It was mid-afternoon when I finally arrived at Temple Point. Here the cliffs had broken away to leave a great towering arch of rock, pounded on all sides by the white swirling waters and resembling some great piece of Gothic architecture. I clambered right to the end of the promontory, and then sat looking across at the arch. Every now and then a shower of spray would rise up from below, momentarily threatening to engulf me before subsiding again. Meanwhile the soaring columns of rock stood immobile and unmoved by the surging waves. It was a marvellous sight.
I spent quite a while gazing out and pondering what primeval forces had conspired together to create such a place. Than I ate my sandwiches.
♦
Darkness had fallen by the time I arrived back at the guest house, but surprisingly there was no sign of activity inside. This came as a bit of a disappointment. The walk home from Temple Point had seemed to take much longer than the outward journey, with the threat of rain coming in later, and I’d begun to look forward to a little Christmas cheer.
The get-together that Mr Sedgefield had spoken of now appeared most attractive. I could just imagine him and his partner fussing around in the reception room, lighting a log fire and preparing some fine mulled wine. Or perhaps roasting chestnuts. It would also be a chance at last to meet the other guests.
As it was, I came up the garden path to find the place silent and gloomy. Even the fairy lights in the porch had given up flickering and seemed finally to have gone out altogether. Before going inside I decided to complete my test on the bulbs. There were half a dozen left to do, and when I got to the last one I discovered it was loose.
I gave it the necessary twist and all the lights were restored.
Then I knocked on the door and waited.
A minute passed before Mr Sedgefield opened up.
“Ah,” he said. He was no longer wearing his apron.
“Ah,” I replied with a grin. “I’m back.”
“Yes.”
I was led inside and we stood for a few awkward moments in the hall.
“Not too late for supper, am I?” As I spoke I realised my appetite had returned with a vengeance. I felt quite hungry again.
“Well,” he said. “I suppose we could do you a cold plate at a push.”
“Is that what the others are having?”
“The others had theirs hours ago.”
“Oh…did they?”
“Indeed they did, and I’m sorry to say you’ve missed them again.”
“How?”
“They’ve gone carol-singing. Shame really, you could have gone with them.”
“But what about the get-together?”
“I’m afraid that’s postponed.”
He showed me into the reception room, and then went off to the kitchen. There were no logs burning in the grate, only an electric fire with one bar switched on. And there were no decorations. When Mr Sedgefield finally returned he brought a plate with some cold pork, a few slices of bread and butter, and some pickle.
“Bon appetit,” he said.
I watched as he went to the dresser and opened a sherry bottle, pouring out three glasses. He gave one to me, and then carried the other two out of the room. He didn’t come back.
The evening passed very slowly. I finished my supper and spent a while looking at some National Geographic magazines. There was enough sherry left in the bottle for another glass or two, but I was unwilling to help myself without asking. So at about half past ten I went up to my room.
I sat on the bed and listened. At any moment I hoped to hear the sound of merrymakers returning, followed soon afterwards by glasses tinkling and joyous voices calling me down to be with them.
Yet all I heard was the murmuring sea as it broke against the shore.
5. Once in a Blue Moon
My mother’s house was under siege. One chill Friday evening in November I arrived to find the entire neighbourhood in a state of high alert. The police had blocked the street at both ends. A helicopter was circling overhead, and there were snipers hidden in the garden.
“Get down!” they hissed, when I approached.
“It’s OK,” I replied. “I’ve been on this case right from the beginning.”
After a couple of routine questions they directed me to the officer in command. He was a harassed-looking individual, sheltering with the rest of his men behind an armoured car. The guys were at a complete loss as to what to do next. They stood around, drinking coffee from paper cups, and waiting for something to happen. When I joined them I received no more than a cursory glance.
“Would you like me to talk to her?” I offered.
“Be my guest,” said the chief. “When all this is over I’m handing in my badge. After that I’ll be back on traffic duties. For good.”
He got on his radio and ordered the helicopter to move away. Then I ducked beneath a chequered tape bearing the words POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS.
To tell the truth I had scant idea what to expect. It was a while since I’d last called on my mother, having been fully occupied with work and so forth. The usual story. There was no excuse for my neglect, and as I crossed the garden towards the darkened dwelling I felt more than a little uneasy. A heavy silence lay about the place. The only disturbance was the humming of the power generators somewhere behind me. In the cold autumn air I could feel the heat of the searchlights on the back of my neck. There was nowhere to hide.
The commander had given me a loud-hailer. Now I raised it to my lips, spoke into the mouthpiece, and heard a staccato voice ricochet through the night.
“Alright, Mother!” it rasped. “I’m going to count to three, and then I want you to come outside with your hands held high above your head.”
I lowered the loud-hailer and waited. From the house there came not a sound. Its blank windows seemed to stare down at me as I stood all alone in my mother’s garden. I tried again.
“Can you hear me, Mother?!”
To the rear of me I could sense growing restlessness. I knew it wouldn’t be too long before the police became impatient and began to resort to less subtle methods. This was my last chance.
“Mother?”
The quiet was shattered as an upper window exploded into smithereens. Then the barrel of a gun appeared, and behind it, my mother’s face.
“Whaddyawant?!” she hollered.
It was a good question, and I realised I needed to think carefully before I answered. What I really wanted, of course, was to be able to converse with my mother as I had done in the past. Countless times the two of us had sat in her living room, exchanging remarks about the weather while we shared tea and buns. The clock on the shelf would tick resolutely round for half an hour or so, and then I’d take my leave and all would be well. Her tone this evening, however, suggested that circumstances had changed. I was in danger of being viewed as a representative of the besieging forces. Therefore I required an angle.
“We were wondering,” I said, addressing her once more through the loud-hailer. “We were wondering what you were doing at Christmas?”
“Who wants to know?” she demanded.
“Just about everybody,” I replied.