Chapter 6 #2
Cath moved cautiously to take a look under the sink, shifting the stained curtain to find a grubby white plastic bowl, and oh yuck, several mouse droppings.
They’d hardly said a word since walking in. Merely looking at each other with eyebrows raised, and faces strained. It was fascinating, but nothing like as idyllic – even being aware there’d be plenty of work to do – as they’d hoped.
Next, they took a quick look through a door that led off from the living space to find a bedroom area with an old pine double bedstead and a manky mattress that you really wouldn’t want to go bouncing on.
A further door, again heading from the living area, revealed a once-white porcelain toilet with a dried up green-and-brown-stained bowl – hopefully, just years of stagnant water and nothing more sinister.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Cath.
‘Jeez,’ puffed out Will. ‘I really need to pee, but there’s no way I’m chancing it in here.’
They fled back to the ‘airier’ space of the living room, where that sofa, as Cath peered closer, had several ruffed-up holes in, and fluffy bits of stuffing coming out. Evidence of gnawing …
‘Ekk, don’t even think about sitting down …’ Cath warned, as Will moved nearer to it. ‘I think that’s a hotel.’
He quirked an eyebrow, quizzically.
‘A mouse hotel,’ she continued.
And with that, there was a scurrying from beneath the sofa, and right on cue, one of the smooth brown-grey furry critters scampered off, its tail a thin flash behind it.
‘There’s a moose in the hoose.’ Will put on a strong Scottish accent.
‘You’ll need to call in pest control before you even start thinking of doing any work here,’ said Cath.
‘Yeah, and then a joiner. There’s so much rotten wood, it’s dangerous. And I’ll need to check the roof for leaks.’
‘The bucket in the kitchen’s a bit of a clue, and I bet there’s more than that one. And that sofa will need to go, and the mattress … the bedstead and sideboard, too. Could be full of woodworm or anything.’
‘That’ll be some job ferrying it all out across the track.’ Will’s brow furrowed further.
‘Bloody hell, yeah. They’d certainly not allow a bonfire in the dunes. Looks like our work’s going to be cut out.’
‘It is indeed. I’m beginning to understand why my parents wanted to pass it on to me so swiftly.’
‘Yep, there’ll be lots of work,’ agreed Cath.
‘But hey, I bet that’s never held you back.
And of course, I’m more than happy to lend a hand.
I got stuck in with my little garden hut project, and think of the massive difference we made at the village hall.
’ Along with the supper club gang, they’d tackled the community hall renovations with aplomb.
‘True.’ A glimmer of a smile flickered on his lips.
Will took a few interior photos for his parents, without zooming in too closely on anything. Cath took a couple of images too, hoping one day to be comparing a very different ‘after’ image against these ‘before’ ones.
‘Time for a pint, and a glass of wine?’
‘Absolutely.’
They re-scanned the shabby, partly rotted interior.
Will took a slow breath, the air so very musty.
They certainly weren’t going to be hanging around here for long.
It wasn’t a space for relaxing, well, not for a good while yet, and there wasn’t a lot they could tackle today, anyhow.
It needed clearing out and thoroughly cleaning the next visit, mused Cath.
They turned at the same time and oh, spotted the view out of the open front door.
‘Wow,’ said Will.
‘Oh my,’ Cath gasped.
When they’d arrived, they’d been so focused on finding the hut and getting inside, neither of them had looked out to the sea.
The short grass of the dunes before them formed a small garden patch, from which a track led down to the wheat-coloured sands and the sea, now all milky-green and pewter-grey tones with gently rolling crests of white surf.
The sky was awash with bulbous cloudy greys, aquamarine and shades of gold.
And there, right opposite their front deck, on the far side of the sweeping bay, stood the dramatic stony ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle.
The view from here was incredible. Cath took a couple of snaps on her phone, wanting to capture this moment.
‘Wow,’ Will repeated. ‘There’s hope for the old place yet.’ He stood simply gazing, a spark of optimism filling his eyes.
‘Hah, no need to worry about the manky inside,’ added Cath. ‘We just need to put a blanket down here on the front deck.’
‘Absolutely. That’ll be next time.’ The corners of Will’s lips shifted into a cheeky grin. What was he imagining might happen here?
‘A blanket and a picnic,’ Cath clarified, smiling, feeling a frisson of fresh excitement at the prospect of the project, and the hope of some magical times to come.
‘I brought some coffee. We could sit for a few minutes.’ The rain had held off for now, and they were sheltered and mostly out of the breeze here.
‘Go on then. We’ll go and have that pint after.’
Cath took off her rucksack, found the cups and flask, and poured.
They sat for a few precious minutes, sipping coffee as they gazed across that amazing vista, watching oystercatchers dipping their beaks and sanderlings scurrying at the shoreline, with the shushing sounds of the sea rolling onto the sands, the smell of salt and a gentle breeze teasing Cath’s hair.
Embleton Bay was already casting its calming magic.
*
Cath packed away the empty cups and flask, and they walked from the bungalow out and down the dune to the front and via some rather rickety wooden steps, onto the sands, where Will took her hand.
Whilst realising the huge practical, and no doubt costly, project the beach hut would be, they still gave each other smiles filled with hope.
For both of them, this felt like a new adventure in life, timing perfectly with their blooming relationship.
They strolled back to the village along the beach, passing a couple walking their Labrador, a few hikers with sturdy boots and rucksacks, and a sand-encrusted toddler building sandcastles with his mum.
Cath and Will made their way around the headland, where a far smarter bungalow than theirs graced the dune point.
Along they went, hand in hand, and up the concrete causeway where small fishing and pleasure boats could be pulled in.
Then, they passed the white-painted former fisherman’s cottages; one with vivid-purple petunia flowers in pots on the sill, another with an old conifer-green glass float and a lobster pot positioned outside the porch.
They found a corner table in The Ship Inn, nestled between an old sash window and a stone hearth with a cast-iron log burner.
Dried hops and twigs trailed high above them from the ceiling.
Paintings of moody seascapes and sepia pictures of boats were displayed on the uneven grey-and-honey stone walls.
This characterful cosy pub had been a social hub and refuge for its fishing community for hundreds of years, and more recently for local residents and tourists.
It must have a few stories of its own to tell, plus secrets to guard in its time, having been part of this coastal village life for over two hundred and fifty years.
Cath sat down on a wooden settle, whilst Will headed off to the bar in the hunt for a much-needed pint, still trying to absorb the reality of the task ahead with his new inheritance.
He soon came back, bringing a real ale from the pub’s microbrewery for himself and a cider for Cath, along with a couple of packs of sea-salted crisps.
‘Thanks.’
‘Cheers.’ He took up the seat opposite Cath. ‘Well then, that was an interesting escapade into my inheritance. And jeez, there’s a whole load of work to do to make it shipshape. Excuse the pun.’ That was an understatement, but Will was clinging on to positivity.
‘There is indeed,’ agreed Cath, thinking drily, a mountain of work.
‘Yeah, we’ll need to get the professionals in to check the roof and sort out any major external joinery issues. We have to make it structurally sound first, and then …’
‘And then … there’s the inside to tackle,’ Cath added, her eyes wide.
They looked at each other. The task was actually monumental. There was a pause, as the reality of the renovation project began to sink in. If she’d been hoping to find some time to put on a social event for the elderly, then she’d likely just lost it to this project.
‘Hmm, I think we might need a few helpers with this one,’ said Will, before taking a large sip of his pint.
‘And hey, we know just where to find them,’ Cath mooted, remembering the village hall renovations. ‘Our trusty supper clubbers, and perhaps a handy DIY tradesperson friend or two.’
‘Yes, they were brilliant at helping with Tilldale’s hall. But this is more of a personal project,’ Will noted. ‘Perhaps, I’d be better just ticking away at things myself.’
‘True. Or, maybe we could hold a Seaside DIY SOS,’ Cath added with a grin. ‘Do you think we might be able to lure them in with an offer of a seaside supper or a beach picnic?’
‘Hah, sounds a good idea. Definitely worth a try, anyhow.’ He gave a smile, which lifted her hopes. With so much to do, they needed to keep positive, after all.
Cath then glanced out of the pub’s sash window, which lifted her spirits even more. ‘And hey, it’s certainly got one thing going for it, big time.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Location, location, location.’
The two of them gazed out, past the grassy green of the village square, the fishermen’s cottages, to the golden beach and the rocky outcrop near the headland, and on to the North Sea which was rolling in in hues of greys, blues and greens.
‘Well, it’s got that in spades,’ Will agreed.
‘Buckets and spades.’ Cath grinned.
‘And, it also has a very good local, which serves an exceedingly good pint.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Well, I’ll drink to that.’
‘Cheers.’
They clinked glasses.
The Beach Hut Challenge was on. And it certainly was going to be a challenge.