7. Robinson

7

Robinson

Hilda lifted her teacup to her lips and took a little sip. Josie, with a strong black coffee, stared past her friend, through the café window at the sweeping view of Porth Melynos in the valley below. On another day she might have marvelled at the quaint harbour with its narrow streets of pretty stonewalled houses, but now all she could think about was the terror she had felt back at the campsite after finding the people living in the trees.

‘I can’t go back there,’ she said, hands shaking as she tried to grip her coffee. ‘It was like … some kind of horror film. I could see their treehouses in there, like all rope bridges and balconies, like that Ewok village in Star Wars .’

‘ The Return of the Jedi , dear,’ Hilda said. ‘The Ewoks didn’t appear until the third film.’

‘I don’t care. It was terrifying. I saw four of them. I can’t go back there, not knowing they’re so close. Like, their clothes were all make of sticks.’

‘Perhaps we could have a word with Nat, see what he says.’

‘I need to go back and get my stuff, then I’m leaving.’

A look of horror passed across Hilda’s face, and she reached across the table to pat Josie’s hand. ‘Please, don’t be so hasty. You have to give it time.’

‘They could murder me in my bed!’

‘Oh, you’re overreacting. They were probably just messing around. Kids playing a game.’

‘They had beards. Some of them looked older than me.’

‘Well, perhaps they were actors training for a role. Who knows?’

‘They were crazy forest people. And who or what is Mike? Is that a Cornish word that means lunch? I nearly killed myself running down that path, and by the time I got back here I felt like I’d climbed Everest. How steep is that coast path?’

‘Nothing like a good workout in the morning,’ Hilda said. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll sort it out.’

‘No, I won’t. I’m leaving. I’d rather go back to that horrible dirty flat in Bristol than deal with a group of bloodthirsty weirdos who live in trees.’

‘And who eat Suncrust Pasties,’ Hilda said with a smile. ‘They have good taste, I’ll give them that. Did you know, Suncrust used to be Dirgils? Dirgils, Dirgils, fit for gerbils.’ She chuckled to herself. ‘We used to sing that years ago, back at school. Someone bought the company out a few years ago, renamed them Suncrust, and gave them an overhaul. Best pasties in the Southwest these days.’

‘I bet they were filled with human flesh. I’m leaving before I end up in one.’

Hilda’s smile dropped. ‘Please, Josie. Don’t give up. Do it for me.’

Josie sighed. Her instinct was telling her to get out of Porth Melynos as fast as she could, but was returning to Bristol really the best option? The gloomy, dirty flat with its spiders, no job, friends of her ex-husband seemingly in every corner?

‘Will you come with me when I go to talk to Nat?’ she said quietly.

Hilda smiled. ‘That’s my girl. Of course I will.’ She gave a little chuckle. ‘I doubt you’d be able to find his place on your own, anyway.’

Nathaniel, it turned out, lived in a wood-framed cabin on the clifftop only half a mile from the caravan park, but behind a gate with a threatening sign: KEEP OUT – BULLS ABOUT. At the end of a wide, overgrown field, what was little more than a tumbledown shack occupied a grassy bowl with panoramic views out across the English Channel. Stands of gnarled trees gave it some shelter, but even on a warm day the sea wind rushed up the field with so much power that Josie and Hilda had to lean forwards to avoid being blown over as they struggled down a gravel track alongside the hedge. Josie glanced around nervously for the aforementioned bulls, but other than a few rabbits and a solitary goat sheltering by a distant hedge, the field was empty.

Nataniel’s shack bore all the marks of years of wind abuse. Salt-blasted wood, faded paint. Poorly fitting windows had frayed masking tape across the glass, and several roof tiles had been replaced by pieces of plywood or black plastic sheeting.

Around the shack was a smorgasbord of sea detritus: piles of old buoys, heaps of fishing net, large plastic drums filled with abstract junk like old shoes, glass bottles, plastic containers, and huge pieces of driftwood, some that likely took a tractor to haul up from the beach. Many of these last were in the process of being carved into intricate designs. At the sight of a line of life-sized sparrows carved out of one section of sea-smoothed wood, Josie’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Blind, he might be, but Nathaniel was an expert wood sculptor.

They walked up to the door, framed by a couple of hardy bushes in plant pots. Rickety and rattling in the wind, Josie doubted it would withstand a strong knock, let alone a winter storm, so she stood on the step instead and called out, ‘Nathaniel? Are you in there?’ Behind her, Hilda chuckled as she inspected one of the bushes, the pot scraping on a paving slab as she twisted it around.

‘That’s better, get a bit more sun on this side….’

‘Nathaniel?’ Josie called again. ‘It’s Josie, from the campsite. I’m here with Hilda. I wanted to ask if you know anything about a group of people living in a treehouse—well, several treehouses—on the campsite property. Nathaniel? Are you in there?’

‘Hang on a minute,’ came an unfamiliar voice from inside. It was deeper, smoother than Nathaniel’s, the words carrying less of an accent.

The door inched open. One hinge was loose so the person inside had to lift the door a little to stop it falling off. A pair of hands appeared, working the door to halfway, then a man’s face peered out.

Mid-forties, perhaps, sun-bleached unkept hair and tanned, prematurely lined skin that clearly spent too much time in the sun, the man had a kind if somewhat perplexing smile. He looked at Josie, giving a little shake of his head.

‘All right? Can I help you with something?’

‘Ah … I … you’re not Nathaniel.’

‘Oh, Robinson!’ came Hilda’s voice. ‘You’re home again?’

‘Mrs. Lewisham,’ the man said with a wide grin as he shifted the door back a few more inches. ‘Lovely to see you again.’

He squeezed past the broken door out onto the front step, and leant past Josie to shake Hilda’s hand. Josie flinched back as he came uncomfortably close, smelling of both paint and sweat, as though he hadn’t washed his clothes in some time.

‘This is Josie,’ Hilda said, patting Josie on the arm. ‘My best friend. She’s from Bristol. She’s just came out of a bad divorce and has come down here to recover. Your dad was good enough to give her a job as manager of your grandad’s old campsite.’

Robinson frowned at Hilda, then opened his mouth in a half-smile and cocked his head. Josie tried to kick Hilda in the ankle and missed, only managing to kick the nearest plant pot instead.

‘Ah, Mrs. Lewisham—’

‘Hilda, please, dear.’

‘Mrs…. ah Hilda … ah, is that some kind of joke?’

‘Divorce is not a joke, Robinson.’

‘I meant about the park. It’s been closed since I was a kid. Dad has no interest in opening it up again.’

It was Hilda’s turn to take an ankle swing, this time aiming at Robinson. She also missed, also hitting the poor flowerpot, which wobbled and might have overturned had Josie not squatted down to steady it. She shuffled off the step and stood on the grass beside the door, watching Robinson shaking his head and chuckling.

‘That’s not what your dad told me,’ Hilda said.

Josie put up a hand. ‘Excuse me, can we just rewind a little bit? Ah, hello. So, I’m Josie. You’re Nathaniel’s son, I take it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Is your dad here?’

‘No, he’s down on the beach. He’ll be back sooner or later, when he finds his way up.’

‘When he … isn’t he blind?’

Robinson grinned, nodding. ‘Yeah. That’s why it takes a while. Hates being helped, though. Typical old Cornishman. Thinks he’s immortal. One day he’ll just walk right off the edge of one of the cliffs and vanish into the sea.’

‘So … you don’t know when he’ll be back?’

‘Nope. Hopefully not for a while. I’ve been doing a bit of painting. This place is a mess.’ He grinned. ‘Dad doesn’t care now he can no longer see it, but I have slightly higher standards.’

‘We just had a couple of questions about the camping park,’ Hilda said.

‘Well, if Dad really did say he wanted it reopened, I imagine you can do whatever you want. You know what Dad’s like.’

‘Would he mind if I chopped down a couple of trees?’

Robinson grinned. ‘Probably not. Although if you do, save the wood.’ He poked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘This place is falling apart. Haul them up here and I’ll do the rest.’

‘Haul them … right.’ Josie had begun to feel dizzy. ‘Okay. Maybe I’ll just do that.’

Robinson lifted an eyebrow. ‘Anything else? Sorry not to invite you in, but I have paint everywhere.’

‘We’d better get back to work anyway,’ Hilda said. ‘Tell your dad we dropped by.’

‘Will do.’

Robinson went back inside, lifting the door again to close it. Hilda turned to Josie, taking her arm and steering her back up the lane.

‘See? No problem. You can do what you like.’

‘So, I can set fire to those treehouses and throw the bodies of those tree huggers into the sea?’

Hilda chuckled. ‘Oh, Josie. Don’t be so dramatic. Just tell them to leave or you’ll call the police.’

‘I’m really not sure I can do this.’

‘You can, and you will. Robinson … he’s grown up, hasn’t he?’

‘Was he recently a child? And I mean, physically, not his personality.’

‘Don’t be silly. He’s been away for a few years, but every time I see him, he seems to have got just a little more hunkier.’

‘What? Are you serious?’

Hilda let out a giggle that made Josie cringe. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. Did you see how I dropped that point about your divorce in there, just so he knows that you’re single?’

‘I’m really not interested in painter and decorators.’

‘They probably earn more than singer-songwriters.’

Josie couldn’t help but smile. ‘Even so, I’m still not interested. Even if I did like him—which I don’t—I can’t even think about that kind of stuff right now. It’s all too … fresh.’

‘Oh, Josie, you’re such a cynic.’

‘I am not. I’m an optimist. That’s why I’m still here instead of running for the bus stop to escape.’

‘So, you’ve decided to stay?’

Josie let out a long sigh. ‘Only until the next thing goes wrong.’

Hilda hopped up and down on one foot. ‘How wonderful. Come on, let’s go and get some coffee at mine. I want to show you a couple of my new rose designs. You know, a company in Japan offered me half a million for my patent on a new blue rose design I’m working on. I’m not sure whether to accept or not.’

‘You even need to think about it?’

‘Money isn’t everything,’ Hilda said.

‘So, it’s coffee at your cavernous, five-bedroomed house—’

‘Six, dear. Five not including mine.’

‘Your six-bedroomed house, and then you’ll wave me goodbye as I trudge off to my dirty little cabin in the woods, where my chances of becoming a serial killer’s victim are approximately five-hundred times greater?’

Hilda grinned and patted Josie on the arm. ‘The greater the challenge, the greater the reward, dear.’