Free Gently in the Sun by Alan Hunter

there two hours, or was it only one?
    ‘Did anyone get to the beach before you?’
    ‘If so I didn’t see them. But we couldn’t shut the dog up and they soon started coming. It’s a rum thing, that, how a body can upset a dog.’
    ‘Did you notice any tracks?’
    ‘It’s all tracks unless there’s been rain.’
    ‘What about the fellow in the tent?’
    ‘I didn’t see him come down till later.’
    ‘ He’s a queer one, if you like,’ Mrs Neal interrupted them. ‘Not that I think any ill of the lad, though there’s nasty talk going round.’
    ‘What sort of talk is that?’
    ‘Why, that he’s the one you’re after. But I say it’s all nonsense, and I see as much of him as anyone. There’s nothing wrong there that a good home wouldn’t put right.’
    ‘You know about him, then?’
    ‘Of course. He’s often in for a chat.’
    ‘Did he ever mention Miss Campion?’
    ‘No. It’s his mother I usually hear about.’
    It was still hot enough for ice cream and Gently tooka cornet out with him. From the steep-roofed buildings long shadows were falling, but a thermometer on the wall had only just sunk below eighty. One of the village children had got a bike and they were all having fun with it. As he raced across the open space they tried to catch him and pull him off. Two or three of the older ones sat apart on a bench. They glanced sideways at Gently, muttered furtively to each other.
    He paused outside The Longshoreman, before which were parked several cars. The windows were open upstairs and down and one could hear the chatter of the bar from the road. Some young men, probably farm workers, sat drinking on two outside seats. They wore white shirts and their tanned flesh looked hard and healthy. Although they had only been talking cricket they, too, subdued their voices.
    It was the same when he entered the bar: a lively scene seemed suddenly to hesitate. At the end of the room a game of darts was in progress and above the quick hush one could hear their soft thumping.
    ‘Give me a glass of bitter.’
    Without appearing to look round he was nevertheless taking it in. Fishermen, farm workers, one or two who worked in Starmouth: The Longshoreman was for regulars, people who fitted into their niche. On a trestle table under the window four old fishermen were shuffling dominoes. Round the dartboard they spoke in monosyllables and changed places automatically .
    ‘Have this one on the house.’
    But Gently tendered his coin firmly. The publican,stout and middle aged, gave him a solemn wink as he returned the change.
    ‘ We can’t complain of the weather!’
    He leaned confidentially on his massive elbows.
    ‘If there’s anything you want to know … but I’d sooner it was in the back room. I try to please everyone. That’s the tricky part of pub business.’
    Gently grunted indefinitely and settled his hip against the bar.
    The hush which marked his arrival had passed, though the conversation was perhaps quieter than before. One quickly became aware of different groups among the patrons. The fishermen, in particular, stuck very much together. The dart players were largely farm workers, those round the bar from town. In a corner by himself sat the Keep Going ’s owner; he smoked twist in a clay pipe, taking slow, measured puffs.
    ‘That’s Esau – Esau Dawes.’
    The publican had followed his glance.
    ‘You’ve seen his boat, haven’t you? It’s a hard one to miss! That’s Jack Spanton, his mate, the young fellow having a joke. They think the world of that boat, it’s like it was a human being to them.
    ‘Then there’s Josh Ives, the short ’un. Him and Aaron Wright are mates. They got blown up with a mine, which is where Josh got his limp from.’
    ‘On the left it’s Peero Palmer – you’ll maybe hear them call him “Dutchy”. Took his boat across to Holland, he did, and never came back till five years later.’
    ‘Who’s the one they’re trying to shut up?’
    ‘Him?’ The