Siren Call

SIREN CALL

Published by Sonya C. Dodd at Smashwords

Copyright Sonya C. Dodd 2013

To Hugo and Branwell

Other titles available by Sonya C. Dodd:

Echo of a Siren (sequel to Siren Call)

Affirmation of the Sirens (sequel to Echo of a Siren)

Brass Buttons

The Root of all Evil

Dear Mother

With Hindsight

A Whisper in the Wind

Harbour of Dreams (sequel to A Whisper in the Wind)

2000 Words: a collection of short stories

No Man is an Island and other stories

Who’s Real?

For further details visit: www.sonyacdodd.com

Chapter one

A rising crescendo: CRASH! Whoosh! Roar! The sounds bombarded her ears. Impossible to do justice to the symphony of sound created by the power of the ocean as it explodes onto the shore. Such impressive strength and beauty concealing danger and death beneath its surface, a demon’s cradle waiting to embrace any unfortunate victim who dares to underestimate its might.

She stood on the shoreline, her bare feet enjoying the sensation of being teased and tickled by the lapping water and the cold, wet sand being sucked from below her wriggling toes.

The tide was out but the sea never seemed to diminish in stature. The beach stretched out as far as the eye could see to her left and right and she was disappointed to discover that she was alone.

Stretching her bare, thin arms up towards the sun, hoping to absorb some of the late afternoon warmth into her cold limbs, she closed her eyes as if her concentration would aid the process.

A dog was suddenly by her side; a small, scruffy thing, barking and yapping at her, yet not quite daring to get too close.

Jasper! A deep, annoyed-sounding voice called from behind her impatiently. She turned to see a middle-aged man, hands dug deep inside the pockets of his jacket. His hair was covered by a woollen hat, perhaps he was bald, it was impossible to tell.

The dog was reluctant to leave her and he called again, barely looking up as he did so. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, despite her hand being raised towards him. She would have liked to have spoken to him; she missed conversation, missed knowing what was happening.

Giving one final bark of disapproval, the dog trotted away from her, sniffing the sand as it went.

She looked wistfully at the retreating figures of the man and his dog, a wave of sadness engulfing her. Their shadows stretched away from her as though some invisible force was attempting to draw them more quickly away from her reach.

Looking down at the sand next to her how she pined to see just a flicker of a shadow of her own.

That stupid mutt is going senile, he snapped, blustering through the door along with a huge gust of wind.

Don’t be so mean, his wife, Eleanor replied softly as she scooped the shaggy haired terrier up into an old stripy towel before he could traipse sand through the entire house. She watched Bill take off his hat and coat as she rubbed the dog vigorously with the towel, which was no easy feat, as he darted around on her lap trying to escape back down to the floor.

Bill ran his hand quickly through his short, cropped hair and then reached out to feel the side of the kettle. A shiver ran through his body as he involuntarily jumped at the heat which the black plastic kettle gave off at his touch.

It has just boiled, Eleanor pointed out in a matter of fact manner, butting into his thoughts as she nodded towards her steaming mug of coffee on the worktop when he turned to look at her.

Going through the motions of making his own cup of coffee, Bill glanced out of the small kitchen window and was immediately impressed by the array of colours in the now angry sky. Only the white crests of the waves showed that there was a division between sky and sea as grey met grey in a battle of elemental forces. Amazing how quickly the weather changes at this time of year out there, he said absentmindedly, stirring his coffee with a tea spoon. I suppose you’ll be wanting the wood burner lit now I’m back.

Eleanor picked the dog up and released him onto the floor, scrunching up the towel in an effort to avoid any sand escaping onto the clean granite tiles. Great idea, my love, she smiled. What’s Jasper done to upset you now? she asked, dropping the towel into the sink and going over to her husband, she wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to return the embrace, determined to melt his apparent anger.

Oh, the usual: barking and yapping at nothing and then ignoring my calling him so that I end up having to go chasing after him. I swear I’ll leave him out there one day and perhaps then he’ll learn to come when he’s called, if he gets a bit of a fright. Bill closed his eyes and buried his face in his wife’s hair, feeling his anger thawing as he breathed in the familiar smell of her herbal shampoo.

He doesn’t do anyone any harm, does he? Eleanor gently rubbed his back, feeling the tension beginning to leave his body.

I suppose not, Bill conceded with a sigh. But he needs to know who’s the boss; you’ve spoilt him. I dunno what gets him all excited out there but you’d think he’d be used to the sea by now.

Smuggler’s Cottage lived up to the quaintness of its name. A low stone cottage, white-washed and overlooking the coast road which was all, excepting a row of dunes, that separated the cottage from the beach. The cottage had been a present to themselves; somewhere to escape to when the business of London life got too much. At first they’d driven down the M3 most weekends, excited at the prestige of owning a second home and determined to make the most of every minute they could spend there.

Nowadays, with their two children grown up and away from the family nest, the thought of the Friday night exodus from London seemed a much greater effort and so they found themselves using it more as a holiday base than with any real regularity.

The cottage was cosy; Eleanor had put her amateur artistic stamp everywhere and now it looked like a photo shoot from a Country Living magazine. It was one of only a handful of dwellings left, most of which were second homes, where there had once been a thriving fishing village; and the necessity to go everywhere by car, even to fetch a pint of milk or a daily newspaper, made Bill wonder how much longer they would hold on to it, particularly as they got older and became less mobile.

Married happily for twenty five years, they had been introduced by a mutual friend when Eleanor had just moved to London to try and forge a career as a working artist. Instead she had fallen head over heels in love with Bill and contentedly devoted herself to the role of mother to their two children: Jo, now 22, and Oscar, 20.

Bill enjoyed the reassurance of the secure life they had built together. Working in a bank suited him; safe and reliable, and when he came home in the evening to their neat suburban house with the well-tended garden and fresh flower arrangement on the hallway table, he felt a sense of self-satisfaction and security sweep over him. Okay, maybe some people might describe his life as dull but he didn’t have a problem with that. He’d watched his own parents struggle to make ends meet for too long, listened to their constant petty arguing about money and where the next meal was coming from to want to risk his own comfortable existence.

Leaving school at sixteen had been a bit of a gamble but eager to leave home as soon as possible, Bill had managed to secure a job immediately in one of the local high street banks knowing that with limited qualifications, he’d never be hitting the big jobs. He had little sense of ambition as far as rising up through the ranks was concerned, he just knew what kind of life he didn’t want for himself and he was prepared to work damned hard in order to ensure that his own life never mirrored the narrow, miserable existence he believed he had seen in his parents’ marriage.

Meeting Eleanor had fitted neatly into his life plan, she was attractive and wasn’t one of those women who wanted to go out shopping and spend every penny that he earned. Of course they’d had to struggle in the early years, particularly when they took on their first mortgage; and then Eleanor had given up her part-time waitressing job in order to be a full-time mother when the children came along. But Bill had prided himself on never having to take out a loan (he didn’t count the mortgage) and their current account had never been in the red. They had managed and gradually over the years, things had got easier and now he could look back with satisfaction at the success he had made of his life.

Sometimes his obsessive attitude towards money had irritated Eleanor more than she liked to admit and it wasn’t that he was mean but she would occasionally liked to have heard him say, ‘Oh blow the cost, let’s do it!’ and permit himself to relax a bit. He could get like a tightly wound up spring sometimes which contrasted with her more carefree nature. Perhaps that’s why their marriage had lasted, they were opposites; Bill kept Eleanor on the straight and narrow financially, fully aware of her responsibilities as an adult and a mother but equally, Eleanor was able to get her husband to switch off and occasionally enjoy the fruits of their labours. There seemed little point in working hard if you never got to enjoy life, she thought. It would be difficult to identify any sense of excitement in their lives but now, with them both well into their forties, they were each content, muddling along, companions in their middle age and satisfied with their lot.

I’ll get the candles out in case the electricity goes off, Eleanor sighed as large drops of rain began to beat noisily against the window panes.

It’ll be over by the time it gets dark, Bill reassured her. It’s one of those show time spectaculars: all noise and fuss and then disappearing as suddenly as it all started. He knelt by the hearth, building a criss-cross of logs in the wood burner with careful precision, always proud that he had never had to relight a fire.

Eleanor closed the drawer of the dresser empty handed. She was sure he was probably right; it was the kind of thing that Bill never got wrong, annoyingly. Occasionally it would have been nice to hear the words: I’m sorry Eleanor, I should have listened to you. She sat back down at the kitchen table and resumed cutting out squares of material as she had been doing when she’d been interrupted by Bill’s return. She was trying to finish a patchwork quilt she had been making for Jo. She’d had this idea of starting a family tradition: a quilt which could be handed down through the generations; Eleanor liked the thought that her creativity would live on in her work long after she was dead and buried, it seemed to give a point to her life.

The sky outside darkened further and a sudden flash of lightning sent Jasper into a wail of howling and whimpering as he leapt out of his basket and hid under the table by Eleanor’s feet. She flicked on the lamp by her side and directed the beam down onto the work in front of her, no longer able to work by the daylight coming in from the window behind her.

Great, Bill moaned, looking round at the dog which was now quivering hopelessly, He’d better not think he can keep that racket up all afternoon.

Bill only put up with owning a dog for Eleanor’s benefit. She’d wanted some company when the children had left home and he couldn’t begrudge her that, but he felt no tenderness for the yappy doormat of a thing, always getting in the way or barking at the slightest sound. Perhaps he was just getting old, but he knew he lost his patience at the slightest provocation these days and he certainly didn’t want to listen to the dog’s whining all afternoon.

I’ll put him upstairs, Eleanor said, getting up and reaching down to scoop up the trembling Jasper. He’ll settle down if he can get on our bed, she explained, before disappearing through the door at the foot of the narrow staircase.

Bill heard the soft padding of his wife’s footsteps retreating upstairs and moving around above his head as he settled into the fireside chair to watch the first tentative flickering flames take hold through the window on the door of the wood burner. Always mesmerising, he thought, gazing at the dancing flames as they rose and receded.

Upstairs, Eleanor threw a blanket over the duvet before plonking Jasper unceremoniously on their bed. Now for goodness sake, just settle down, will you? It’s only a storm, she tried to comfort him, stroking the top of his upturned head before going across to look out of the window. From upstairs you could get a clearer view of the sea, looking across the top of the dunes as far as the eye could see in any direction.

Eleanor leant forward, her nose almost brushing the cold glass of the window itself to get a better look. It can’t be, she muttered to herself under her breath.

Bill, Bill, come up here quickly, she shouted suddenly but the sound of her voice was swept away by a low, heavy roll of thunder and a sudden intensity in the now torrential rain. It danced up from the surface of the road and rivers of rainwater ran swiftly along both kerbsides.

The click of the door latch made Bill wake with a start just as he’d begun to doze off in the comfort of his armchair.

Bill! Eleanor exclaimed breathlessly as she put her head round the corner of the door. Quickly, she beckoned him, ignoring the fact that he was clearly totally taken aback by her sudden appearance.

What is it? he asked grumpily, pushing himself up from the chair and staggering sleepily across the room towards her.

You’ve got to come and look at this, was all she’d say before disappearing back up the stairs quickly without another backward glance.

Bill rolled his eyes heavenward in annoyance and stamped his feet slowly up the wooden stairs to make his frustration at being rudely awakened, crystal clear.

When he entered their bedroom, lowering his head as he did so to avoid hitting his forehead on the low door frame, Eleanor was looking eagerly out of the window as though searching for something.

Well? he asked, as she continued to ignore his presence.

She was right there, Eleanor exclaimed in bewilderment, vaguely pointing out of the window.

Who was where? he demanded remaining by the door, determined not to be drawn into anything until she gave him a bit more of an idea as to what was so important as to make it necessary for him to drag himself up here, away from his chair and the fire.

There was a woman on the beach, in the middle of all this, she explained, waving her hands towards the ceiling to indicate the adverse weather conditions.

What’s so odd about that? he asked incredulously. There’s no law about people taking a walk when it’s raining.

She heard the touch of sarcasm in his voice but chose to ignore it. I know; it’s just that she was only wearing a flimsy dress, was clearly soaked to the skin and seemed to be lost. Bill, she looked really sad, I’m worried about her but she’s vanished, I can’t see her anymore. The words tumbled out of her mouth as she kept scanning the view from left to right, willing the figure to reappear.

If she’s gone, then you can stop worrying, he replied, softening his voice, sensing Eleanor’s rising panic. When you came downstairs to fetch me, maybe someone she knew pulled up outside and picked her up. I’m sure everything’s fine now, really. He patted her shoulder in reassurance. Come downstairs by the fire, it’s much warmer.

Eleanor looked outside one final time; Bill’s idea was possible but didn’t seem very probable. She’d watched the woman pacing backwards and forward, never taking her eyes off the sea. Surely she would have heard a car, even if she hadn’t seen it. And even if there had been a car, which she strongly doubted, then the woman wouldn’t have been able to hear it standing so close to the sea. Anyone stopping to pick her