Second Chances at Samphire Bay (Samphire Bay Village #1)

Chapter 11

‘Agenda item number three, Tea by the Sea,’ announced the vicar with enthusiasm, looking round the table expectantly. He was hoping for a good response. Last year’s Tea by the Sea fundraising event had made a hefty sum, and the church roof wasn’t going to mend itself.

There was a brief moment before Trish coughed and began the conversation.

‘Well, I have put the word out and enrolled a few volunteers.’

This gained her a big beam from the vicar.

‘Splendid,’ he said, then looked directly at Bunty, who up until now had been unusually quiet. ‘And Bunty, have you anything to add?’

Bunty had anticipated being roped into the event. Since Trish had asked her, she had given the matter some thought and was rather pleased with the result.

‘Actually I have vicar,’ she replied.

‘Oh, and what’s that, pray tell?’ he asked with a charming smile.

‘I intend to read tarot cards.’

The vicar’s eyes widened and a stony silence followed.

‘Sorry…?’

‘All in good taste. I’ll dress up as a fortune teller, I thought, and read people’s fortunes. As long as they know it’s all tongue-in-cheek, the punters will love it,’ she stated.

‘But… couldn’t this be seen as playing with the dark arts?’ asked Trish, mouth gaping open. Bunty gave a bark of laughter.

‘No, darling. It’ll be seen as me playing the fool. I intend to attract customers for fun, that’s all. And besides, I won’t come cheap.’

‘How much would you charge then?’ Ned, landlord of the village pub, laughed heartily while a few smirks were exchanged around the table.

‘Ten pounds a reading,’ Bunty said, almost defiantly.

Hetty, who drove the mobile library, gasped. ‘Ten pounds!’ she exclaimed.

‘I’ll be worth every penny. They’ll get the full monty: me dressed up as a gypsy, called Rosy-Lee, I’m thinking, in a cosy caravan and reading the tarot cards. I’ll even throw in a crystal ball,’ she said with gusto.

‘A crystal ball?’ the vicar questioned with a frown.

‘Well, an old goldfish bowl. I’ll turn it upside down and fill it with fairy lights, it’ll do.’

‘And whose cosy caravan?’ asked Jim, a local farmer.

‘Yours. I’ll use one of your shepherd’s huts.’ Bunty locked eyes with Jim, as if challenging him to object. He didn’t.

‘But Bunty dear, do you really think people will pay ten pounds for a reading?’ Trish tentatively asked.

‘Yes I do. They’ll be curious,’ came the forthright reply.

The vicar mumbled in thought, hands steepled together. This could well be a money spinner… and they did need the funds.

‘I say let’s go for it,’ cheered Ned. If anything, he was dying to see Bunty Deville dressed up as a gypsy, in Jim’s shepherd hut, with a goldfish bowl full of fairy lights and a deck of tarot cards. Hell, he’d pay twenty pounds for a reading! He’d also make sure there were photographs of her, when they put snapshots of the charity event on the church website.

‘Let’s take it to a vote,’ advised the vicar. ‘All those in favour, raise your hand.’ He looked round the table. Ned’s arm shot up, in unison with Bunty’s. Trish, after getting a firm nudge from Bunty’s other arm, reluctantly raised hers too. As did Jim, when receiving Bunty’s threatening glare. Hetty, refusing to be intimidated, remained still. The vicar took stock.

‘That’s four votes in favour, one against and I wish to abstain from the vote,’ he said.

‘Motion carried,’ cut in Ned, not even trying to conceal his laughter. ‘Bunty’s going to be gypsy Rosy-Lee,’ he chuckled.

‘All for a good cause,’ countered the vicar, not quite sure how this was all going to pan out. He wiped his perspiring forehead and gulped. ‘Now, item number four, Tea Duties…’

Robin was struggling to move the remaining trunk which had been left in the attic. The first one had contained old pictures, a few books and some bed linen and had been light enough to haul down the stairs. But this one weighed a ton and no matter how hard he tried the trunk refused to budge. He stood back to inspect it. Made of dark wood with elaborate patterned carvings, it had a brass lock, keeping whatever was inside sealed shut.

As far as he knew, the previous occupants of the cottages had been fishermen, all tenants of Bunty. Why would anyone leave a locked trunk behind? Surely they would want to take their possessions with them? Did Bunty even know the trunks were here? Probably not, tucked away in the rafters. He doubted she would have ventured up here. Still, it puzzled him as to what could be inside the trunk and more importantly, how he was going to get the thing out of the room.

It was clearly going to be a two-man job, so he reached for his mobile and rang Jack to see if he was free to give him a hand. It hadn’t taken long before he heard his mate enter the house.

‘Up here Jack!’ called Robin.

Jack climbed the newly installed steps up into the attic.

‘Hi, what’s the problem?’ He frowned.

‘It’s this, I can’t budge it.’ Robin kicked the side of the trunk.

‘Why? What’s in it?’

‘No idea, it’s locked.’

‘That’s odd,’ said Jack moving nearer to inspect the trunk. ‘Why leave something if it needs to be under lock and key?’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ Robin nodded. ‘Do you think we should tell Bunty about it? It must have belonged to one of her tenants.’

Jack knelt down to scrutinise the lock.

‘We own the house now, so technically it belongs to us,’ he replied, eyes narrowing to get a closer look.

‘Should we open it?’ asked Robin. ‘There’s no sign of a key.’

‘We could use a crowbar.’ Jack stood up. ‘I’ve got one in the van.’

They looked at each other, both curious as to the contents of the trunk.

‘Yeah, OK, let’s force it open,’ Robin said decisively.

After a few attempts at pushing down heavily on the crowbar, the lid eventually creaked open. Both eagerly peered inside.

‘An anchor?’ Robin’s voice held slight surprise.

‘Look, it’s got initials engraved on it.’ Jack pointed to the curved bottom where the letters B and P appeared in the steel. More interestingly, the shape of a heart was positioned in between. There was a slight pause as they took stock at their find.

‘This must have belonged to a fisherman who lived here once,’ Robin remarked. Then he noticed a brown envelope lying flat underneath it. He carefully pulled it free and opened it. Inside were photographs, slightly damaged by age and damp. Jack came to stand behind him to take a look.

They were pictures of a couple, taken some years ago judging by the Sixties clothes. A preppy looking young man wearing a double-breasted blazer with straight-legged slacks and loafers, stood next to a girl in a geometric shift dress and kitten heels. Both wore dark shaded glasses and big grins for the camera. Another shot showed the couple on what looked to be a day trip out, with Blackpool Tower in the background, splashing in the seawater. The man had his trouser legs and turtleneck shirtsleeves rolled up, whilst the lady laughed, also barefoot in Capri pants and a button-down blouse. Robin smiled at their sense of style and fun. Each picture depicted how much the couple were openly in love; the way their eyes held, arms wrapped tightly round each other’s body, always touching, connecting. The photos had been taken over a period of time, some in winter with snow-capped hills in the backdrop, or in summer picnicking in meadow fields. One was taken in a fairground, eating candy floss with a brightly lit Waltzer whirling behind them.

Robin and Jack studied each picture with interest.

‘I wonder where they are now?’ Robin’s eyes darted from one image to the next.

‘And why they left such treasured memories,’ Jack said. ‘Maybe one died and the other couldn’t bear such painful reminders?’

Immediately Robin thought of Jasmine and he gulped. He put the photographs back in the envelope.

‘What should we do with it?’ He tapped the trunk with his foot.

Jack scratched his head. ‘It doesn’t seem right to get rid of it…’

‘We could polish it up, it’d make a nice piece. The anchor would be a good feature in the garden, part of the cottage’s history,’ Robin suggested.

‘Yeah, but what about the photos?’ asked Jack.

Robin shrugged. ‘Just keep them I guess. I’ll take them home for now.’

Between them they carried the anchor down and propped it up against the back of the house for the time being. Robin decided he’d lightly sand the trunk down and varnish it, in which case it was as good there in the attic than anywhere else. He even considered keeping it, thinking the piece would look good at the bottom of his bed, plus it would make for handy storage space.

On his way home late afternoon, he called at the shop for something to eat that evening. Trish was busy serving other customers, so hadn’t seen him come in. Robin stared into the freezer cabinets with little relish. He knew he really ought to make himself something fresh, packed with vitamins and goodness, but just didn’t have the energy. It was times like this that he missed having someone to come home to. It would be lovely to return to his flat for once and have that special person to greet him with a welcoming smile and a delicious cooked dinner to share, or vice versa. Instead he was faced with a line of frozen meals to choose from, which he’d microwave, alone. Great. Just what he needed after a hard day’s work.

An image of Jasmine suddenly flashed into his head. He wondered what she was eating tonight, alone too. Maybe he ought to return the favour and cook her a meal? Why not? Deciding he’d call on her the next day and do just that gave him a touch more zest.

Opting for the chicken curry and rice, he made his way to the till, where Trish – who by now had spotted him – was keenly waiting.

She smiled as he approached. ‘Robin dear, how are you?’

‘Good thanks, Trish, and you?’

‘Oh you know, can’t complain,’ she replied whilst scanning his ready meal. ‘How’s the work coming along next door?’ she enquired as casually as she could. Robin looked up from digging in his back pocket for money.

‘Jasmine’s? Fine, the kitchen and bathroom are in.’ He paid, waiting for his change, which Trish was in no hurry to give.

‘How are you two getting along?’ she brazenly asked.

Oh, I get it , thought Robin, knowing where this was going and, more to the point, where it was coming from.

‘Who wants to know?’ he replied with an arched eyebrow.

‘Just asking, that’s all,’ said Trish innocently. Robin wasn’t convinced. He knew full well Bunty was behind Trish’s questioning. Honestly, that woman! Then, deciding to play along for devilment, he leant forward.

‘Can you keep a secret?’ he asked in a hushed voice.

‘Of course!’ trilled Trish.

‘She cooked me dinner the other night,’ he whispered, trying to keep a straight face.

Trish’s eyes went wide. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, I won’t tell you what was for afters, if you get my meaning.’ He winked, causing Trish to gasp. Robin couldn’t help but openly laugh.

‘Robin Spencer, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?’ she huffed, folding her arms.

‘Yes, I am.’ He chuckled, took his ready meal and left the shop.

‘Well, really,’ said an indignant Trish.