Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
V erity was sitting outside her van, the sausages sizzling on the camping stove giving off the most wonderful aroma. They would be delicious with the crusty bread Verity had picked up from Beachcomber Bakery and she couldn’t wait to tuck into her evening meal. After turning the sausages over in the pan, she sat in the camping chair staring out over the sea while thinking about everything that Betty had shared with her. Maybe there was nothing more to her granny’s visit than a young, confused woman who wasn’t sure what she wanted from her future. Verity was certain that her granny would have known about Joe’s death if it had made the newspapers. Betty had told her that Joe had received an SOS call saying a man had been taken by the rip current, and he had dived straight in to rescue him without a thought for his own safety. She felt for her granny, who may well have grieved over Joe’s loss in silence, though at the same time relieved that her secret summer romance would never be revealed.
Verity had concluded that the summer romance was indeed the secret referred to in the postcard and that her granny had probably confided in Joe about her situation at home. Verity was also convinced that her granny must have broken Joe’s heart when she told him she was heading back home, and Joe must have sent the postcard just before his accident.
Suddenly hearing the sound of music on the light breeze, Verity sat up and listened. Someone on the cliff top was strumming a guitar and singing softly. Verity followed the sound, which led her to the back garden of Cliff Top Cottage, where Pete was sitting on a chair overlooking the sea. Verity perched on a nearby rock and listened. After he finished, he gave the guitar one last strum and then balanced it against his chair and tilted his face towards the sky.
‘No wonder you were offered a record contract. That was absolutely breathtaking. Your voice is unique.’ She held out her arm. ‘You’ve given me goosebumps.’
Pete spun around, his eyes full of tears.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you but when I heard you singing and playing I had to come over. I’m sure I’ve heard that song before, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it’s called.’
‘You won’t know the song. I wrote it many years ago and I’ve never sung it in public.’
‘It was beautiful, so heartfelt.’ Verity came over and sat next to him. ‘I think you should sing more. I could sit and listen to you all night.’
‘These days I only sing for me.’
‘Why? You’re so talented! People are missing out. You’ve still got what it takes.’
‘That’s kind of you to say so, but I’m not sure at my age I do anymore. I think I’m a little long in the tooth and my sex appeal disappeared a long time ago.’ Pete gave a little chuckle.
‘Women swoon over a man with a guitar who can sing, no matter how old he is,’ Verity rushed to reassure him, though her words immediately made her think of Sam. The night he’d sung in the pub she’d been in awe, unable to take her eyes off him.
‘Maybe,’ he smiled, ‘but I’ve never sung in public since…’
‘Joe,’ Verity finished off his sentence.
He nodded. ‘It just didn’t feel right. The rest of the band talked about what we should do at the time. The record company didn’t retract the contract – in fact, we could have still gone on tour – but it just didn’t feel right and I didn’t want to leave Puffin Island. It would never have been the same without Joe. I was always used to having him at our side. It was fun and we were a gang. I wasn’t born to be a solo artist.’ There was a sadness in his voice. ‘But let’s not be maudlin. There were times when we had too much fun,’ he admitted, a wicked glint in his eye.
‘I can imagine!’
Pete laughed. ‘When we first started out, we played to no one. We’d turn up to a working men’s club or a pub and the room was empty, or the pub would be packed but they weren’t there for us and people took no notice of us. We’d finish the set without even a clap or a cheer. But as they say, it’s character-building.’
‘When did you start to get noticed?’
Pete smiled and pointed over to the lighthouse. ‘The lighthouse became famous before we did. The number of lives it saved was phenomenal. A company over in Sea’s End decided to organise one of those sexy calendars to raise money for lifeboats, and needed models. Joe saw the advert in the local newspaper and signed us up because he got wind that the national newspapers would be turning up to report on the story. We got the gig along with some other applicants and we got allocated a month of the year.’
‘Let me guess, The Men from Puffin Island were either February…or possibly December?’
‘February for Valentines, but there was a method to Joe’s madness. He’d decided what we needed was publicity and his plan was to hijack the shoot and play a couple of songs outside the lighthouse when the national newspapers arrived. What Joe failed to tell the rest of the band was that they wanted the calendar models to pose naked. We were stripped off and given items to cover our modesty. When Joe gave the signal we picked up our guitars and before we knew it we were playing naked outside the lighthouse. The news coverage we got…’ Pete whistled. ‘Believe me when I say that the next gig we played was packed to the rafters and that’s no exaggeration.’
Verity threw her head back and laughed. ‘Joe had good business acumen.’
‘We forgave him, even though the photographs for the calendar were taken in the middle of November. It was minus four, the wind from the sea was icy and we all nearly froze to death!’
‘But it got you noticed.’
‘It got us noticed all right and the ferry company couldn’t thank us enough. Their tickets went through the roof from teenage girls trying to get to Puffin Island, and all the B&Bs in Sea’s End and on the island were constantly full.’
‘Win, win. It sounds like you all had a blast and I bet you broke some hearts.’
Pete was thoughtful for a second, and by the look on his face he’d been transported somewhere else entirely. ‘Possibly,’ he replied, looking over his shoulder. ‘Can you smell that? Someone is cooking.’
Verity sprung to her feet. ‘Damn, I forgot my sausages! Got to go,’ she called over her shoulder, practically sprinting back to her van. ‘Lovely talking to you!’ she shouted. Swiftly lifting the pan off the camping stove she stared disappointedly at the charcoaled sausages.
‘You’ll be okay with some ketchup. Maybe a lot of ketchup,’ she murmured, cutting the bread and attempting to slice the cremated sausages in half with a blunt knife.
Sitting down on the chair with the plate balanced on her knee, she dug in. The sausages were just about bearable when swilled down with a glass of wine.
Ten minutes later she noticed an outside water tap at the garage, filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. She squirted washing-up liquid in the sausage pan, knowing it was going to take some cleaning. She was definitely glamping with no glamour now. As she scrubbed, she could still hear Pete strumming his guitar. She smiled at the story of the calendar and briefly wondered if the picture of the band in the buff was still floating around somewhere. From the other images she’d seen on the internet, they had been a group of very handsome men.
Pete was singing the same song and, even though he had been adamant that he’d never sung it in public, Verity knew she’d heard it before. She just couldn’t place where.