Chapter 28
Tilly woke to silence, which, after the night she'd had, was almost more alarming than the noise had been.
For a moment, she'd stayed quite still, working out what was different from the horrors of the night before. Something was wrong. There was no howling, zero bangs, the wind wasn’t whistling, and thank the Lord, the great mournful blasts of the foghorn had ceased.
Squinting, Tilly flicked the light switch.
Still nothing from that department. So the power was still off, but the calm after the storm had clearly arrived.
Oddly, it was as if the horrors of the night had been a dream.
All Tilly could hear was a soft slap of the tide and a few voices from the road outside.
Her thoughts that perhaps Darling wasn't for her came back in a rush. In the cold light of the morning, it didn’t feel as bad as it had at three, when, to be frank, she'd been scared out of her wits.
Rather melodramatic? Yeah, possibly. Head under a duvet, and a foghorn did that for a girl.
Pulling on her dressing gown and slippers as she padded down the stairs, she was pleased to see four walls and all windows and doors where she’d left them the night before.
The old shed had done well. Peeking her head out the door, the decking was wet, strewn with weeds and a scattering of twigs and branches.
A terracotta pot had toppled and cracked clean in two, and the water level wasn't far off the boards.
However, overall, the building was fine, the roof was on, glass was in place.
The bones had held, and she was still alive.
Plonking the yellow hat on her head, Tilly unbolted the door, stepped out and couldn't believe what was in front of her eyes as she stood in her dressing gown and looked around.
Yes, there were a few things to clear up and a bit of storm damage here and there, but overall it looked as if the storm had scrubbed the whole world clean.
The water was the hazy deep blue Darling was famous for, flat, bright and gleaming, and the mainland sat low and green and clear on the far side without a wisp of fog to be seen.
The air smelled of salt, wet wood and that fresh, cold, gloriously English post-storm smell like no other.
A heron stood one-legged on the end of the jetty, surveying its kingdom, a little rowing boat bobbed at its post, and Tilly let out a long breath.
Chuckling to herself as she picked up a pot, Tilly shook her head.
This hazy blue calm, Darling, was the part they showcased on the Darling council website.
From the outside looking in, you didn’t get to witness the three-in-the-morning with a storm raging part.
Funny, really, how the night had felt like the end of everything and the morning looked like the start of it.
She was still standing there in the sou'wester, gloating quietly at the heron, when she heard a car pull up.
Not really giving a hoot about her get-up, she looked over and didn't bother to hide.
Otto got out in a wax jacket and wellies, with Stanley trotting beside him.
He called out and lifted his chin. 'You're still here, then. '
'Just about.'
'The power's off all down this side, but I've just heard that it will be back by lunch, they reckon.' He looked past her at the decking, the dead bunting, the cracked pots. 'How did you get on?'
Tilly shook her head, smiled and pretended she’d been fine. There was no way she was going to tell him that she'd been frozen stiff with fright for a lot of the storm, with every nerve on end and petrified for hours. 'No worries from me. I slept through the whole thing, give or take.'
‘Slept through the whole thing? Are you kidding? The foghorn doesn't half carry across the water on this side. I’m surprised you weren’t up all night.'
Tilly thought about the duvet over her head, the thoughts she'd had, how she'd convinced herself she was going to be murdered in her sleep. 'Actually, I slept like a baby.'
Stanley looked up at her with scepticism. Otto made a surprised face. 'Right. Well, you did well to survive your first Darling storm unscathed.' Clicking his tongue for Stanley, he nodded. 'Rory'll be round to take the sandbags up later. Don't move them yourself, they weigh a ton when they’re wet.'
'Thanks so much for doing that.'
'Not a problem. See you. Nice hat.'
Before Tilly could say anything, Otto had turned on his heel. Shame really. She would have loved to invite him in for a cup of tea.