Chapter 49
‘Did they forecast a storm today?’ Carys asked Oliver as she peered through the front windscreen. They were driving through a ferocious wind and pouring rain.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Hugh said from the back seat. ‘Typical October weather.’
Abigail was sitting next to Hugh, staring out of the side window. This had been her idea, going to see Albert. Now they were in Oliver’s Land Rover, on their way. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was a bad idea.
Despite the stormy weather, the journey didn’t take long from Somerville Hall. Abigail was hoping for a fallen tree or something to hinder their journey. She sighed when she saw her little cottage and the lighthouse next door up ahead.
The rain was still lashing down as Oliver pulled the Land Rover on to the driveway. He switched the engine off and turned in his seat. ‘I don’t think the weather’s going to ease off anytime soon, so we might as well get out now.’
By the time everyone had made a dash from the car to the lighthouse, they were soaked, despite their coats. They stood banging on Albert’s door; they knew he was in because his car was there.
Abigail was still trying to do the buttons up on her coat as she stood in a huddle with the others by the door, but the fierce wind kept pulling her hood down, the rain plastering her wet hair to her face.
‘Oh, come on, answer the door already!’ Carys yelled above the wind, stamping her feet and pulling the collar of her coat up around her chin. ‘It’s freezing out here.’
Abigail was about to suggest that they run back to the car, relieved that Albert hadn’t appeared, when the door flew open.
‘What the blazes!’ Albert exclaimed when he saw them all huddled together, soaked, on his doorstep.
Abigail thought he’d ask what they were all doing there, but he didn’t say a word as he quickly ushered them all inside. ‘What are you doing out in this weather, in your condition?’ he said to Abigail. She was the last to step inside, and the question, which had been heard by nobody else but Abigail, reached her ears just before Albert shut the front door on a thunderstorm.
Abigail frowned at him. The others were already getting out of their wet coats.
Albert helped Abigail out of hers. ‘Give ‘em here,’ he said to the others, standing in the small vestibule. He took their coats and hung them on the row of coat hooks by the door. Then he turned around and looked at them. ‘I don’t know what you’re all doing here, but you’d better come upstairs.’ He led the way.
Abigail followed the others up the stairs. She imagined he would regret inviting them all in when he found out the purpose of their visit.
Everyone gathered around Albert’s blazing log burner. Abigail hadn’t noticed it in the corner of the room on her whirlwind tour of the lighthouse with Joss. It was hard to miss now, with logs ablaze, crackling in the old stove.
Albert filled the kettle in the open-plan kitchen behind them and flicked it on. He walked past them and up another flight of stairs, returning with a fluffy white hand towel. He handed it to Abigail.
She threw him a questioning look.
‘Yer hair, girl. It’s sopping wet.’
Abigail felt rainwater dripping down her face. ‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ She stood with the others round the fire, dabbing her wet hair with the towel. She noticed they were all very quiet and guessed they were waiting for her to take the lead and tell Albert what they were doing there.
Albert walked over with a tray of hot drinks. They all turned around and watched him set them down on an oak coffee table in front of a large sofa.
‘Well, don’t just stand there … come and sit yourselves down.’
Everyone drifted over to the coffee table, helped themselves to a mug of tea, and sat down on the sofa.
Albert picked up a mug, too. He took a seat in an old armchair opposite them and looked at Abigail. ‘So, forgot your key, did you?’
It took a moment for her to realise what he was talking about. ‘Oh, the keys to the cottage, do you mean?’
He nodded, sipping his tea as he eyed her.
Albert wasn’t the only one staring at her. She looked at Oliver seated next to her, Carys’ next to him, and Hugh seated at the other end of the sofa, looking uncomfortable.
‘I didn’t misplace my keys. We weren’t driving over to the cottage. We … we’ve come to see you.’
Albert was about to take another swig of tea. He lowered his mug and stared at them. ‘Me? What’s this about?’
Abigail took a deep breath. ‘What happened that night, Albert, the night of the Great Storm back in October 1987 – the day Toby was born?’