Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes. Questions still lingered in Ivy’s mind. Where had those passengers come from? What were they fleeing? Where were they now?
Two
The gravel crunched sharply beneath her feet as Ivy strode across the vicarage driveway, Fred by her side. They took the shortcut through the churchyard back towards their adjacent cottages. She pulled her coat tighter, though whether against the October chill, or Fred’s latest suggestion about her job hunt, she wasn’t sure.
‘Supply teaching?’ Ivy muttered. She’d done the formal teacher training decades ago, before her future had been altered for her. She didn’t have any experience, but Fred seemed to think that wasn’t really a deal breaker. His voice carried that gentle persistence she’d grown accustomed to over the past few months. ‘Stop underestimating yourself. You’ve had the training; you’ve got all the background checks for working with children; and you may not have teaching experience, but you’ve got masses of life experience. And the schools around here are always looking.’
As a retired teacher himself, Fred ought to know better. He was massively overestimating her abilities. No one would offer her a position as a teacher.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ As she spoke, she tasted the remnants of Victor’s terrible instant coffee on her tongue, suspecting she might have been the recipient of the three-spoonful mug. ‘It’s been years since I was in a classroom. The kids these days, they’d eat me alive.’
Fred chuckled. ‘The same way you were ‘eaten alive’ whenyou managed that youth group in Barnstaple? The one with the teenage anarchists you turned into a debating society?’
‘That was different,’ Ivy protested, though she couldn’t help smiling. The memory of those Wednesday evenings still brought her joy. ‘Besides, I’m too old to start something new.’
‘You’re talking to someone doing an online accountancy course at the age of sixty-two.’ She caught the glint in his eye. ‘Though I still can’t get my head around these video tutorials. Give me a book to study any day. Half the time I’m shouting at the screen to slow down.’
‘And when you’ve finished, do you expect one of the accountancy firms in Barnstaple to snap you up?’
He grinned. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. My brain’s just enjoying the challenge for now.’
‘I’m not sure mine’s up to being challenged anymore. For now, home with the puppy is where I feel safest. He’s my little refuge.’
He wagged his head at her. ‘Ivy, that’s a waste of your talents. It’s natural to want to protect yourself, but there’s a difference between protection and isolation. Not everyone’s out to get you.’
It was as close as Fred had come to mentioning her early retirement from the clergy. He knew what had happened, the whole village probably knew, but everyone was kind enough not to mention it. She gave a short huff and changed the subject. ‘You should have made that little speech in the meeting. Call themselves Christians! Where was their compassion for the people on that boat? All they were worried about was how it would affect them. Were they or their homes in danger, when those poor souls don’t have anywhere to call home.’
‘Maybe there weren’t any passengers.’
Ivy pulled a quizzical face. ‘We’ve both seen the news footage. I suspect it was crowded, but I can’t imagine where they could be hiding.’
From halfway up the sloping lane, she turned to surveythe village below. Stone cottages with thatched roofs nestled together like sleeping cats, their windows gleaming in the pale autumn light. Slate roofs and chimney pots peeked between the thatch, and the bare stems of climbing roses and wisteria clung to the cottages. Behind drystone walls, terracotta pots were tucked into sheltered corners, some wrapped in fleece against the coming frosts. A few brave winter pansies and spiky rosemary bushes hinted at the sleeping abundance beneath the earth, waiting for spring’s gentle awakening. Were there people crouched beside those pots or hidden behind the gnarled apple trees? ‘We’d notice strangers straightaway in a village of Brambleton’s size,’ she said thoughtfully.
They walked on, listening to the soft shush of water meeting the sandy beach below them. Ivy tried to picture the dinghy abandoned on the shore, gulls wheeling and calling above it. She stopped and swivelled to look, but the wide stretch of golden sand seemed deserted save for a solitary dog walker and, beyond them, a soft blur of mist where the sea met the sky in an indistinct watercolour wash.
‘If they’ve any sense, they’ll have scarpered,’ she said.
‘Where to?’
‘Barnstaple, maybe?’
Fred stopped at their adjoining gates and gestured towards her back garden. His voice held a note of concern that seemed more directed at her than any hypothetical refugees. ‘Your shed light is on. Did you forget to turn it off?’
Ivy’s brows knitted together. She hesitated, her hand hovering in mid-air above her gate. With the cost of electricity, she hoped that light hadn’t been on long. She couldn’t remember going into the shed at all today. This week even. But if she mentioned that, Fred would insist on investigating and she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking she needed looking after. He was already generous with his time. Only last week, he’d saved hera call-out charge for a plumber by mending her leaky bathroom tap. ‘Must have,’ she said lightly, opening the gate and fishing in her coat pocket for her keys. Instinctively she stroked the key to the vestry; she should return it to Victor, but it was her last link to St Peter’s and her former life, and had become a sort of good luck charm.
‘Want me to check for you?’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly capable of turning off a light.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Besides, you’ve got those thrilling accounting videos waiting.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’
‘Goodnight, Fred. And thanks for the career counselling.’
He lingered at the gate, tidying his recycling containers. ‘I’ll be round tomorrow with my tall ladder to clear out your gutters.’
He was a good neighbour, she thought, calling out her thanks.
As she walked up the path to her front door, she could hear the boxes clattering and the bags rustling, but she could also feel his eyes on her back. He must be worried too. Her mind scrolled, trying to pin down when she was last in that shed. Was it Saturday, checking the Christmas decorations? No, they were in the understairs cupboard. The week before? Earlier? The light glowed steadily, a small square of yellow in the gathering dark, and she hesitated. If she asked, Fred would accompany her, but she wasn’t ready to be that kind of retiree yet – the sort that needed rescuing.
