Free The Beachcomber by Josephine Cox

and plimsolls went under the bed.
    When all that was done, he emptied out the toiletries, and a few personal items, which he laid on the bed. The photograph of his wife and children he placed on the dressing table. That finished, he put the case on top of the wardrobe.
    After taking the toiletries into the bathroom, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
    By the time he’d boiled the kettle and found teapot and cups, the old chap was back. “If yer mekking tea, I’m gasping after that long trek up the hill.” He gave a cheeky wink. “I’m a glutton for me tea with a spoon o’ sugar if yer please. You’ll find spoons in that there drawer.” Pointing to a small drawer alongside the cooker, he placed his box of goodies on the table.
    Taking the items out one by one, he counted them off. “Sugar, tea, toilet roll … can’t do without that. Now then, let’s see what’s next. Oh yes … loaf o’ bread, marge, a pinta milk, and a tin of spam.” Dropping the empty box to the floor, he sat in the chair and waited for Tom to bring his tea. “I reckon you’ve enough groceries to be going on with,” he told Tom.
    He gratefully accepted his mug of tea. Tom seated himself at the other end of the table. The old man slurped at his cup and wiped his mustache. Tom laughed and shook his head; Jasper was a real gem. “Where did you get all this stuff anyway? I didn’t see any grocery shops down there.”
    The old fellow explained. “There’s four shops altogether: the fishmonger’s, and next door to him the fishing-tackle shop. Then there’s the baker’s – she bakes her own bread every day; it’s allus fresh and crusty. An’ around the corner there’s the little shop as stays open a bit longer. It’s run by a right nice lady, name of Amy Tatler. She sells everything from matches to newspapers. By! She’s been running that shop for as long as I remember. I reckon she must be even older than what I am. Fit though … and smart with it.”
    He scratched his chin, gazing up to the ceiling as if working out the years. “She never wed as far as I can mek out, but she’s a kind, quiet little woman, never lets on what she’s thinking. All on ’er own, she is. By! It’s a crying shame …”
    For a minute, the old chap’s thoughts seemed elsewhere, before he visibly shook himself. “She pretends to close at five o’clock like the rest of ’em, but you’ve only to knock on the door and she’s there at yer beck an’ call.”
    Tom sensed the old man’s fondness for this woman. “Sounds to me like she might be lonely?”
    Jasper shook his head. “Naw! Not Amy. She knits and sews, and keeps herself busy.” Again, for a fleeting minute, he lapsed into that odd silence. “I can never understand why she never got wed, though … She were allus a pretty woman as I recall, and even now she’s pleasant to the eye, an’ pleasant in nature.” He shook his head. “Seems a waste, but there y’are.”
    Tom nodded. “You really like her, don’t you?” That much was painfully obvious.
    Shocked that another man had found out his secret, Jasper blushed bright pink. “Gerraway! What would I do with a woman at my age, eh?”
    Tom said no more. He knew when to keep quiet, so for a time he sipped his tea and the old man did the same, and all that could be heard was the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, until suddenly Jasper was on his feet and slapping Tom on the back. “I’m glad the cottage found its rightful tenant.” He took a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Tom. “I’ll be here in the mornin’ to mek sure yer all right. Meanwhile, here’s me address if yer should want anythin.’”
    “I won’t, thank you all the same.”
    “Well, just in case, yer can find me easy enough. Yer go down the hill and over the little bridge; turn left at the pub. Yer can’t go wrong. My humble little home is right at the end of George Street, next to where they park the