Christmas at the Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  ‘It’s what we didn’t do,’ said Luke. ‘We were all supposed to be here last night. To decorate the tree.’

  ‘Oh man,’ said Hal. ‘That’s harsh. No wonder.’ He frowned at Luke. ‘You were only round at my place. It’s not like we were doing anything important.’

  ‘Yeah, we were,’ protested Luke.

  ‘Not more important than your mum.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be making us feel better, not worse.’ Luke crossed his arms and sank down into himself.

  ‘But your mum’s a total legend,’ said Hal.

  ‘Really?’ Hattie and Luke looked at him, surprised.

  ‘She’s awesome. She’s always smiling. She’s never on your case. She’s chilled and she’s funny and she’s kind. You want her to give you a hug. Not in a weird way,’ he added hastily. ‘She just makes you feel … safe. My mum doesn’t make me feel safe. I never know if she’s going to be in or not. Or whether she’ll be too knackered to cook. She never remembers anything. Parents’ evening. Permission slips. Dad’s better than she is at that stuff.’

  ‘How are we going to find her?’ asked Hattie. ‘She didn’t even take her phone with her.’

  The two of them looked at Hal, two little bewildered owls. He spread out his hands.

  ‘It’s obvious. Put a shout-out on Facebook,’ said Hal. ‘That’s what Facebook’s for, right?’

  ‘What do we say, though?’ asked Luke. ‘And what will people think?’

  ‘Who cares? It’s got to be worth a try.’

  Luke and Hattie looked at each other.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ said Luke.

  ‘I don’t think Dad would like it.’

  ‘He won’t know. He’s not on Facebook.’

  ‘He’ll kill us if he finds out.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, if it gets Mum back.’

  The twins turned back to Hal, still unsure.

  ‘What have you got to lose?’ said Hal.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ said Hattie. She picked up her phone and started to scroll through her photos.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Luke, woebegone. ‘I see those missing posts and I always wonder what kind of family the people come from, why they’ve run away.’

  ‘Stop bellyaching,’ said Hal. ‘Let’s get on with the job.’ He’d always been practical and direct.

  Hattie found a picture of Lizzy in the garden, smiling at the camera in jeans and a sweatshirt, a trowel in one hand, her curls tied up. Then another of her dressed up ready to go out, her hair down and make-up on.

  ‘Oh, look at her,’ she said.

  Meanwhile, Luke composed a post.

  LOST!

  Lizzy Kingham: has anyone seen our mum?

  She’s gone off for a few days but we don’t know

  where she is. And we want her back for Christmas.

  Please share.

  We love you, Mum!

  Hattie and Luke xxxx

  ‘Does that sound OK?’ he asked. ‘Not too dark and mysterious? Like we’ve just … mislaid her? Rather than driven her away?’

  Hal looked at it, thoughtful. Then he nodded. ‘What else can you say? Anyway, everyone loves helping find someone on Facebook. No one will judge.’

  ‘Put my phone number on it,’ said Hattie. ‘They can call me direct.’

  Luke added Hattie’s number then hovered over the send button. ‘Shall I do it?’

  ‘Go on,’ said Hattie. ‘At least we’re doing something. I can’t just sit here and wait. And I don’t want to do anything Christmassy.’

  Luke pressed send. The post went up and they looked at it in silence.

  A little tear trickled down Luke’s cheek.

  Hattie looked up at her brother. ‘Hey, Lukey. It’s OK.’

  ‘I hope she’s all right,’ sniffed Luke, then buried his head in his arms on the kitchen table. ‘I was supposed to bring the decorations down for her yesterday and I didn’t.’

  ‘Bro, that’s totally normal,’ said Hal, patting his mate awkwardly on the back. ‘I forget to do stuff my mum asks me all the time. Your mum’s just having a moment. She hasn’t gone off to Montego Bay to be a sex tourist, like my aunt. She came back with a twenty-five-year-old.’

  Hattie looked back down at the post on her phone. ‘It’s had sixteen shares already.’

  ‘It’s gonna go viral.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Luke. ‘If only I’d helped her. I left all my dirty plates in my room, too.’

  ‘Standard,’ said Hal. ‘You’ve seen my room.’

  ‘True,’ said Luke, but he didn’t feel consoled. He remembered thinking he was late, that it didn’t matter, that he’d sort it all when he got back. He was an inconsiderate pig and that was one of the reasons she’d gone.

  Hattie’s phone went. It was Kiki. Yesterday, she’d have answered it in a flash. Today, she let it ring six times before finally answering.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, cautious.

  ‘What’s happened to your mum?’ Kiki’s voice was breathless with the scandal. ‘I just saw your post.’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Hattie. ‘She’s just disappeared.’

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘My mum says if there’s anything she can do to help, just ask. She thought your mum was amazing. She said she was the nicest person she’d met for a long time.’

  Hattie swallowed down the lump in her throat.

  ‘Thanks, Kiki,’ said Hattie, and hung up.

  She turned away, tears in her eyes. Kiki phoning had brought everything into sharp focus. She had thought Kiki had everything yesterday, gliding around Birmingham in her mum’s SUV with the music pumping, sipping champagne in Selfridges.

  Now she was starting to realise that it was they who had everything, her and Luke, and it looked as if they were going to lose it.

  25

  ‘Smoked almonds!’ said Lizzy. ‘We need two tins of these. At least.’

  Lizzy grabbed the nuts off the shelf decisively and threw them into the trolley. She and Harley were in Lidl, doing a big shop before they went back to the hut. It was surprisingly quiet so they were prowling the aisles for provisions.

  Harley looked at the pile of food in the trolley.

  ‘This is definitely the weirdest Christmas I’ve ever had.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Lizzy. ‘I’m going to go minimum effort on the cooking front. Bollocks to bread sauce, cranberry sauce, brandy butter and all the rest of it.’

  She gave a little fist pump.

  ‘I don’t mind helping,’ said Harley. ‘But you’ll have to tell me what to do.’

  He eyed the two frozen lobsters she had already put in the trolley. Living in Tawcombe, he watched the fishermen bring in lobster pots day after day, whatever the weather, but he’d never eaten one. Let alone cooked one. At least these were dead.

  ‘What’s your favourite meal?’ asked Lizzy. ‘Your absolute favourite, that makes you feel happy? We can have that for Christmas lunch.’

  Harley wasn’t sure. Then he remembered what his dad used to cook them on a Thursday night, when his mum went to Pilates. All boys together. Comfort food.

  ‘Sausage and mash,’ he said, a little unsure whether this would be an appropriate answer.

  Lizzy seemed delighted with it.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘That is super easy, and I make the best mash on the planet. Half a pound of butter, basically, and loads of salt.’

  She laughed and pushed the trolley towards the sausage section. Harley thought she seemed a bit manic, but he didn’t really know her – maybe she was always overexcited in Lidl.

  ‘Just plain bangers or shall we have apple ones? Or a mixture?’ asked Lizzy. ‘Bugger it, let’s have both.’ She put them in the trolley. ‘I better stop. I keep flinging things in. Parma
ham. Sticky toffee pudding.’ She peered at him. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘No.’ He thought he was going to cry. He didn’t know why. Whether it was talking to his mum or remembering his dad’s sausages. ‘No, but yes. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, I know what you mean,’ said Lizzy. ‘I’ve been no but yes for ages. Or is it yes but no?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Harley, grabbing the side of the trolley. ‘Let’s get out of here before you buy the whole shop.’

  Back in the car, Lizzy took a deep breath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Harley, putting a hand on her arm.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘This feels weird. I should be at home. Wrapping presents. Getting in a panic. Worrying about whether the turkey is big enough and if we’ve got enough chipolatas.’

  ‘You haven’t told me,’ he said. ‘Why you’re down here.’

  ‘Everything,’ she said. ‘Everything and nothing. I feel like I’ve lost myself. I feel as if everything I do is for everyone else and nothing is for me. And it wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t there. And now I’m not, I still feel like that. I’m still cross with them all. But I can’t help wondering what they’re doing.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Harley, not sure he understood.

  ‘They all stood me up last night. My husband and my kids. Hattie and Luke. They’re about your age. We were supposed to do the tree, but they were all off doing … whatever.’

  ‘That’s pretty mean.’

  ‘Yes. But it’s not just that. My bloody mother-in-law is coming for Christmas at the last minute.’ Lizzy tightened her grip on the steering wheel, feeling her teeth clench at the thought.

  ‘Well, you’re not supposed to like your mother-in-law – that’s classic, isn’t it?’

  Lizzy turned and looked at him. He flinched for a moment when he saw the look in her eyes. Suddenly they were cold and hard and he felt a tiny bit afraid.

  ‘She did something terrible,’ said Lizzy. ‘That I can’t ever forgive. But I’m the only one who knows about it. I have to sit there and keep my mouth shut when I just want to say to my husband: Do you know what she did, your precious mother? Do you know what she did?’

  26

  Simon arrived at Copperfield Close and punched in the entry code. The gates slid open. He drove in and parked in Cynthia’s allocated visitor space.

  He headed for the front door, pulling the keys out of his pocket, steeling himself for what he might find. It wouldn’t be the first time, though she had been better of late. He never judged her. How could he? She was grieving, and lonely.

  Cynthia was lying on the sofa. There was a bottle of white wine in a clear plastic ice bucket on the glass coffee table in front of her.

  ‘Oh, Mum …’

  She blinked up at him.

  ‘Come on, Mum. You’re coming with me.’

  Cynthia managed to sit up and then slumped over, putting her face in her hands.

  ‘I miss him,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘I miss your stupid ruddy father more than I know what to do with.’

  ‘I know, Mum,’ he said. ‘But he’s not in the bottom of a bottle, you know. He’s not going to pop out, like a genie.’

  ‘Nobody needs me,’ she said, taking her hands away and looking at him. She’d cried away her make-up. She was limp with self-pity.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Simon. ‘I need you. I really really need you. But you’re no bloody use to me drunk.’

  She leaned back into the sofa, swaying slightly. She gave a little hiccup.

  ‘Lizzy’s run away,’ he told her. ‘We all messed up. We forgot to come home to dress the tree last night, and she’s gone off somewhere.’

  ‘Lizzy?’ Cynthia struggled to take the information in. ‘But that’s not like her.’

  ‘Which is why it’s so worrying.’

  He knelt down next to his mother and took her hands.

  ‘Will you come back home with me, Mum? Help me hold the fort. Be there for the twins. They’re both very upset. They feel guilty.’ He paused. ‘They’re blaming themselves but it wasn’t their fault. It was mine.’

  ‘Oh, Simon …’ Cynthia’s eyes were round with it all.

  ‘So I could do with some moral support. Even if I have been a rotten husband and a lousy father and a useless son.’

  ‘You have not!’ Cynthia was staunch. ‘You’re a good man, Simon. You’ve only ever made one mistake.’

  He looked at her. ‘What?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘You know. Madam.’

  ‘But I thought you and Amanda were like this.’ He crossed his fingers.

  ‘You know what they say,’ said Cynthia. ‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.’ Her face crumpled a little bit. ‘She phoned me this morning from the airport. To tell me Lizzy didn’t want me to come to you for Christmas.’

  Simon stared at his mum.

  ‘Mum. That is absolutely not true. Lizzy was just upset that no one had told her the plans had changed. And that was my fault. I forgot. Because I’m an idiot.’ He reached over and put his arms round Cynthia. ‘Lizzy’s a bit … oversensitive at the moment. I think the whole being made redundant thing hit her harder than anyone realised. Being Lizzy, she pretends she’s fine. Then when she does have a wobble …’

  ‘She’s at that time of life though, isn’t she?’

  ‘Is she?’ Simon asked, remembering Colin’s warning.

  ‘I remember it too well,’ said Cynthia. ‘Don’t underestimate it. It can be very dark indeed. Your father was wonderful. Even when I was in the deepest pit of despair, he made me feel like a princess. He was so patient. So kind.’

  ‘He was kind to everyone,’ said Simon.

  He knew he wasn’t as good a man as his father had been, and never would be. His dad had been his hero. Everyone’s hero. Neville had time for each person in his life, and was the best he could be for them. A wonderful husband. A wonderful dad. A wonderful employer. A wonderful friend. No doubt he had been a wonderful son too.

  Simon sighed. He tried, he really did. But things were harder now. The expectations on both men and women were much higher. And in the process of trying to get one thing right – in Simon’s case, at the moment, it was his job – if you took your eye off the ball, everything else collapsed.

  This was a wake-up call. His family was falling apart. The one thing they had was each other, but somehow they were all pulling in different directions. He had to glue them back together. Smooth over the disagreements, make sure they were a proper unit, supporting each other. And he had to stand up to Amanda for once. She was not going to be calling the shots any more. Lexi and Mo would always be a priority, but not his ex-wife.

  And his mum. He had to look after his mum. He looked around her lounge. It stood to attention, shiny and smart and hushed, like a model pupil. He had thought Copperfield Close was the perfect place for her when they’d chosen it. Safe and secure and efficient. Now, he could see it was all wrong. There was no life. The polar opposite of Pepperpot Cottage, with its bustle and warmth.

  ‘Come on, Mum,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

  She got to her feet, uncertain. He looked at her. His heart gave a little twist. He reached out his arms and put them round her. She melted into him for a moment, leaning against him. They didn’t say anything, but the gesture said everything. He patted her on the back.

  ‘Go and splash some cold water on your face. Freshen yourself up. I’ll get your things.’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ blurted Cynthia. ‘Something terrible. I can’t keep it to myself a moment longer.’

  27

  FOUR YEARS EARLIER

  On a Wednesday, Cynthia spent the day at Leadenbury golf club. It was Neville who’d introduced her to the game some years before. She turned out to be
rather better than he was and soon became a fixture at the club and then Lady Captain, albeit somewhat reluctantly, for she didn’t much care for responsibility or politics. Wednesday was always a splendid buffet, and she enjoyed some cold king prawns and coronation chicken and a glass or two of wine and a chat.

  One or two of the gentlemen players were attentive, but she wasn’t interested. She didn’t want anyone other than Neville. She’d had the perfect husband. Why on earth would she settle for anyone less now he had gone? She couldn’t think of anything worse than having to cope with someone else’s demands and foibles.

  She might be lonely, but she wasn’t desperate.

  That particular afternoon, however, she was struggling to get on top of her feelings. Neville had been gone just over a year. It was his birthday and she didn’t know what to do with her emotions. They had always made a big fuss of birthdays – lavish presents, funny cards, elaborate cakes, dinners out with friends. The day seemed even quieter and emptier than a usual day, and she was torturing herself. What would she have bought him, if he was still here? What kind of cake would she have made? Where would they have gone for dinner? If only she could control her thoughts.

  As she sat in the club lounge after an invigorating eighteen holes, she sipped at her sauvignon blanc. She shut her eyes as the soothing blanket of alcohol wrapped itself around her. With every drop she felt safer, and her thoughts became blurry and less sharp. She accepted another glass from a fellow player, and by the time that had gone down, she felt almost relaxed. One more, she thought, and she would be as right as rain.

  She was just draining her third glass, thinking she would get a taxi home if she had another, when her phone rang. It was Lizzy. She hurried outside – mobiles weren’t allowed in the clubhouse.

  ‘Oh, Cynthia,’ said Lizzy. She sounded flustered. ‘I’m in a fix. Could you help me out? I wouldn’t usually ask.’

  She never asked. She never wanted Cynthia’s help. Not like Amanda, who used to ttreat Cynthia as some kind of glorified au pair, there at her beck and call. But perhaps that was why Lizzy had never turned to her when the twins were small – because Amanda seemed to have first dibs. Cynthia had longed to help Lizzy more than anything. But she had never wanted to push herself on her.