‘Let me guess, The Men from Puffin Island were either February…or possibly December?’
‘February for Valentines, but there was a method to Joe’s madness. He’d decided what we needed was publicity and his plan was to hijack the shoot and play a couple of songs outside the lighthouse when the national newspapers arrived. What Joe failed to tell the rest of the band was that they wanted the calendar models to pose naked. We were stripped off and given items to cover our modesty. When Joe gave the signal we picked up our guitars and before we knew it we were playing naked outside the lighthouse. The news coverage we got…’ Pete whistled. ‘Believe me when I say that the next gig we played was packed to the rafters and that’s no exaggeration.’
Verity threw her head back and laughed. ‘Joe had good business acumen.’
‘We forgave him, even though the photographs for the calendar were taken in the middle of November. It was minus four, the wind from the sea was icy and we all nearly froze to death!’
‘But it got you noticed.’
‘It got us noticed all right and the ferry company couldn’t thank us enough. Their tickets went through the roof from teenage girls trying to get to Puffin Island, and all the B&Bs in Sea’s End and on the island were constantly full.’
‘Win, win. It sounds like you all had a blast and I bet you broke some hearts.’
Pete was thoughtful for a second, and by the look on his face he’d been transported somewhere else entirely. ‘Possibly,’ he replied, looking over his shoulder. ‘Can you smell that? Someone is cooking.’
Verity sprung to her feet. ‘Damn, I forgot my sausages! Got to go,’ she called over her shoulder, practically sprinting back to her van. ‘Lovely talking to you!’ she shouted. Swiftly lifting the pan off the camping stove she stared disappointedly at the charcoaled sausages.
‘You’ll be okay with some ketchup. Maybe a lot of ketchup,’ she murmured, cutting the bread and attempting to slice the cremated sausages in half with a blunt knife.
Sitting down on the chair with the plate balanced on her knee, she dug in. The sausages were just about bearable when swilled down with a glass of wine.
Ten minutes later she noticed an outside water tap at the garage, filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. She squirted washing-up liquid in the sausage pan, knowing it was going to take some cleaning. She was definitely glamping with no glamour now. As she scrubbed, she could still hear Pete strumming his guitar. She smiled at the story of the calendar and briefly wondered if the picture of the band in the buff was still floating around somewhere. From the other images she’d seen on the internet, they had been a group of very handsome men.
Pete was singing the same song and, even though he had been adamant that he’d never sung it in public, Verity knew she’d heard it before. She just couldn’t place where.
ChapterSixteen
The evening coastal breeze was getting a little chilly and Verity was sitting outside her van with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a book resting on her lap. She couldn’t concentrate on the words though, and had read the same paragraph over and over again. She was thinking about Sam, and then the conversation with Betty. Even though she’d promised Betty she wouldn’t say anything about the postcard, she’d been tempted to ask Pete if he remembered her granny. Surely, if she’d spent time with Joe and sung with them, he wasn’t likely to forget her? And maybe he’d have stories about her granny he could share. But Betty had lived on the island a long time and she probably knew best, especially with the vigil coming up.
Feeling tired, she checked her watch and found it was a little after nine p.m. With an early start for the puffin count tomorrow she decided she might as well tuck herself up in bed. As she stood up, she saw a familiar figure walking on the far side of the cliff. Jimmy was running ahead of Sam, his nose to the ground as he ran in zigzag lines. There was no doubt that Sam would have noticed the van and possibly clocked Verity sitting outside but to her disappointment he didn’t head over. Packing up her things she looked towards Cliff Top Cottage. The bedroom light was on and the curtains open. She spotted Pete for a moment as he stood in the window before closing the curtains, no doubt checking all was quiet on the cliff top before heading to bed.
Going to sleep without clearing the air with Sam wasn’t sitting right with Verity. She didn’t want to fall out with him and certainly didn’t want them ignoring each other. She thought about calling across to him but he’d walked further on. He probably wouldn’t hear her now, anyway. Knowing she would put it right tomorrow and apologise, she closed the van door when she heard an almighty shout. For a second, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. Staying silent, she listened. There it was again. Quickly sliding back the door she saw Sam in the distance pacing up and down at the top of the cliff screaming ‘Jimmy’ at the top of his lungs. The panic in his voice was obvious. Something was very wrong.
Verity pulled on her trainers and began to run towards Sam, who was now hurrying down the narrow path at the cliff edge. By the time she’d reached the top, Sam had nearly disappeared out of sight.
‘Sam,’ she yelled.
He looked up.
‘What is it? What’s going on?’
‘It’s Jimmy, he’s chased a seagull over the cliff edge. Get help. I can see him, he’s lying on a ledge a few feet down, but he’s not moving.’
Without hesitation, Verity ran towards Cliff Top Cottage, hammered on the door and began shouting Pete’s name. There was no movement. She banged continuously until, with relief, she saw the curtain move. The window was flung open and Pete looked down at her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Pete, we need your help. A dog is injured and trapped on a ledge just below the cliff edge.’
Immediately the window slammed shut and within seconds the front door was flung open. Pete slipped on his shoes and pulled on his jumper. ‘We need the stretcher, a couple of blankets and my emergency bag from the surgery. Do we know if the animal is still breathing?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Speedily they headed to the old vet’s surgery next to the garage. Pete opened up and thrust his medical bag into Verity’s hand. ‘You take that, I’m just going to get the stretcher. How big is the dog?’
‘It’s Jimmy, Sam’s dog.’
That bit of information didn’t faze Pete. He grabbed a foldaway stretcher from the back of the surgery, along with a couple of blankets. Soon they were back at the top of the cliff.
‘Whereabouts are they? I can’t see anyone.’
