He walked to the corner of the cave, just the point where it headed off before turning into the next one over, and looked out along the strand. Then, a second excited shriek warned him that he was not alone, although it did not prepare him for the sight of Elizabeth O’Shea and Jo Harris running from just a few feet away towards the freezing waves that ebbed ever closer to his hiding place. Dan drew back immediately, not entirely sure why; perhaps it was the junior sleuth in him kicking in. There was something lovely about it. There was something right about Jo Harris swimming in the open waters, but Elizabeth was the last person he’d have ever imagined tearing off her cashmere and pearls and ripping into the icy Atlantic waves.
He peered out towards the water again. They were submerged, just bobbing heads among the surf; from here with the advancing twilight, they might be seals or porpoises swimming a little more closely to the shore than you’d expect. He stood for a moment, a small smile playing about his lips, listening to the sounds of the ocean and occasionally, just above it a shriek of excited laughter. What harm could it do to wait here, with his back to them and listen to their joy?
Now and then, he caught their words on the breeze; mainly Jo’s guiding them out into deeper water at first. He heard them, cavorting through the waves like children on summer holidays. Impervious, it seemed, to the cold, to any self-conscious notion that someone might come along. Their eager delight… well, it was contagious. It was as if their giddy happiness had infected him and his smile, for the first time in weeks, perhaps months, was actually real.
He dropped down to the ground, sat on one of the flat rocks, leaning against the cold stone that was at least dry at his side. He could sit here for quite a while, happily, watching the sea glinting orange, purple, silver and gold against the back of the cave, like an old movie projector casting faint shadows from the outside in. He could stay here forever listening to the starlings fly in perfect formation across the water. He tried to catch them every night, just as the sky was sauntering to a deep French navy. There was something absorbing about watching from his little cottage, the birds’ murmuration in wild excited patterns across the sky finally calling an end to their day. They ranged noisily across the sky in droves towards nests that would hem them in until they were ready to call out the morning chorus. It was almost as if they’d cut the corners on the end of the day, only to sing loudly in the early hours so they stamped their mark on either end of each day before anyone else had the chance.
He could not watch them now; the last thing he’d want was the village to think he was a peeping Tom! He kept his back to the sea and his eyes firmly on the cave wall before him. But he imagined them, as they cast, like an inky net only just flirting over the waves, as if gathering momentum before shading the town and letting anyone who dared question the hour that it was time to call halt.
It was time to go home and put an end to another day. The action stirred something in the dog at his feet. Before he had a chance to grab her collar, she was gone like the clappers, headed out towards the beach to bark excitedly at the birds overhead. ‘Damn.’ He had no choice but to follow her. He hoped the women were still in the water, or perhaps already changing in the cove next to him. He needn’t even pretend he’d seen them if they were already hidden by the dark overhanging rocks. ‘Here, girl,’ he shouted, more to alert the women that he was about, than to call the dog. ‘Come back, girl,’ he shouted again, louder and more urgently.
He emerged onto the beach, hoping it might look as if they’d just turned the corner having walked from the furthest end of it. It was too late; the worst possible timing. Elizabeth was at that halfway in, halfway out stage; Jo at least was covered with a thin towel. There was no chance of dipping into the ankle-height water to save Elizabeth’s blushes and no hiding within the cave because Dan found himself awkwardly standing in her path. It seemed to him, the only thing to do was to turn his back and shout a cheery hello, giving her time to make her way up the beach and wrap up in towels or whatever clothes were nearest to her.
Dear God, how had he managed to find himself standing on a beach with two near-naked pensioners and a yapping dog at his feet? How would he look Elizabeth O’Shea in the eye when they next met in the supermarket?
‘Hello, hello,’ she shouted gaily back and he imagined her running; a white streaking sliver of a woman, the vision of her naked torso and limbs still too fresh in his memory to quite erase.
‘You’re a bit late for our swim,’ Jo hooted.