to themselves in the street. Still, she now had a name for him: Old Garge.
Ruby observed her looking around the expanse of beach and said, “I haven’t seen him the last couple of days. Maybe there’s somewhere he goes at Christmas. Be pretty miserable if he just stayed here in his hut.”
“Are you saying that Old Garge actually lives here on the beach?”
“Oh, yes. Most of the time. He watches everything. Old Garge is the eyes and ears of Fethering Beach.”
Carole felt a little surge of excitement. “And where does he actually live?”
Ruby Tallis gestured across to the mouth of the Fether, where there were a few fishermen’s sheds and tumbledown beach huts. “Over there. Old Garge’s is the one called ‘Pequod’, though goodness knows what that means.” Clearly she had never read
Carole looked at her watch and announced, “I must be getting back. Got to pick poor old Gulliver up.”
“Of course. Hope he’s all right.”
“I’m sure he will be. As you say, he couldn’t be in better hands than Saira’s.”
“Well, nice to talk to you, Carole. See you again, no doubt.”
In some moods Carole would have been deterred by this suggestion. Could she no longer restrict her morning meetings with Ruby Tallis to a ‘Fethering nod’? Was she bound to engage in daily conversation and listen to Derek’s opinions for the rest of her life?
But on this occasion she was too excited by having become a fully signed-up member of the ‘dog-walking Mafia’ to indulge such anxieties. After a brief moment of confusion when she looked around for Gulliver, Carole walked back along the Promenade towards Fethering. But she went the long way round, the way that took her past the huts at the mouth of the Fether.
Pequod was the most dilapidated of all of them. It smelt of brine and tar, and its paint had long been stripped away by salty winds.
On a rusty ring fixed to the door hung a large rusty padlock. The door was closed but not locked. Strains of classical music could be heard from inside. Plucking up the new courage given her by being a member of the ‘dog- walking Mafia’, Carole knocked on the door. She felt more than ready to meet ‘the eyes and ears of Fethering Beach’.
? The Shooting in the Shop ?
Twenty-Four
“Come in,” said a voice, old but remarkably resonant.
Mentally holding her nose in anticipation of squalor, Carole stepped into Pequod. The first surprise was the cosy warmth that hit her. The second was the lack of unpleasant smells; only a slight resinous aroma from logs on a wood-burning stove and the smoky tang from oil lamps. Their friendly light flickered on the spines of the books with which the whole space seemed to be walled.
In the centre of it Old Garge, dressed in usual down-at-heel style, sat in a subsiding leather armchair. On a small table beside him stood a mug of coffee and, face down, a paperback book of John Clare’s poetry. The piece of classical music ended and was followed by speech, suggesting that his portable was tuned to Radio 3. Curled up on a rug at the man’s feet sat his Jack Russell, ears pricked at the arrival of a newcomer, but otherwise welcoming.
“So…” said Old Garge. “Carole Seddon. And what brings you here?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Most people in Fethering know most people’s names, even if they never speak to each other. I’m afraid the cloak of invisibility in which you imagine you walk around just isn’t very efficient. Where’s Gulliver? You’ve usually got Gulliver with you.”
“He’s at the vet’s.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Just a couple of stitches in his gums. I’m picking him up later.”
Remembering his manners, Old Garge gestured to an elderly campaign chair. “Please. Would you like some coffee?”
Carole was suddenly struck by the thought that there was nothing she would like more. Standing on the beach and talking to Ruby Tallis had chilled her to the marrow. She accepted the offer and Old Garge moved across to the stove on which an enamel coffee pot stood. He poured a cup of black for her, as requested, and replenished his own. Then, when they were both sitting with drinks in hand, he smiled at her and said, “No doubt it was Ruby Tallis who sent you across here?”
“Yes, it was. How do you know all this?”
“That bit I knew just by using my eyes.” He gestured to a small window which Carole had not noticed before, but which she could see offered a perfect view of the Promenade and most of the beach.
She took a sip of her drink. Contrary to expectations, it was excellent coffee. In fact, everything about Old Garge seemed contrary to her expectations. Because of his appearance, Carole had written him off as some kind of tramp, unwholesome and probably not right in the head. As they talked, she discovered he was intelligent, even cultured.
She couldn’t curb her curiosity about him, and asked whether the hut was his permanent home.
“I have a room rented up in Downside for post and official stuff, but mostly I’m here.”
Carole looked around the space. “I didn’t think the authorities allowed anyone to live permanently in a beach hut.”
“You’re absolutely right, they don’t. Any number of Health and Safety reasons why nobody’s allowed to live in one.”
“But – ”
“But I’m good at finding out things. I’ve got a friend who works for the Fether District Council. He tips me off when there an inspection due, with the result that when the inspectors arrive, I’m in my rented room. I just pop in here for the odd hour, that’s all, so far as the authorities are concerned.”
Carole was surprised how snug and relaxed she felt in Old Garge’s company. He seemed to have his life sorted. Covertly, as she took a sip of coffee, she scrutinized him. In spite of its whiskery roughness, his face was rather distinguished and must once have been handsome. And though his clothes were torn and discoloured, they seemed perfectly clean. He looked not so much like a tramp as like someone playing the part of a tramp. He also seemed to be aware of – and rather amused by – her scrutiny.
“Seen everything you want to see?” he asked, and she blushed furiously. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mind people looking at me. It’s quite rare these days. Most of them avert their eyes when they walk past me, or change direction to avoid walking past me. Best I usually get is a Fethering nod.”
Carole knew he was teasing her, by giving such an exact description of her own behaviour.
“Doesn’t worry me,” said Old Garge. “There’re plenty of people who do talk to me, so I keep my gossip reserves well stocked up. So what was Ruby Tallis telling you about this morning? Or rather, which of her husband Derek’s opinions was she telling you about this morning?”
“We talked a bit about dogs.”
“And…?”
“And…local events.”
“Local events, right.” He nodded, still just slightly making fun of her. “And which local events were you talking about?”
“Oh, you know, Christmas and – ”
“I wouldn’t have described Christmas as a local event. I would have said it was very much an international event.”
“Yes, well, but how people spend their individual Christmases, that’s of local interest.”
“And how did you spend yours, Carole?”
She was glad to be able to have a normal-sounding answer to give him. “My son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter came down for lunch on Christmas Day.”
“Very nice too.” He paused for a ruminative sip of coffee. “So you didn’t spend Christmas Day on your own, like you have the last few?”
