Christmas at the Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  ‘That’s no problem,’ he said, and held the creature up to look at it. It stared down at him with bright inquisitive eyes, as if assessing him for suitability. It was like holding a real live teddy bear. The puppy’s stumpy legs and plump feet were smothered in ringlets, and he had a black button nose planted in the middle of his face. And dear little ears at half-cock. Simon decided he would do whatever it took to take ownership of him. He knew it was the right thing to do. He’d been on Lizzy’s iPad and looked at her search history. She’d mentioned Cavapoos several times over the past year, only Simon knew now he hadn’t been paying enough attention. ‘I can give you the cash right now if you like.’

  ‘Subject to my approval.’

  ‘Why don’t you come tomorrow?’ he said. He could ask the twins to get Lizzy out of the house.

  ‘Eleven o’clock?’ she suggested, and he agreed. He might struggle to get the twins up at that time on New Year’s Day but once they knew why, they’d be out of bed in a shot.

  ‘If everything is satisfactory, you can have him next week. His name is Marmalade.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ said Simon, and for a moment he felt overwhelmed with emotion. Marmalade would go a long way to making up for the prosaic slow cooker. It would be chaos for a while, but he thought that a puppy was just what Pepperpot needed to fill the hole that would be left by the twins. And he was in no doubt that Lizzy would agree. No doubt at all.

  He left the house with his pocket and heart both considerably lighter. He looked up at the sky. The clouds were hanging low, bulging like hammocks with a heavy man inside. It looked like snow, he thought, and hurried to the car. He was fetching Mo and Lexi from the airport to come to the party. He was excited about seeing them. They were adults now, not children, but they were still kids to him. His kids. Part of his family. His wonderful muddle of a family. And tonight, they would all be together. He couldn’t wait.

  Hattie stood on the station platform. The wind was whistling along the line and the light was fading. The arrivals board said the train from Birmingham was running three minutes late. It was the longest three minutes of her life. She still couldn’t believe he was really coming. She’d been convinced he would change his mind. It was probably a bit of an effort, coming all this way. And they didn’t really know each other, even though they had been texting and FaceTiming all week.

  Here it was. The dark-green engine slid into the station and drew to a smooth halt. Doors opened and passengers started spilling out, en route to their New Year’s Eve destinations, clutching bottles of wine and bunches of flowers and sale bags. She scanned the crowds. She couldn’t see him. Had he got out at Birmingham and got the train back to Devon instead of changing for Astley?

  And then she saw him. At the far end. Long legs in faded skinny jeans, a pale corduroy jacket over a checked shirt, his hair touching his shoulders, a rucksack on his back. He strode along past everyone, lithe, unperturbed, not showing any sign of anxiety as to whether she would be waiting for him. He was so certain.

  ‘Harley.’ She stepped out in front of him and she saw his face light up and he dropped his rucksack then hesitated for a split second before putting his arms round her.

  And as she looked up at him, she felt something ice cold fall on her face. Snow. It was snowing. Big flakes like goose feathers fluttering down, nestling in their hair and on their eyelashes. And Harley looked down at her and smiled.

  ‘How did you arrange that?’ he asked, his eyes crinkling up in delight, and their lips brushed, as gently as the snowfakes.

  Oh, thought Hattie. This feels like coming home.

  Later, as they walked back to Pepperpot Cottage hand in hand in the snowfall, Harley asked Hattie a question.

  ‘I wondered if you’d do something for me,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d come with me. To visit my dad in prison.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, startled.

  ‘You don’t have to come in,’ he said. ‘I just want someone with me when I go. And to know there’s someone waiting outside when I come out. I’ve made an appointment. For the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘Of course I will.’

  The New Year’s Eve gathering at Pepperpot Cottage was turning into quite the party. Hal and his parents were coming, and Kiki and her family, and several of their neighbours and friends. Mo and Lexi were in charge of the dance-floor – they’d come back from the slopes with ski tans and all the latest tunes.

  Lizzy had even swallowed her pride and invited Amanda. Somehow when you felt loved, it gave you the strength to be gracious, and she felt bad that Amanda’s Christmas had been spoiled by her injury. Thankfully, Amanda had declined. But Lizzy felt a better person for it.

  And for the party tonight she was experimenting with a new concept: her shoestring philosophy. It was the cornerstone of her business idea: organising parties and weddings on a tight budget. Keeping it simple was the key, and it was amazing how that made everything not only less expensive but less stressful. And yes, she might not make so much profit, but as she and Simon discussed, it was more about making people’s dreams come true than fleecing them.

  Tonight’s theme was green and white, because that seemed to represent a fresh start for her. It was easy to think of food – Thai green curry followed by key lime pie – and every vase in the house was stuffed with fronds of foliage and armfuls of white roses she had found nearly past their sell-by date in the supermarket.

  And she’d bought herself a leopard-skin shirtdress in the sale at Inglewoods’. OK, so leopards weren’t green, but as the hostess she was allowed to stand out. And she discovered, for the first time in a long time, that she wanted to, instead of shrinking into the corner unnoticed. Hattie had done her hair and make-up, and it was amazing what a pair of hold-you-in tights and a set of false eyelashes could do for your confidence.

  ‘You look such a fox,’ Hattie told her, and she felt a slight thrill at this new image. Not that she would be dressing like this every day, but it was good to know she could pull it out of the bag. She even felt confident next to Meg.

  At midnight, they all stood in a circle and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’. She stood between Simon and Harley, her hands clasped in theirs, and she remembered, for a fleeting moment, the little beach hut that had brought about her transformation, and she imagined the sea breeze in her hair as the countdown to midnight began.

  ‘Happy New Year, everyone,’ she cried as Big Ben rang out over the speakers. ‘Happy New Year.’

  And happy new me, she added to herself.

  46

  Jack was putting the finishing touches to his hot buttered cider. He dipped the rim of two white mugs in lemon juice, then sea salt. He mixed up fresh butter and maple syrup and seeds from a vanilla pod, then gently heated some local cider in a pan with a pirate-dark rum. The cider then went into the mugs to be topped with the butter.

  He breathed it in. It was delicious and dark and potent and seductive.

  He had already decided he was going to stay another week at the beach hut. He had phoned his client, who had been only too delighted to let him stay on. Work could wait. He realised he hadn’t taken any proper time off this year at all. Work was his drug, his anaesthetic, the thing that stopped him thinking, but this week had taught him that there was more to life. And, somehow, it was important to him to spend New Year’s Eve down here, to make some resolutions. And changes.

  He’d been helping Leanne and Harley organise their life over the past week. It was difficult to set things up during the holiday, but they had made lists of possible accommodation and jobs for Leanne to apply for. He’d talked to Harley about going to art college to do a foundation. Harley had left his application too late for this year, but he could apply after he finished his exams. Jack talked to him about what university had done for him, how it had ope
ned his mind and introduced him to a whole new world and set of people, and Harley felt more confident about making his own way.

  ‘I’ve been too scared to leave Mum,’ he’d told Jack.

  ‘Your mum,’ Jack had said, ‘will be fine, and she won’t want you to put your life on hold for her.’

  River and Nat had fallen asleep on the sofa, a big bowl of spiced popcorn in front of them. The four of them had played games all evening, and now the clock was edging towards midnight.

  ‘Let’s go outside on the veranda,’ he said to Leanne, holding the two cups. She nodded and picked up her sheepskin coat.

  They crept outside and shut the door, sipping on their cider. It was a local tradition for the towns along the coast to let off fireworks on New Year’s Eve in a chain. Jack looked at his watch.

  On the stroke of midnight the first of the fireworks burst into life along the bay.

  ‘I organised them just for you,’ said Jack, and Leanne laughed, leaning against him.

  No man had ever made her feel like this before. Usually she would be writhing with insecurity, in a maelstrom of self-doubt, probably starving herself. But here she was, glugging a drink with half a pound of butter in it.

  The fireworks were joined by another display further down the coast.

  ‘Oh,’ gasped Leanne. ‘They’re even more beautiful than the others.’

  ‘Sure you’re not getting cold?’ asked Jack. ‘Come here.’

  And he put his great big arm round her and pulled her into his chest. And she felt so warm and safe, and filled with a feeling that was … she wasn’t sure. It was so unlike the usual feeling she got with men, which was spiky and fizzy and electric but very unsettling. This was gentle and sweet but intoxicating in its own way, rather like the syrupy, buttery cider she was drinking.

  She looked up at him and he was looking down at her, and he gave a slow smile that had a hint of secrecy and mischief about it. And she pushed herself up on her tiptoes, on impulse, and pressed her lips gently against his, and the kiss tasted of apples with an undercurrent of dark rum.

  They pulled away from each other, a little startled and a little breathless, laughing.

  ‘I know,’ said Jack, ‘that we’ve both had a tough time. And neither of us are probably ready for something big.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be big,’ said Leanne. ‘But maybe it will be? I don’t want to hurt you, though.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Jack. ‘I’m fragile, but I won’t break.’

  Leanne laughed. ‘I’ll be gentle with you.’

  She shivered in delight as he ran his fingers through her hair and cupped the back of her head in his big hands, looking into her eyes.

  ‘I’ll be gentle with you too,’ he promised. ‘I want you to know that. And if it comes to nothing, I’ll still be your friend.’

  She didn’t answer, because she couldn’t speak. Her heart felt so filled up with emotion, a brand new feeling that quietened all other thoughts.

  And Jack thought – it’s OK. He finally accepted that he wasn’t betraying Fran by allowing himself this moment. Loving someone didn’t mean you had to be miserable without them for all eternity if you lost them. They didn’t own your happiness. You could go on to feel things with someone else.

  Behind them, the lights in the beach hut glowed blood-orange and the violet sea murmured her approval and the night air fluttered around them, a little jealous of the kissing. Another volley of fireworks exploded further down the coast but went unseen as both Jack and Leanne had their eyes shut firmly tight …

  47

  ‘Hello. I’m Lizzy Kingham. And welcome to Shoestring Events, a new concept in planning your wedding or party or special event. The ethos of Shoestring is to make sure that every penny is money well spent. With over twenty years in the business, I have the experience and the contacts to make sure that your event is the most memorable it can be without you having to spend a fortune. It’s not about cutting corners: it’s about having the confidence to know what’s important, what makes an impact and what will matter when you look back on your special day …’

  Lizzy gave a wide smile, then breathed out for a moment.

  ‘How was that?’

  ‘That was great, Mum.’ Luke put down the iPad he was using to film her. ‘You’re a natural.’

  ‘I can’t remember everything.’

  ‘It’s OK. We can do it in sections. I told you. I’ll edit it together.’

  Lizzy looked in the living-room mirror. She was wearing her leopard-skin dress again, but with less make-up and low heels. She looked stylish but business-like. Like the kind of woman who started up her own business and collected a knighthood twenty years later. OK, so maybe she was getting a bit ahead of herself with the knighthood, but she felt excited by her idea.

  She felt sure it was a completely original concept: a party-planning business that was not about ripping off customers, but about teaching them how to tailor what they wanted so they could afford it.

  The twins were helping her set it up. Luke was doing her website and the promotional video. Hattie was doing the artwork. Simon was putting out feelers for suitable premises. Lizzy was going to get in touch with all the suppliers she had used over the years and talk about how they could get on board with the concept.

  Even Cynthia was doing her bit. ‘I can do all your admin and accounts,’ she offered. ‘I used to do it for Neville. It’ll keep me out of trouble. And you won’t have to worry that I’m on the fiddle. That’s the biggest worry about running your own business.’

  Lizzy had forgotten about the wealth of insider knowledge her mother-in-law must have. She had been closely involved in Neville’s business, and was shrewd. She would be invaluable while Lizzy was setting up. It wasn’t practical to imagine she could do it all on her own.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ she said to Luke now.

  She frowned. The twins were looking at each other, giggling. ‘What is it?’

  Had she said something silly, or got lipstick on her teeth?

  ‘Look behind you, Mum,’ said Hattie.

  Lizzy turned. In the doorway stood a tiny puppy. A mass of rose-gold curls with fat feet and a quizzical expression.

  ‘Hello,’ said a squeaky voice from the other side of the door. ‘My name’s Marmalade and I’ve come to live here.’

  Lizzy put a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t speak.

  ‘Well, go on,’ said the voice. ‘Come and say hello. Don’t be shy.’

  Lizzy looked at the twins, then back to the puppy just as Simon appeared in the doorway, grinning.

  ‘He’s your belated Christmas present,’ he said in his normal voice.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Lizzy, and rushed over, dropping to her knees. Marmalade looked at her with his head on one side and she scooped him up in her arms, kissing the top of his head. ‘Oh my God, he’s beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much.’ She held him up to look at him more closely. ‘Oh, you little darling. Welcome to the mad house. Welcome to Pepperpot Cottage.’

  Also by Veronica Henry

  Wild Oats

  An Eligible Bachelor

  Love on the Rocks

  Marriage and Other Games

  The Beach Hut

  The Birthday Party

  The Long Weekend

  A Night on the Orient Express

  The Beach Hut Next Door

  High Tide

  How to Find Love in a Book Shop

  The Forever House

  A Family Recipe

  THE HONEYCOTE NOVELS

  A Country Christmas

  (previously published as Honeycote)

  A Country Life

  (previously published as Making Hay)

  A Country Wedding

  (previously published as Just a Family Affair)

  AN ORION EBOOK

  First publish
ed in Great Britain in 2018 by Orion Books

  Ebook first published in 2018 by Orion Books

  Copyright © Veronica Henry 2018

  The right of Veronica Henry to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978 1 4091 6666 5

  Typeset at The Spartan Press Ltd,

  Lymington, Hants

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

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