IOLANTHE

Valerie studies the menu, aware of being a stranger in The Clipper. After her long drive down yesterday in terrible traffic, interminable chats with estate agents and then viewing a couple of disappointing houses, she is very tired. Her stay here last evening was comfortable enough but she has slept very little, continually waking to worry about finding the right house and her family’s reaction to moving here. The sale of Derek’s business will change their lives so much. Her girls are now away at university so the nest is empty and she longs for a new start. Derek is happy in Bristol but now they have an opportunity to live differently.  

Keith approaches her with his order pad [link to The Clipper menu]. ‘I can recommend the mussels. Fresh today’ 

‘Mmm, sounds lovely, but could I just have a spritzer with Sauvignon for now,’ says Valerie, ‘I’m expecting a phone call. I’ll order later.’ 

‘Coming up.’ Keith strolls over to the bar, opens a new bottle and pours out the wine. ‘Any luck with the viewings today?’

‘Not exactly.’ Valerie sits back with a sigh, rubbing her eyes. They feel like grit. It wasn’t the house hunting experience I envisaged, she thinks to herself. But despite all that has happened she knows she still wants to live here. All she has to do is find the right house and convince Derek. Talking of which, she checks her phone – Of course, silly me, still no signal. It is something she is still not used to. She can try ringing him after supper, take herself outside and wave the phone about until she finds a few bars. 

Keith brings over her drink and goes to chat with the elderly couple having supper on the next table. She vaguely remembers seeing them at the village fair, but then most of the village were there. 

Suddenly a dog yelps followed by raised voices from the end of the bar. Jo, the daughter of Mrs Clemens from the Manor House, is shouting at a tall bearded young man. 

‘Don’t you dare kick my dog! Haven’t you caused enough trouble?’ 

‘Sorry,’ says the young man, ‘it was an accident. I didn’t see him. But hey, what do you mean? How have I caused trouble?’

‘You and my mother and your hairbrained scheme. It’s going to affect the lives of the people we love – ’ She breaks off, red in the face.  

The elderly lady leaves her seat and approaches them at the bar. ‘Come on Jo, this isn’t doing any good to anyone. You’ve had a hard day, with the funeral. Don’t upset yourself.’  

Jo fights back tears. ‘I need to go home Emily. This was a bad idea. Come on Mouse, good boy’. With that Jo turns, knocking over a stool in her haste, and barges out of the pub. Valerie watches as Emily returns to her friend, shaking her head sadly. The young man at the bar shrugs his shoulders at Keith who makes no remark.

Valerie’s phone rings, diverting her attention. She gets up to go outside to answer it, hoping she can get a signal. 

‘Derek, Derek can you hear me?’ She moves around the beer garden trying to improve the signal, but to no avail. Another missed call. Then she sees that Jo hasn’t gone home at all. She is sitting with her head bowed at one of the garden tables, caressing her dog’s head, as if trying to find comfort in his love. It has begun to rain.  

Valerie’s heart goes out to the slumped young woman. She takes cover under one of the garden gazebos, and tries again to get a signal, but she cannot concentrate. Her concern for Jo is rising. Derek will have to wait again. The rain is now heavier. She decides to take the bull by the horns, pulls up her hood and approaches Jo across the grass.

‘Hello, it’s Jo isn’t it? We met before very briefly, but I don’t expect you remember me. I’m Valerie Williams. I stayed the night at your Mother’s after your friends’ deaths. What a terrible time it must be for you.’ 

Jo looks up. ‘Yes, I do remember you. Weren’t you with Anneke when she found them?’

Jo seems to have been crying. Her wet hair is plastered to her head but she seems quite oblivious to the rain, her face a picture of misery. 

‘Yes, not something I would wish on anyone,’ says Valerie. ‘But look, you’re soaked and it’s getting cold too. Why don’t I take you home? My car’s just over there.’

‘I’ve got my dog with me.’  

‘No problem, I love dogs.’ Valerie holds out her hand for Mouse to sniff.’ Isn’t he sweet? I’ve never been able to have one, what with working and living in the city. I’m determined to have one when we move here.’ 

They walk across the wet grass to where Valerie’s car is parked. Although she hardly knows her, Valerie’s instinct is to put her arm around this woman. But that would be too intimate. They drive in silence, Jo giving occasional directions through the village and down to the quay.  

‘Park here,’ Jo gestures to a spot on a long granite quay which stretches away from the old lime kiln and some derelict buildings in a weedy yard. Further along the muddy beach are ramshackle fishermen’s huts, with an assortment of decaying craft marooned above the low water mark. They appear to be the remains of old fishing boats, barges and yachts, their brass work tarnished and woodwork green with moss and mildew. The rigging is collapsing on many of them and some have been extended with shed-like structures on their decks. A few cabin lights twinkle through the gloom. 

Do people actually live here? wonders Valerie. Mouse bounds across the mud flats, scattering seagulls, as Jo leads Valerie, squelching between moorings. They reach a stretch of the path where the boats are more homely with flowers and herbs growing in pots on their decks, and bright curtains at the portholes. Jo stops beside a graceful old classic yacht. Iolanthe is inscribed in flaking gold paint on her prow. 

‘Can you manage?’ says Jo, swinging her long legs up the narrow ladder. It is difficult clambering up in the dark, but Valerie is determined to achieve it, so follows Jo as she climbs over the guard rail and into the cockpit. Jo leans down to unlock the washboards, then turns and disappears inside to light a Tilley lamp. Valerie spots a solar panel and vegetables growing in old tin cans on the coach house roof. The lamp glows, illuminating the dark polished cabin. There is a shelf, overflowing with French, Italian and a few English books, and a navigation desk strewn with drawings and notes, held in place by a heavy brass sextant. Above it hangs a string of Turkish worry beads and a blue glass eye, like the ones Valerie has seen on Greek fishing boats on holiday. There are colourful Portuguese tiles above the galley and striped woollen blankets covering the bunks.

‘It’s safest if you turn round to come down the steps.’ Jo helps Valerie steady herself as she reaches the floor. ‘Welcome aboard. How about a glass of wine? I think we both need it.’ Jo leans down to lift a hatch into the bilges, where lie numerous bottles. ‘My father’s wine cellar. She pours two glasses. ‘Sorry I was so emotional. It’s not like me. It’s all a bit much, and then Mouse being kicked by that awful man.’ 

‘I’m sure it was an accident. Mouse is OK isn’t he?’ Quickly trying to change the subject, Valerie admires the boat. ‘It’s so beautiful. I don’t know anything about sailing. Have you always lived on board?’ 

‘She was my father’s yacht. He used to race her in the Med and the Caribbean.’ Jo takes a long drink and sighs. ‘I crewed a lot for Pa. Ma didn’t really like sailing, she was only happy in glamorous marinas where she could trip up and down the pontoons, socializing. She and Roly would fly out to join us if we were in a desirable harbour.’ 

Valerie shifts a thick hand-knitted Icelandic jumper and sits down, lulled by the movement of the returning tide lapping against the hull. ‘Who’s Roly?’ 

Jo hesitates, looks down and strokes Mouse’s velvety fur. ‘He was my brother. My mother’s favourite.’ 

‘Parents don’t have favourites…’ Valerie’s argument peters out as she thinks of her own very different children, two girls, Phoebe and Natasha. She leans across to give Jo’s shoulder a gentle pat, but Jo pulls away.

‘I know it’s true. She blamed me for his death. There’d been a party at home but he was bored so wanted to go into town clubbing. We had a row because I told him he was too drunk but that just made him more determined to be stupid. I tried to stop him, I really did.’ She sniffs and runs her fingers through her hair.

‘After that our parents hardly spoke to each other, I spent more and more time aboard with Pa and then…’ Jo gets up awkwardly and moves across to gaze out through the hatch at the stars, ‘We lost him too. He was racing with a crew off St. Lucia, the mast was damaged and while they were trying to retrieve it, he had a heart attack. I wish I’d been with him.’ She hunches her shoulders and turns back. ‘Ma blames me for everything, so I keep out of her way.’

There is silence as Jo refills her glass. Valerie places her hand over hers. They sit in silence for a moment, then Valerie notices some eggs beside the tiny stove. ‘I think you should have something to eat. Can I cook us an omelette?’ 

Jo shrugs, resigned. ‘I haven’t eaten all day. I’ve got salad leaves and tomatoes growing on the foredeck, I’ll fetch some.’ 

While she climbs up on deck, Valerie finds a frying pan and olive oil. She breaks the eggs into the pan while Jo chops the salad, then they settle down to eat. 

‘I’m sure your mother would love to spend time with you,’ says Valerie after a pause. 

Jo stiffens. ‘No way. She just loves lording it around the village. Doesn’t care about anyone else – look what she’s done to Sheila and Treve.’ She gathers the plates and dumps them into the sink. 

‘It’s not her fault they died though, is it?’ says Valerie quietly, trying to calm the atmosphere. 

Jo turns, red faced. ‘You have no idea. John showed me a letter that Treve had written. If my Mother hadn’t had this crazy idea of a festival, Treve would still be here with his cattle grazing that field. When I confronted her with it, she said nothing was her fault and that we had to do something to save the estate. She never thinks of anything but her ambitions and money.’ 

Jo is shaking. She allows Valerie to give her a hug. ‘I’m sorry.’ She takes some deep breaths, trying to calm herself. ‘It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just been a terrible day and you’re the only one who’s listened.’ 

‘I know, let yourself cry if you need to.’ 

After a few minutes, Jo pulls away, dry eyed and less tense, and stands up. She takes another deep breath and says ‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind.’ 

‘It’s late,’ says Valerie. ‘I should go. But let’s meet up tomorrow.’ 

Jo wipes her eyes with her sleeve. ‘OK. Tomorrow.’ 

‘Come and find me at the pub.’

‘All right.’ 

‘Get some sleep now, yes?’ 

‘Yes. Thanks again.’

Valerie clambers back ashore, waves goodnight to Jo and Mouse, and walks back to the quay. As she gets into her car, she has a feeling of belonging to this new place and this new friend. She just needs to find her home. 

Chapter 9