‘Another one’s appeared, on the oak tree, pathetic and disrespectful, cultural appropriation or is it misappropriation?’
‘Just ignore them Oberon.’
‘I’m going to take my axe to it this time.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, they aren’t causing any harm to us, not compared with all the other stuff they do.’
‘What if one of our folk thought it was a real door!’
‘Daddy, why have you got an axe?’
‘Your father’s getting overwrought over the giants again. If you’re not careful Oberon they’re going to see you and then where will we be, doesn’t bear thinking.’
‘Mummy, you said the giants wouldn’t hurt us.’
‘They won’t as long as they don’t believe we exist. Anyway, it’s time you were getting ready for school, have you brushed your wings?’
Lottie thought she must have misheard. She was sitting in the strange but cosy flat that was home to Tilly and her new husband, Wesley the young vicar.
Wesley continued ‘Yes, that’s the family story. Callum came home from university for the holidays, or at least it wasn’t his home as his parents had moved, upsized to a cottage with a long garden. Gardening was going to be their retirement project. Various relatives had gathered to see the new home, but it was Callum who was first to venture into the impenetrable overgrowth. It wasn’t called rewilding back then. Aunty Ruth, Callum’s cousin, was there, well she wasn’t an aunty then, a bit of a wild child, called in to say farewell before going off on her travels. She thought Callum a very studious serious chap, that’s why she was so surprised when he returned to the house with lots of scratches and an angry cat in his arms exclaiming ‘There are fairies at the bottom of the garden.’
He claimed he had caught the cat just in time, but the fairies could be in danger and must be protected in the interests of science.
‘Well’ said Lottie ‘he did have a science degree, but he never mentioned fairies. But then he never mentioned his family either.’
Charlotte paused with her fingers above the keyboard, then scrolled back to see if she had given Callum any family. Hmm not many family was different from not any family. Were his parents dead when Lottie met him? When did she meet him? He was the love of her life so they were probably young…. Perhaps this vicar chap could fill in some gaps for Lottie.
‘Wesley, do fill in a few gaps for me’ said Lottie ‘Callum was an only child?’
‘Yes, unusual for our family, they made sure he had a good education and had high hopes for him.’
‘And he is, was very successful in his career, but not arrogant, happy to support my career.’
‘But his parents did not get to share that success?’ mused Tilly ‘or have gran…’ she blushed and stuttered.
‘It’s okay,’ said Lottie ‘neither of us wanted children, we were happy as we were with each other and as his parents were supposedly dead there was no pressure.’
‘Were they dead?’ said Tilly, obviously enjoying this new family mystery.
‘Well they are now’ laughed Wesley ‘think they had him late in life, but I have no idea when they died.’
‘So when do we get to the part of the story that explains why Callum was estranged from his family. Is estranged too strong a word, lots of cousins don’t keep in touch.’
‘He was upset that nobody believed him, I mean if you really saw fairies it would be amazing. Alas no smart phones then, imagine if he had taken photos, put them on Facebook… anyway the first problem was that the cat was his parents’ new rescue cat, a spiteful creature apparently, but they adored him and Callum took it straight back to the rescue centre.’
‘But surely a cat couldn’t cause a family rift?’
‘Worse was to come. Callum found plenty of wood, wire netting etc in an old shed and erected a fence, creating a fairy sanctuary. He pleaded with his parents not to touch the bottom of the garden while he worked out how to set up observation, David Attenborough style and what experts he could find who would believe him.’
‘I can’t imagine that would be easy’ said Tilly. ‘I never thought about fairies seriously before, but how would they survive with all the dangers from foxes and human boots, it doesn’t bear thinking of.’
‘I agree’ said Lottie. ‘Callum did like butterflies and insects, would never kill a spider and it was bees that became his main work before it was fashionable to worry about bees.’
‘Oh how lovely,’ said Tilly ‘perhaps he was always hoping he would see fairies again.’
‘That is a nice thought, but why didn’t he tell me, I would not have laughed.’
‘I’m not sure I should tell you two ladies the rest of the story, you may find it disturbing as they say on the news.’
‘You have to tell us now’ said Tilly.
‘Callum was due to go off on a uni. expedition to Scotland or wherever, and he left with nobody believing a word he said, thought he was having them on, trying to be clever just because he had made it to university. When he returned a week later his parents had rotovated the whole garden ready for their vegetable beds and fruit trees.’
‘Oh no’ cried Tilly.
‘But then what happened?’ said Lottie.
‘I think he went back to carry on with his studies and no one heard from him again.’
‘He had Cousin Ruth’s address, so surely he had some notion he would get in touch one day.’
‘I’m sure he did’ said Tilly ‘and don’t you worry about what the rest of the family say this afternoon.’
Lottie’s heart sank, she just wanted to stay with Tilly and Wesley in their cosy nook.
‘Oh dear, what’s happening this afternoon?’
‘Round to Aunty Ruth’s to meet the rest of the family.’
‘But I thought I met them at dinner.’
‘Some of them.’
Lottie hoped to delay venturing out.
‘Tell me about this place, why is it called The Transept’.
‘De-consecrated church that was going to be sub divided into flats, but they only got ours in the east transept finished before lockdown and the builders going into liquidation. So we did some reclaiming and hold relaxed services in the nave, unofficially; the bishop is not quite sure what to do with us. You can come to messy church tomorrow, the rest of the family will be there.’
Lottie was feeling a bit overwhelmed, but after having writer’s block when Callum died she began to feel a romantic novel coming on, a novel about a renegade vicar…
‘I should tell you I don’t go to church Wesley.’
‘That’s okay, I don’t read your novels, romance not really my thing. But anyone can come to our services.’
Charlotte paused, that was enough writing for today. How on earth had fairies got into the story, oh yes, she was going to the offbeat writers group down by the river and their topic was fairies at the bottom of the garden.
Goodness knows, we’ve looked in all the likely places, but there’s so much junk stuffed everywhere.
Don’t sneer, could be valuables hiding amongst the rubbish.
Ah ha, this could be interesting, Diary 1949 …
’I am determined to write in this every day, so many exciting things happening to me at the moment. Tricia had a new year’s party and her brother chatted to me!!! He is going to call me on our new telephone.’
Oh no, that’s all she wrote, bet he didn’t phone her.
Here’s a hopeful looking envelope…
‘To my grandchildren’
Bad luck on that front Mum…
Open it then.
‘I know everything is electronic now, but newspapers are a wonderful record of everyday life. I saved a newspaper from every eventful day starting with the day Giles was born right up to William and Catherine’s royal wedding; if you’re doing a school project or even a history degree they could come in handy.’
Oh that would be interesting, a newspaper from the day I was born…
Bad luck Giles, we put all those boxes of papers in the recycling bin when we tackled the loft, anyway, you can look them up on line…
Now this envelope looks a lot more hopeful.
‘If you find a pair of pink gloves I bought them on holiday. I remember taking them out of my suitcase, then I never saw them again.’
Perhaps she wasn’t joking when she said there was a secret drawer in that awful old bureau.
Oh look, our homemade birthday cards…
Never mind those, get a tape measure and work out if there’s a false back, or feel around for some secret levers.
We’re not taking it to Antiques Roadshow, let’s try that small panel with a screwdriver.
Well I never, why would she leave a letter to me hidden away?
Open it then, don’t keep us in suspense.
‘My Darling Giles, you always wanted to know the truth; the truth about your father. I’m afraid I have to tell you, hard though it will be to come to terms, my husband was your father and the father of your younger brothers. I know he was very boring, but I’m afraid I did not have an affair with some splendidly exotic chap, goodness knows where you get your good looks from.
Oh at last, you’re no better than us Darling Giles, even if you were Mum’s favourite.
But is that it then, what happened to
‘All will be revealed in the house when I’m gone.’
She said that about ten years ago, probably forgot to leave the clues.
Now we’re getting somewhere –
Last Will and Testament
Thought she said she wasn’t going to leave one.
Perhaps that’s the surprise we were supposed to get. Right, let’s open it
It sounded perfect, John’s dream job and a move to the countryside. Polly did not want to go, though she cheered up a little when we explained she didn’t have to leave her toys behind.
I’m not sure what I expected, I should have realised a secret research station would have a fence round it, a strong fence, an ugly fence that jarred with the surrounding landscape. When John said we would be living in the old lighthouse he forgot to mention it was inside the fence.
We had moved in such a hurry, John was caught up in the excitement of being head hunted and my head was in such a whirl I had not queried why they wanted him so urgently. My penniless sister was delighted to leave home and move into our house with her boyfriend and look after the cat.
The turning on to the private gravel road was not easy to find, but that added to the excitement of our journey. Bye Bye West London suburb, hello West Country. We weren’t even sure if we were in Devon, Cornwall or Somerset, but I didn’t care as autumn trees gave way to beautiful rugged moorland. The gravel road soon gave way to a bumpy track, but we knew we were going the right way as there were signs with large red writing at frequent intervals.
PRIVATE LAND
THIS AREA IS COVERED BY CCTV
IF YOU DO NOT HAVE CLEARANCE TURN AROUND NOW
IF YOU ARE LOST PHONE THIS NUMBER IMMEDIATELY AND AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS
SECURITY PASSES NEEDED IN 100 YARDS
Perhaps I should have asked John what they actually did at the research station and what he was going to do. I fumbled in my bag for my phone, I wanted to send pictures of the signs and impress everyone back home. When John realised what I was doing he nearly ran the car off the track.
‘I told you we had to leave phones at home.’
‘We wouldn’t have found our way here without my smart phone.’
‘I thought you were following the map I gave you.’
‘Map, how am I supposed to read that paper map.’
‘You’ll have to surrender your phone at the gate.’
‘You are joking, how am I supposed to live without it and how can Polly play her games?’
‘I thought you were looking forward to getting away from it all?’
‘That’s beside the point; what do they actually do here that is so secret?’
‘The whole point of secret research is that it is secret and the last people you tell are wives and little daughters.’
At last we reached a double set of huge gates with actual sentry boxes, it was rather exciting and I sneaked out my phone hoping I could get one quick shot of the guard, but a uniformed arm suddenly shot through the open window and grabbed my phone. Luckily Polly was asleep and missed this scary moment.
The decommissioned lighthouse was not as romantic as I had imagined, though inside it was quite homely. We could just about glimpse the sea from the tiny top window, no wonder it had not been a success as a lighthouse.
‘Unicorn doesn’t like this place Mummy.’
‘He’ll get used to it Polly, unicorns are very brave.’
‘Mummy’s right, tomorrow we can all go exploring.’
There was an inner fence around the research buildings and more security gates, there was enough land for a good walk, but I wanted to see the sea, take Polly down to the beach. John was as flummoxed as me. First thing to do was find some of John’s colleagues, discover who else lived here and where the shops were.
All my questions were met with loud guffaws from a chap who looked more like a trawlerman than a research scientist.
‘Shops… you did bring plenty of supplies? Beach… don’t you let your little one anywhere near the cliff edge. Nursery, pre school… well there are a couple of other kiddies around, but you best be asking Maggie.’
The soothing distant sounds of the sea on our first night were replaced by howling winds on the second. I didn’t know how John could sleep so soundly. I tip toed out to check on Polly. For a moment my blood ran cold, yes that saying is true. Polly was not in her bed, nor was Unicorn. With relief I saw her at the round window, face pressed against the glass, Unicorn had his horn squashed against the window.
‘Polly, you’ll get cold, come back to bed.’
‘Mummy, Mummy, Unicorn likes it here now, he’s got a new friend, come and look, please.’
I could see nothing but total darkness outside, the wind was even louder.
‘Oh, he’s gone, I hope he hasn’t flown away. Unicorn wants us to go outside and find him.’
‘No Polly we can’t go outside, it’s night time.’
‘Unicorn says he only comes out at night.’
‘Did you see an owl?’
‘No Mummy, don’t be silly, come outside and you will get a big surprise.’
We were supposed to be having adventures and on such a well guarded sight there could be no dangers lurking. Out we crept; Polly was not at all scared of the dark, even though she couldn’t sleep without a night light at home. I saw the glow first and assumed it was security coming round with torches and hoped we wouldn’t get told off.
‘Mummy, there he is.’
Her hand gripped mine, but she was shaking with excitement not fear and pulling me towards the impossible sight.
‘I want to ride him, Unicorn wants a ride, can I go flying… come on Mummy, pleeese…’
Her hand slipped out of mine as she clung onto her cuddly Unicorn and darted towards the creature glowing in the dark. Its horn glowed pink, his flowing mane was rainbow colours… I almost laughed to see a racehorse size version of Polly’s cuddly unicorn, but unlike Polly’s toy this was a replica of the dream figure she wanted for Christmas, a winged unicorn. Finer than any plastic figure, he was magnificent, but what was I thinking, this wasn’t real, I must be dreaming. As I shook my head and tried to wake up I saw Polly was seated on his back, still clutching her cuddly toy.
Look Mummy we’re flying, bye bye Mummy…’
Gracefully the creature soared into the sky and was soon a tiny dot. I rushed back inside, I must have been sleep walking. Once I saw Polly safely asleep in bed then I would know it was a dream and how Polly and John would laugh in the morning when I told them my dream.
Polly’s bed was empty and cuddly Unicorn was gone.
How far will people go to protect other people, what secrets will be kept to protect those with power?
The Independent Inquiry into Child Sex Abuse (IICSA), estimated to have cost £150 million since being launched in 2014, has just announced its findings. IICSA concluded that while there had been individual cases of wrongdoing, there was no organised VIP paedophile ring and no establishment cover up.
Lord Steel, the former Liberal leader, has quit the party after he was criticised for failing to flag up concerns over the late Cyril Smith, Liberal MP for Rochdale, who was later exposed as a serial paedophile.
IICSA was set up by Theresa May when she was home secretary. She came under pressure following claims, including one from Labour MP Tom Watson, that a VIP paedophile ring existed.
A series of false allegations by fantasists were exposed, including claims from Carl Beech that he was abused by a string of high profile politicians and public figures. Beech, himself a convicted paedophile, was subsequently jailed for eighteen years for perverting the course of justice. “The report concludes that there are examples of a political culture which values its reputation far higher than the fate of the children involved.”
Truth and lies; the inquiry had also investigated abuse and cover ups in the church and other institutions. After so many revelations in so many countries, going back into the past, but also in the present, it’s no wonder that the public are likely to believe any new allegations.
When I was writing my novel ‘At The Seaside Nobody Hears you Scream’, cover ups by people in power became one of the themes. Who keeps the secrets, who is trying to find out the truth? It seemed credible that the character Griff would believe someone in power knew what had happened to his schoolboy brother, who had disappeared without trace years ago. If MPs and the Metropolitan Police were taking seriously the claims there had been a Westminster paedophile ring and even murders of boys, so would anyone looking for answers.
Before I finished writing the novel it was discovered Carl Beech had been lying. His crime was terrible in itself, ruining the lives of innocent men and damaging the credibility of genuine victims. But back in 2014, when the novel is set, it seemed credible that Beech was telling the truth and it is true that people in power have abused children and others have kept their secrets.
We once stayed for a week at a secluded Scottish cove where I was glad to discover there was no reception for mobile phones, nor was there a landline in the cottage. At the very top of the cliff, if you held your phone high in the air you could be lucky and get reception. A peaceful place for a holiday and proof for authors that there are still settings where mobile phones cannot be used; where characters can escape without being traced or where persons in peril cannot call for help.
The plots of crime fiction, spy thrillers and romances changed for ever when mobile phones became ubiquitous. No running along dark lonely roads or knocking on strange doors to fetch help, a quick call on your mobile and an air ambulance or armed response unit could be with you in minutes. No wonder authors enjoy putting their heroes and villains in spots where there is no mobile reception.
But you can’t always trust your characters. Reading through the third draft of one of the novels in the Brief Encounters Trilogy I realised several of my leading characters, in several scenes, had casually used their mobile phones when they knew perfectly well there was no mobile phone reception at Holly Tree Farm. Some minor plot changes were needed for the fourth draft.
Proof reading and editing the manuscript of a novel is not just about lost commas, the wrong ‘their, there and they’re’ and ‘from’ turning to ‘form’ when you’re not looking. Continuity is just as important as on a film set.
Holly Tree Farm nestles in the quiet Wiltshire countryside; when Nathanial inherits the house it offers a refuge for his new friends and their secrets, but they never could have guessed the rambling old farm house had secrets of its own.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 