‘Is anyone there?’ I called out stupidly, shuddering, because isn’t that what you say at a séance? Every scary movie I’d ever seen was spooling through my head as I approached the door. I leapt back as the knocking came again.
No one in their right mind answers the door to an unknown caller in the middle of a blackout.
‘Who’s there?’ I called out, but either they couldn’t hear me above the raging storm or they didn’t want to reveal themselves. My heart was thumping noisily in my chest as I crept to one of the small hallway windows and peered through the rain-spattered pane. A sudden and convenient bolt of lightning threw the darkness into relief, allowing me to catch a glimpse of the stooped figure on the doorstep.
Rain was pouring like a waterfall from his sou’wester and cascading in busy tributaries on to his oilskin jacket. I hurried back to the door and threw it open.
‘The lights are out,’ declared Amelia’s curmudgeonly neighbour, as though I might somehow have failed to notice it.
‘I know,’ I said, having to raise my voice to be heard above the shriek of the wind. ‘I was trying to remember where the fuse box is.’
‘That won’t do you any good,’ he declared dourly. ‘It’s not just this cottage. The power’s out everywhere. Doubt it’ll be back for hours.’
I couldn’t decide if trudging through the rain to tell me this had been a thoughtful gesture or just the need to spread some misery, but then radically revised my opinion when the old man bent to pick up an object by his feet. There was just enough moonlight for me to make out its shape. It was an old-fashioned storm lantern.
‘I thought you might be needing this.’
*
Igniting the burners on the gas hob to create some extra light was an obvious solution, but it hadn’t even occurred to me and illustrated – if further proof was needed – that I would score very poorly on a survival skills chart. The flames burnt cobalt blue in the darkness, and through the shadows I watched as my elderly Good Samaritan began fiddling with the hurricane lamp. My nose twitched as the pungent smell of paraffin filled the room. It only took the striking of a match for the kitchen to be lit instantly with a soft warm glow.
‘That oughta see you alright for the next couple of hours until they get the juice back on,’ he said, sliding the lantern towards me. ‘Just don’t go setting fire to the old place. These cottages are timber-framed, you know.’
He had already turned towards the door, preparing to step back into the storm.
‘Won’t you stay for a while? I could boil up some water for tea. To say thank you… you know.’
His face was all wrinkles and shadows, but even in the flickering lamplight I thought I caught the look of surprise on it.
‘I don’t make much of a habit of mixing with people. I find I don’t like most folks.’
I hoped the shadows hid my twitching lips. ‘Well, I don’t make a habit of inviting grumpy strangers to join me for a middle-of-the-night cuppa. But I’m willing to chance it if you are.’
*
Friendships can spring up in the most unlikely of places and usually when you least expect them. Like a field of dandelions that appear overnight, they can change a landscape in the blink of an eye. I hadn’t known I’d needed anyone to fill the vacancy of confidant. After all, I had Mum – or even Jeff – if I wanted someone to talk to. And yet for some reason I hadn’t chosen to unburden my secret fears on either of them. That I would find myself confiding all my worries about Amelia to a crusty old fisherman who claimed he didn’t really like anyone was as astonishing as it was remarkable. It was also rather lovely.
*
‘So, you befriended Amelia’s miserable elderly neighbour?’ Mum asked, for what had to be the third time the next morning, as though it didn’t matter how many times I retold it, she still had trouble believing me.
‘His name is Tom and actually I think it was more a case ofhimbefriendingme. And I don’t believe heismiserable after all. I think he might just be lonely. And he’s not that ancient either – in fact, he’s about the same age as you. I asked.’
‘Well, the salty sea air hasn’t been kind to him then,’ Mum said. She was clearly still worrying about my apparent lack of judgement in opening my door to a stranger in the middle of the night. In fact, I was fairly sure the whole purpose of this morning’s early visit was to ensure that I hadn’t had some dreadful mishap during the previous night’s power cut. Admittedly, the huge plaster covering the palm of my left hand did little to reassure her.
‘What on earth did you and an old fisherman find to talk about?’ asked Mum, spraying copious amounts of disinfectant on to the kitchen worktops that I’d already wiped clean that morning. I wisely chose not to mention this.
‘Storms. Living on the beach… and Amelia,’ I added after a hesitant pause. Mum had her back to me, so I couldn’t read her expression, but I saw the tension in her shoulders as she scrubbed the draining board a little bit harder.
‘Hmm.’ I knew without even looking that her words were coming through pursed lips. ‘I’m not sure how Amelia would feel about that. She’s always been much more private than you. I don’t think she’d be happy with one of her neighbours knowing about her illness, and maybe even gossiping about it.’
I got to my feet to give her a quick reassuring hug. ‘To be fair, Mum, I don’t think Tom has that many people in his life that he even talks to, much less gossips with.’
Mum picked up the tea towel and began folding it with the precision of a professional origamist. There was an entirely different expression on her face when she eventually looked up. ‘Oh, that’s really quite sad. I had no idea.’ And there she was: my mum, with a heart so big and generous I couldn’t remember a single Christmas lunch without at least one lonely or abandoned neighbour who’d been invited to join us. It was her very best trait and the one I always hoped I’d inherit.
Despite my assurances that I’d be fine with just a slice of toast, Mum insisted that she might as well make us a ‘proper’ breakfast, seeing as she was here. She lifted the enormous bag she’d brought with her on to the worktop and began unloading the shopping in a way that reminded me of Mary Poppins with her bottomless carpet bag. There was far too much in the bag for a simple cooked breakfast, and I saw her surreptitiously sliding items into the fridge and store cupboards when she thought I wasn’t looking. I bit my lip to hide my smile, thinking it was just as well that I was staying at Amelia’s and not with her, or I wouldn’t be able to fit into any of my old clothes by the time I went back to New York. Not for the first time, the thought of my return made me shiver uneasily. What was that all about?I did want to go back, didn’t I?It was far too big a question to face this early in the day, so I parcelled it up and tucked it away in a dark corner of my mind for later examination.
Before long, the kitchen was filled with the soundtrack of a full English. Bacon was spitting noisily beneath the grill, while eggs sizzled in the frying pan. Despite my protests, I could feel my mouth watering as I retrieved the muffins when they popped out of the toaster. We were on the point of dishing up when a shadow fell over the kitchen as a shape sidled past the window.