Summer's Lease

Chapter 1-3

John had decided a walk along the headland and maybe down onto the beach would cure his hangover. There had to be something in that wine; he couldn’t remember ever having hallucinations, especially after only three glasses. The previous night, after he’d checked that all the doors and windows were closed, he’d tipped the rest of Morwenna’s wine down the drain and rinsed out the bottle. He’d thought about taking the bottle back that morning, but that would have suggested he’d drunk the whole thing the night before, and he didn’t want to give her the impression he was an alcoholic. So he’d decided to give it back in a couple of days and refuse all offers of more, should she make them.

Surprisingly he’d found that he’d packed all his pills, so, despite his reluctance, he’d swallowed a couple of the cursed orange-coloured ones with some water and went to bed, not waking until the morning sun came streaming in through the window. He’d been so out of it he’d forgotten to draw the curtains.

The morning was clear, if a little blustery. Though as it was mid-June, a certain amount of sea breeze was to be expected. Indeed, it had been his experience that there could be wind off the sea at any time of year.

As he made his way along the uneven path, John recalled joyless trips to Brighton with his parents when he’d been small. His mother had endlessly promenaded him, his father, and his younger sister along the front hoping to see and be seen by anyone who mattered. All John had wanted to do was find a library or a book shop and escape. He’d enjoyed visits to the pavilion, but again, his mother had done her best to suck any joy out of the occasion.

Here, on this bare cliff-top, John could be himself, do as he pleased, when he pleased.

“Bandit, stop pulling!”

John turned around to see a white-haired older man with a distinct military bearing walking his dog on a flexible lead. Unfortunately, they were heading John’s way, and there was no escape, save jumping off the cliff.

“Good morning,” John said.

“Hello.”

John smiled down at the fawn and black little dog which was wagging its curly tail vigorously. It turned its wrinkled face up to him and let out a bark. He didn’t attempt to stroke the dog, just in case it bit.

“That’s a surprise,” the man said.

John looked up at him. T-shirt, shorts, and socks all neatly pressed and in the same olive drab. Yep, definitely ex-military.

“Normally, Bandit’s frightened of new people,” the man explained, bending down and scratching the dog between its ears.

John nodded. He had some kind of affinity with animals, though he didn’t know why. He’d never had a pet; his mother thought them dirty and too much of an inconvenience. He’d once suggested getting a corgi, pointing out that the Queen kept them. This argument had held some weight with his mother, but ultimately she’d decided one wasn’t worth the trouble, even though John had said he’d look after it.

Once he’d left home and started work, he hadn’t had time for a dog, and as neither he nor George were much into cats, they’d remained a pet-free household.

Bandit stood on his hind legs and waved his front paws at John, who, surprising himself, knelt down to better interact with the dog.

“You’re a clever boy.” John smiled and high-fived the cute little dog.

“Bandit’s a she.”

John looked between the dog’s legs and felt foolish. “Sorry. With the name, I thought…”

The man smiled. “You’re not the first to make that mistake. The black mask across her face gave me the idea, even though it’s probably more of a boy dog name.”

“What is she?” John asked, standing up and brushing off his knees. He wasn’t about to mistakenly mention the wrong breed. He knew dog owners sometimes were offended if you got such details wrong.

“A pug,” the man said, looking surprised John didn’t know.

“Ah, yes of course.” John nodded sagely. “I’m John by the way, John Tennant. Staying in one of the cottages.” He turned to point to them, surprised to see how far away they were.

“Nick. I’m in number two. Saw you come in yesterday.”

The man didn’t give a surname, much less a rank or serial number.

They made vague promises to meet up again, said their goodbyes, and each resumed their walks.

Within a short time John’s stomach reminded him he hadn’t had breakfast, so he headed back, realising he needed to find a supermarket to stock up on a few fresh items.