Buch lesen: «What Happens In Cornwall...»

Chapter 2

The village of Tregossick was tucked onto the south coast of Cornwall, not far west of Plymouth. A jumble of slate-roofed houses, most of them with stone walls, squeezed onto the steep sides of the valley that descended into the sea alongside the tiny fishing port. The coastline consisted of tree-covered hillsides that sloped precipitously down, ending in vertical cliffs that dropped away to rocks, sand and shingle as far as the eye could see in both directions. Right in front of them, as the bus cautiously navigated the steep, winding and frighteningly narrow road into the village, was the beach, dotted with figures enjoying the evening sun. In spite of the weather forecast, the sky was clear and the sea calm, although a bank of clouds on the far horizon didn’t bode well for the next day.

The tide was out and a host of rock pools were dotted with hopeful children, equipped with nets and buckets, doing their best to catch little fish, crabs and some of the host of crustaceans that the sea had deposited there. Beyond them, a magnificent island stood out against the evening sky, the grey stone walls of a forbidding old building occupying the whole landward side of it. The huge construction stretched upwards from the sea in tiers, like a massive wedding cake. Its sheer stone walls culminated in a tower, making it look like a fortress, grafted onto the vertical cliffs. The closer they came, the more formidable it looked.

‘I wouldn’t want to have to scale that cliff face.’ Samantha caught Becky’s eye. ‘That’s quite a place, far more impressive than I imagined. And the village is sweet. Although I’ve been in the South West for years, I’ve never been down here before.’

Becky shook her head. ‘Me neither. Mind you, I’m from Nottingham and I know bugger all about Cornwall to be honest. Did you know they call it Kernow in the old Cornish language? Until I saw the Welcome sign, I had no idea. I hadn’t even heard of Tregossick until Clare called the other day. The island out there’s called Rock Island. You can see why. Woah…’

The bus driver jammed on his brakes and squeezed the vehicle terrifyingly close to the low wall that was all that separated them from a hundred foot drop to the beach. A large 4x4 pulling a caravan inched its way up the road and past them. The driver even had to open his window and fold in the wing mirror to avoid them touching. Low muttering came from two old men in the seat in front of the two girls. Sam and Becky listened carefully. The meaning was clear, even if some of the words being used were not. ‘Bloody emmets’ and ‘Stupid damn grockles’ were just a few of the more repeatable comments. Sam and Becky exchanged glances. Sam lowered her voice to a whisper.

‘The natives are unimpressed.’

Becky was unsympathetic. ‘Fancy bringing a caravan down a little lane like this. They’re bonkers.’

The caravan finally disappeared past them and the bus was able to continue down the hill. Sam transferred her attention back to Rock Island and the massive stone building.

‘The building’s an old abbey. They say it’s one of the best-preserved Cistercian abbeys in the country. But I only found that out by looking on the internet. You’d have thought it would be part of the Medieval Studies course, seeing as it’s just down the road from the university.’ She paused, admiring the sheer scale of the place. ‘But it’s privately owned. Maybe they don’t like visitors.’

Becky lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Like some of our travelling companions!’

‘We’ll have to see if we can get closer to it tomorrow.’ The bus emerged onto a relatively straight promenade alongside the beach that terminated in a dead end with a mini roundabout. The bus swung all the way round and drove back up to the final stop, right outside a pub called the Smugglers Arms. The door hissed open and the driver turned off the engine. Becky pointed at the pub. ‘Well, that answers the question of where we eat tonight. Come on, Sam, the house should be just along the road from here.’

The next day dawned unexpectedly bright and sunny, although cloud cover was building from the west. The others in their party were all mad keen surfers and they had spent most of the previous night moaning about the lack of waves. Samantha didn’t mind. She had awoken early, after an unusually good night’s sleep, for once not disturbed by worry about Neil or her mum. She decided to go for a run along the promenade and up onto the cliff top. She was still very fit, and ten years earlier, she had even dreamt of being an Olympic athlete. She had given up everything for it; boyfriends, social life, a place at university – training almost every day of the year, running miles and miles every week. Then the accident had come along. A banal trip going down the stairs had broken her leg in two places and destroyed her hopes of glory in the 5000 metres. Her leg had long since stopped hurting and she was still running, but her Olympic dream was long gone.

The view was spectacular and, from the highest point, she found herself looking down onto the island in the bay. The water as far as the eye could see was an intense blue, worthy of a South Sea island, and gentle waves lapped against the rocky shoreline. While she watched, a helicopter approached, hovered and then descended out of sight behind the roof of the abbey. Less than a couple of minutes later, the roar of the engine told her the helicopter had left again. Presumably the owner of the island was wealthy enough not to need to take the bus.

After a late breakfast, Sam and Becky spent the rest of the Saturday morning walking round the village, taking in the scenery. While Becky paddled in a rock pool, Sam sat down on a rocky outcrop overlooking the beach and phoned her mother. She told her all about Tregossick and even detected a few sounds of interest on the other end of the line. As always, her mother asked how things were going with Neil and, as always, Sam told her everything was fine. She felt sure that the news that the relationship was struggling would be a massive blow to her mother, who constantly told Sam how well suited she thought they were. As she hung up, she reflected, not for the first time, that her fear of the effect this could have on her mum was just about all that was stopping her from dumping Neil and moving on.

Apart from the double yellow lines everywhere, telling drivers it was forbidden to park, the predominant colours were grey, white and blue. Most of the houses were white, the sea and the sky were shades of blue, and the roofs, the rocks and the sand were grey. There was only one shop in the village – a combined post office, grocery store and gift shop. It appeared to stock everything from Cornish ice cream to condoms, which was just as well as the nearest supermarket was at least twenty minutes drive away up over the cliffs. They decided against ice creams so soon after breakfast and went for a walk along the beach, before settling down in the garden outside the Smugglers Arms for lunch.

The others had decided to pile into a car and head for the north Cornish coast where the surf was supposed to be better and Sam and Becky were happy to let them get on with it. That afternoon, after a couple of beers at lunchtime, Becky decided she was going to have a lie down. As the temperature was quite warm, even if the sky was now almost completely covered by cloud, Sam decided to try her hand in the kayak that came with the house. She carted it down to the beach and set off at a gentle pace, gradually working her way round the bay. She was quite a long way from the shore when she realised she had got a problem. Or, rather, two problems.

The kayak was cutting through the water remarkably fast, considering she was only paddling gently. She was just beginning to work out that the reason for this was a strong current that had got hold of her, pulling her away from the shore, when the light changed. She glanced up and, to her horror, she saw a bank of sea mist rolling towards her. Frantically she turned the kayak’s nose towards the beach and started paddling hard as the fog closed in around her and she lost sight of the shore. In an instant, she found herself in a featureless grey world where the sea and the sky merged into each other, giving her the impression of being surrounded by cotton wool.

But her cotton wool surroundings were anything but cosy and comfortable. Suddenly, it felt as if the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. Looking down at the bubbles in the water beside her, she saw that the kayak was now moving backwards quite fast. Without being able to get her bearings on anything, it felt as though she was being drawn out to sea. She started paddling hard in the opposite direction, slowing the rate of backward movement, but not stopping it. She realised with a start that she was in a very dangerous situation. Nobody knew she was out here, so nobody was going to miss her until a lot later. She reached for her pocket and then remembered she had left her phone in their room, for fear of dropping it in the sea. She was all alone in the fog. God only knew where she would end up.

The sensation of isolation was so strong she felt a shiver of terror go down her back and tears spring to her eyes. With an effort, she dominated her rising panic and did her best to think logically. Just before the mist rolled in, she had probably been three, maybe four hundred metres from the beach. That wasn’t an insurmountable distance. If only she could get out of the grip of the current, she knew she easily had the strength to paddle back to the shore. In order to get out of the current, she had to go either left or right and try to cut across it, rather than face it head on. Acting on instinct, she swung the boat to the right and dug in.

She carried on paddling across the current for ages, losing track of time completely. Every now and then she had to stop and rest and, in spite of her exertions, she began to feel very cold. She knew she had to find land soon or she would be in big, big trouble. To make matters worse, a cold breeze was getting up and waves were beginning to slap against the side of the hull. She fought her fear and peered into the murk around her, unable to see more than a few metres. Then, she heard something. She stopped paddling and cocked her head to one side, concentrating hard. There was no doubt about it, she could hear waves breaking against the shore. Could it be she had got herself back to the beach? She dug her paddle in again with renewed energy, aiming the kayak towards the noise. Gradually, it grew louder and, as it grew, so did her hopes.

Then, abruptly, the mist before her thinned and she saw something, but what she saw was terrifying. She was heading straight for a rocky reef, around which the white waves hissed and sighed. She spun the kayak around and just managed to squeeze past the rocks without crashing into them. Looming high behind the reef was the dark outline of sheer cliffs. A wave of terror threatened to engulf her and she had to struggle hard to stop herself from crying out in panic. She was completely alone and totally lost. She gritted her teeth and took a few deep breaths. At least she now found herself away from the grip of the vicious current, so she allowed herself a few minutes’ rest, just dipping the paddle into the water from time to time to keep her out of reach of the rocks. However, within a very short time she began to feel very, very cold and this, more than anything else, spurred her into action once more.

She started off again, doing her best to run parallel to the cliffs, loath to lose sight of land, but dreading the prospect of another reef in her way. She paddled on and on, becoming ever more desperate, and then, just as she was beginning to feel very, very tired, she sensed a lightening in the backdrop and she let the waves take her. Another rocky outcrop swept past her, close enough to touch and then, amazingly, she bumped up against a vertical wall and a flight of weed-encrusted stone steps; man-made wall and man-made steps.

She could have wept with relief. She reached out with her hands and grabbed at a metal ring set in the wall, as the kayak scraped against generations of barnacles. Never had the sight of a stone wall been so welcome.

She clung to the rusty iron with both hands and rested her head on her arms. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks; tears of sheer relief that she had reached land. Suddenly, all her worries about her sporting career, her studies, her mother’s mental health and, above all, her relationship with Neil, faded into insignificance. She was alive and that was all that mattered. That, and the minor problem of hauling herself out of the kayak and onto dry land.