Meet Me on the Beach

by Hilary Boyd

  The girl was right, of course, and Karen answered the door to Janey Haskell with her best smile. Ushering her in, she said, “None broken, thank goodness,” as she went to pick up one of the boxes stacked in the hall.

  Janey looked tired and uneasy as she hovered, her eyes flicking toward Sophie and back to Karen, perhaps wondering how much Sophie had been told. Karen felt sorry for her. It must be the worst form of hell to be in a marriage with a man who was being unfaithful—even if she didn’t know the full extent of his betrayal—and to have to confront the “other woman.” She wanted to tell Janey that she needn’t worry any more, that she wouldn’t be seeing William again, that she had him totally to herself again. She wanted to say sorry.

  Instead she said, “Thanks again for lending them. They really made a difference.”

  Perhaps Janey heard the unsaid apology in Karen’s voice, because she gave her a soft smile. “I’m glad it worked out.”

  When she had gone, Sophie gave her stepmother an amused look. “Thought at one point you were going to fall on your sword and ’fess up.”

  “She looked so sad. None of this is her fault.”

  “I’m sure they’ll sort it out.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they will.”

  And she believed what she said, despite William’s morose mutterings up on the hill the other morning.

  The third incident, and the most defining one, had happened only this morning. Karen had taken Largo out early, as usual. It was raining, but she hadn’t slept again and was sick of lying there hoping she might. As soon as she was out of the house, she was checking around for William, but warily this time, not sure if she really wanted to confront him again.

  As she crested the hill and spotted his square shoulders in the black anorak up ahead, striding purposefully away, head bent, she quickly turned tail and started back down the path, much to the distress of the Labrador. On the point of calling to him, she had stopped, realizing she couldn’t bear to hear—even one last time—what he would inevitably say to her.

  “There’s nothing I can do. I’ve let you down. I’m sorry.”

  However true it was for him, it was, in fact, not true. He did have a choice, like everyone else in the world, and his choice wasn’t her. I don’t blame him—he has too much to lose, she told herself.

  But he should have been brave enough to say that.

  Now the sharpness of the early-autumn air seemed to contain a strange recklessness as she got out of her car and stood gazing at the sun going down over the sea before walking along the pebbles to Mike’s café.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You’ve saved my bloody life, you have,” Mike told her when they were ensconced in the pub having a drink that night.

  “You’ve probably saved mine too,” she said.

  “Escaping the randy vicar again?”

  She hated Mike’s contempt for William, but right now it was probably good for her to hear, she thought, not rising to his jibe.

  “He’s going to be a bishop.”

  He pulled a face. “That’s reassuring.”

  She didn’t reply for a moment.

  “You can’t think worse of William than he thinks of himself.”

  Mike made a disparaging sound in his throat. “God, those are the worst sort, the ones who feel bad but do it anyway. If he really had a conscience he’d have kept it in his trousers.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know it all. I know it was stupid and I know it was wrong and I know I never stood a chance with him. So tell me something I don’t know . . . how the hell do I forget him?”

  He gave her a wry grin. “Ah, now that’s a whole other thing. The truth? You won’t. You just have to wait and wait till time chips tiny bits off. Then one day you’ll wake up realizing it’s too small to be significant and you haven’t thought about him in days.”

  “And how long does that take?”

  “That’s the bad news. Too long. But it’s a tried and tested formula. Not that anyone in your current state ever believes it.”

  Karen smiled at Mike’s wisdom. “Thanks. Thanks for not saying I should do this or do that, pull myself together, get a life, move on.”

  “I was getting to that part.”

  She punched him on the arm as they both began to laugh.

  *

  The next couple of days, as predicted, were completely manic in the café. The crowd this week was a very different one from the usual seaside clientele. This was a trendy, earnest, opinionated bunch, dressed for the city, not the beach, impatient and demanding high-quality service as if they were in a Central London café. Karen preferred the shuffling holidaymakers with too many children who couldn’t make up their minds.

  “That lot have been there since three with one sodding coffee each,” Mike complained on Saturday afternoon. “And now I want to close up and they’re still sat there gabbing.”

  A group of four men and one girl were lounging on the terrace in the dying sun, all talking loudly at once and laughing a lot. As Mike said, they had each ordered a coffee about two hours ago and nothing since, but when Karen went and asked if they wanted anything else, they’d barely stopped long enough to wave her away.

  “Bet they earn six times as much as me for doing bloody nothing all day except making stuff up.”

  Karen laughed. “Says Mr. Meldrew.”

  “Well, don’t you think they’re annoying?”

  “Sort of, but you’ll probably find they have very high-stress, insecure jobs and are shouting to keep their courage up.”

  “They’d do better ordering a ham sandwich to keep their protein up. None of them look as if they’ve had a square meal in decades. And those ridiculous clothes . . .”

  Karen frowned at him. “What’s up, Mike? You’re not your usual chilled self, and it can’t just be those skinny media types winding you up.”

  He sighed. “It’s Margie’s birthday today.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry. You should have said. That’s really hard.”

  “I miss her so much. Promising you the other day that time’d sort your obsession was only wishful thinking. I haven’t hardly got to first base with Margie.” He took up the dishcloth and began scrubbing an already pristine sink.

  Karen laid a gentle hand on his back. “I’ll tell that lot we’re closing and then get you a coffee and some cake.”

  Later they sat together at the table recently vacated by the festival mob. There was a soft breeze from the water, which was up to the high-tide mark.

  “What did you used to do on her birthday?”

  Mike gave a slow smile. “Worked. We were always working. And it was bloody exhausting most of the time, but at least we had each other. That’s what I miss, having someone around to moan at in the early mornings, to joke around with, share stuff about the punters, like we did today. Gina really is just a pretty face.”

  “Have you been out with anyone since?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Not because I wouldn’t like to—and Margie would wallop me for being such a wuss—but I don’t know . . . seems kinda weird . . . I’d have to feel strongly . . .” He cleared his throat. “I envy you the vicar. I know it’s not working out so well, but it’s probably got you over the hump of losing your old man.”

  Karen didn’t know how to answer this. Her feelings for Harry were clearly so different from Mike’s for his wife Margie. She wasn’t over losing Harry, not really, although she’d convinced herself that she was. She still felt his shadow sometimes, heard his voice or his booming laugh. But her mourning for Harry had been masked, overridden by her feelings for William Haskell.

  “You can borrow him if you like, I’m over it,” she said. “He’s perfect. And so reliable. He’ll bugger off back to his wife as soon as things threaten to get serious.”

  Mike looked more horrified than amused. “Might give that one a miss.”

  “Very wise.”

  “Think we deserve a drink.”

  “Think we do.”

&nbs
p; They finished up, pulled down the shutters, locked the door and made their way over to the pub.

  *

  Mike stuck to his beer, Karen ordered a bottle of white. She quickly got drunk. It didn’t seem to matter any more what she did. She was free as a bird to behave as she liked, no one would care.

  “You know, I’ve noticed, you don’t have a very high opinion of men,” she said, later on in the evening. “Polisher, thug, lout . . . what’s that about?”

  Mike looked puzzled. “Yeah, hadn’t thought about it . . .” He paused. “But now I do, it’s a no-brainer.”

  She waited for him to go on, but he just stared into his beer.

  “Grew up with a compulsive gambler for a father who gambled the milk money, the rent, the shirts off our backs. Begged for forgiveness then did it all again the next night. Led Ma a proper dance. Reckon I’m waiting for any bloke to behave in the same way. And let’s face it, I’m not often disappointed.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No, stupid old bugger. It was the sorrys that drove us all nuts. He was always sorry, so charmingly bloody sorry. But he just couldn’t stop himself.”

  “I had a good dad, it’s not always men who are to blame. I know some good men . . . great men . . .” Karen wasn’t sure who she was talking about, or even if she was making sense. She hadn’t eaten all day and suddenly she was beginning to feel really out of it, her head spinning, having trouble focusing on her words.

  “If this is the warm-up act for letting your vicar off the hook, it won’t wash.”

  “He’s not my vicar, he’s Janey’s vicar . . . and God’s vicar . . . and whoever’s sodding vicar. And they can bloody well keep him. I said, you can keep him . . . just not . . . me.”

  She saw Mike frowning at her. “Do you think we ought to call it a day?”

  “Now? No, no, we can’t go to bed, it’s waay too early.” She blinked as she grabbed her glass and brought it to her lips only to realize it was empty as she sucked on the dribbles. “Need some more wine.”

  But Mike pulled the bottle out of her reach. It only had an inch left. She’d drunk the whole bottle single-handed.

  “No, listen, you’ve had enough. Come on, I’ll get you home.”

  Karen pulled her arm away as he tried to get her to her feet.

  “Stop it. I don’t want to go home. It isn’t my home anyway, my home is empty except for . . . Soph. She’s there but she doesn’t do anything, nor do I. Nothing, nada, niente . . . I really need another drink.”

  Mike finally succeeded in hauling her to her feet and had to practically carry her out of the pub. The chilly autumn air hit her and she staggered even more. She was sure she was just about to vomit, so she bent over the gutter, but she wasn’t sick, just dizzy and clammy as she brought her head up again. Mike had to drag her up the three floors to the flat, where he made her drink a large glass of water while he put the kettle on for some tea. After a while, head still spinning if she moved too quickly, she began to feel less nauseous.

  She was sitting on the sofa bed, Mike perched on the mustard-yellow chair next to the table.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, when they’d both finished their mugs of tea. “I can’t believe I did that. I haven’t been sick-drunk for literally decades.”

  He grinned. “Not a pretty sight.”

  She groaned. “God, I daren’t lie down, my head will spin off.”

  “Still, you’d better get to bed. I’ll help you pull it out.”

  She stood to the side while Mike took the cushions off, yanked the metal bar to raise the mattress out of the frame, padded the gap at the head with the cushions. He looked around for the bed linen.

  “I put them in the cupboard.” Karen walked carefully over and opened the door, grabbing the folded duvet, sheets and pillows from the bottom shelf. She buried her face in the softness of the pillows and wanted just to fall asleep right there, upright, without moving another step.

  Mike rescued her bundle and set to work making up the bed.

  “There, you can do the rest, can you?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll get home, then,” he said, still looking at her as if he wasn’t sure she could manage even to get undressed and into bed.

  She nodded again. “Listen, thanks, Mike . . . thanks so much. I’ve been a total pain tonight.”

  He shrugged off her apology and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. “Night, then.”

  But suddenly she didn’t want him to go. She couldn’t face being alone. She found she was crying, awful drunk-woman tears of self-pity that she couldn’t control. And after a moment’s hesitation, Mike put his coat down and took her in his arms and hugged her.

  “Hey, come on, love. It’s not that bad.”

  It felt worse than bad, however, and she clung to him, desperately trying to avoid being alone with herself, her head buried determinedly in his T-shirt as he tried to push her gently away. And as she looked up at him, his fierce blue eyes seemed so discomfited that she wanted to laugh.

  Instead she reached up and kissed him, planting her lips firmly on his own and drawing her body back into his embrace. She felt his body stiffen. For a second his mouth responded, slowly returning the kiss, his arms tightening around her.

  Then he pulled sharply away.

  “Karen . . .”

  She came to her senses with a terrible feeling of shame.

  “God, Mike . . . God, I’m so sorry. What am I like? I honestly didn’t mean to do that . . . it just sort of happened.” She buried her head in her hands.

  Mike looked slightly stunned, then shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t expect that.”

  “No, well . . .” Karen went and sat on the edge of the bed. “Bloody embarrassing.”

  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, it wasn’t so bad.”

  She shot him a rueful glance. “Don’t tease, I’m not up to it.”

  “Best we forget it ever happened. Get to bed and I’ll see you in the morning, if you can stand up straight, that is.” He checked his pocket for his keys and went toward the door. “Sleep well.”

  She could still hear the amused note in his voice and cringed, longing for the door to shut behind him so she could be mortified all by herself.

  *

  She didn’t sleep very well—just a few hours of oblivion—before her dry mouth, throbbing head and embarrassment woke her. She drank pints of water, took two paracetamol and went for a long swim.

  By the time she heard the clatter of the shutters going up on Mike’s café, she was feeling relatively perky, aware of the uneasy energy that comes from overtiredness. Dreading confronting Mike, but knowing that leaving it would only make things worse, she clattered down the stairs and across the road to meet him.

  Far from being self-conscious about seeing Karen, Mike beamed at her, the amusement from last night still clear in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Physically, not good. Mentally, awful. I—”

  He held up his hand, interrupting her flow. “Stop right there. You got drunk. We kissed. It wasn’t meant. End of.”

  She stared at him. “I can’t believe I did it.”

  He laughed. “No, well, we all do daft things. Just have to suck it up.”

  Karen tried to feel as sanguine as he did. “Alright for you. You didn’t make a total fool of yourself.”

  “Let’s get Brenda up and running. I need a coffee and I reckon you do too.” Mike had christened his unpredictable coffee machine after a fickle girlfriend from his youth. “Those media types won’t be in for hours, it’s Sunday.”

  “By the way, have you got my phone?” Karen asked, when they’d finished their drinks and were getting going on the sandwiches. “I couldn’t find it this morning.”

  Mike shook his head. “Nope. You probably left it in the pub.”

  “I’ll go over in a minute. Not that anyone’ll have called.”

  “Poor old Norman-no-mates.”


  “Shut up, will you? I said I was OK, but I’m not that OK.”

  The next couple of hours passed fast and painfully. She took a quick break during a lull in customers to nip over the road and ask about her phone. The landlord, almost before she’d said a word, retrieved it from behind the bar and held it up with a question on his face.

  She nodded gratefully.

  “I saw you leave it, but you didn’t answer when I shouted. And I was too busy to run after you.”

  “Not my finest hour.” She took the phone.

  “You should see some people,” he said.

  The phone was switched off and she pressed the on-button as she walked back to the café, waiting for it to power up. Glancing at the screen in the bright light, she could see there were a number of calls, but not who they were from. As soon as she was through the door, she looked again. The screen was packed with a list of missed calls, all from Patrick Gascoigne, her next-door neighbor.

  Puzzled and alarmed, she listened to her voicemail.

  “Karen,” Patrick’s voice sounded frantic, “call me as soon as you can. It’s urgent.”

  The second message was shorter. “Darling, please call. It’s Sophie.”

  Karen didn’t listen to the other ones. Heart in her mouth, she pressed call-back.

  Patrick answered on the second ring.

  “Karen? God, darling, where have you been? I’ve been calling you since eleven o’clock last night.”

  “Sorry . . . what’s happened? Tell me.”

  “It’s Sophie. She’s OK now, well, she’s sort of . . . anyway, there’s no nice way to say this . . . She tried to kill herself last night.”

  Karen went cold. “Tried to kill herself? Sophie? Oh my God!”

  “She’s in hospital, they pumped her stomach. I saw her a couple of minutes ago, I’m just outside her room, and she’s awake and talking, so I imagine she’s going to be OK, but the doctors are waiting to see if there was any damage from the pills.”

  She sat down heavily on a café chair.

  Mike, seeing something was wrong, was by her side. “What is it?” he mouthed.