Trenouth Read online

  Trenouth

  Bea Green

  Trenouth

  Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2019

  Tel: +44(0)1227 472 874 www.theconradpress.com [email protected]

  ISBN 978-1-913227-39-5

  Copyright © Bea Green, 2019

  The moral right of Bea Green to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  Typesetting and Cover Design by:Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk

  The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.

  For Emma, my gifted, brave and beautiful girl and all children suffering from the autoimmune disease PANS/PANDAS

  ‘Back to her early sea-town home

  Scathed, stained after tedious pilgrimages.’

  ‘Dream with Clam-Diggers’ by Sylvia Plath

  1

  The frantic knocking at their front door began at around three o’clock in the morning, in the middle of a Cornish gale force storm.

  Elinor had been wide awake anyway. The intense noise, generated by the gusting winds slamming against the crumbling slate cliffs of North Cornwall, made it hard for a city dweller like her to get any sleep.

  The seventy-mile-an-hour winds were lashing their small clifftop bungalow. To make matters worse, an external pipe, just outside Elinor’s bedroom, had loosened from its fixture and had started to knock irritatingly against the wall. In amongst the shrieking and wailing of the wind, the pipe outside was playing a tappity-tap, tap-tap percussion.

  Every so often, as though to mix up the rhythm of the manic orchestra performing outside, the wet spray from the ocean’s waves would shatter with a sudden bang against the glass of her bedroom window. Unbelievably, this storm was so fierce the waves were able to reach up and over the steep clifftop at Warren Cove.

  Earlier on, when Elinor had looked out of her window at the black November night, she’d seen nothing in the inky darkness but a multitude of white flecks of sea foam, dancing crazily in the wind. On her right hand side she’d spotted a small flashing beacon of white light, flickering bravely in the midst of the opaque night. It had to be the lamp from the old lighthouse at Trevose Head.

  Here in North Cornwall, on the edge of the open ocean, the wind was a part of everyday life. Between this home’s northern side and the nearest habitation there were thousands of miles of volatile Atlantic water. The ocean led you in a straight line from the small bungalow right across to the North American continent.

  Elinor had sat up quickly when she first heard the frenzied thuds at the front door. She wasn’t frightened by the wild storm screaming outside her bedroom wall but the fact that someone was out there on a night like this, and thumping on their front door, did scare her.

  She felt all her senses sharpen into extreme alertness. Who on earth would be knocking at their door at this time of the night? Given her mental frailty, she could only imagine the worst...

  Hidden in the pitch-black darkness of her room she felt her untrustworthy thoughts spiralling out of control, as without any hesitation whatsoever her mind began to fast-forward to horrible scenarios. Within seconds, crazy scenes ran through her head. Ruthless killers were coming out under the cover of darkness to attack them... a deranged rapist was determined to get to her through that front door... or brazen burglars were taking advantage of their isolated location on the Cornish coast.

  As the desperate thumping on the door continued, a jolt of burning, red-hot panic made its way down her body. Her heart kick-started into the rapid beat of familiar fear and she could feel droplets of sweat developing on her forehead. She noticed her clenched hands were becoming sticky and clammy as they rested on her thick bedspread. She lifted them up and felt them start to shake and tremble with the adrenaline racing through her veins, just as the rest of her remained rigid and paralysed with terror.

  Tense and silent, she stared fixedly at her bedroom door, her eyes widening.

  Within the space of what must have been only a couple of minutes, but actually felt much longer to her, she heard the sudden click of a light switch flicking on in the hallway.

  For Elinor, who was registering every thumping heartbeat in her chest, time seemed to be extending itself maliciously into an eternity, as if it was slowing down deliberately to prolong the agony of uncertainty and fear in her.

  Bright white lines outlined the door into her room, as though the hallway light was reaching out to her, creeping stealthily in through the sharp edges.

  And in the midst of the determined hammering on the front door, she heard the steady shuffle of her uncle’s slippers, rustling along the corridor’s carpet.

  Immediately reassured by his comforting presence, she switched her bedside light on and jumped out of bed, scrambling to wrap her thick, leopard print dressing gown around herself and put on her fleece-lined slipper boots.

  She quickly yanked open her bedroom door and saw her uncle turning the corner of the corridor as he headed to the front door.

  ‘Leo!’

  Her uncle stopped and turned to look back at her.

  ‘Yes, Elinor?’

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The front door was taking a beating.

  ‘You’re not going to open the door, are you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am. Someone’s clearly in great distress,’ he replied softly, looking steadily at her.

  Bang! Bang!

  Elinor stared at him in disbelief, trying with difficulty to comprehend why her uncle would think it reasonable to open his front door in the middle of the night to someone unknown and unexpected. Moreover, this was someone who’d evidently decided to appear outside his home in the midst of a gale force storm and at a very unsociable hour.

  She knew she shouldn’t really have been surprised at her uncle’s fearlessness as, according to family hearsay, he’d always been like this. Leo’s legendary confidence and courage was possibly one of the reasons that a month ago her mother had decided Elinor should go to Cornwall to stay with her uncle.

  These days, Elinor’s life was constantly crippled by intense fear. Since Elinor’s fiancé had died in a road accident a year ago this fear had somehow managed to take over her life. She wasn’t aware initially of its insidious reach but before she’d fully understood the consequences of allowing anxiety to take hold of her mind, it had lost Elinor both her livelihood and her home. She’d had a nervous breakdown and was still, to this day, battling with the debilitating mental health issues associated with extreme anxiety.

  A month ago, exasperated at the lack of progress Elinor was making in defeating her demons of fear, her mother had beseeched her to stay with Leo. Elinor’s mother had clearly hoped that the distance and the change of scene would bring back the old Elinor. Elinor knew, though, that the old Elinor wasn’t coming back. Ever. A large part of her former self had died on the road beside her fiancé.

  And now here she was in her uncle’s house, on the verge of having a panic attack, and her uncle seemed completely oblivious to her distress.

  2

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The frenzied beatings on the door had a renewed sense of urgency, as though whoever was out there sensed their presence, or had overheard them talking.

  ‘Leo, we don’t know who is out there,’ pleaded Elinor.

  Leo smiled at her reassuringly.

  ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’ he said calmly. ‘I seriously doubt there’s any cause for concern.’

  To date Elinor had never seen her uncle ruffled or angry. His clear blue eyes
looked out on the world with a strange sort of detached placidity. How was it possible one member of the family could be so laid-back and another such a bundle of nerves? It was a complete mystery to Elinor.

  Clearly there was a curious mix of genes in their family.

  Sometimes she wondered if Leo was so confident and calm because of his imposing physical presence. He was exceptionally tall, broad and strong. As his name implied, he looked like a powerful, if elderly, lion. Elinor, by contrast, was short in stature and had been repeatedly called ‘midget’ by the boys in her senior school.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Elinor’s erratic mind jumped straight back into the present. As her rambling thoughts dissipated into thin air, she turned her focus once more to the situation at hand.

  Leo walked unhurriedly up to the front door and like a frightened mouse Elinor scurried along the corridor in her uncle’s wake. When he reached the front door, Leo turned the key firmly in the old rusty lock and pulled open the stiff and ancient wooden door leading into their bungalow.

  Elinor peered over the side of her uncle’s shoulder.

  Six pairs of dark eyes stared back at them.

  Standing on the slate steps leading up to their home there were six men with their clothes soaked through with rain or seawater, with no shoes on (for some reason) and looking frightened to death.

  ‘Come in! Come in!’ Leo said immediately, inviting them inside, to Elinor’s utter horror.

  As Leo moved politely back against the wall, Elinor crouched behind the solid figure of her uncle.

  The six men didn’t move. They just looked back at them in confusion.

  After a short moment, Leo waved them in impatiently; the wind was blasting into the house, causing the paintings in the hallway to smack against the wall.

  Comprehension flitted across the men’s faces, and moving as one close-knit group they walked quickly into the hallway.

  Leo shut the door firmly behind the men and turned around to face them.

  ‘Right, what can I do for you young men? By that I mean, what on earth are you doing out there at this time of the night?’

  The men didn’t reply. They looked blankly at Leo, with absolutely no expression on their faces. They clearly hadn’t understood a word he’d said.

  3

  Leo and Elinor looked at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘I don’t think they speak English, Leo,’ Elinor said eventually, in a low voice.

  Leo looked pensively at the men as they dripped water onto the hallway carpet. Two of them were shivering incessantly. Elinor felt her anxiety slowly ebb away as her heart filled with compassion for them.

  ‘Right, I think we need to get some warm drinks and also some dry clothes. Then I’m going to call the police station and ask them for some assistance,’ said Leo decisively.

  He turned and walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle quickly and left it to boil.

  The men stayed standing, mutely, in the hallway. Despite the fact there was a long wooden bench running along one wall, none of the men had taken advantage of this seating.

  Leo glanced at them and then looked speculatively at Elinor, as though unsure of what her response would be to his question.

  ‘Elinor, can you make up some mugs of black coffee? I’m going to fish out some towels and dry clothes for these men.’

  Elinor nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, relieved to have something practical to do in this bizarre and surreal situation. She fished out of the cupboard the blue mugs she remembered from her childhood visits to Leo’s house.

  In those days Leo’s wife, her Auntie Lowena, was still alive. Now, ten years after her death, Lowena’s everyday feminine touches were missing from the bungalow but Leo had left most things more or less unchanged. These blue mugs had been inscribed with the names of Leo and Lowena’s nieces and nephews, as they’d never had their own children.

  Elinor put a hefty spoonful of coffee granules in each mug and also a large teaspoon of sugar. Fetching a tray she lined the mugs up and plonked a batch of her uncle’s favourite ginger biscuits next to them.

  The kettle clicked noisily as it finished boiling and she filled the mugs, making sure she left a space to drop in a dollop of cold water so the hot drink wouldn’t scald the men’s mouths.

  She carried the tray to the dining table. As she walked out of the kitchen and into the corridor she noticed Leo shepherding the men into the bathroom to change their clothes, handing out trousers, shirts and jumpers.

  Goodness, thought Elinor, Leo will have nothing left in his wardrobe. She couldn’t imagine Leo had a particularly extensive clothing collection. He’d never been personally vain, and working in the fishing industry before he retired hadn’t given him cause to be either.

  She put the tray on the dining room table and switched the lights on. This room stretched from one side of the bungalow to the other, with windows facing out to the north and south.

  The dining room was designed with a dark green and red colour scheme. The sofa, though, was made of worn dark brown leather, with red tapestry cushions scattered on it. The armchairs were all dark green, as was the carpet, but the walls were a lighter snooker table green. The dining chairs were all upholstered in a splash of ruby red fabric. The room had remained untouched from when Auntie Lowena was alive.

  A large and unused fireplace, built out of slate, stood against one wall. Next to it was Leo’s antique roll-top walnut desk.

  Elinor went to the far corner of the room and sat on a dark green velvet armchair, waiting patiently for the others to turn up.

  She could hear the men talking amongst themselves in the corridor but, disappointingly, she couldn’t identify what language they were communicating in.

  Soon she heard the loud rumble of the tumble dryer in the utility room, rotating vigorously as it dried their clothing.

  Five minutes later the men followed Leo into the dining room.

  4

  To Elinor’s amusement she found Leo had devised a novel way to communicate with their unexpected guests. He was using silent and overtly theatrical gestures, improvising as he went along.

  Leo pulled out a dining chair and signalled with wild gestures that they should sit. The men smiled to themselves but obediently sat down on the chairs surrounding the dining table.

  Leo then pulled a chair up to the table and passed around the mugs of coffee and biscuits. Elinor, playing the familiar role of a passive observer, stayed quietly sitting on her armchair at the corner of the room.

  She watched the men attentively, noting they all looked to be in their early twenties. Younger than she was, in fact. She’d turned twenty-eight that July.

  They were swarthy, clean-shaven men with black cropped hair and they had strong, clearly defined features. Their facial expressions were open and surprisingly calm, given the manner in which they’d appeared.

  Elinor looked curiously at them, making those rapid judgements all people make when they meet someone for the first time. She generally found that her intuitive responses whenever she tried to get the measure of someone were strangely accurate.

  She was pretty sure her habitual anxiety heightened her awareness of other people and this in turn made her more perceptive than she’d ever been before. Ironically, this was probably the only positive thing she could take from her debilitating nervousness.

  However, these men flummoxed her. Considering the manner of their arrival, she felt no instinctive sense of caution or defensiveness towards the strangers sitting around the table. In fact, she felt strangely relaxed in their presence.

  She wondered what language they were speaking in and where their country of origin was. She listened to the guttural sounds of their speech and thought that maybe the men were Middle Eastern, but it was a feeble guess at best.

  Leo picked up the house phone, looked up a pho
ne number in his battered copy of the Phone Book and dialled it.

  ‘Hello? Could I speak to the duty officer, please.’

  Leo paused impatiently as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone.

  ‘I need to speak to him now, thank you. I’ve six men in my house, who don’t speak a word of English by the way, and I’ve no idea where they came from. They arrived at my front door fifteen minutes ago. They were soaked through, with no shoes on, and they need help.’

  Another pause.

  ‘We live in a bungalow called Trenouth, at the top of Warren Cove, near Treyarnon Bay.’

  Silence.

  ‘OK... They’ll be here within the next hour? Right. Thanks.’

  Leo hung up and looked across to Elinor.

  ‘They’re going to get in touch with the local immigration enforcement officials and get them to come along. I got the impression this isn’t the first time they’ve had to deal with a situation like this.’ Leo shrugged his broad shoulders, looking extremely puzzled. ‘I’ve never heard of any problems with illegal immigration here. Never read anything about it either.’

  The men, meanwhile, were talking quietly amongst themselves, looking slightly ridiculous in their oversized clothing. There weren’t many men around of Leo’s shape and build.

  ‘Maybe I should heat up some soup for them? They’re clearly hungry,’ said Elinor, indicating the empty packet of ginger biscuits.

  Leo watched them with pity on his lined face.

  ‘Poor sods. Goodness knows what kind of a life they were living before arriving on our doorstep. I’d guess some soup and bread would be appreciated, Elinor.’

  Elinor nodded and walked off into the kitchen.

  She pulled out two frozen containers of her chicken soup from the freezer, leaving them to defrost in the microwave. She and Leo didn’t have huge appetites, so she tended to freeze portions of her cooked food. While the soup defrosted, she sliced up the remainder of a loaf of bread.