Strange Flotsam

A short story prompted by an item in my local newspaper. 

*****

Tired from her overnight shift at the care-home Bell rubs her eyes in disbelief at the sight of the piano near the rock pools. She generally takes the scenic route in order to linger awhile, at this her favourite place of all. However weary she is her senses come alive when she’s near to the sea. The sounds and sights, on both calm and wild and wonderful days, the salty smell and taste, envelop her so completely that, whether she swims or not, her skin tingles from the feel of the water.

Not planning a dip today, although it is an activity she enjoys whatever the weather or season, Bell had expected to walk slowly by on her way home for some longed for sleep. The piano, inevitably, delays her rest. Its appearance stimulating her senses even more than this particular view usually does. It’s early still and she is the only human at the scene but others are interested in the instrument. Distracted from their usual preoccupation with savaging a small group of seagulls is sitting comfortably on the lid whilst others compete to add to the oddly haunting tune being played out on the exposed keys. 

As she watches and listens Bell is joined by a runner and a dog walker who quickly begin to speculate on who might have left the piano on the sand. She knows the runner a little as she works at the solicitors that offer services to some of the older folk she helps to look after. Charmed by its presence but, as yet, uninterested in its provenance, Bell rejects the offer to join in the debate, and continues on her journey. She’s not back on shift for 36 hours so after a long sleep stays in her pyjamas to watch TV. The piano features on the local news complete with an explanation for its arrival. A project by local artists apparently, sadly, at least as far as Bell is concerned, scuppered by the council who quickly removed and disposed of the oak encased mystery. Bell presses the remote control in disgust. Even the original, if rather naïve, hope that the piano could stay and weather into the landscape, becoming part of the entertainment that the beach provides is boring to Bell; unimaginative, unromantic. Rather she favours her own theory; that the instrument is all that remains from the wreckage of a pirate vessel.  Closing her eyes she sees the tall, dark, and of course, extremely handsome pirate king, his tattooed muscles rippling, as he expertly thumps out a tune, his golden earing glinting in the moonlight. There’s a fiddle player too and the rest of the crew sing and sway and dance to the music. The fairies - oh yes there are fairies as well - fly in, out and around the seagulls who have joined the on-board party to pick at the half-eaten lavish feast prepared earlier by the cook. As the night goes on the music and the celebrations – there is treasure in the hold – get more frantic with the ships mast resembling a May Pole as the fairies, resplendent in their multi-coloured sparkling finery dance around and around. So all-encompassing and hypnotic does the atmosphere become that no-one notices the brewing storm which once it takes hold batters and beats and breaks the old ship into multiple pieces that travel away with the tide. All hands are lost with on-one to mourn the cut-throat crew. But the fairies, working together, lift the old piano as if it weighs less than gossamer and fly, like a beautiful, colourful, glittering cloud, to deposit the piano on a far-away beach.  

Much more satisfied with her own explanation than the one provided by the newsreader Bell turns the TV back on and dozes through an evening of entertainment that doesn’t even come close to her own fantastic imaginings. A week or so later, following another long night duty, she is once again enjoying her very best walk home. Drawing close to the beach she sees that right in the middle of the large expanse of sand there is a brass bed complete with pure white linen and a set of sumptuous looking pillows. There is a little seaweed curled around the legs and one seagull perched on the top of one brass knob. Otherwise the bed and its covers are pristine. Smiling to herself as she walks away Bell starts to wonder about where the bed could possibly have come from.