Jeff looks to his wife with warning eyes and she seems to think better of replying. ‘What will you do now?’ he asks, nodding up to the house.
‘I’ll have to put it up for sale, I suppose,’ replies Tobias with more than a hint of chagrin. ‘It’s not much use to us now, is it? But I’d be surprised if anyone buys it.’
The woman starts up her irritating tutting again.
‘Oh dear, it really is a shame. For the community, for those visiting here. It will be such an eyesore, especially if it stays like that for a long time.’
‘Well, it can’t be helped. I assure you, I’m not best pleased about it myself.’
‘It’s almost like a warning to others,’ she says, ‘There but by the grace of—’
Jeff nudges his wife again and she lowers her eyes as though the sight of the house is some terrible omen, and she can’t bear to look at it any longer.
Tobias frowns in contempt. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that they will no longer be living down here amongst these halfwits. They really do seem to have a warped idea of life.
‘Right, well, unless I can do anything else for you, I have one or two matters to take care of, as you can imagine.’
‘They’re in my thoughts and prayers. The victims,’ says Barbara, clutching a crucifix around her neck, which he hadn’t noticed her wearing on their first meeting. ‘As are you, Mr Woolf. And all your family.’
‘No need, thank you,’ says Tobias curtly. ‘I don’t really go in for all that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, but don’t you see?’ she says more vehemently. ‘It must have been an act of God. He moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.’
Tobias stares at her for a few moments, wordlessly.
‘Anyway, good luck,’ adds Jeff, steering his wife away now and crossing over the road, as if they would like to put as much distance between themselves and Tobias’s bad fortune as possible.
60
Their taxi is booked for an hour’s time. The bags are packed (a police car had dropped off the remainder of their belongings salvaged from the holiday apartment earlier that morning) and there is just enough time for one last walk on the beach and maybe an ice cream if they are lucky.
Lottie takes a quick look in the mirror, running a hand over her pixie cut and registering the fact it has grown over the last week. All this sun has bleached it a little too. Her teeth look whiter against the tawny hue of her skin, her nails are longer, stronger and her eyes sparkle a little more, even after all this stress; proof that there’s nothing like a bit of ‘vitamin sea’ to do you good.
She smiles at Tim as they lock up, happy to be leaving this less than ideal accommodation and closing the door on what has been one of the most tumultuous holidays. Determined to end on a high, to take some good memories home with them, they set off in the direction of the rock pools one final time.
While it is still warm today, a huge downpour last night has cleared things out and it feels like Lottie can breathe properly for the first time in over a week. Josh is singing one of his nonsense songs to himself; a mash-up of the Bob the Builder theme tune and ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ with the occasional random lyric thrown in. He doesn’t seem to be any the worse for the last few days, doesn’t seem to remember much about the fire. His only upset was caused by the loss of his toys and the odd night without one of his parents. What they say istrue, thinks Lottie. Kids are far more resilient than we give them credit for.
When they get to the nearest cove they clamber down, their hands and feet instinctive now, grasping at the marram grass and finding nooks in the earth and rock. How quickly they could become accustomed to the landscape, the natural rhythms of the tide, the seasons. But they could never be coastal dwellers, small town locals. She longs for the comforting enormity of the city, the pull of its anonymity, its bluster and roar. All the things she had wanted to escape now feel reassuring, though she is sure they will come to annoy her again in time.
Tim reaches for her hand and they stand with their toes in the cool, briny water, the warmth of the sun blessing their faces as Josh potters about nearby searching for more beach detritus.
‘I’m sorry I doubted you, Lottie,’ he says, allowing his words to be caught up by the wind and swept out to sea almost before she can hear them. ‘I’ll never do that again. I want you to know that. I’m always here for you. No matter what, I’ve got your back.’
She squeezes his hand tightly but makes no response, not quite trusting herself to speak. A stillness, a peace of sorts, seeps into her along with each lap of the water, every beat of the sun. She opens her eyes finally and looks around, searching the stony beach, scanning each shell, each pebble. She is looking for the perfect one; a talisman to mark this moment, to keep in her pocket, to take out and touch, to hold when she is next unsure or scared.
Tim takes a look at his watch and sighs, calling time on this bliss, scooping up Josh with the promise of an ice cream whispered into the tiny whorl of his ear. As they slowly plod back along the coast path, Lottie hears it first. She and Tim both pause, their ears pricking, limbs stiffening as though they are experiencing some muscle memory, some collective trauma. The unmistakable shriek and wail of a siren, far off, furtheraround the bay. It is an awful, sickening sound that they will forever associate with that night now. It is particularly cruel and incongruous, she feels, in this pretty coastal idyll, where nothing bad, sad or dangerous should ever happen. Only the playful, tinny tune of an ice cream van or the high-pitched laughter of children should be heard drifting across the air.
Lottie looks to Tim and she sees the same mirror of emotions in his face, almost reading his thoughts like a ticker tape.
‘It’s okay, Lottie,’ he says, holding out a hand to steady her. ‘It’s not for us. It’s no one we know. Come on. Time to go.’
61
You can’t beat it for beauty around here, admits Tobias as he takes a seat in one of his favourite bars down by the harbourside, overlooking the water. It is secluded and shady and, at least from this perspective, he doesn’t have to look at the ruined house. It is behind him, set back, safely tucked away in the recesses. If he doesn’t see it or look at it again, he doesn’t have to think about it. As he orders a cold beer and a bowl of chips – thrice-cooked in beef dripping, according to the blackboard – he decides this is the best course of action. As it always has been in his life. Onwards and upwards.
He will leave his lawyers and the insurance brokers to fight it out between them. That’s what he pays them to do. Of course, he’ll have to sell the London house, nothing else for it. Olivia will get used to the idea eventually. In fact, he doesn’t expect she’ll mind all that much since she’s dead set on moving down here. And now the kids are both nearly adults, practically fledged both of them, it makes sense to downsize and rethink.
A waiter brings him his order and he drinks deeply, trying to replace the lost fluids from the night before and his strenuous walk this morning. Although it is definitely cooler now, he no longer feels quite so hot and bothered as he has all week. There is a certain peace to be had in acquiescing to the status quo when it can’t be changed. He refuses to call it fate, though. Every situation can be manipulated or turned to one’s advantage. If he plays his cards right, he might even come away from all this with a huge insurance payout.
