A Light Between Oceans Episode 15

Hattie fetched the “Daily Express” from the sideboard in the hallway and set it on Mrs Townsend’s table, thinking of the four evacuees, brothers ranging from five to eleven, who had been staying for the past three months.
The prospect of having four little boys running riot through her cottage had been a daunting one, but the brothers were going to be split up and Hattie had been unable to bear the thought.
Every day, as she gathered her wits for the antics and dramas that were sure to unfold, she had snipped the Rupert story and illustration from the paper to save for them.
Mischievous, noisy and unkempt as they had been, Hattie missed them.
They’d seemed happy enough, but their mother had found their absence unbearable and had come to fetch them back.
Hattie had braced herself for the billeting officer to present her with another lot, but then, out of the blue, there had been requests for room bookings within a week of each other.
“I can hardly believe it,” she’d told her neighbour, Meryl. “Three paying guests again, and with the war on, too.”
“That should bring in a bit more cash,” Meryl replied as she pegged washing.
“And it’ll be quieter! I don’t know how you coped – and with little Sandy to look after as well.
“Now, tell me about these guests,” Meryl prompted. “Not on holiday, are they?”
“The Townsends have come for a rest. The husband was a watchmaker before the war, but is now employed making shell fuses.
“As they’ve lost both of their sons, he’s been given compassionate leave.”
“That’s very generous and understanding on the part of his employer, isn’t it?” Meryl remarked with surprise.
“I suppose he must be highly valued, and, of course, she hasn’t been well.
“They must have a fair amount of money to be able to travel and stay in a guesthouse.
“Mrs Townsend said that her husband misses watchmaking, so he’s bringing his equipment with them, for his amusement and some distraction while they’re here.
“She’s asked that I not clean their room during their stay. She said he worries about the equipment.
“She said she’d keep the room tidy and clean, and I wasn’t to worry.”
“Well, that certainly makes a change from these past months! Who’s the other guest?”
“A foreign gentleman – a Mr Van Bakkar. He’ll arrive in a few days,” Hattie explained.
“What sort of name is that?”
“It’s Dutch. He sounds a clever chap – a scientist or such like. He’s doing some sort of study about sea creatures, I think.”
“How extraordinary. Well, you’ve seen them all, haven’t you, Hattie?”
“That I have.” Hattie nodded. “I wrote to the billeting officer explaining the situation.
“I got a rather curt reply, telling me that the situation could change if another wave of evacuees arrives.”
“Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can,” Meryl replied.
Belmouth, 1941.
“Good morning, Mr Townsend,” Hattie greeted her guest as he entered the room. “I’m just bringing the tea. I hope you slept well?”
“Yes, thank you.” He made his way to the table where his wife sat reading the paper. They obviously needed their privacy.
She wondered if Mr Van Bakkar would be a conversational sort, and how they’d all react when Sandy came to stay.
“Here you are,” she said, setting the tea things on the Townsends’ table.
“Would you like an egg, Mr Townsend?”
“Yes, please. Miss Crocker, could you tell me where we might buy two bicycles? I was told there is a shop in the town.”
Hattie nodded.
“That will be Tom Jenkins’s place, above the promenade. Turn up the lane beside the chandler’s – you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you. I’ve been sorting out my watchmaking equipment.
“It’s very fragile and we’ll keep the door locked, as my wife explained.”
“Yes, I understand.” Hattie nodded again.
“Lucky I don’t have any evacuees now. The ones I’d hosted recently might well have wanted to poke their noses in!”
She laughed, but the Townsends’ faces remained impassive.
“I’ll do as you say, and I’ll certainly keep my key safe and sound.” Hattie found herself stammering.
“Thank you, Miss Crocker,” Mr Townsend replied. “There are just the two keys?”
“That’s right.” For a moment, she looked into his unsmiling face, while his wife continued to read the paper.
“I’ll see to your egg.”
He had seemed almost unfriendly, and as she turned and walked back to the kitchen, she was seized by a strange feeling that he was watching her.
Reaching the door, she stole a quick glance behind her, but he was gazing out of the window.
They had lost two sons. How could she have mistaken grief for anything else?
So many times she had been filled with yearning for a child of her own, and now a chill came over her as she thought of the unimaginable devastation that could come as part of the experience.
How could a parent ever manage to cope?
She shuddered, thinking of the boys on bicycles, delivering dreaded messages all over the country.
Her heart overflowed with sympathy for these two people under her roof.
With it came a flood of gratitude for the unusual situation that she found herself in, with Sandy to look after from time to time.
She would never try to take the place of her mother, but because of cruel twists of fate, she could share in so many joys with this sweet, dear child.
And Donald . . .
She pushed the thoughts away. There was little time to think of anything, with all that there was ahead of her.
As she gathered the breakfast things to prepare, the doorbell rang.
She sighed, put down the plates and cutlery, then went to answer it.
“Good morning.” The man, who spoke with a slight accent, was carrying a large suitcase.
He took off his hat respectfully.
“I do apologise – I have arrived earlier than expected.”
He gave a big smile.
“My name is Hans Van Bakkar.”