It's Raining Men (17 page)

There was no light fitting or switch and it was black as midnight down there. Clare climbed over the bed for her phone and turned on the torch application, and with the aid of its light she trod
down the steps, but carefully because they were narrow and there was no consistency of depth between them, plus there was no rail to hang onto. The air in the twisty staircase was getting cooler by
the second and her journey seemed to go on for ever. She couldn’t imagine what she would find when she reached the bottom of the stairs. It was too deep for it to be an ordinary cellar. It
had to be something far more exciting than that. Then she noticed that the steps were getting broader and shallower and much easier to negotiate, also there was a hint of light coming from
somewhere below which was getting stronger as she stepped down what was to be the last turn. It had to be some sort of smugglers’ cave, surely. Maybe she’d find forgotten treasure down
here – in one of those chests they always showed on pirate films, spilling gold coins and jewellery. Maybe it was a dungeon full of skeletons. She hoped it wasn’t going to be something
boring and disappointing after all those steps – like a room full of old sewage pipes which once pumped their filth out into the sea. Without warning, the closed-in turret opened out into a
water-filled cave and straight ahead was an archway in the rock leading out to the sea. The water in the cave was clear and a bright blue-green as if it were lit from beneath, though that
wasn’t possible. When she bent to dip her hand into it, the water was warm to the touch. Clare sat on the step and studied the scene that lay in front of her. The underground pool was
beautiful, like something out of a recurring dream she’d had. She’d read somewhere that dreams about swimming in blue water meant she was desperate to explore her emotions, which
sounded right. She wanted to dive there and then into that lagoon with its amazing blue-green water.

Tomorrow she would put on her costume and swim here. If Lara insisted they go and stay somewhere else now, after this find, she would refuse whole-heartedly to budge.

Lara was awoken by a sizzling sound followed quickly by the smell of frying bacon. She yawned, stretched, picked up her Kindle which had dropped to the ground, and went inside,
unable to resist the challenge to her senses.

‘Hi.’ Clare turned round and greeted her. She was standing by a pan with a spatula in her hand. ‘I’m making bacon butties.’

The smell of baking bread was almost overwhelming that of the bacon.

‘You haven’t made a loaf as well, have you?’ Lara wouldn’t have put it past her.

‘No, that loaf in the “luxury hamper” was a fresh baker’s one and they go stale really quickly so I covered it in milk and popped it in the oven for fifteen minutes to
soften up. The bacon is lovely and thick and smoked. I’ve done all the cleaning and thought I’d do a bit of cooking. And guess what I’ve found?’

Lara went to put the kettle on, only to find it was already full and newly boiled. She got on with the business of brewing a pot of tea. The teapot was a huge brown one with a fat belly: a
proper cottage teapot.

‘Go on, surprise me. A family of meerkats nesting in your skirting board?’

‘Not even close.’ Clare’s eyes were full of excitement. ‘A secret door, a spiral staircase and a lagoon.’

‘What?’

‘Honest. I lost my earring, nearly broke my back trying to shift the big wardrobe in my room to retrieve it and found a doorway behind it.’

‘No way. Show me.’

Lara followed Clare into her room and saw the ripped wallpaper before she noticed the door.

‘You’d better put that wardrobe back before the nutter down the road sees the damage,’ she gulped. ‘He’ll have your guts for garters.’

Undeterred, Clare opened the door and stood aside so that Lara could descend if she wanted to.

‘How far does it go down?’ asked Lara, looking down into the inky darkness.

‘Miles. Lara, the water is beautiful. You have to see it.’

‘Let me get some shoes on.’

‘Wotcher,’ greeted a yawning voice from the living room. They turned to see May now standing in the doorway, the last vestiges of sleep shocked out of her by the sight of the damage.
‘What the hell have you done, Clare? Don’t tell me you’re stripping off the wallpaper and are redecorating as well.’

‘I’ve found a staircase that goes straight down to the sea.’ She smiled proudly. ‘Have a bacon sandwich first then I’ll show you.’

‘Ooh that sounds very exciting,’ said May. ‘Both the stair thing and the bacon sarnie.’

‘Come on then,’ urged Clare. ‘You’ll need some carbs inside you to manage all the stairs.’

Minutes later they were all munching away. ‘This tastes so good,’ said May, savouring the delicious smoked bacon. ‘All the better for someone having made it for me.’

‘That luxury hamper had some lovely stuff in it. The cheese is gorgeous and the butter isn’t from a supermarket. I wonder if it’s from Frank Hathersage’s farm.’

‘Still not worth one hundred and fifty pounds, though,’ grunted Lara. ‘I shall be having words with Gene the Mean about that. There’s no way he is charging us that amount
of money for basic foodstuffs.’

‘Shall we brave the local pub tonight?’ asked May, licking her fingers as she popped the last of the bread into her mouth.

‘Yeah, why not?’ said Lara. ‘
He
might be in there and I can shame him into giving us a refund. Right – where are my shoes?’

Clare was very giddy, hardly able to wait to show off the cave to the others. She led the way slowly, holding her torch down so they could see each step.

‘Blimey,’ said Lara. ‘This must have taken years to carve out.’

‘And why would you? Unless it was for something very important,’ added May.

‘Precisely,’ nodded Clare. ‘It has to be a smugglers’ cave, don’t you think? Careful.’ She steadied Lara who nearly missed her footing.

‘I’m going stair blind,’ chuckled Lara, patting her heart.

‘Nearly there,’ replied Clare, reaching the wider steps.

‘Oh wow. Oh wowdy wow wow,’ gasped Lara at the first sight of the lagoon. ‘Oh Clare, no wonder you wanted to show it off.’

May was almost dumbstruck. ‘God, how gorgeous,’ she said, as breathless as if she had been winded.

‘Isn’t it? No way am I staying anywhere else now, Lara Rickman. Not even if Wellem Spa begged me.’

‘Where’s the light coming from?’ asked May, bending down. ‘And the water’s warm. That’s crazy.’

‘Wonderfully crazy,’ said Lara, checking for herself. They could add it to the list of crazy things that had happened already so far. Although this was probably the first one that
merited the title ‘wonderful’.

‘What a lovely evening,’ said Lara as they strolled down the hill. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spent a full day in jeans and trainers and
hardly any make-up. She had eased into holiday mode far more quickly than she had expected to. Or was she forcing herself to, so she wouldn’t have to think about the James and Tianne chaos
back home? She wasn’t sure.

‘Those funny clouds have gone.’ May pointed to the sky. ‘Maybe they don’t come out at night.’

As they passed Gene Hathersage’s cottage, Lara glanced sideways at it, wondering if she should ask him about the hamper now. She decided against it. She was too relaxed to get wound up
this evening; she’d collar him sometime over the next couple of days and say her piece then.

They all expected that as they walked into the Crab and Bucket the locals would freeze their activity in order to start staring – and they weren’t disappointed. For a good five
seconds after the three women entered, there was a pin-drop silence and a halting of action as if someone had hit a pause button, then that same someone pressed play and normality resumed.

The pub lounge was low-roofed and heavily beamed. The walls were decorated with cases of stuffed fish and nets, models of lobsters, crabs and basket catching pots, giving it a typical seaside
feel. There were ten people sitting at three tables, all men. The funny Sherlock Holmes man with the pink pumps was sitting in a high-backed Chesterfield seat in the corner and sucking on a
calabash pipe that wasn’t lit.

Surprisingly there was a woman behind the short, but well-stocked, bar. She looked no older than twenty and had a pierced lip and dyed black hair fastened into two high pigtails interwoven with
blue hair extensions.

‘What can I get for you ladies?’ she asked cheerfully, her eyes mainly on Clare. It seemed that their reputation had preceded them.

‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ replied Lara.

‘Same for me.’ This from May.

‘And me,’ added Clare, looking around the pub.

‘How are you finding Well Cottage, then? Sweet little place, now, isn’t it?’ said the barmaid as she lifted the first glass to the optic of gin. ‘Gene’s had it all
done up. You’re the first visitors.’

‘And the last,’ called one of the locals, although it was unclear whether this was a response to the barmaid, or part of his own conversation.

‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ replied May.

‘Two pints when you’re ready, Shirley.’ An elderly man appeared at the bar with two empty tankards. Having given in his order, he turned to Lara. ‘It would be better if
we got the sun. It’s always cloudy here. Bet you won’t be back in a hurry.’

I bet we won’t as well, thought Lara.

‘It’s a pretty place,’ put in May. ‘We had a walk around earlier.’

‘Hathersage had no right to—’ the man at the bar snapped before the barmaid interrupted.

‘Shhh, Uncle Morris,’ she said, levering the tops off three small bottles of tonic whilst she gently admonished her elderly relative. ‘No village politics, if you please. Same
again for Milton as well?’

‘Oh, I dunno.’

Shirley shouted over to the strange old man with the pink pumps. ‘Old Peculier or Sea Brew?’

The old man held up an affirmative thumb.

‘Milton, is that thumb for Old Peculier?’

Again the thumb went up.

Old Peculier, there’s a shocker, thought Lara.

May handed over a twenty-pound note and Shirley slid it into an ancient till before handing over the change, which wasn’t much.

‘Blimey, it’s not cheap to drink here,’ whispered May, returning to the table.

‘I bet they’ve got one price for us and one price for locals,’ said Lara, in an equally low voice. ‘No one seems very happy to have holidaymakers around. Don’t you
get the feeling people are trying to put us off staying here?’

‘Well, I’m not going anywhere,’ put in Clare adamantly, thinking of that lovely lagoon underneath the cottage. If anything could empty her mind of all the rubbish that was
heaped up in it, it would be swimming in that clear, warm sea-water.

‘You mean you’re going to stop cleaning and take some time to swim?’ joked Lara.

‘The house is lovely and tidy now,’ sniffed Clare. ‘I can relax.’

‘You haven’t done my bedroom,’ teased May.

‘Don’t set her off.’ Lara slapped May playfully on the arm. ‘Actually you haven’t done mine either.’

Clare laughed. ‘You can stuff off, the pair of you. Anyone fancy some crisps? There are no calories in crisps when you eat them on holiday.’

Shirley arrived at their side with a cloth to wipe the table after they’d ordered another round and eaten two bags of cheese and onion crisps between them.

‘Sorry about my Uncle Morris earlier,’ she said. ‘Miserable old bugger.’

The place is full of them, thought Lara, as Gene Hathersage and his scowling face took centre stage in her mind.

‘They’re not used to holidaymakers here,’ Shirley went on. ‘And they don’t want to get used to them.’

‘We sort of noticed,’ said May.

‘Can’t see why anyone would want to holiday here, though, I have to say,’ Shirley said with a shrug. ‘I’m ticking off the days till I go to Cambridge uni next
month.’ She puffed up proudly as she said it.

‘Congratulations,’ said May, a sentiment which was echoed by the others.

‘Yeah, there will actually be some other girls to talk to.’

‘Women seem a bit thin on the ground here,’ said May.

Shirley nodded. ‘You’re telling me.’

‘Shirley,’ called Uncle Morris from across the room. There was a subtle warning in the way he said her name. Shirley flapped her hand at him and turned head-on to face Clare.

‘Do you mind me asking . . . are they contact lenses?’

‘No,’ said Clare, dropping her eyes from Shirley’s intense stare. ‘Quite natural.’

‘Amazing,’ said Shirley. ‘Everybody is talking about them.’

Clare raised her eyebrows and puffed out her cheeks. She didn’t ask why; she was afraid of what the answer might be.

Just then the door to the pub bounced open and Daisy wheeled herself in, followed by Frank.

‘The choice of females in this area is very limited for men, poor sods, as you might gather,’ said Shirley, leaning low over the table. It sounded very much as if she wasn’t a
fan of Daisy’s either.

Daisy’s wheels spun in their direction then stopped dead. She noticed the three women, cast them one of her evil stares, then turned to Frank and started gesticulating like a very angry
Italian. He tried to calm her down but obviously didn’t manage it as Daisy sped away from him and barged straight into May’s chair as if she was in a dodgem car and not a
wheelchair.

‘This is my table,’ she said, her eyes narrowed.

May stood up to move. If this was the only table that gave enough space for her wheelchair, she would quite happily go to another – despite Daisy’s rudeness. However, when she looked
around she saw there were at least two other tables that would give her more room to manoeuvre.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Frank, his rich bass voice fighting embarrassment.

‘Don’t you apologize for me, Francis Hathersage. We always sit here,’ screeched Daisy.

She couldn’t have been older than thirty, thought Clare, but Daisy was already showing signs of being a fully fledged battle-axe. Those scowls made her look much older than she was and
they’d give her a healthy serving of deep wrinkles within the next ten years, she bet.

‘It’s fine, we’ll move,’ said Lara, more because she didn’t want to give the holidaymaker haters any ammunition, plus it gave them brownie points for being so
gracious in the face of such immature behaviour. She didn’t actually feel gracious, though; she felt like slapping the little madam.