Coming Home

There are some memories Will can't leave behind...

WILL climbs the path up the headland and settles on the wooden seat at the top.

A plaque screwed into the backrest reads, This was the favourite spot of Irene and Arnold Prescott and instructs the occupant to enjoy the view.

Will breathes deeply, taking in the smell of salt and spray.

He loves the view from here. It makes the hustle and bustle of the mainland seem a hundred miles away.

Today the sea is calm with only gentle white tips appearing on the water.

It is warm.

As soon as the early morning mist has burned off it will be sunny, too.

He watches the water carefully and, sure enough, he soon spots the telltale spray above the waves and then two tall black fins break the surface.

The orcas are here.

The sudden shrill ringing of metal on concrete makes Will jerk round, his peace shattered by the noise of a jackhammer.

He stands up to locate where it is coming from and leans forward to look down at the small peninsula below.

A machine with a sharp arm mounted on the front is stabbing away at the wall of the old whale house.

"They're knocking it down. Rumour has it that a hotel will be built there."

Will turns round to see who has spoken.

"Nester!" he says, surprise and delight spreading across his face.

"Mind if I join you or do you want to be alone?"

He shuffles along the bench and indicates she should sit.

"Things change," he says, nodding at the whale house.

Nester pulls a face.

"For years there were schemes to open the place up again, but there's no demand any more," she says. "The fishing boats are gone."

Will looks at the block buildings, outlying sheds and gantries.

It was never a whale house. That was just the name the kids gave the place because the orcas circled the peninsula.