2006 - Wildcat Moon (29 page)

“I’m going to miss you loads and loads, Mrs Galvini, but I’ll write every week.”

“And I write back,” Lena said through her tears.

Then Alfredo hugged Archie dose and kissed him once on each cheek and then the car doors slammed shut and he watched the Galvinis’ faces looking out through the back window of the car as it bumped along the rough track that led away from the Skallies.

The car disappeared around the bend in a cloud of dust and Archie turned away.

As the dust cleared the postman came into sight, whistling cheerfully. “A letter for you, Mrs Grimble,” he called out.

Martha Grimble looked up, “But no one ever writes to me.”

“Well, someone from Ireland has. The postmark is from County Cork,” he said.

Martha Grimble’s face grew ashen and beads of sweat erupted on her top lip. She took the letter with a trembling hand, hurried inside Bag End and shut the door.

Archie watched her go fearfully. Behind the door of Bag End Martha Grimble, with her heart thumping painfully, opened the letter that was to change their lives.

I
t was still hot when the boat docked in the port even though it was late in the afternoon. The sun burned ferociously in a sky the colour of the Virgin’s robes and a warm breeze blew the last wisps of clouds aimlessly towards the horizon.

The port was a terrifying madhouse of a place. The air was filled with dust and noise, clattering and banging, shrieking and wild laughter. Steam engines whistled shrilly and sirens blasted as though in competition with one another. Crane drivers dropped crates into the gaping holds of ships and the air crackled with the sound of splintering wood.

A sad-faced mule clopped over the cobbles pulling a cart full of melons, and an old man with a tray of old shoes hung around his scraggy neck hobbled along calling out to those around him.

A caged bird piped a warbly song and someone nearby sang the snatch of a catchy tune. Sailors whistled and shouted and a group of brown-legged, barefoot urchins danced nimbly among the fishing nets.

An old woman dressed all in black stood behind a fish stall, her skin dark as Christmas Brazil nuts, her eyes like cut-outs from the sea.

Archie Grimble stood alone, his legs still wobbly from being on the boat for so long. Every now and then a wave of nausea snatched at his belly and the ground beneath him lurched and made him feel giddy.

He blinked in the bright light and wiped the sweat from his brow with a crumpled handkerchief. His bad leg grew hot and uncomfortable behind the calliper, the knapsack he was carrying on his back was heavy and he could feel rivulets of sweat dribbling between his shoulder blades. He had no hat and his hair was as stiff as straw baked by the sun.

He had never known such a fierce heat as this and his skin pricked and tightened uncomfortably. A fly perched on the lens of his spectacles and he swatted it away irritably.

A beggar limped towards him, paused, stared curiously up into his face and let fly a mouthful of strange words.

Archie was sure that at any moment he would faint.

Then, with delight, he saw Alfredo Galvini elbowing his way through a group of loud-voiced sailors, striding towards him across the cobbles, his arms outstretched and a smile as wide as a whale’s.

“Archie! Oh, my little Archie!”

“Mr Galvini!” he shouted.

Archie looked at his old neighbour from the Skallies in delight. He looked different beneath an Italian sky, browner, healthier, more at home in his skin.

“Come, Archie. Is so hot! I have my boat a little way from here. I take you to see my Lena. She been so happy you coming.”

“Is she waiting in the boat, Alfredo?”

“No, she at home. I don’t bring her because she so excited and jumping about so much I afraid she tip up the boat and we all get a soaking, eh?” Alfredo laughed.

Archie giggled. It was so good to see Alfredo again.

“Is Santa Caterina a long way away?” he asked excitedly.

“Is quite a way. For some people many hours by boat but I a good rower and gets you there more quick. Lena been cooking all day, so when we get there you eat like a prince.”

“That’ll be good, I’m starving.”

Alfredo took Archie’s heavy knapsack and slung it over his shoulder as if it were a bag of feathers, then he handed him a cap to keep the fierce sunlight out of his eyes.

Archie walked beside Alfredo, holding tightly to his hand as they passed through noisy throngs of people.

“How is life going on in the Skallies, Archie?”

“It’s all right. The Pilchard is really busy and Fleep works for Nan now. He’s a real good cook and at weekends they serve proper meals and some people come from miles away.”

“That’s good. And how is those Arbuthnot women, the funny little ones?”

“Oh, they’re fine. The younger one, well she’s not young but you know what I mean, she gives piano lessons now to some of the kids from Nanskelly School. And they still run a tea shop at weekends. The cakes they make are gorgeous. Giant cream puffs and chocolate eclairs.”

“They do? That’s very good, eh? Make them happy. And the Paynes?”

“They’re just the same as ever. Either out fishing or in the Pilchard drinking beer.”

“No news from your father?” Alfredo ventured.

“Nope,” Archie was unable to disguise his pleasure.

“You gonna stay with us for whole six weeks?”

“Yes, while my mammy is away.”

“She say in letter that she gone to Ireland?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why, she wouldn’t tell me,” he said sadly.

“Don’t look so worried. You have good time here, time pass very quick and then soon you mammy be back and you no worry any more.”

Alfredo helped Archie down the steep, slippery steps and into the bobbing boat.

Archie sat in the front of the boat and looked around him in wonder as Alfredo rowed them expertly away from the bustling port and further on round the bay.

Gradually the port grew smaller then disappeared from view and the sounds from the land died away.

The sun beat down and the movement of the boat threatened to rock Archie to sleep, but he fought to keep his eyes open so that he didn’t miss anything.

All around him fish jumped and plopped in water the colour of a peacock’s tail.

The oars skimmed through the waves and Archie dangled his arm over the side, letting the cool water splash over his hot skin.

As they turned a craggy headland the sun began to slip lazily towards the sea.

It was a special feeling sitting there alone with Alfredo in the little boat. It was peaceful and comforting, like they were the only two people in the world.

“Santa Caterina,” Alfredo said nodding towards the land. “I think you going to like it here.”

Archie looked with awe at the small, higgledy-piggledy village rising above the shore. It looked quite magical, drizzled red and gold by the sunset.

He yawned and shivered; it felt cold now that night was falling. On the coast lights began to twinkle brightly and the sound of an accordion being played drifted across the darkening waters.

Alfredo smiled and thought how good it was to see this little fellow again.

He and Lena had been surprised to receive the letter from Martha Grimble. She had written to ask if they could have Archie to stay with them for the summer holidays. There was some problem with her family in Ireland and she wanted Archie well away from the Skallies in case he was in any danger. She didn’t say what sort of danger he might be in but they had agreed straight away and written back. Alfredo would keep him safe in Santa Caterina, nobody would harm one hair of his precious head as long as Alfredo Galvini had breath in his body.

“We nearly there now. I can see Lena at the window holding an oil lamp,” Alfredo said.

But in the front of the boat Archie Grimble was soundly asleep.

The rain stopped and steam rose from the cobbles of Bloater Row. A rainbow arched above the chimneys of Killivray House. Nan Abelson opened the door of the Pilchard Inn and stepped outside. The morning air was fresh and sweet after the downpour and piano music drifted out from Periwinkle House and mingled with the shrieking of gulls above the Boathouse.

She looked across at the misted-up windows of Skibbereen and sighed. She missed Lena and Alfredo sorely. Still, it was wonderful for them to be able to realize their dream and return to their homeland. Sometimes she ached to return to the place of her birth and yet…and yet she wasn’t ready to face up to the past, maybe she never would be.

Skibbereen looked cold and unloved; the little glass shrine set into the wall was streaked with grime and the candle stub long since snuffed out. She missed seeing the light of the candle in the night time; she’d liked the way it had made a small oasis of light in the darkness of Bloater Row.

As she passed Bag End she wondered how little Archie was doing; she hoped he’d arrived safely in Italy and wasn’t too homesick. She couldn’t get over Martha Grimble packing him off like that for the whole six weeks! Sure, she’d said that the shipping company had agreed for someone to keep an eye on him during the voyage but even so he was only ten years of age! He was far too young to be making a journey like that on his own.

She remembered the fear that she’d felt when she’d set sail for England. She’d been only a few years older than Archie was now. She’d lain in the bunk in the dingy cabin, drowning in tears, her body limp with exhaustion. And with every roll of the boat she had felt her past sucked away from her, everything she’d known drowned by a hungry sea that was shunting her relentlessly towards a strange new land.

Martha Grimble had told Nan that she had urgent family business to attend to but Nan hadn’t believed one word of her story. Nan had a bloody good idea that she’d gone to London looking for Walter Grimble. Some women never learned, they’d stick with a man however badly he treated them. She’d never leave Cissie for any man, that was for sure!

She walked along the track that led up to Rhoskilly and in through the churchyard gates.

In the distance the smokeless chimneys of Killivray rose above the canopies of the trees and rooks circled in the sky above.

Nan was worried about the little girl from Killivray. It was months now since the woman had visited her at the Pilchard and asked Nan for her help. She’d been plausible, said that it was a matter of life and death that she got the child away, but afterwards Nan hadn’t been so sure. She’d promised to make contact with Nan and let her know that everything had gone to plan and that the child was all right.

When Nan agreed to help she hadn’t banked on there being a murder involved. That had shaken her up all right when the police had arrived in the Skallies. She’d kept her composure, though, and said that she’d never come into contact with anyone from Killivray House.

Now she made her way between the gravestones until she came to Benjamin Tregantle’s grave and then stooped and placed a small bundle of herbs on the grave, rosemary for remembrance.

She wiped a tear from her eye and thought of the last time she’d seen Benjamin. Two nights before he’d died he’d come into the Pilchard earlier than usual for a drink. He’d looked exhausted and worried and was wheezing and coughing as though he’d had the flu. She’d offered to get him some medicine but he’d said he was past the stage of medicine. He’d laughed then and said that every bugger died of shortness of breath in the end.

He’d told her that he’d been busy of late, had a lot of sorting out to do before he went on his travels. She’d asked him where he was going and he’d said, “Just here and there, Nan, business mainly, a few loose ends to tie up before I go on to a better place.”

Hell, she missed him! He’d been so good to her when she’d first arrived here in the Skallies. She’d picked up the keys to the Pilchard from an address in St Werburgh’s and walked all the way to the Skallies carrying Cissie in her arms. When she’d arrived, exhausted, she’d been horrified to find that the place she was renting had once been a pub. She’d just assumed that it was a house of some sorts but the rent had been cheap and that’s all that mattered at the time, that she and Cissie had somewhere safe to stay.

Benjamin had been her first visitor, bringing her a basket of fresh food and a bunch of spring flowers to cheer the place up. He’d suggested that they could do with a pub in the Skallies again and that she might as well open it up seeing as everything was there. Benjamin had helped her to scrub the place out from top to bottom. He’d brought kindling and logs and lit a fire to chase away the gloom, and in the following days he’d lent her money to order stock, shown her how to sort the beer barrels out, clean the cellar and keep everything shipshape.

And that was it, almost overnight she’d become the landlady of the Pilchard Inn. Not that she’d made much of a living from the meagre trade from the Skallies folk and a few locals who braved the stigma of drinking down in the place where the odd people lived. Still, she and Cissie hadn’t asked for much, they’d been happy in this little backwater. They’d had a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

Of late, though, trade had been brisk and the takings were more than she’d thought possible.

“You were a good man, Benjamin Tregantle,” she said sadly, “and there aren’t many of your sort left, more’s the pity.”

She looked down at the grave and smiled. Benjamin would have laughed to see her standing there talking to herself. Death had never worried Benjamin. He’d always said that death was the only thing we could be certain of in life. She blew a kiss towards the grave and then she walked slowly back down towards the Skallies.

Dawn was breaking over Santa Caterina. The dark sea took on a purple hue and the pink wash of the sun seared the lightening sky.

Sister Isabella looked down from her window in the Convent of Santa Caterina perched high above the village and watched as the houses emerged from the shadows of the night.

She saw the first fishing boat making its way in towards the small harbour.

The shutters began to open in the houses and the old cockerel crowed down in the garden of the Casa delle Stelle.