ten

George was naturally cautious for it is not often that one is beckoned into a stranger’s house, particularly under such odd circumstances. However, there was something conspiratorial in the woman’s tone, something that drew George in and made him feel implied in some plan.

‘Yes in you come, can I get you a tea? Perhaps coffee to banish the cold?’

‘Yes coffee thank you.’

Inside the sea front house there were just two rooms, one a small living room, and then also a kitchen. There was a ladder in the corner of the living room that led to the attic presumably, although the hatch was down.

‘So why did I call you in here? You must be wondering how odd it is. A little unusual, no doubt. But first what is your name?’

‘It’s George.’

‘Ah George, what a regal name. Perfect in fact.’

‘For what?’

‘All in good time. First let me tell you a short tale, all about that boat out there, that ship that is now just a hundred tonnes of firewood and a possible scandal.

‘My husband was on that ship you see, The Forrester, and they embarked almost a year ago. I remember the day, very bright, sun shining off everything the eye might rest upon. I couldn’t even see my husband as I waved a handkerchief in farewell. The voyage was to the Southern lands, a long journey for anyone, especially leaving at this time of year. All they would have would be winters you see. There were questions raised about this, whether they would make progress or be having to repair the sails, if the rains and winds might get them lost. But the main queries, the ones uttered late at night between close friends was the rumoured purpose of the journey.’

Here she broke off, finished the coffee and seemed as if she were collecting her thoughts. George looked about the room, noting that the woman must have been employed in repairing fishing nets. Her belongings seemed meagre and the room had an empty feel to it, like a temporary abode.

‘There’s no sugar I’m afraid George, but plenty of milk if you want. Now, as I was saying, the purpose of the journey was the thing that caused the most speculation. We heard that the destination was to an unexplored land from which there were rumours of wizards and monsters, that the plan was to return with special information and supplies, and to explore the possibilities of magic. It sounds ridiculous, I know that, but here is where the story takes a twist.

‘A month ago I was at the local police station, reporting a dispute with a fisherman over his failure to pay me. Anyway, I was left in the mail room at one point, waiting for an officer to come and take my report, when my eye was caught by a bundle of black bordered envelopes. It’s not that unusual for a ship to be lost, for there to be a dispatch of letters reporting that the sailors have been lost. I was worried, I glanced the letters over. One was addressed to me.

‘Dear Mrs Proudhon…The Forrester was reported lost in storms…all hands unaccounted for…our deepest commiserations.

‘I was devastated, as you can imagine, but a year apart from a man, who had died maybe weeks before makes the grieving a strange thing, unnatural. I carried on. But now, this morning, just a few hours ago, The Forrester lumbers into port, listing badly and ready to sink. Rumours are abounding, rumours of a dangerous and exotic plant that has been brought back, of madness aboard the crew. Of course, it’s all being covered up…’

Just as the story was ending, there came a sound from up in the attic, a thud to punctuate the woman’s tale.

‘It’s my husband. He jumped overboard and swam here from the beach to the west.’ Her eyes implored George.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, trying to sound mature and reassuring, ‘I don’t want to tell anyone. Is he alright?’

‘No. He tells worrying stories, and is tired like I have never seen a man be.'