In the centre of it Old Garge, dressed in usual down-at-heel style, sat in a subsiding leather armchair. On a small table beside him stood a mug of coffee and, face down, a paperback book of John Clare’s poetry. The piece of classical music ended and was followed by speech, suggesting that his portable was tuned to Radio 3. Curled up on a rug at the man’s feet sat his Jack Russell, ears pricked at the arrival of a newcomer, but otherwise welcoming.
“So…” said Old Garge. “Carole Seddon. And what brings you here?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Most people in Fethering know most people’s names, even if they never speak to each other. I’m afraid the cloak of invisibility in which you imagine you walk around just isn’t very efficient. Where’s Gulliver? You’ve usually got Gulliver with you.”
“He’s at the vet’s.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Just a couple of stitches in his gums. I’m picking him up later.”
Remembering his manners, Old Garge gestured to an elderly campaign chair. “Please. Would you like some coffee?”
Carole was suddenly struck by the thought that there was nothing she would like more. Standing on the beach and talking to Ruby Tallis had chilled her to the marrow. She accepted the offer and Old Garge moved across to the stove on which an enamel coffee pot stood. He poured a cup of black for her, as requested, and replenished his own. Then, when they were both sitting with drinks in hand, he smiled at her and said, “No doubt it was Ruby Tallis who sent you across here?”
“Yes, it was. How do you know all this?”
“That bit I knew just by using my eyes.” He gestured to a small window which Carole had not noticed before, but which she could see offered a perfect view of the Promenade and most of the beach.
She took a sip of her drink. Contrary to expectations, it was excellent coffee. In fact, everything about Old Garge seemed contrary to her expectations. Because of his appearance, Carole had written him off as some kind of tramp, unwholesome and probably not right in the head. As they talked, she discovered he was intelligent, even cultured.
She couldn’t curb her curiosity about him, and asked whether the hut was his permanent home.
“I have a room rented up in Downside for post and official stuff, but mostly I’m here.”
Carole looked around the space. “I didn’t think the authorities allowed anyone to live permanently in a beach hut.”
“You’re absolutely right, they don’t. Any number of Health and Safety reasons why nobody’s allowed to live in one.”
“But – ”
“But I’m good at finding out things. I’ve got a friend who works for the Fether District Council. He tips me off when there an inspection due, with the result that when the inspectors arrive, I’m in my rented room. I just pop in here for the odd hour, that’s all, so far as the authorities are concerned.”
Carole was surprised how snug and relaxed she felt in Old Garge’s company. He seemed to have his life sorted. Covertly, as she took a sip of coffee, she scrutinized him. In spite of its whiskery roughness, his face was rather distinguished and must once have been handsome. And though his clothes were torn and discoloured, they seemed perfectly clean. He looked not so much like a tramp as like someone playing the part of a tramp. He also seemed to be aware of – and rather amused by – her scrutiny.
“Seen everything you want to see?” he asked, and she blushed furiously. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mind people looking at me. It’s quite rare these days. Most of them avert their eyes when they walk past me, or change direction to avoid walking past me. Best I usually get is a Fethering nod.”
Carole knew he was teasing her, by giving such an exact description of her own behaviour.
“Doesn’t worry me,” said Old Garge. “There’re plenty of people who do talk to me, so I keep my gossip reserves well stocked up. So what was Ruby Tallis telling you about this morning? Or rather, which of her husband Derek’s opinions was she telling you about this morning?”
“We talked a bit about dogs.”
“And…?”
“And…local events.”
“Local events, right.” He nodded, still just slightly making fun of her. “And which local events were you talking about?”
“Oh, you know, Christmas and – ”
“I wouldn’t have described Christmas as a local event. I would have said it was very much an international event.”
“Yes, well, but how people spend their individual Christmases, that’s of local interest.”
“And how did you spend yours, Carole?”
She was glad to be able to have a normal-sounding answer to give him. “My son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter came down for lunch on Christmas Day.”
“Very nice too.” He paused for a ruminative sip of coffee. “So you didn’t spend Christmas Day on your own, like you have the last few?”
Carole turned her face away, unwilling to meet his gaze. The ‘eyes and ears of Fethering Beach’ were proving far too well attuned for her taste. Without looking at Old Garge, she asked, “And how did you spend yours?”
“None of my days are very different from each other. Christmas Day I spent here, just like usual. Walked on the beach with Petrarch – that’s the dog – doing my usual ‘Care in the Community’ impression, listened to Radio 3, read some poetry. Do you know, quite often I read poetry out loud in here. No problem this time of year. This time of year I can read away all through the night, if I want to – sleep not being something I’m very good at these days. In the summer, though, when I’ve got the doors open and I’m reading poetry, I do get some funny looks. Parents putting protective arms round children, hurrying them away.” He seemed embarrassed for a moment, as though an unwanted memory had invaded his mind, before hurrying on, “They seem to feel that there’s something unnatural about poetry being read aloud. Makes them think I’m some kind of weirdo.”
“It sounds as if you don’t mind them getting that impression.”
“Well,” he said, rubbing a scaly hand through his white whiskers, “never does any harm to have a bit of mystique, does it?”
“What did you do,” asked Carole boldly, “before you started on your current way of life?”
“What makes you think I haven’t always done this?”
“Something in your manner.”
“Ah, but what?”
“That I can’t currently say.”
The man turned an intense gaze on her. Through the layers of wrinkles around them, his eyes were a pale blue, not unlike her own. He seemed to be assessing whether or not to give her the information she had asked for. After a moment, Old Garge decided in Carole’s favour.
“I used to be an actor,” he said. “In the view of many people, I might still be an actor.”
“Playing the part of Old Garge?”
“Exactly. How very perceptive of you. A role which suits me, possibly the most comfortable piece of casting I’ve ever encountered. Old Garge fits me like a glove.” He gave her another piercing look. “Do you have anything to do with ‘the business’?”
Carole felt very proud that she recognized the expression from conversations with Gaby. “My daughter-in-law is a theatrical agent. Well, that is, she was, until she had her baby. I dare say she’ll go back to it soon.” And yet Carole couldn’t really see that happening in the near future. Gaby seemed so happy and fulfilled with Lily that more babies and full-time motherhood might well keep her away from the agency for quite a while. To her surprise, Carole found the prospect appealing.
“So when,” she went on, “did you give up acting?”