the island for my article. Ted stays quiet, removed from the conversation.
“I would love to stay, as long as Ted doesn’t mind me invading his life like this?”
Sandy gives Ted a long look, but he won’t meet her gaze.
“Oh, I think Ted’s probably very happy about you invading his life—”
A blush creeps up my neck, embarrassed that they might have got the wrong idea.
“Tell Sandy all about your suitcase man, Laura,” says Ted abruptly. “It’s her kind of story.”
Sandy frowns, then looks at me expectantly. I explain about the suitcase, about the objects inside and the clues we’ve been following. As I talk, I see her face take on an expression of disbelief. When I first told Ted about the case, I thought I was having an anonymous conversation with a driver whose name I’d never know and who’d never know mine—I didn’t care what he thought of me. Now, looking across the table at Sandy and Gerry, I find I do care what they think, very much.
“Of course, it only makes sense if you believe in fate and serendipity,” I say, flustered by Sandy’s skeptical expression. “Ted thinks it’s a wild-goose chase.”
Sandy looks to Ted for a reaction, but he is intent on his food.
“Well, even more reason to hang around then, Laura,” says Gerry brightly. “You can invite your mystery man to my party too if you track him down before tonight.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’ve bought enough sausages to feed the entire island,” says Sandy.
“What are you talking about, woman? I’ve never seen a fridge so stuffed full of food,” says Gerry.
“Ted, this really is delicious, thank you,” I say, keen to change the subject. Then I lean in to quietly add, “Would you mind me staying? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he says, while inspecting a knot of wood in the table. I notice the tips of his ears have turned red again.
“You’ll stay, it’s settled,” says Sandy. “I’m going to go and get you the key and open the windows, let some air in.”
Sandy gets up and moves to hug Gerry around his shoulders before she leaves, then she glances sideways into the house.
“Oh no!” she cries, running through the French windows. “Scamp, bad dog! Oh, Scamp, you haven’t— Laura, I’m so sorry.”
She comes out holding the tangled remains of the fisherman’s jumper in her hands. One arm looks to have been ripped to pieces, and the bottom is starting to unravel. I clasp both hands to my mouth.
“I don’t know what’s got into him! Gerry, he’s just pinched Laura’s jumper and taken it off to maul it to pieces. He’s a wild animal!” cries Sandy.
“Sorry, Laura, he wouldn’t usually do that, especially not to a woman,” says Gerry.
“Look, Ilídio’s going to change his mind about taking this dog on,” says Sandy, still inspecting the damp lump of wool in her hands.