Page 51 of A Letter to the Last House Before the Sea

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Claude

So she was coming back. Claude, feeling nervous, tapped out his pipe on the ground and stood up from his doorstep. He sat here most mornings, enjoying the gentle slap of the sea against the quay before the place was overrun with yelling tourists. At least the holidaymakers next door were having a lie-in today and all was blessedly quiet.

He smoothed down his best old jumper, the one he’d put on in case she returned. He’d even tidied up inside, put on a clean pair of jeans and washed his hair. It probably wouldn’t matter really, but he’d decided to ask for help and that wasn’t something he was used to doing. And for some reason, presenting himself and his home in their best light while seeking Lettie’s assistance seemed important.

What was the girl doing? She’d waved and started walking purposefully towards him but now had slowed down, almost as though she’d changed her mind.

Buster suddenly hurtled past him, out of the cottage and up to the girl, who bent to pat him as he leapt up and down. The daft dog really had taken to her.

She said some words into the animal’s ear before leading him into the garden.

‘Are you talking to my dog?’ asked Claude, brushing a trace of breakfast egg from his beard.

‘Not really. Well, maybe. Sorry if that’s a bit weird.’

Claude stared at her, unsmiling, then he shrugged. ‘I talk to Buster all the time. But then I am the local eccentric.’

She didn’t know how to take that remark so he smiled, and then she smiled back. She looked pretty, with her long hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing shorts and a sweatshirt.

‘My family thinks I’m slightly eccentric too.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not like them.’

‘Are you more like your great-aunt Iris?’

‘Yes, I guess so.’

‘She sounds like a good woman. What were you doing with that property man?’

‘Trying to escape him, mostly.’

‘That sounds very wise. I don’t like him much. Shifty eyes.’ Claude stepped back and pushed his front door wide open. ‘You’d best come in then.’

She knew that he’d tidied up. He could see it in her eyes as she took in that the table was free of dishes, the dog hairs were gone from the sofa, and the layer of dust on the dresser had disappeared. The old dark wood was glowing in a beam of light coming through the small window, and the silver-framed photo that Lettie had taken an interest in the last time she was here had been moved from the back of the dresser to the front.

Was now a good time to ask her? It was probably best not to bombard her the moment she walked through the door, and he needed to build himself up to it.

‘Sit down and I’ll get the cuttings I found. I went through some of them, looking for wartime information,’ he told her. Then he added brusquely, because it was what people usually asked, ‘Do you want tea or anything?’

‘No, thank you. It’s good of you to see me. I almost didn’t come back because I thought you might be busy.’

‘I said for you to call in, didn’t I?’

‘You did.’

‘Well, then. I’ll get the cuttings.’

He went down to the cellar, Buster at his heels, and picked up the small pile of additional cuttings and wartime photos he’d found. He wasn’t sure there was anything useful in them but that was for the girl to decide.

By the time he returned, Lettie was standing by the window. The light was shining on her auburn hair, making it glow a rich dark red.

‘I was imagining all the people who’ve lived here over the centuries,’ she said. ‘They must have all looked out of this window and watched the sea.’

‘They respected the sea. It gave them their living. It gave them life and sometimes it took those lives away.’