It had to be somewhere north of Great Yarmouth, a large wooden house
in the old Victorian style standing on a wild, rough stretch of the Norfolk
coast, still scoured by strong winds blowing in from the North Sea.
And Ralph Beecher had just flown half way across the world to find
whatever was left of it after forty years.
He parked the hired car near the cliff-edge and trudged down a soft steep path onto the beach. The sand felt good under his feet as poignant
memories of his youth came seeping back - happy memories of a childhood
sweetheart Pauline, yet bitter recollections of his brute-hearted father,
and a mother who drank.
After looking both ways, he tossed a coin and headed north. There was no hurry. Not any more.
For a while he saw nothing, and Ralph began to doubt if he was walking
in the right direction. Worse, the house might have fallen prey to a
bulldozer or been devoured by the hungry sea.
Then he saw a familiar sight far ahead of him. Bracing himself
against the breeze he studied the view through binoculars.
Unmistakably, there was the gingerbread woodwork over the balcony and
that ostentatious turret on the Victorian roof. With renewed vigour, Ralph
trudged back to the car, then drove slowly north along the bumpy coastal
track towards his goal.
Would it afford him much-needed peace of mind after the lingering
sorrows of his wife's death? Despite the blustering wind, Norfolk seemed
so calm compared to the hectic urgency of downtown Philadelphia.
He'd had mixed feelings about leaving all his friends behind. Two
months ago in his American office, his secretary Mrs. Lodge had been close
to tears when Ralph first announced he was pulling out.
"But England's where I was born fifty-odd years ago," he explained,
"in a remote house by the sea. I need to know if the old place is still
there!"
Despite his American accent, Ralph still felt as English as the day he
first stood on Yankee soil some thirty years earlier with his young
Philadelphia bride, Clara. He quickly made new friends there and, with
help from his wealthy father-in-law, started a small mining consultancy
firm. After two prosperous decades it now employed over a hundred staff.
Then tragedy struck as Clara developed an incurable cancer. Following
a long and painful illness she'd slipped peacefully away on Christmas Eve.
Ralph accepted her death with a mixture of sorrow and relief, pining
for lost love and companionship, yet thankful that her cruel spell of
suffering was now over. His grief soon evolved into a longing for the
haunts of his youth, the barren dunes of the Norfolk coast. In the end he
decided to take early retirement and pull up his American roots for good.
He sold his shareholding to his vice-president and worthy successor,
attended farewell parties, said final goodbyes, put his house on the market
and flew to London where he booked into a comfortable hotel. After several
lonely nights sampling the theatrical delights of the West End, he packed a
suitcase and took an early train out of Liverpool Street.
On reaching Yarmouth he rented a car and set off to find his old home
on the cliff-top. He knew the wild grey seascape would be visible from his
east-facing bedroom. There would be a summerhouse at the end of the garden
where he spent much of his unhappy childhood ...
And here it stood again, sadly the worse for wear. He parked some
distance from the house and walked slowly forward, awesome nostalgia in
every step, his ecstacy marred by a mounting sense of disappointment.
There was no longer a front gate, not even posts to support one.
Ralph remembered the paint being Wedgewood blue, but saw instead only a
flaking, faded grey. He picked his way among brambles along the broken,
weed-infested path, and knocked nervously on the door.
"I'm not answering to no-one," shouted a woman from inside. "You hear
me? You can shove this lot over the cliff before I move out."
Ralph responded with calm reassurance.
"My dear lady, I'm not here to cause trouble. I've just come to see
where I used to live, that's all. I'm alone, I assure you, and quite
defenceless!"
The woman peered from behind the glass-fronted door.
"You're American," she observed. "You're not from the estate agents?"
"Not me," he grinned pleasantly. "I've travelled all the way from
Pennsylvania. If you don't care to let me in, is it okay if I wander
around outside? I'd love to spend a few minutes in the garden if I may,
down by the summerhouse. I promise I shan't be a nuisance!"
She didn't reply, but eyed him with dark suspicion as Ralph strolled
round to the small back lawn overlooking the sea. There was no
summerhouse, not even the concrete slab where it once stood. Now at the
crumbling cliff-edge was an old wooden seat, the one Ralph had helped his
father make some fifty years earlier.
He sat on it and gazed out to sea, awestruck and entranced as he
savoured the wild spectacle he'd so loved and feared as a child.
Everything smelt the same, and it still looked the same, though now the
world around him had become so different, so very dull and empty.
He stayed a while, alone with his thoughts. Time didn't matter now.
With no job to worry about, no invalid wife needing constant attention,
the hours could drift more gently by, not with the urgent roar of
Philadelphia but echoing the calm of a bygone age.
Smiling, he thought of his American colleagues and studied the gold
watch his staff had bought him. Back there they'd still be fast asleep.
"We worked well together, didn't we?" Mrs. Lodge had sighed sadly.
"We made a good team. And you always treated me like I was an old friend,
right from day one."
This was perfectly true, and on his last day Ralph had revealed why.
Ever since she'd first entered his office, Jane Lodge had reminded him of
someone he once was deeply in love with, back in his teens. To Ralph it
seemed most uncanny, as if he'd always known Jane from his schooldays.
Jane had blushed. "I hope she was pretty?"
Ralph nodded sadly as he thought again of Pauline. That first love of
theirs had been stifled. Other factors had got in the way, as often
happens when you're young and immature. Life hadn't been easy, not then.
His childhood was marred by cold relationships, and the young lad had been
the ever-present whipping boy for his father's frustrations.
Thankfully, though, those days were gone. All of the past was gone -
his parents, his friends, his late wife, and now even his work.
Yet the house and the view, they were still here, if ravaged by time.
He turned to re-examine the tarnished old building. One of the shutters
hung loose from an upstairs window, and the covered balcony along the back
needed major repairs. The place couldn't have been redecorated in all the
years he'd been away. Like him too, it was showing its age.
The woman stepped out through the french windows, staring at him in
deep uncertainty. She began sweeping sand from the balcony, looking as if
time had treated her harshly too. There was no humour in the weathered
face which held a basic simplicity like rough-sawn timber, dulled as though
a light had gone out from within. Yet her face reminded him of someone
familiar, someone he had once known and loved, long ago.
The wild breeze tugged at the woman's hair but she ignored it, her
toil with the broom seeming even more futile as the wind became stronger.
It was a cruel, sand-laden wind that did no good to her nor to the house.
As Ralph stood up she stopped sweeping and stood motionless like a
cornered animal as if poised for a life-preserving dash to cover.
"Wind's freshened up a bit!" Ralph called cheerfully. "I'd forgotten
how exposed this cliff was. I lived here, you see, some forty years ago.
The weeds have grown a bit since then. What happened to the summerhouse?"
"The sea took that," she replied grudgingly. "Went over the edge one
night, as the rest will soon enough, the rate it's disappearing. Five feet
a year, I'm told."
"How long have you lived here?" he asked.
"I was born here. More reason why I'm staying put!" she added in
defiance.
Ralph laughed. "No kidding? Me too!" He pointed. "Up there in that
corner room. Now I'm back from America to revisit my birthplace."
"You were born here?" She studied him thoughtfully, and an uninvited
smile leaked onto her face.
"That's right!" He ventured nearer. "Lived here till I was fourteen.
Then my father died, and a year later Mother - well, she took her own life
actually. The verdict was accidental drowning, but no-one believed that.
Mum used to get very depressed, and tried drinking her way out of it. I
was sent away to boarding school, which only made matters worse - left her
on her own, you see? It seems she chose one night to walk down the sandy
path, right out there into the North Sea. See that dark blue patch? They
call that Hemsby Hole. We reckon that's where she ended up."
The woman maintained respectful silence for a moment, then narrowed
her eyes. "And afterwards you came back to live here alone?"
"On and off. During school holidays you'd generally find me shacked
up like a hermit, throwing occasional wild parties, till they insisted the
place be sold. I had no money in those days! And I was always restless,
forever wanting to move on. So I packed my bags, did my time in the army,
then roamed the world and finally ended up in Pennsylvania."
The face betrayed admiration. "You really are quite an adventurer!"
"More a survivor, I'd say. I'm basically a home-loving type of guy as long
as I've some place to call home. Finally I rose to become president of a
sizeable company in Philadelphia, but my wife died last Christmas, and the
old wander-lust returned. We never had any children, you see. No ties.
Nothing to keep me. So," he sighed bravely, "I decided to come looking for
my old roots. It's ironic. When I had roots I kept wanting to dig them up
and move on. It's only later, when I realised freedom had come to mean
insecurity, that I yearned for some place to plant new roots again."
"Well, it's no good planting nothing in this garden," she declared,
"it's crumbling away like old Weetabix!"
Ralph beamed a responsive smile and stepped onto the balcony.
"Careful!" she warned. "That's none too safe either. Come inside, if
you like. It's untidy, mind - I'm spring-cleaning. I was half-expecting
official visitors, but I reckon if this was once your home you've a right
to a welcome here. Would you like a cup of tea? I already put the kettle
on, once I decided you hadn't come to chuck me out."
Ralph thanked her and followed her through to a kitchen rich in old
memories.
"Oh, this hasn't changed a scrap," he said, absorbing the nostalgia of
familiar cabinets. "This is wonderful. Sad, mind, but I'm enthralled."
"So you was living out there all this time in America?"
"That's right. Sorry if I startled you earlier. Do you mind telling
me who wants you out of here, and why?"
"My landlord. I refused to pay no more rent while this fuss is going
on. They want me out sharpish so they can sell the place, see, not that
it's worth much to no-one else. It'll be driftwood in ten years' time."
"I'd give it more like fifty," said Ralph, "unless the erosion's
suddenly gotten worse. How long ago did you lose the summerhouse?"
"Six years back, when they did that work down on the beach. Taking
sand, they were, with bulldozers - said something about needing it further
up the coast for sea defences. I reckon the sea got angry and started
clawing at the cliff to get revenge."
But Ralph's professional eye had already made a fair assessment.
"I wonder," he said, "can I get down onto the beach and take a closer
look?"
"Sure, but don't be long. Your tea'll be ready in three minutes."
Ralph returned to the garden and approached the edge - no more than a
twenty foot drop, but a steep and tricky descent without the handrail he
once knew. Cautiously he clambered down and reached soft, familiar sand.
He spent several minutes examining the line of seaweed which defined
the high-water mark. With expert eyes he scrutinised every crack and
crevice in the cliff face, and when he'd seen enough he climbed back up
again.
As he reached the top he could hear raised voices coming from inside
the house. Reluctant to intervene, he walked discreetly across the lawn
and stood outside for a moment on the balcony.
"Can't help that!" shouted a man from within. "You should have
thought of that before you defaulted."
"So how much is it now?" the woman was asking.
"One thousand three hundred," said another man, "not including extra
interest on the arrears."
"But my rent's only forty pound a week!"
"Not any more!" came a mocking response. "In January it went up to
ninety-five. You were notified! And unless the balance is handed over by
the end of the week, we're taking formal proceedings to have you evicted."
Ralph felt it was time he came to the woman's rescue.
"I'm not at all happy about that cliff face," he began, stepping
breezily into the room. "Oh, sorry - I didn't realise you had company."
"These men are from the landlord's office," she said with a sullen
glare. "Stupidly I left the door open so you could get back in."
"Well, it's lucky I happened to be passing," he grinned pleasantly.
"It'll save us both a lot of time. Are you the guys I wrote to last month?
It's a grand view, isn't it, and so reasonable too, given the severely
limited life of the property."
Ralph began feeling his pockets as if searching for something.
"Now, let me see - do I still have the papers on me or did I leave
them in the car? Remind me again, what's your asking price?"
"For this place?" stammered one of the visitors, suitably confused by
Ralph's intervention. "Sixty-five thousand."
"What? Hell, no!" Ralph's manner became more strident and he strove to sound
extra American. "I must be confusing this joint with some place else.
Sixty-five you say? Is that with vacant possession?"
"It is. I can promise you, the property will definitely be empty by
next week."
Ralph glanced over to the woman with a reassuring twinkle.
"I wouldn't say there's that much of a hurry," he said, "since we have
a major problem to resolve first. How long can this crummy place stand up
against these landslides?"
One of the men gave a derisive snort. "Nah, that's only the garden.
The house'll be sound as a bell for a good fifty years."
Ralph echoed his own derision. "If that's your professional opinion,
I'd say it's a tad optimistic!" He handed them each a business card,
showing his expertise in geological surveys. "No," he went on, "I'd lay
odds on ten, no more. By my reckoning, if my client were to rent, even at
your inflated prices, he'd need no more than forty-five grand. Taking into
account current rates of interest, anything over thirty thousand is
plum-crazy."
For half an hour Ralph continued to knot the visitors' brains with
spurious arithmetic and quick-fire sales-talk, which he enjoyed immensely.
"But you're forgetting repairs and insurance," one of them pleaded.
"Am I?" stormed the former president, "I can't imagine property
insurance costing a thousand a year, not here! It's probably uninsurable anyway with
all these landslides! And I see no sign of any actual repairs. Even if
the garden lasts a decade, the house would never survive another hurricane!
No, this won't do at all - my client would see it's grossly overvalued.
What else do you have further up the coast?"
"We are prepared to accept any reasonable offer."
"Sure, but reasonable to whom? How about thirty-five thousand? I'm
halving your price, but Nature's already halved the garden. My client
might go to thirty-eight, even forty, but sixty-five thousand? Come on,
you guys! For something in this condition? Give me a break!"
As the men looked more and more uneasy, Ralph stepped up his attack.
"Look around you!" he boomed. "When was this last painted? And that
balcony's lethal. My client needs an investment, not a crumbling
wood-pile. No, I'll drop by at your office Monday and see what else you
have at a more reasonable price - though ... tell you what - I'll stick my
neck out and propose forty thousand, here and now, immediate cash. What's
the current exchange rate? Round it off and say seventy-five thousand
dollars - do you take American Express?"
By now the men were totally confused, and went away promising that if
Ralph would call in on Monday they'd be glad to formalise the details.
"I look forward to that with pleasure," he smiled sweetly. "Is there
a phone here? I must call Philadelphia as soon as it's daylight there!"
As the visitors drove off, Ralph and the woman exchanged broad smiles.
"Oh, I did enjoy that!" he grinned boyishly.
She nodded brightly. "So did I. For the first time in months I felt
safe. You were brilliant!" she added with a prolonged stare of admiration,
giving Ralph a chance to study her more closely. Without that former
frown, she was by no means unattractive. Moreover he was now seeing
features that seemed hauntingly familiar.
"You know," he said, "you remind me of someone. You're not unlike my
secretary back in Philadelphia, or someone she reminded me of."
"If you once lived here," said the woman, "I reckon you must have
known my mother. People always said we looked alike. You remember Pauline
Adams? Well, I'm her daughter Julie."
Of course! It all came together - the face, the house!
"You're Pauline's daughter? That's incredible! Your mother and I
used to play right there on the beach when we were kids."
Julie stood motionless, her mouth half open.
"Do you mind me asking - your first name wouldn't be Ralph?"
"That's me!" he nodded. "The infamous local tearaway, Ralph Beecher."
Julie stared back intently, her fingers poised as if in prayer.
"Oh my!" she gasped, "My, oh my! Mum often spoke about you. If you're the
person I think you are, she was still very much in love with you when you
left. She always said you'd come back some day. I reckon that's why she
rented this house. For the memories, you know, and perhaps hoping..."
"I take it Pauline's no longer around?" Ralph enquired reverently.
Julie shook her head. "'Fraid not. Mum died five years ago. Were
you serious about someone from America wanting to buy this house?"
"Sure, but he's no longer in America. He's standing right here. I've got to have this house,
Julie, even if I have to double my offer. I need to bring a part of me
back to life again. There's such sentimental value here!"
"I know. But you said the cliff was dangerous."
"No, Julie. I told them that, but there's no danger here, not for years yet. The
high-water mark's nowhere near the foot of the cliffs, but if there's any
doubt, I can soon put up reinforcements to hold it safe. We'll maybe
include a nice flight of steps too, down to the beach. No, as I see it,
Julie, there's only one problem we have to face. This is your home now. I
couldn't dream of turning you out."
"But I don't have a choice," she said. "I can't possibly afford to
live here. My mother wasn't wealthy, you know. We were a one-parent
family."
"Nevertheless I came all this way to see my old house again, and if
I'm allowed to buy it, I won't rest till it's looking good as new. It's
going to take time and money, Julie, but it'll be worth every penny, you'll
see. Are you interested?"
"Me? In what way?"
"I'll want to invite a few friends over when I'm settled. They'll
love this place, of course, but I could use some help. It's years since I
went around with a mop and duster, and I'm hopeless in the kitchen. If I
buy this place, Julie, I'll need someone to keep it clean and cook a few
meals. Do you know of anyone who'd want a job like that? I mean,
she'd have to be pretty familiar with this house, wouldn't she? And she'd
better be a good cook too. I'm afraid thirty years of my wife's cuisine
has raised my expectations quite shamefully."
"My mother taught me plenty," she replied with a simple smile. "I'm
so glad you remembered her. So, you're Ralph Beecher! I often wondered what
you'd be like."
As this living image of Pauline continued her wistful appraisal of her
visitor, Ralph found himself wondering if those earnest grey eyes could
actually be of his own making. He flushed with embarrassment to recall it
was certainly possible. If so, Julie would be thirty-nine now. But did
she know? What ought he to say? Where should he begin?
"Do you know what became of your father, Julie?"
"I never knew him as a person," she replied. "He went away before I
was born. But Mum made no secret of his name! Listen, if you'd stayed
for lunch, you'd have a good chance to test my home cooking."
"Thank you, Julie," he whispered tenderly. "I'd like that very much.
And maybe over lunch you'll tell me all about your life, right from the
very beginning. And take as long as you like, my dear. We've so much to
tell each other, and I'm in no hurry to move on. Not any more."
THE END
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Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations. You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me. Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson All Rights Reserved.