Christmas at the Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  In retrospect, she should have thought it odd that he was single and available. And she didn’t listen to the warnings given to her by a couple of girls down at the pub. She’d thought they were jealous. That they were warning her off so they could have him for themselves.

  It was gradual, Tony’s metamorphosis from white knight to something much darker. At first she had wallowed in the luxury of his charm offensive, his compliments and presents and seeming adoration. In bed they were explosive, experimental – great sex had a lot to answer for because it covered up the breadcrumb trail of tiny clues that, when she looked back, had always been there. The jealousy. The control. The tantrums. She’d been horrified the first time: instantly apologetic that she had arrived home half an hour later than she’d said.

  Afterwards, in bed, he’d stroked her hair and murmured into her ear that he had been worried, especially when she hadn’t answered his text (the signal was terrible in Tawcombe; messages often didn’t get through) and she had promised to be more considerate. After all, it was awful not knowing where someone was – she told Harley off for not telling her his whereabouts all the time.

  The biggest row they’d had was when she’d told him about her wreaths. He came up with so many reasons why she shouldn’t be doing them, it made her head spin. But something deep inside told her she had to stick to her guns. That his objection was symptomatic of something very wrong, and that if she gave in to him, she would never be able to do what she wanted without a fight.

  She had won, and she knew she had displeased him, for there was a coldness to him as Christmas approached. She felt sure this was his way of punishing her. But then he would take her by surprise and love bomb her, whisk her out for dinner, tell her she was the sexiest thing on two legs, and because she was feeling her age, conscious that forty was nearer than thirty, because she felt insecure after everything that had happened in Birmingham, she wallowed in the attention and thought everything was going to be all right.

  And now, even though her hands were chapped and scratched, she was proud of what she’d done. She even dreamed of having her own lifestyle shop one day. She wasn’t sure if Tawcombe was the right place for it: there weren’t enough people with money over the winter months in a remote seaside town, but maybe she could make it work if she had a big enough range. She even knew what she’d called it. Anemone-by-the-Sea. Because the sea and flowers were the two things she loved best in the world. It was clear in her head: white writing on a bleached-out sign; chunks of driftwood in the window with flowers woven round them; distressed zinc planters and tubs …

  She knew she was entitled to her dream. No one could take it away from her. For now, she kept it to herself, tucking it away somewhere and taking it out to look at every now and then.

  It was a long way off, though. She didn’t have the money to set up a shop, she couldn’t imagine Tony being enthusiastic about the idea, and there was River. He wasn’t due to start school until next September, which seemed a lifetime away. How could she run a shop when she had a small child to look after? It had been hard enough making the wreaths. She’d had to plonk him in front of the telly, which she hated doing, though she always made up for it by walking him down to the harbour afterwards or trundling him on his scooter to the park. And he’d sometimes had to come with her when she went to the markets. He’d been an angel, but again she’d had to plonk him on a chair with an iPad, and bribe him with cake and hot chocolate, and most of the markets were freezing so he’d got very cold, his little fingers blue by the end of the day. He wouldn’t wear his gloves because it meant he couldn’t use his iPad. Today, luckily, one of her friends had offered to take him on a trip to see the Christmas steam train. Leanne was going to repay her by babysitting for her another night. Thank goodness for bartering.

  Sometimes Harley looked after River but it wasn’t fair on Harley to expect him to take care of his little brother. He needed a life of his own. He never minded, though, which almost made it worse. She couldn’t have wished for a kinder son. Lots of mothers complained when their boys became teenagers, but Leanne appreciated Harley more and more as he got older. He was thoughtful. And protective.

  She didn’t want to think about Tony and Harley. Tony was dismissive of Harley; Harley was wary of Tony. They had nothing in common. Harley had inherited Leanne’s artistic side. He was dreamy and creative; he loved his music, his guitar, his art. He wasn’t Tony’s kind of person at all. And that made her uneasy. How could she properly love someone who wasn’t drawn to her own flesh and blood?

  Again, she hadn’t seen it at first, because she’d been besotted. The thrill of her new relationship had masked any misgivings. She didn’t pick up on Tony’s sneers or the throwaway jibes. And Harley never reacted, so she convinced herself she’d misheard or got the wrong end of the stick.

  She tightened the scarf round her neck and tucked it inside her down jacket, shivering. It was freezing, standing still behind the stall. She had on a woollen hat and fingerless mittens and fur-lined boots, but she still felt chilled to the bone. She couldn’t leave to go and get herself a hot chocolate. How much longer before she sold out, she wondered?

  ‘Mum!’

  She turned and saw Harley in front of the stall, grinning at her, holding out a steaming cup of chocolate topped with a swirl of cream and marshmallows.

  ‘Harley!’ Her heart leapt with joy at the sight of him. ‘How on earth did you get here?’ There were no buses from Tawcombe to Micklestone, and he couldn’t have walked.

  ‘It’s kind of a long story.’ A woman appeared beside him, bundled up in a red woollen coat and matching bobble hat. ‘This is Lizzy. She gave me a lift.’

  ‘Hi.’ Leanne held out her hand and Lizzy shook it.

  ‘I need to talk to you about something, Mum.’ Harley was jittery with anxiety, bouncing from foot to foot.

  Leanne looked at Lizzy, alarmed. Surely there was nothing going on between her and Harley? This woman was older than she was.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Lizzy, clocking Leanne’s bemusement. ‘Nothing like that. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Then what?’ Leanne felt anxiety nip at her stomach. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Why don’t I look after the stall while you two chat?’ suggested Lizzy.

  Leanne felt wary and nervous. It must be something serious. ‘OK …’ she said, uncertain. ‘But just five minutes,’ she added. She wasn’t happy about leaving a total stranger in charge of her wares, even if Lizzy did have a kind face and seemed very concerned for Harley.

  A couple of minutes later, Leanne and Harley were threading their way through the crowds, elbowing their way through the shoppers until they reached a bench in the marketplace. Under the castle ramparts was a queue of children waiting to pet two reindeer who were standing patiently, seemingly unperturbed by the crowds and the music and the lights.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Mum. Calm down. It’s all cool.’ Harley moved out of the way of a man selling balloons and sat down on the bench. ‘But I think it’s best if I stay out of the way over Christmas. I don’t want to ruin it for you and River.’

  Leanne crossed her arms and stared down at him. ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t deal with Tony any more. The guy hates me. He’s just waiting for me to make the wrong move. And I can’t handle it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You can’t not be there.’

  ‘I’m scared, Mum.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Leanne sank down onto the bench next to him and looked into his eyes. ‘Scared of what?’

  ‘Of what might happen. I don’t trust him. And I don’t trust myself. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything. Just try and understand.’ Harley was grasping about for the right words. The words that would make it all clear to Leanne without alarming her too mu
ch. ‘He’s out to get me. I know he is. And he’s clever. He’ll make it look like I started it. So I’m just going to stay out of the way.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. They were getting numb. ‘I’m staying at Mrs Openshaw’s beach hut. She’s said it’s OK. Lizzy’s staying there too.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s a nice place to be.’ Leanne often brought River over to the beach at Everdene when Harley was working. ‘Is it warm enough?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a wood-burner.’

  ‘I feel terrible. That you don’t feel you can stay. You’re my son.’ She sighed, her breath exhaled in a misty cloud that was as big as her disquiet. ‘I could talk to him?’

  Harley looked at her. ‘I don’t think he would listen. He’d say I was making it up.’

  They stopped talking for a moment to watch a woman dressed in gold juggling fire sticks, a bright ring of flames circling around her.

  ‘I can’t leave him,’ said Leanne. ‘We’ve got nowhere to go. I can’t just walk out … Not with River. We wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else at Christmas.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to leave, Mum. It’s OK. It’s just better if I’m not there. That’s the answer for now.’

  She put her hands up, cupping his face. He could see her hazel eyes welling up, the tears shimmering, about to fall.

  ‘But I love you,’ she said. ‘And I want you with me. We’re a family.’

  Not with bloody Tony there we aren’t, Harley thought. Tony was determined to smash them up. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  ‘Look, if I’m not there, you guys can have a nice quiet Christmas with no stress.’

  ‘How can I? I’m worried about you. This is awful. I don’t know how I got it so wrong.’

  Harley could see how distressed she was. After everything she had been through with his dad, he didn’t want to make life difficult for her again. She was wiping her eyes, her mascara starting to run. He hated seeing her cry. A couple of passers-by looked at her, concerned. Harley grabbed her gloved hands in his.

  ‘Mum, Mum, stop it. Let’s get Christmas out of the way then we can make a plan. There’s no point in getting upset. The important thing is River has a good time, and he won’t, not if I’m there.’

  ‘But he won’t, because he’ll miss you. And what about your presents?’

  ‘Why don’t you come over to the beach tomorrow? We can go for a walk, get something to eat? River loves the beach.’

  Leanne thought about it. ‘I could tell Tony I’m going out shopping. Getting some last-minute stuff. I can’t stay too long.’

  ‘You can do what you like, Mum. Surely?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s not right. He doesn’t own you.’ Harley was getting upset. ‘Dad always let you do whatever you wanted. He might have been a crook but he wasn’t a control freak.’

  ‘Don’t bring your dad into this.’ Leanne’s tone was sharp. Harley knew he’d overstepped the mark. She never wanted to talk about Richie. It was as if he’d never existed. Harley found it hard, but he understood, in a way. Richie had ruined her life.

  Harley wasn’t going let another man stand in the way of his mum’s happiness.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I just find it hard, you know?’

  ‘OK. Look – we’ll try and come over to the hut tomorrow. About midday,’ Leanne soothed him. ‘I better get back to the stall. Your friend seems nice. What’s she doing down here?’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure, exactly. I think she had an argument or a falling-out with her family.’

  Leanne rolled her eyes, but she was half smiling. ‘Bloody Christmas. It’s got a lot to answer for.’

  When they got back to the stall, Lizzy waved a sheaf of notes in glee. ‘I sold three,’ she said triumphantly. ‘These are so gorgeous. Can I buy the last shell one, please? I think it would be perfect for the hut.’

  ‘Of course!’ Leanne looked round at the bustling market, the revellers, the entertainers, everyone spending as much money as they could to make sure everything was just so. It was constant, the strive for perfection.

  But you couldn’t cover over the cracks with presents and food and sparkling lights.

  24

  ‘When did you last eat, Hat?’

  Never had Simon felt Lizzy’s absence more keenly. She was good in a crisis. Particularly if it involved teenage girls keeling over in the middle of a department store. Shirley Booth had come out to see what the commotion was, and he’d seen her looking at him disapprovingly again, as if he was as useless a father as he was husband.

  He slid the lasagne into the oven to heat it up. An army marches on its stomach, he thought.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There were some nibbly things at Kiki’s last night. Thai coconut skewers. Pork balls.’ Hattie wrinkled her nose.

  ‘You didn’t have any breakfast.’

  ‘None of us did,’ Luke pointed out. ‘You just threw a loaf of bread at us.’

  They were all perfectly capable of making their own breakfast, of course, but somehow when Lizzy was there she made breakfast something you wanted to indulge in rather than something to be avoided. There was always a big pot of tea on the go, in the Emma Bridgewater pot they’d got her. And the smell of toast. And bacon if you fancied it. And a bowl of chopped fruit. She didn’t force it down you but she made it easy to indulge.

  Simon realised that he should have fuelled everyone before they charged off. Then maybe his daughter wouldn’t have collapsed in the middle of Inglewood’s for everyone to see. She looked a bit better now she’d had a couple of pieces of toast and honey, the colour seeping back into her cheeks.

  ‘We still haven’t got Mum anything,’ she wailed.

  ‘It’s OK. I have got her something,’ said Simon, thinking that at least the slow cooker would do if she did get back. ‘And we can go shopping in the sales. She’d be much happier with that anyway. We’ll get twice as much for the money.’

  ‘That’s not really the point, though.’ Luke looked pained. ‘We need to spoil her.’

  Hattie thought about the perfume and the purse hiding upstairs in her bottom drawer but decided not to say anything.

  Just then the doorbell drilled through the house, making them jump.

  ‘Do you think that’s her? Maybe she forgot her key!’

  The three of them headed out of the kitchen and through the living room. Simon flung open the front door.

  There stood the man from Ocado, surrounded by boxes.

  ‘Your delivery?’ he said. ‘This is the golden slot. Your missis must have been on it like a car bonnet to get this one.’

  The three of them lugged everything back into the kitchen. Turkey, chipolatas, two stalks of sprouts, cartons of cream, a Christmas pudding. A net of satsumas, a bag of potatoes, smoked salmon, tubs of bread sauce and brandy butter. Danish pastries for breakfast, five different cheeses, chutney. Sausage rolls.

  It took them fifteen minutes to put it all away. The fridge was bulging, the shelves groaning.

  ‘I can’t face any of it,’ said Luke. ‘We can’t have Christmas lunch without Mum.’

  Simon looked at the turkey. Maybe he should put it in the freezer? But then if Lizzy did turn up, they’d be turkey-less. It would take ages to defrost.

  He picked up Lizzy’s phone which was still on the side, hoping for a clue, even though he knew he was clutching at straws. He saw there was a new voicemail message from his mother.

  ‘There’s a message from your gran on here.’

  Luke and Hattie looked at him.

  He played it back.

  His mother’s voice came down the line.

  ‘Lizzy? It’s Cynthia. I think there might have been a bit of a mix-up. Amanda seems to think I’m coming to you for Christmas Day. But as soon as Amanda told me she was off skiing
I made other arrangements. I do hope that hasn’t inconvenienced you. Let’s make plans to swap presents after Christmas.’

  Simon felt his skin crawl with panic; maggots of anxiety creeping up his arms and round his neck. This was his fault. If only he’d remembered to tell Lizzy when Amanda said she was off skiing, none of this would have happened. Now his own mother had taken umbrage. He knew perfectly well she didn’t have other plans. He’d meant to phone her earlier, to make sure she was all right and arrange what time to pick her up the next morning. But in all the fuss she’d been forgotten.

  ‘I better go over,’ he told Luke and Hattie. He wouldn’t just phone because he knew his mother well enough to know that she would tell him she was fine. He needed to see her in person.

  ‘What’s up with Gran?’ asked Hattie.

  ‘Another block in the Jenga game of life,’ said Simon. It was all going to come crashing down if he wasn’t careful. Terrible husband, terrible father, terrible son. He was useless.

  ‘But what about Mum?’ asked Luke.

  ‘If we don’t know where she is, there’s nothing we can do. Just make sure someone is here in case she comes back,’ said Simon, grabbing his car keys. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  As he left the house, Luke’s mate Hal was lumbering up the path, barely visible beneath the Michelin-man rolls of his green puffa jacket.

  ‘Hey, Mr Kingham.’

  Hal pushed back his hood to reveal an enormous set of earphones which he’d pulled down round his neck.

  Simon thought about saying this wasn’t the best time to visit, but decided there was no point. Hal was a good kid, and the twins might need him.

  ‘Catch you later, Hal,’ he said, holding open the front door for him, then running for the car.

  ‘Run away?’ said Hal in amazement, sitting in between the twins at the kitchen table. ‘My mum freaks out every year and threatens to leave. But I don’t think she ever would. What did you do?’