Midnight Dolphin (14 page)

‘
I’ll be
alright’ he smiled. ‘Go on. I’ll give you a call later.’
Reluctantly Bethany agreed and went off, leaving Dad alone. When
Lucy was wheeled back up and her bed set in place again Dad sat
holding her hand.

‘
This isn’t
exactly what I had in mind for you Lucy’ he said to his unconscious
daughter. ‘So much has happened that I wish hadn’t. I’ve tried to
protect you from harm, but here you are lying in a hospital ward
with wires all over you. When I see you like this you remind me so
much of your mother. You’re such a chip of the old block.
Strong-willed, headstrong, determined, but faithful and true.
You’re all of that and more.’ Dad sniffed.

‘
You know they
made me redundant yesterday’ he continued, changing the subject.
‘That’s right, I lost my job; just afterwards I got the call from
your school. I was glad to get away from there really, though I was
worried sick about you. To tell the truth I’m glad they gave me the
boot. It’s about time I moved on from there anyway. This way I can
spend a bit more time with you once you’re out of hospital. We’ll
have a better Christmas than the last one.’ Dad smiled. ‘What do
you say Luce?’

Lucy just lay
there as still as ever.

‘
I’m sorry I
lied to you Lucy, about the car crash I mean.’ He paused. ‘Actually
I pretty much lied to everyone. I haven’t even told Bethany how Mum
really died. You and I were alone in the house when the policeman
turned up at the door. You were upstairs listening to music in your
room. The policeman looked so sorry for me he could barely get the
words out. It was then I decided that I had to protect you from the
same fate as your mother. I had to stop history from repeating
itself. That’s why I didn’t tell you Luce. I thought at first
everything was going to be okay. Now dolphins are your life and I
think that maybe I should have told you what happened to Mum in the
first place. I should have trusted you more Luce, I really should.’
Dad sighed. ‘I think I’ll just go and freshen up a bit.’

Dad went to
the bathroom to splash water on his face and try to make himself
feel a bit more human. It was his second night in the hospital.
Maybe, he thought, he should go home and snatch a few hours’ sleep
too. He couldn’t survive like this forever.

Just as he got
back onto the ward he saw a middle aged, professional looking woman
standing at the foot of Lucy’s bed studying her quietly. The woman
had a note book and jotted something down as she stood there. For
some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, Dad stopped and observed
the woman. As if sensing that she was being watched, the woman
slipped her notebook into her pocket and set off briskly towards
the swing doors in the opposite direction.

Dad walked up
to Lucy’s bed.

‘
Are you
alright there Mr Parr?’ called one of the friendly nurses. Dad
nodded.

‘
Nurse, could
I ask you a question? Who was that doctor that was here just
now?’

‘
That lady?
Oh, she’s not staff. I thought she was with you’ said the nurse as
she walked back to the nursing station.

Chapter
Nine

‘
Oh hi there
Megan. What are you up to then?’ asked Rachel curiously ‘You look
lost in your own world sitting there on that bench.’ Megan was half
dazzled by the sun as she looked up at the older girl standing
there in front of her.

‘
I’ve been in
the library trying to find out more about Jeremiah Smith’ Megan
replied, pleased to be able to show a student like Rachel that she
knew how to research things too.

‘
Oh I see.
Sounds impressive’ Rachel replied encouragingly. ‘Come on, let me
buy you a cup of tea or something. I’ve been checking out a few
things myself. Let’s sit down over a cuppa and compare
notes.’

Five minutes
later, they were both sitting at a table in the Clotted Cream Tea
Rooms just a short distance down the street. It was quite an old
fashioned establishment and Rachel grinned at Megan
conspiratorially when an elderly waitress tottered over with a
menu. The rest of the clientele were similarly grey-haired. Megan
rested her arms on the formica-topped table and felt it wobble
uncertainly on its uneven legs.

‘
What do you
fancy having?’ asked Rachel. ‘I like a good cup of coffee myself,
but a decent bean is in short supply round here. Maybe I’ll just
have a lemonade. How about you?’ Megan said that she’d like a
lemonade too and Rachel asked for two cherry cupcakes as
well.

‘
So, tell me
what you’ve found out’ said Rachel.

‘
Well’ said
Megan, ‘I couldn’t find anything in the local history section, but
then I found this tray of old books they’re selling off for a few
pennies. One of them was ‘
A description of
the Lives of the Inhabitants of the County of
Cornwall
’ by Jeremiah Smith although half
of it was missing and the rest of it was falling apart.’

‘
Does he say
anything more about dolphin-children then?’ asked
Rachel.

‘
Yes and no’
replied Megan. ‘He goes on about this place called Coxcomb Reach
where the locals used to cooperate with dolphins to catch
fish.’

‘
Oh yes, I
know where that is’ said Rachel brightly.

‘
He talks
about several dolphin-children. One of them was called Arthur
Trescothick and another one was called Gideon Belcher. It’s funny
but I never imagined that boys could be dolphin-children too. He
talks about this girl called Susan Penhaligon who led a group of
kids out to their deaths in the sea.

‘
Yes I’ve
heard of her’ said Rachel. The local historical society wants to do
something on her if they get enough money to open a local
museum.’

‘
He says that
dolphin-children lose their gift by the age of twelve or thirteen
or so. Then he said that he wanted to trace a dolphin-child himself
but had not yet been successful.’

‘
So obviously
the book was written before his journal that we read in the
bookshop’ concluded Rachel.

‘
That’s right’
replied Megan. ‘Not much wiser at all really’ she added
despondently.

‘
Well not
entirely’ said Rachel, a smile playing round the corners of her
mouth. ‘It just so happens that I’ve found out something quite
interesting from Mum. She tells me that the Reverend Jeremiah
Smith’s great-grandson is alive and living right here in Merwater.
There’s a good chance that he’s even got the next journal that we
want to find. In fact Mum was thinking of trying to sell him the
journal that I showed you in the shop.’ Megan sat up.

‘
That sounds
good’ she exclaimed. ‘Where does he live?’

‘
Oh he lives
in one of the big houses at the top of Queen Street’ replied
Rachel, as though Megan should know exactly where that
was.

‘
And you think
we can just go and see him?’ asked Megan optimistically.

‘
Well we can
certainly stroll up there and take a look at his house’ said
Rachel. ‘Apparently he’s a bit reclusive, but there’s no harm in
trying.’

Rachel picked
out the change from her purse to pay the elderly waitress and
having downed her glass, stood up.

‘
Let’s go
then!’ she said. Megan still felt self-conscious about being in the
company of Rachel. She was years older than her and already at
University. Megan worried that she would say something stupid and
show herself up. Instead Rachel seemed positive and friendly, and
not at all put out by the fact that Megan was so much younger than
her. She seemed genuinely interested in Megan and her situation and
didn’t seem to question the fact that Megan was a dolphin-child at
all. Megan wondered why, but wasn’t ready to ask.

Queen Street
was a broad, elegant road that turned off the High Street and which
ran up towards the crest of the hill. The closely-packed dwellings
at the bottom of the hill gave way to the broader merchants’ houses
at the top. The pavements were more generous here and Megan could
imagine sombre men in dark suits and top hats slowly parading along
arm in arm with women in elegant hats and long dresses.

‘
This was
where the rich people used to live’ said Rachel, ‘far above the
stink and bustle of the town below them. Still do for that matter’
she joked. Black iron railings separated the mellow red bricks of
the Georgian houses from the street.

‘
Which one are
we looking for?’ asked Megan.

‘
It’s this
one’ said Rachel, pointing towards a double-fronted house with a
wisteria trailing luxuriantly up the wall, its green tendrils
waving gently in the breeze.

‘
The Old
Vicarage’. Megan read the sign on the front. She looked up at the
windows. She imagined it to be dark and forbidding inside, but
instead from what she could see it looked quite light and airy.
‘What’s his name?’

‘
Apparently
he’s called Toby Smith’ replied Rachel. He wrote a best-seller
called ‘
The Room with No Windows’
a few years ago and has been living off the
royalties ever since. Some sort of a thriller apparently. They made
a film of it with Michael Caine. He keeps a low profile round here.
I’d never even heard of him until after your visit to the shop the
other day.’

‘
Is he old?’
Megan wondered out loud.

‘
Not as old as
you might think. He’s probably about fifty I should imagine.’ They
stood uncertainly on the pavement outside. For all her bright talk,
Rachel suddenly seemed a little nervous about ringing the doorbell.
There was nothing for it.

‘
Well I’m
going to knock on the door then’ announced Megan. She took a deep
breath. She walked up the three heavy stone steps that led up to
the front door and struck the knocker firmly against the door.
Megan could hear the sound of jazz coming from somewhere inside the
house, but it was turned down just after she knocked on the door.
There was a long silence and then Megan heard footsteps
approaching. She imagined that the door would be opened by a
wizened old housekeeper, but instead a comfortably built
middle-aged man opened it. Despite his advancing years he had a
full head of brown hair and smiling eyes. He wore a crimson velvet
jacket and brown suede shoes and was still half humming to himself
as he looked down and saw Megan.

‘
Oh I thought
you were the postman’ he said. ‘I’m expecting a delivery of a
Charlie Parker LP.’ He paused to examine Megan more closely ‘What
can I do for you?’

‘
Toby Smith?’
asked Megan nervously.

‘
Yes? Oh, you
must be a fan! Do you want me to autograph your copy of my book or
something?’ he asked benignly. ‘I must say fans seem to be getting
younger nowadays. They’re mostly thirty-something men you know.’
Megan was so non-plussed by this that she didn’t know what to say.
Rachel stepped up behind her.

‘
Mr Smith,
we’re doing some research and we wondered if we might ask you some
questions?’

‘
You’re not
writing for your college rag are you?’ he replied. ‘I don’t give
interviews you know. It adds to the mystique and all that. Never
talk about the book to the press. It’s a policy of
mine.’

‘
No, no’
replied Megan and Rachel at the same time. ‘It’s about your
ancestor, the Reverend Jeremiah Smith.’

‘
What, that
old stuff-shirt?’ retorted Toby Smith with a chuckle of surprise.
‘Whatever do you want to know about him for? Well I suppose you’d
better come in.’

He led them
both in to a spacious sitting room at the back of the house, where
big windows opened out on to a large walled garden. There was a
grand piano on one side of the room and a record player on the
other side, surrounded by stacks of jazz records. A cigar smoked in
the ashtray where he’d left it to come and open the door. A glass
of claret sat next to that.

‘
I’d offer you
both a glass of the red stuff’ he said, waving them in the
direction of a couple of easy chairs, ‘but one of you at least
seems a tad too young to imbibe. Pity though. Excellent vintage it
is.’ They sat down. ‘Anyway what can I tell you about the Rev? Long
gone he is. Died before I was born.’

‘
Actually’
said Rachel. ‘We were wondering if you had any of his
journals?’

‘
Funny you
should ask that’ replied Toby Smith. ‘I had someone round from the
local history society just the other month trying to cadge a look
at them. Said that they were an important historical source, or
some such nonsense. Didn’t like the look of the woman so I sent her
packing.’ He leant over, picked up his cigar, and took a puff
before exhaling luxuriantly. ‘Why are you interested in the Rev
then?’

‘
It’s about
dolphins’ replied Megan. ‘He wrote about the folklore of dolphins
and the people in the area. It’s, well,…important for me to find
out what he wrote.’

‘
Well of
course the Rev did go round persecuting his parishioners, squeezing
them for nuggets of folklore and whatnot. I always reckoned they
just made stuff up to keep the old codger happy.’ Rachel and Lucy
smiled. ‘So this is research is it? Spill the beans then.’ Megan
suddenly felt awkward and shy. She didn’t want to start telling him
about her own connection with dolphins.