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Chapter 7
Ron laced his trainers up and grabbed his Bergen. Brett would carry the other rucksack, because although the walk to Kenfig Pool wouldn’t take all day, they would be out of the house long enough to warrant taking some refreshments with them. He noticed Annabelle also had a small bag on her back. It had a picture of a cartoon hero on it, and he recognised it as belonging to Jake.
‘If you want to leave that behind, I’ve got room to spare in my rucksack,’ he offered.
‘It’s OK. I’d feel lost without a bag of some kind.’ Despite her rejection, her smile was warm.
The sadness he’d seen in her eyes last night was gone – for the moment, at least, although he guessed it would probably return. Beverley had filled him in as to Annabelle’s circumstances and his heart went out to her. It couldn’t be easy for her, with two children to care for. The shock and the upheaval must be horrendous, and he could only imagine what she was feeling. At least she had May and Terence, and a roof over her head.
He’d met her parents on several occasions, and whilst he got on well enough with Terence, he was aware that her mother viewed him with suspicion.
‘Are you sure about coming with us?’ he asked Beverley. It was a fair old walk to the lake, at around three and a half miles, so Sam had informed them when he’d asked if they could go. Set in a nature reserve of rolling dunes and boasting the largest natural lake in the area, it promised to be a beautiful walk.
‘I’ll manage,’ Beverley insisted. ‘I’m not old and decrepit yet.’
‘I never said you were,’ Ron replied, with a chuckle.
‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, Helen?’ Beverley insisted.
The contrast between the two women was never more apparent than this morning. Beverley wore black leggings with a flowery tunic over the top, a pair of well-worn trainers on her feet and a cardi slung around her shoulders. She’d borrowed one of Sam’s baseball caps which, being slightly too small, was perched on the top of her orange-haired head. She was gripping her handbag in one hand and holding Pepe’s lead with the other, the excited poodle dancing about on the end of it.
Helen, on the other hand, was dressed in a pair of white linen trousers, a pale blue long-sleeved top(“because it wasn’t that warm out, you know”) and had a navy cable-knit sweater draped around her neck with the sleeves tied artfully across her chest. Big sunglasses, a floppy-brimmed hat, and deck shoes completed her outfit. One of them looked as though she was taking the dog for a quick walk around the block, the other as though she was going to spend the day on a yacht, sipping martinis.
There was a similar contrast between the teenage girls, with Portia only gradually emerging from her Goth phase and still favouring black clothes and heavy make-up, and Ellis looking like a 1960s hippy chick with her white floaty skirts and flowing blonde hair. Winter and summer, dark and light...
Annabelle’s daughter was clearly in awe of both of them and Ron felt a little sorry for the child. The sisters had each other for company – although you wouldn’t think it to listen to them squabble – and Sam and Jake had bonded instantly. Izzie was the odd one out, and she had yet to find her feet within the family.
‘Can I hold his leash?’ Izzie asked Beverley shyly, and beamed widely when Beverley gave her the lead.
‘Put your hand through there,’ Beverley instructed, ‘and wrap the lead once around to make sure you’ve got a firm grip.’
‘Tell him “heel” and he’ll walk just behind your left foot,’ Ron said. It had taken the poodle a while to get the hang of the heel command; not because the dog couldn’t grasp what was being asked of him, but because he didn’t want to obey. Pepe had been a stubborn little so-and-so. He still was when the mood took him, and Ron felt a pang shoot through his chest when he thought about not seeing the irascible little dog again. Or its equally irascible owner.
‘Are you OK?’ Annabelle asked, and he realised his sadness must have shown on his face.
Hastily he rearranged his features into a smile. ‘I’m fine,’ he answered, echoing her reply when he’d asked her the very same thing last night.
A look passed between them, full of something he couldn’t identify, and even after he had turned away, her face continued to linger in his mind. He wasn’t drawn to her just because she was pretty. There was something deeper, more— Gah! He didn’t know how to explain it, or whether he should even try. She was out of his league; why would a woman like her look twice at a man like him? But even if she hadn’t been, she was Beverley’s niece and that put her off limits. Whatever the reason, he was in no position to even think about acting on his attraction to her.
Without another word he hoisted the rucksack onto his back and stomped outside. He’d do well to remember to keep his distance.
***
The mid-morning sun was already warm, and the breeze blowing off the sea was gentle. With hardly a cloud in the sky, the day promised to be a lovely one and perfect for a stroll along the coastal path.
Apart from the dunes themselves, which undulated, the path running beside the high tide mark was mostly flat. The first section had been overlaid with a kind of boardwalk, providing easy access for any kind of wheeled user, whether it be pram, wheelchair or bicycle, and was quite busy with people strolling along, enjoying the sunshine. But as the walkway came to an end and the terrain grew rougher underfoot, so the number of people walking along the coastal path dwindled.
Sam and Jake took the lead, scampering ahead, the two older girls behind them, chattering amicably, rather than being at each other’s throats for a change. Then came Kate, Annabelle and Izzie. Pepe was off the lead but wasn’t ranging too far ahead, and behind them came Beverley and Helen, with Ron and Brett bringing up the rear.
For some of the way, the path rang alongside the golf course, and Brett’s attention had been on the numerous games being played, the state of the green, and the condition of the bunkers, and he’d shared his thoughts freely with Ron. Once they’d left the course behind and began walking through open meadow-land on their way to the next bay, talk turned away from golf and onto more interesting things.
‘Did Kate tell you that she’s been asked to run her own shop in Worcester?’ Brett said. ‘She turned them down, though – she likes it where she is and doesn’t want the extra responsibility, or the extra hours. Then there’s the travelling to consider.’
Kate worked in a charity shop in Pershore. It was where Ron and she had met: he’d been sleeping rough in the shop’s doorway and she used to supply him with coffee, food and, on occasion, clean clothes from the shop, which he knew she used to pay for out of her own pocket. Ron was indebted to her. He knew she would be hurt when he left Beverley, as would Beverley herself, but he would undoubtedly see Kate again. He’d grown up in Pershore and the surrounding area, and wherever he roamed, he was always drawn back there. He’d certainly bump into Kate again, although he’d think twice about kipping down in the shop’s doorway as he didn’t want her to feel obligated or awkward.
Ron’s thoughts drifted to living on the streets again, as he considered his options. Maybe moving on from Rest Bay wouldn’t be the best idea – he didn’t want to spoil Beverley’s holiday – so perhaps he’d wait until they returned to Brighton before he told her he was going back on the road.
Oh, what did it matter? A few more days were neither here nor there. It wasn’t as though he had anywhere to go or a burning need to be anywhere else; his appointment with a park bench in Pershore could wait.
