A Safe Harbour Read Online Free PDF

cobbled lanes and on the boat field on the headland. Cats slept, dogs foraged in the gutters and the gulls, as always, swirled and screeched above the cliffs.  
    The door of the cottage was open and Jane stood for a moment in the sunlight, her eyes adjusting to the dimness inside before she raised a tentative hand to knock.  
    ‘Come in, Jane, hinny,’ a woman’s voice said softly.  
    Jane stepped inside and saw that Kate’s mother, Nan, was standing at the table rolling pastry.  
    ‘Meat pie,’ she said and got on with her work.  
    Jane glanced round the room. So clean and neat, but so very different from her own home. And if she now felt out of place in her mother’s modest but attractive parlour, how much more at odds with her expectations of life would a fisherman’s cottage be? No . . . much as she loved Kate’s brother William, she could never live as a fisherman’s wife . . .  
    A slight sucking sound made her glance towards the bed against the wall. The old woman, Sarah, lay there as usual, her clay pipe moving up and down in her mouth; that was what the sound was. Jane was startled to see that she appeared to be staring at her. Her rheumy old eyes were open and focused instead of half closed. Her face was so wrinkled that there seemed to be no room to harbour an expression, either a smile or a frown.  
    It was hard to tell what old Sarah was thinking. Did she think about anything now? Perhaps she was simply staring into space, her mind adrift amongst a jumble of memories. But then Jane noticed that the old woman’s bony fingers were picking restlessly at the ends of her shawl.  
    ‘You’ve heard, then,’ Mrs Lawson said. It was a statement rather than a question.  
    ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s dreadful.’  
    ‘Dreadful?’ There was a hint of scorn in Kate’s mother’s voice as if ‘dreadful’ was too meagre a word to describe the situation.  
    Jane felt herself flush and she saw the lines of the older woman’s face soften. ‘Don’t mind me, pet. Our Kate’s taken it hard.’  
    ‘Of course she has.’  
    For a moment nothing was heard except the slap of the pastry on the tabletop and the rhythmic thump and roll of Nan Lawson’s wooden rolling pin. She paused to dust her hands with flour before lifting up the pastry and draping it over the pie dish. ‘Kate’s on the beach,’ she said. ‘Will you go to her?’ There was a break in her voice. Jane saw that there were tears in her eyes.  
    ‘Yes.’  
    ‘I canna help her,’ the older woman said. ‘There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do. But I don’t want her to be alone. You’re her friend.’  
    ‘I’ll go,’ Jane said. She turned swiftly and hurried out of the cottage.  
    A few minutes later she stood on Bank Top and stared down in puzzlement. There was a lone figure on the shoreline kneeling down and leaning forward as if washing something in the sea. Jane watched the jerky movements until a sudden toss of the figure’s head revealed the red hair. It was Kate. Jane began to hurry. As she sped down the bank she began to call Kate’s name, but her friend either didn’t hear her or didn’t care. To Jane’s dismay she saw a wave wash right over Kate but still she didn’t stop what she was doing.  
    Never as fleet of foot as Kate, Jane stumbled as she hurried over the rough sand and shingle and, mindful of the hemline of her skirt, she stopped just short of where the waves washed in. She stared in horror as she watched her friend lean forward again and again and, with both arms outstretched, make scooping motions in the water. What was Kate trying to catch? The waves?  
    ‘Kate!’ she called. ‘Kate, what are you doing?’  
    Jane lifted her skirt and walked gingerly over the damp sand. She tried not to think of the salt marks the water would leave on her shoes. She was relieved when Kate suddenly sat back on her heels and looked round.  
    ‘Jane?’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’