Ellie runs her fingers over the indent in the crown. ‘All right. But I must pay you back.’
‘Don’t be stunned. I won’t have a penny off you. I’d only go spend it on beer.’
Ellie smiles, and to Thomas it’s like the sun breaking through a storm cloud. ‘Well, then, thank you very much.’ She fixes her blue-grey eyes on him. ‘I was just about to post a thank you letter to your captain.’
‘What’s that for then?’
Ellie digs into her AFS satchel and pulls out an envelope. ‘For the oranges he sent over to the fire station with Commander Barrett. It was a real treat. Fire Officer Williams and I couldn’t for the life of us figure out how’d they’d got all the way to England. We haven’t seen an orange in a year.’
‘You told me at the New Year’s dance. You said you missed getting an orange in your Christmas stockin’.’
Ellie arches a fine eyebrow. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with the oranges, did you?’
Thomas sucks his breath in through his teeth. ‘You never asks a Newfoundlander where they gets things.’
‘Good grief, you didn’t steal them, did you?’
‘Now, where’d I find oranges to steal them?’
Ellie leans towards his ear. ‘Don’t tell anyone but I stole three to make an orange cake for my father’s birthday last week.’
Thomas grins. ‘Did you?’
‘Well, Dottie and I shared one while we were making the cake. We couldn’t resist.’
‘Then I’m pleased as punch.’
‘So it was you!’
‘That would be sayin’.’
Smiling, Ellie looks down at the fedora in her hands. ‘I haven’t seen you around since the New Year’s dance. I thought you might’ve been moved out.’
‘You’ve been lookin’ for me, then, maid?’
Ellie shakes her head, her blonde rolled hair bouncing on her shoulders. ‘No, no. I mean … well, you know.’
Thomas smiles. All this time he’d thought Ellie was off limits. It had been torture to watch her dancing with George. He’d drag poor Charlie off to one of the other dance halls if he spotted them. But no matter what pretty girl he danced with – and there had been plenty – the only girl who’d stayed in his mind was Ellie. All’s fair in love and war. It wasn’t his problem if George was slow off the mark.
‘See you at the Samson on Saturday? I’ll bring some stamps for your boyfriend.’
Ellie laughs, and to Thomas it’s like the sound of ice dripping off the stage roof after a long winter. It was the sound of hope.
She glances at her watch. ‘Oh, good grief. I must get back to the fire station. You’ve made me late.’
Thomas calls after her as she hurries towards the exit. ‘Was it worth it, Ellie Mae Burgess?’
Turning around, she waves the fedora at him. He watches her until she disappears through the glass doors.
Chapter 17
Tippy’s Tickle – 13 September 2001
Rod Fizzard’s boat shed – or ‘store’ as Florie had corrected her – perches on a base of stilts on the edge of the tickle, its red paint faded to a pinkish rust by the assault of the salty North Atlantic wind. ‘It’s what we calls a stage, duck. The shed’s the store, and the wharf and the shed together are the stage. You’ll has to get used to that. People here’ll think you’re some stunned if you calls it a shed.’
The frames of four small square windows – two facing the tickle and two facing the shore – gleam with a coat of fresh white paint, and a wharf, its wood as grey as a winter sky, and stacked with lobster traps and crab pots, leads down from the rocky shore and wraps around the side of the store. A small motorboat is moored to the wharf, and a larger boat – a shiny white streamlined cruiser – is beached on the shore, propped up by three-legged metal stands.
Sophie snaps several photos, then she slides her camera into the back pocket of Ellie’s borrowed jeans. She pushes the sleeves of Florie’s striped cotton sweater up her arms and heads down the hill. As she descends the wooden steps from Kittiwake, the sound of an electric tool filters over to her from the cruiser. ‘Hello?’ she calls out as she approaches the boat. She raises her voice. ‘Hello?’
Rounding the prow of the boat, she spots Emmett on his knees pressing a sander against the boat’s hull. She taps him on his shoulder and he jerks to his feet. Switching off the sander, he pushes his safety glasses up onto his forehead.
‘Hi, Emmett. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was wondering if Sam was here.’
Emmett points at the store. ‘He’s in there.’
‘Thanks very much.’
Nodding, Emmett slides the safety glasses over his eyes.
‘That’s a lovely boat,’ she says, but Emmett is back on his knees, her words swallowed by the whir of the sander.
She heads down the wharf and finds Sam inside the store, frowning over a piece of wood he’s turning on an old electric lathe. She knocks on the doorframe.
Sam looks up. He turns off the lathe and pushes his safety glasses to the top of his head. ‘Well, if it isn’t Princess Grace. I thought you were out picking berries.’
Sophie holds up her purple-stained fingers. ‘We’ve just got back. Becca’s helping Florie make a blueberry pie. You don’t have any white spirit, do you?’
‘You’re definitely a CFA, aren’t you? Just use some salt and lemon juice. That’ll get the stains off your skin.’
‘A what?’
‘A Come From Away. CFA for short. Not from around here.’
‘Well, that’s for sure,’ she says as she wanders into the room. ‘That’s quite a boat out there Emmett’s working on.’
‘We’re fixing it up for an American client over in Salvage. He hit a rock in the harbour and she sprung a leak.’
‘Emmett’s full on with the sanding. It’ll be smooth as a baby’s bottom when it’s done.’
‘You know what they say. If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.’
Sophie strolls
