Chapter 31
Thirty-One
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
‘What’s happened?’ she demanded of Sunil. ‘Where’s Frida? What were you talking about?’
‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know you hadn’t told her.’
Lumpen horror sank into the bottom of Callie’s stomach. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We were chatting about us all being at college together, she’s always been really interested in that part of our lives. I suppose it’s because she’s about to go herself.’
‘Sunil, will you get to the point? What have you told Frida that she didn’t know?’
‘She wanted to know why I didn’t stand by you when we found out you were pregnant. I told her–’
‘Oh God.’ Callie put a hand to her mouth in shock. ‘You told her you thought I was going to have a termination. You told my daughter I was going to abort her. Oh, Sunil, how could you?’
‘I didn’t know, Callie.’ His voice took on a whining quality. ‘She said you two had always talked about everything, were real close. I assumed you’d mentioned it.’
‘And just how do you think I’d do that? Or why?’
Sunil’s voice rose in anger. ‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have lied to me at the time! And denied me the chance to bring up our daughter.’
‘My daughter,’ Callie hissed. ‘Frida is my daughter. And I didn’t lie to you, at least not on purpose. After you’d so conveniently disappeared, I changed my mind.’
‘Don’t you think I had a right to know?’
‘I looked for you. I asked around everywhere. But no one knew where you and Vivek had gone. And then, well forgive me, but I had other things on my mind. Like parents who were threatening to throw me out, a baby on the horizon and finding a home for us both. Not to mention trying to graduate and getting a sodding job!’
He subsided against the wall. Covering his face with his hands he murmured, ‘I thought all this was going so well. I’ve been through hell you know. Finding out I had another daughter, trying to get to know her, breaking the news to my wife.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Callie said impatiently wondering if he’d always been this self-absorbed. ‘But what happened when you let slip I’d nearly got rid of her?’
‘I don’t know. She yelled a lot, got really pissed with me and then ran off.’
‘Where to? Where’s she gone, Sunil?’
He shrugged, spreading his hands. ‘She said something about going to the sea. Clear her head. Mentioned the prom. You have one of those here?’
Callie groaned inwardly. ‘Yes, we have one of those here,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘And my precious daughter has just run off into the biggest storm they’ve had round here this year. And you let her!’
As if to underline her point, lightning flashed through the windows followed by a rumble of thunder. The storm must be directly overhead.
‘What should we do?’
‘I think you’ve done enough. I’ll go and find her. You get Johnny Starling.’
‘Who?’
‘He’s a friend. Johnny Starling,’ she repeated, as Sunil still hadn’t moved. ‘Tall. Wearing chinos, a navy-blue shirt and a dark coat.’
‘But how will I know who he is?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Sunil, have you always been this useless? Ask someone. Ask for Johnny Starling!’
‘What’s going on, Callie?’ It was Johnny. He came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You trying to find me?’
‘Thank God.’ Callie didn’t analyse the wave of relief washing over her. Johnny had been in far tougher situations than this. He’d know what to do. ‘Frida’s run off somewhere. We think down to the seafront. She’s upset,’ she flashed a glance at Sunil, ‘about something.’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Let’s go.’
Callie dived into the office and grabbed her jacket.
It was the short yellow waterproof she’d thrown on when leaving Sea Haven House and would be worse than useless, but it was better than nothing.
They ran out into the car park. Callie was nearly blown over by a gust of wind.
She stopped dead at the space where her car should be.
‘It’s gone,’ she said stupidly. ‘Frida must have taken it.’
‘Come on, we’ll take mine. Don’t worry, my love, we’ll find her.’
By the time they’d run to the far end of the car park they were soaked through.
Johnny unlocked the doors and Callie tried opening the passenger side.
It slammed shut again in the wind nearly trapping her fingers.
By this time Johnny had started the engine.
Throwing back her soaked hair so she could see, she slid into the car and they negotiated the car park’s bumpy surface.
‘Can’t see a thing. Windscreen’s fogged up,’ Johnny complained. He switched on the heater, but only cold air blasted out. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pick up speed when I’m on the road.’
All Callie wanted was for him to gun the engine but she couldn’t see much through the windscreen either. ‘I was in such a state when I got here tonight, I obviously didn’t lock my car. Frida’s found the spare key. I keep one taped to the sun visor.’
‘What’s gone on?’ He glanced over. ‘No, on second thoughts, it’s not important you tell me now.
I need to concentrate on driving.’ A gout of rain thrashed at the roof of the little Fiat.
‘Bloody hell, this storm is something else.’ He wiped condensation off the inside of the windscreen with the back of his hand. ‘Not much better.’
The narrow steep lane leading down to the seafront was deserted.
Johnny, hunched over the steering wheel, peered out through the driving rain.
Callie kept a look out for her car, thinking at least if Frida had driven down she’d be reasonably dry and protected.
But it was a horrible night for driving and her daughter hadn’t had all that much experience.
It was hard to see, despite the wipers going at a manic speed.
Horizontal rain slashed off the sea. Wind buffeted the car making it judder and Callie swore its wheels left the road at one point. The palm trees waved frantically and the thunder and lightning were in overdrive. The storm seemed intent on unleashing its worst right over Lullbury Bay.
They found her car abandoned, empty, on the harbour end of the seafront, so parked the Fiat alongside and ran to the Sea Spray.
Callie hoped Frida had sought refuge in the café.
To her relief it was open, light from the interior cascading a beacon of hope across the wide space outside the yacht club.
Blown along by the gale, she collided with the café’s door.
Wrenching it open, she and Johnny tumbled in.
Flicking back her drenched hair, she spotted Tracey emerging from the kitchen.
‘Is Frida here?’
Tracey ran to her, clasping her hands. ‘She was, maid. In a bit of a state, she was. I went to make her some hot chocolate but by the time I came out, she’d gone. Jan here says she’s gone to help with the beach huts.’
Callie gaped, wrong-footed. She didn’t understand. ‘The beach huts? What do you mean?’
‘The wind’s pulling at ’em. They’ll be wrecked by morning, I reckon. Frida’s gone to help folk get their stuff out. High summer see, people will have all sorts in there.’
‘My partner’s gone to help Jamie,’ a middle-aged woman with a silver pixie haircut, said.
Callie turned to her blankly. ‘I’m Jan. Daisy’s mum.
Daisy who runs the florists,’ she added.
‘It’s chaos down there by the beach huts,’ she went on.
‘Daisy and her boyfriend are there too, along with Bee from the bookshop. All hands to the deck. Everyone wants to retrieve their belongings. Tracey and me are getting the tea and hot soup ready. They’ll need something after being in that storm.
The police and coastguard haven’t turned up yet so Jamie’s in charge. ’
‘And Frida’s gone to help?’
Jan and Tracey nodded. ‘You two had an argument?’ Tracey asked.
‘Something like that.’ Callie felt ever so slightly relieved. Frida couldn’t be too upset if she’d thought to help others. Then fear for her daughter curled acidly inside again. With the beach huts collapsing, it sounded dangerous. ‘I need to find her.’
‘Well, I’m sure she’ll be all right, as long as she stays with Jamie. Let Johnny go and why don’t you wait here with us?’ Tracey suggested. ‘We could do with some help too. You could make sandwiches.’
Callie wrenched her hands free and ran back to the door. ‘I’m so sorry, Tracey. Happy to help later but now I really need to find Frida.’
With their backs to the harbour, they faced the wind head on. Pulling up the hood of her waterproof was useless. It simply blew down again, billowing out behind her, making the zipped-up neck pull painfully against her throat.
Johnny gathered her to him. ‘Two against the wind. Less chance of being blown over.’
‘It’s bloody fucking August for Christ’s sake,’ she swore as they jogged awkwardly along to the lower part of the promenade where the row of beach huts stood against a retaining wall. ‘Why is the weather so awful?’
It was difficult to see but ahead, blurred in the pelting rain, was a crowd of people.
They were running around. A middle-aged couple hurried past, clutching one another.
The man was battling to hold on to a deck chair, his face glowing white with strain in the dark.
The woman, holding a large canvas picture to her chest, was sobbing.
When she and Johnny got closer to the beach huts Callie saw why.
Jamie, in his RNLI waterproofs, was yelling and gesturing frantically at people. As they reached him, they heard him yell, ‘Come away. Get away to safety! Wait for the emergency services.’
Across the promenade was strewn the remains of many of the beach huts.
Designed to be easily dismantled for winter storage, the flimsy wooden structures had been no match for the storm.
Whole sides of hut lay flat on the concrete, one had a wall blown off revealing a mangled collection of mugs, blankets, a kettle.
Everything needed to make a cosy bolthole by the sea.
Several huts remained upright and complete but had concertinaed into one another.
The wind howled and snatched at a curtain.
It sailed off into the darkness and snagged on the low wall which separated this part of the prom from the beach a foot or so below.
People ran about, hands over their heads for protection, searching for their own hut and their possessions.
An older man retreated, shaking his head.
He patted Jamie on the shoulder. ‘Rick, Daisy and I are heading back to the Sea Spray,’ he bellowed.
‘Can’t do much out here. I’ll look out for the police and send them your way.
’ He was followed by a tall, dark-haired man who was shielding the woman who had sold Callie her flowers at the market.
‘Thanks, Colin,’ Jamie shouted back. ‘Wish the rest would listen. It’s useless. They’re just putting themselves in danger.’
As the trio went past Johnny, he stopped them, asking if there was anything he could do.
Callie tugged on Jamie’s sleeve. He was shouting into a walkie-talkie. ‘Jamie, have you seen Frida? My daughter? Tall, slim, long black hair.’ Her words were snatched away.
‘What?’ He cupped a hand around his ear to hear better against the wind.
Callie repeated what she’d said. ‘She’ll be dressed in a red dress. It’s got sequin embroidery on it.’
Jamie shoved sodden black hair off his forehead, irritably.
‘Yes. She went in that direction.’ He gestured to the far end of the prom where two or three huts could just about be seen.
They were jammed together. ‘Said she was going to get Austin Ruddick’s stuff out.
Tried to stop her but she was having none of it. Said she was fond of the old man.’
‘Right.’
As Callie went to go, Jamie stayed her arm.
‘I can’t let you go over there, Callie. There’s debris all over the place.
Stuff flying too. You could get a serious head injury.
And the wooden panels on the ground have got nails protruding.
You won’t see them in the dark. Wait here with me or, better still, go back to the café.
The emergency services are on the way: the fire brigade and the coastguard.
They’ll find her. It’s what they’re trained to do.
’ He turned away as someone approached him from the other side, distracting him.
Callie took her chance. ‘Sorry, Jamie. I know you mean well but I’m going to find my daughter.’ Nearly tripping over a plank of wood and a sun lounger, she dodged around three half destroyed huts and ran.