The Beach Hut Next Door (24 page)

But gradually, as he watched, something definite began to emerge. It was crude, naive even. A lagoon, an island, and seagulls – big, fat beady-eyed seagulls, each one consisting of barely more than half a dozen lines, but so emphatic in their seagullness that Vince realized he had been watching a real talent at work. The scene was impressionistic, but so vivid you could almost smell it.

He’d watched her back as she worked, her thin shoulder blades, her wiry arms, the tiny wrists. Her hair was piled up, as usual, in a brightly coloured scarf, the honey-coloured strands spilling out over the top. She was wearing a tiny turquoise sundress covered in flamingoes. A digital radio spilled out Northern soul and her brush seemed to dance in time with the music.

She was an inspiration, a ray of light, and he’d been a fool not to see it.

It was now or never. If he didn’t ask her today, his life would never change. He would be stuck as miserable Vince, alone and loveless. He needed to put his Murphy hat on; get some confidence.

‘Man up,’ he told himself. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? She can say no, and that would be no more than you deserved. So the only way is up.’

He waited until Kiki finished her conversation with Craig. He tousled his hair a bit, tucked his T-shirt into his jeans then pulled it out again, stuck his hands in pockets. Then he grabbed his wallet and walked to Jenna’s ice-cream van – she was still serving, even this late on in the evening

She looked delighted to see him.

‘Hey, Vince. What can I get you?’

‘Two 99s. With flakes.’

‘Two?’ She gave him a cheeky grin as she picked up two cones and started to fill them. Vince just kicked the sand with his shoe and didn’t reply, but he was smiling. As she handed the ice creams over, he went to give her the money but she waved it away.

‘It’s on me, darling. Good luck.’

Jenna’d had a good summer, Vince knew. If there was any lesson to be learned from Jenna, it was that although you couldn’t control everything that happened in life, you were in charge of your own destiny to a certain point. The decisions you made and the risks you took shaped what happened just as much as fate.

The realization made him resolute. He had to take control of his life.

With an ice cream in each hand, he walked over to Kiki, who was sitting on a bean bag, drinking a glass of wine.

She looked up as he approached. She was singing along to the music. He was struck by how incredibly happy she looked. How did people do that, make themselves so happy? He held out an ice cream without speaking, and she put down her glass and took it from him.

‘You’re a mind reader,’ she told him.

‘Years of practice,’ he told her. ‘Me and Derren Brown …’

He crossed his fingers to indicate how close they were.

She laughed, and he felt pleased. It gave him courage.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Do you fancy a trip out to Lundy?’ He pointed out to sea. The island was obscured by darkness, but the moon hovered over where it should be, as if pointing it out.

‘I’d love to!’ She nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ve looked at it every day since I’ve been here, wondering what it’s like.’

‘Well, there’s not much there. A few sheep. But it’s pretty special. I can take you over there in the boat tomorrow. If you like.’

She looked pleased.

‘That would be amazing.’

‘It’s going to be good weather, so we could make a day of it.’

‘Wow. Cool.’

She was smiling at him but she looked a bit puzzled, as if wondering what had brought about his transformation.

‘Listen, I’ve been an arse,’ he said. ‘Long story.’

‘Hey, we all have stuff that makes us behave badly. No worries.’

He didn’t think he needed to go into detail. Not at the moment. She didn’t seem the type to bear grudges or need an explanation. There would be plenty of time for him to divulge his anxieties, if they ever got that far.

‘Be ready at nine,’ he told her. ‘Bring your swimming stuff. And your painting stuff. And something warm for the journey back, in case the temperature drops.’

‘Sorted.’ She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Vince thought he’d better get there early and tidy the boat up a bit. Something told him she wouldn’t care much; that she’d enjoy the experience for what it was, but nevertheless the boat really wasn’t in an ideal state for a romantic encounter. He’d better stick some cushions around the place at least.

‘It’s a date, then,’ he said, and she nodded at him, and he felt a little glow inside. All those years wasted on Anna, he thought. All the fun he’d missed. Still, Vince decided, he was going to make up for lost time.

At two in the morning, Tim watched the last of his guests sway back down the beach towards the slipway.

The last of his guests but one, that is.

Lorraine was in the crook of his arm. They were both sitting on the front step as the last of the candles sank down into the bottom of the jam jars he’d wedged in the sand in front of the hut. There was little sign that there’d been a party at all; only the tin foil palm trees he’d stuck to the front of the hut rustling in the evening breeze.

He supposed it was time. Until he slept with another woman, he wouldn’t be able to forget. And he liked Lorraine. He really did. She was bright, funny, interesting. They had lots in common. He liked her copper hair and her pale skin and her freckles. It was clear she liked him, by the way she was running her hand up and down his back. Her intentions were clear.

The only thing wrong with her was that she wasn’t Rachel.

But every girl he ever met wasn’t going to be Rachel.

‘Hey.’

He turned to her, realizing he was being rude, drifting off in his reverie.

She put a hand up his face, stroked his cheek, then pulled his face towards her. His mouth met hers. She tasted sweet, of pineapple and honey. Not like Rachel at all.

Not like Rachel, but delicious. He could do this. Of course he could.

Jenna woke up horribly early the morning after Tim’s party. She wasn’t sure why. She usually slept in after a party: nothing would wake her, but she thought something had been tickling her face. Now she was awake, she couldn’t see anything. She sat up. Craig was nowhere to be seen either, which was odd. She peered at her phone to see what the time was. Barely after seven. All she wanted to do was burrow back under the covers, but she wanted to know where Craig was. Perhaps he had gone for an early morning surf? He hadn’t said he was going to. And his wetsuit was still hanging up.

She pushed open the door, letting the early-morning breeze envelop her. She breathed it in. It always smelled of newness, and hope. The sun was only just over the horizon, but she could feel its warmth. Another good day for selling ice creams. Part of her wished she could have the day off, but she knew the deal down here. Make hay while the sun shines. There would be plenty of time off come winter.

She stepped out onto the sand, looking round for Craig. He was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the beach, then frowned.

‘Oh my God.’ What she saw made her stop in her tracks. Was she still dreaming? Or had she drunk more than she thought the night before?

For there, on the beach, was a picture. A picture drawn on the sand, and decorated with shells. A full-size picture of an ice-cream van. Her ice-cream van. And underneath, written in white pebbles, two words.

This was a joke. Some wags from the night before had obviously thought it would be a hilarious prank. Jenna frowned. Who would be that mean? It must have been someone who knew her. They were probably hiding somewhere, waiting for her reaction. Who would do such a thing? She’d rub it out before someone saw it and took the mickey. No, they were probably waiting for her to do that. She would pretend she hadn’t noticed it.

She bit her thumb and turned back to the hut. Idiots. Drink did that to people.

Then she saw Craig, standing in the doorway. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

‘They’re just idiots,’ she said. ‘They must have been drunk.’

‘Hey?’

She pointed. ‘Whoever did that. It’s cruel, really. To get a girl’s hopes up like that. Luckily I’m not that stupid.’

‘Stupid?’

‘I’m not going to fall for that, am I?’

‘Jenna …’ Craig was looking at her. ‘Don’t you realize who did it?’

She shrugged. She felt embarrassed. She wondered if he thought she’d thought it was real. She hoped not.

‘Jen. It was me. Well, me and Kiki. I can’t draw something like that. We got up this morning. At the crack of dawn …’

Jenna looked at Craig.

She looked at the picture.

She looked at the words again.

Marry Me.

‘Are you …? Do you mean …? Is it … a proposal?’

Craig burst out laughing. ‘Yeah. I didn’t want to do something ordinary. Because you’re not ordinary. Because you’re … amazing, and I really admire you for what you’ve done this summer. And because I want you to be my wife, and to get a house with you, and maybe start a family …’

Jenna’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re totally kidding.’

‘That first day I saw you on the beach, I knew you were special.’

‘That first day you saw me nicking stuff?’ She started to laugh.

‘I knew I could save you from yourself.’ He was laughing too.

Jenna looked again at the picture. It was perfect. There was even a little her in the window; a smiley face and a spotty dress.

‘The sea’s going to wash it away,’ she wailed. ‘I need to take a picture.’

‘We’ve taken loads of pictures,’ Craig told her.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Jenna.’

His voice had a note of desperation in it. She turned to look at him.

‘What’s your answer?’

She didn’t reply for a moment. Just stared into his eyes. Then turned and ran down the beach.

For an awful moment, Craig thought she was going to stamp all over it. Then he watched as she took her finger and started drawing in the sand underneath. And, gradually, as the words emerged, he began to smile.

YES YES YES they read.

ELODIE

E
lodie was standing on the terrace of The Grey House, looking out over the sea that looked reassuringly the same as it always had, for although it was constantly on the move, it came always back again. Was that why people loved the sea, for its reassurance? She never felt the same anywhere else, that was certain.

She looked at her watch. She’d made the appointment for two o’clock. She felt nervous of what she might find, and what reception she would get. And the possible consequences. And then she realized that the only consequences could be good ones. That nothing could destroy the love she and Colm had for each other.

The home her mother had moved to was on the outskirts of a small town near Everdene – a conversion of a large Victorian house that would once have been a home, then probably a hotel. It was high-end and luxurious, and tried to look as much like a private house as possible, with just a discreet sign that Elodie nearly missed, but even the most skilful interior designer couldn’t mask the fact this was an institution.

Her mother’s room was large, facing the sea – no doubt she was paying a premium for the privilege – but the blinds were down, leaving it in a crepuscular gloom.

‘She doesn’t like the light,’ whispered the assistant, who was dressed in the house uniform of navy blue high-collared tunic and trousers, designed to look as little like a uniform as possible while being practical. ‘It hurts her eyes.’

Elodie could see Lillie, sitting in a large wing-backed chair she recognized from The Grey House. She could pick out other familiar artefacts too, as if Lillie had tried as hard as she could to recreate her home in this room: paintings and china and pieces of furniture that had been part of their lives for so many years, but it didn’t quite work. Like a sensitive shrub, the atmosphere couldn’t be transplanted.

Elodie felt a wave of something, she wasn’t sure what, settle on her shoulders. This place was so far away from everything Lillie represented, despite the superficial luxury. She realized the feeling was guilt – a sense of filial guilt.

How, after everything that her mother had done to her, could that feeling suddenly be so strong? Was it because she herself was staring old age in the face – it was only round the corner – and she was looking at what she feared? Being alone in a place she didn’t want to be, with no one to care about her?

‘Hello? Who is that?’ The voice was unmistakably her mother’s. The accent as strong as ever. The assertive tone.

Elodie walked towards her chair. She didn’t quite know how to announce herself, or how to address her – Mother, Mummy, Maman, Madame? She decided on nothing, for the moment.

‘It’s me.’

She wondered if Lillie would recognize her voice. Its timbre must have changed over fifty years.

She heard her mother take in a slow, juddering breath.

‘Elodie?’

‘Yes.’ She was right by her chair now. She felt wrong, towering over her, so she crouched down.

She couldn’t believe how tiny Lillie had become. She had never been large – always petite – but now she was a shrunken little woman, no bigger than a six-year-old child. Her hair was wispy and white and barely covered her scalp. Her cheekbones were sharper than ever; her lips cracked; her eyes huge in her face.

She looked pitiful. No matter what her mother had done to her, Elodie wouldn’t have wished this on her. She felt revulsion and pity rise up in the throat. She hadn’t expected this.

Lillie was reaching out a hand. Spillikin fingers, as cold as ice, clutched Elodie’s arm.

‘Is it really you? I can’t tell.’

Of course she wouldn’t recognize her. The last time Lillie had seen her daughter, Elodie had been a bride of twenty. Now she was seventy, albeit well preserved. She could still pass for mid-fifties. She had kept her figure. She dressed well. Her skin was good; her haircut sharp. The importance of those things her mother had drummed into her. Yet age, it seemed, got you in the end, no matter how good your genes or your regime.

‘Yes. It’s me.’

‘My beautiful girl …’ Lillie reached out and touched Elodie’s face. Her hair. ‘What did I do to you?’

Her voice was cracked with sadness. Her face even more so.

‘It’s OK. It doesn’t matter now.’ Elodie wanted to reassure her. She couldn’t berate this pitiful creature. Not that she had intended to do that. She picked her mother’s hands up in hers, stroking them, running her fingertips over the swollen joints, the raised veins.

‘What do you want?’ Lillie sounded distressed. ‘What have you come for, after all this time?’

‘I wanted to see you, Maman.’ Elodie found herself instinctively reverting to the French, which she had used when she was small.

Lillie shook her head. ‘I wanted to find you. I wanted to explain. It wasn’t meant to happen like that … But I was too afraid. Too ashamed.’

‘I know. I know.’ Elodie found herself murmuring empty platitudes. She couldn’t bear the thought that she was causing this pitiful creature distress. She was so frail; she didn’t think she could take it. ‘Please – I didn’t come here to upset you.’

There was no point in a confrontation or recriminations. It would be like crushing a beetle with her boot.

‘Every day I have thought of you. Every day I have wondered how you are. Do you know what it’s like, to lose your daughter?’

‘No …’ Elodie couldn’t begin to imagine it. ‘But I’m here now, Maman.’

‘But why?’ There were tears in Lillie’s eyes.

‘Because … because I wanted to tell you it’s OK.’

How bald and insufficient that word seemed. But it was true. There was no point in Lillie seeing her days out in this room, tortured by what she had done. She had suffered enough.

She could feel her mother trembling. Should she notify one of the staff? Did she always tremble, or was the emotion too much for her? She had to admit she felt shaky herself.

‘Could I have some water?’ Lillie held out an arm to indicate a carafe on the dressing table. Elodie filled a paper cup, then handed it to her mother. She looked like a baby bird as she bent her head to drink: bedraggled, vulnerable.

When she’d finished she looked at Elodie. The water seemed to revive her. She held her head proud, and Elodie saw a vestige of her former beauty.

‘Your father … I am not going to blame him, but he was a very cruel man. He wanted to keep me … in a cage. A beautiful gold cage that only he had the key to. I was so bored, Elodie. I wanted to do so much more with my life, but how could I? I had to be the dutiful wife. He would not let me work. Use my brain. All I had to think about was what I looked like …’

‘I thought …’ Elodie was surprised. ‘I thought that was what you wanted?’

‘No. To be truthful, I didn’t know what I wanted. But I was jealous of you.’

‘Jealous?’ Elodie felt shocked. Never for a moment would she have imagined the self-assured and glamorous Lillie being jealous of her.

‘You had a future. I knew you would be something. You would never just turn into a version of me. You had so much more about you. You were strong.’

She held the cup up to her lips and drank again. Elodie had a flashback of Lillie with a coupe of champagne. Her heart contracted with regret for the lost years.

‘I didn’t like myself very much, my darling. I felt useless. Pointless. I was just an ornament for your father. Another one of his status symbols.’ She shut her eyes. Elodie could see tiny blue veins on the lids. ‘I went after Jolyon to hurt them, not you.’

‘Them?’

‘Your father and Jeanie.’

Elodie blinked. She processed the thought. If anything, she would have suspected her mother and Roger of having an affair. Jeanie had seemed so perfect, so untouchable. Suddenly, everything made more sense.

Desmond and Jeanie.

‘They were having an affair?’’

‘Oh yes. That’s why he was so delighted about you and Jolyon. It cemented the partnership. It meant he could always be near her.’

Elodie felt queasy. She had been manipulated by everyone. She had been oblivious. She had been wrapped up in her happy-ever-after without knowing she was a pawn in everyone else’s sordid little game. Everyone was complicit except Roger – ironically, the one person who had made her feel suspicious was the only one not implicated.

Lillie carried on talking, her voice an eerie whisper in the gloom, as if it was the ghost of her former self.

‘I felt humiliated. They flaunted it, with their trips away, their meetings, their plans. I wanted to prove to myself that I was powerful. That I could have whoever I wanted. Seducing Jolyon was the perfect answer …’

At this point she gave such a Gallic shrug that Elodie almost laughed. It was such a French solution to the problem; so typical of her mother, now Elodie had the benefit of hindsight and life experience. Of course, at the time, she had been blind to everything.

‘Once I had seduced him, I couldn’t let go.’ There was a flicker of Lillie’s old defiance. Elodie flinched at the words. She didn’t want to think about it, even now. Her mother closing in on Jolyon, beguiling him with her beauty. How could he have resisted?

‘I became addicted to his attention. I wanted to be wanted so much. I didn’t care that he wasn’t mine to have, that he was yours, that he was your future.’

The hand holding Lillie’s cup was trembling so much that she dropped it. Water splashed onto her skirt, but neither of them took any notice.

‘It was a terrible thing to do,’ whispered Elodie, ‘but I think I understand.’

‘You weren’t supposed to find out.’ Lillie’s head lolled to one side, as if she was too tired to hold it up. ‘I was never going to stop you having your life with him.’

‘But he thought it was OK to do that?’ Elodie found her voice tightening, with anger and tears.

‘Elodie, he had no idea what he was doing. He was young, vulnerable, confused. He didn’t feel good about it. He was … tortured.’

Elodie shut her eyes. She could feel tears coming as she remembered overhearing the conversation that had changed her life. She knew her mother was right: that Jolyon had suffered. That didn’t take away from the fact that he had done what he must have known was wrong.

‘What happened to him?’

‘Jolyon?’ Lillie gave a shrug. ‘I do not know. There was never any reason for me to find out what happened to him. Maybe he found another girl?’

Elodie chewed her lip. She had always avoided trying to track down Jolyon, although it would have been easy, for she had felt so strongly that Edmund had been Otto’s father. She didn’t want to confuse her son, although Otto knew Edmund was not of his blood. And Edmund had done such a wonderful job, she felt it would be disrespectful to dig up Jolyon and produce him like a rabbit out of a hat, even after Edmund’s death. Anyway, Otto was now a grown man and had children himself. If he’d wanted to find out who his real father was, Elodie wouldn’t have stood in his way, but he had never asked her for the information.

Lillie was shifting in her chair. She looked uncomfortable.

‘After the wedding, everything fell apart,’ she said. ‘Your father was furious. Even though he was guilty too, what I had done was so much worse. And it was in public, so everyone knew.’

Elodie couldn’t begin to imagine the aftermath. Everyone’s life unravelling in full view of friends and relatives. And Jolyon in the middle of it. Hardly an innocent victim – Lillie hadn’t held a gun to his head, presumably – but he’d had the most to lose.

‘The business partnership collapsed, of course. Your father pulled out his investment. And Roger left Jeanie, but he was no innocent. He was only with her for the money. The rat deserted the sinking ship.’

The bitterness in Lillie’s tone told Elodie that Roger must have spurned her advances at some point. But she wasn’t going to accuse her mother of anything else. It hardly mattered now. All that was evident is that the situation had been a hotbed of unhappy people in unhappy marriages. Elodie was not going to judge. All she felt was lucky that she had been able to have a happy life after the event, despite everything, and that she thought the best was probably yet to come.

‘And … my father?’

‘We stayed together for a while. There seemed no point in separating. But eventually we drifted apart. I stayed in The Grey House. He stayed up in Worcestershire. He died … five years ago.’

Elodie took in a breath. Even though they had had no contact for all those years, apart from the olive branch she had chosen to ignore, it was still a shock to hear he was dead. She felt a ripple of regret that it was too late for any sort of reconciliation with him.

Yet not too late for her and Lillie. Her profoundest feeling, as she looked at her mother, was of pity. She doubted Lillie had set out to be cruel. She was selfish, perhaps, and self-centred, but she was certain her intention hadn’t been to hurt Elodie. She had thought she would get away with it, no doubt. She’d been insecure, unhappy; lonely too, probably. As a writer, Elodie had spent a long time thinking about human motivation and why people behaved the way they did. It had given her empathy for most things.

Lillie let out a sigh and seemed to crumple before her very eyes, as if talking had sucked the very last of her energy.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Elodie.