The Beach Hut Next Door

by Veronica Henry

  But, of course, there hadn’t been a honeymoon.

  And a baby, when you were on your own, with no husband, no job, no roof of your own, in a strange city, was a very different kettle of fish indeed.

  ‘Oh hell,’ she said.

  Lady Bellnap put a freckled hand over hers. ‘There are far worse things in life to cope with,’ she said, ‘than an unexpected baby.’

  Elodie felt nausea rise up again, but this time it was fear. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Well,’ said Lady Bellnap. ‘You’re a bright girl. You’ve got a roof over your head. And I won’t see you starve.’

  Elodie met the old lady’s perspicacious gaze. She saw nothing but kindly concern in her eyes.

  ‘I would have thought you’d be horrified.’ She had a vision of being thrown out into the street. But Lady Bellnap didn’t turn a hair.

  ‘My dear, not at all.’ She put down her spoon. ‘Now, we need to make an appointment for you. My doctor is excellent. Once we’ve got it confirmed, then we can decide what to do.’

  Elodie wondered how on earth she could have got so far away from herself in such a short space of time. If it hadn’t been for coming back to The Grey House early that afternoon, she would be safely married to Jolyon, and this news would be mildly alarming, but not disastrous. She would have had Jolyon to share it with. They would be starting to make plans, deciding where to raise their family.

  She remembered her mother’s prophetic words to Jolyon that afternoon: ‘Elodie will have a baby. She will be as happy as can be.’

  It was then the grief finally hit her. This should be momentous, the revelation that she was going to bring another life into the world. She should be sharing the joy with her husband. Her mother should be her greatest support. Instead, the realization brought home her plight. Pregnant and unmarried at twenty? It was a scandal. She put her hands to her face and began to weep, shoulders juddering, as all the pent-up tears finally fell.

  ‘I think,’ said Lady Bellnap, ‘that it’s time to tell me what’s been going on.’

  Time and again Elodie thanked her lucky stars for her guardian angel, whose kindness and practicality never ceased to amaze her. But as Lady Bellnap pointed out, when you’d been out in the Far East, dealing with the victims of tropical disease, drought, famine – whatever the elements chose to throw at them – the arrival of a baby in leafy Kensington really didn’t constitute a crisis.

  Although the flat itself wasn’t huge, thanks to the ephemera packed inside, Elodie’s room was light and bright and there would be plenty of room for a cot once the baby arrived. She worked out that she had enough money to stay lodging with Lady Bellnap until the baby was six months. Then she would have to think about gainful employment.

  In the meantime, she walked every morning to the greengrocer and the butcher to buy their daily food. Lady Bellnap was disinterested in cooking, so Elodie tried to make their meals as interesting as their combined budget would allow. She carried on doing the housework, as she wanted to keep as active as possible throughout her pregnancy.

  In the afternoons, she worked her way through Lady Bellnap’s library. One entire wall of the drawing room was taken up with shelves, which were crammed with books. It was sheer bliss, curled up reading, then having a little snooze. Tolstoy, Dickens, Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes – her literary diet was varied and nourishing and a constant source of delight. Her mind was expanding as fast as her middle. She felt as content as she possibly could be.

  It was the middle of March when the baby was born. A little boy, weighing seven pounds.

  ‘I think,’ said Elodie, ‘I will call him Otto.’

  The name pleased her, because it had no connotations and reminded her of no one.

  Lady Bellnap was the most wonderful guide. Although she’d had no children of her own, she had been a very hands-on doctor’s wife. She was practical, strict and no-nonsense.

  ‘The important thing is for a baby to be adaptable,’ she would tell Elodie. ‘You don’t want to make a rod for your own back by having too much of a routine. Lug it with you wherever you’re going. Don’t pander to it. Makes sure he’s adaptable and biddable. No one likes a spoilt little beast.’

  As Otto got plumper and more jolly and more interesting, Elodie realized with a sinking heart that the day was getting closer for her to find a job. Her savings were dwindling. And while she knew Lady Bellnap wouldn’t see her want for anything, she couldn’t rely on her generosity for ever. She needed to be independent, and to find a home for Otto and herself.

  In the post office up the road, she saw an advert for a childminder who lived a few streets away. She contacted her to make a visit. In her mind’s eye, she built up an image of some sort of Dickensian baby farm, little bodies all swaddled and left to fend for themselves while the childminder drank gin and counted her money. The reality was a pleasant surprise. Bernie had a light and airy room leading out into a sunny garden where she supervised a maximum of four little ones, and she had space.

  ‘It will do Otto good,’ said Lady Bellnap, ‘to mix with other children. And it will do you good to use your brain. You’re far too bright to do nothing, and the longer you leave it the harder it will be to get back to work.’

  Half of Elodie agreed; the other half absolutely dreaded leaving Otto, but the truth was she desperately needed money, and she knew she would find no nicer person than Bernie to look after him, so she snapped the place up straight away and resolved to use the time while Otto was with Bernie to look for work.

  When Elodie told Lady Bellnap she was applying for a job in the Millinery Department at Harrods, she was furious.

  ‘A shop girl? Don’t be ludicrous. Try the BBC.’

  It was why Elodie adored Lady Bellnap. Everything was so simple and straightforward for her. She spoke as if Elodie should just get the BBC on the phone and demand a job on the spot. At first, Elodie ignored her advice. What experience did she have of broadcasting, or anything to do with it? But then she decided to employ some of Lady Bellnap’s gumption, so she phoned the Personnel Department and spoke to a very nice woman who asked her about herself, and then suggested she pop in for an interview the very next day.

  ‘I have a radio drama producer who is looking for a production secretary. You sound very much up his street. I presume you can type?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Elodie assured her. She hadn’t touched a typewriter for ages. She’d had a girl to do all that for her at the jam factory. If she got the job, she’d worry about the typing afterwards. And radio drama sounded far more interesting than selling hats in Harrods.

  Elodie hadn’t really any time to prepare for the interview, apart from Lady Bellnap grilling her over breakfast, firing questions at her while she tried to shovel mashed banana into a disinterested Otto.

  In at the deep end, thought Elodie, who was wearing her going-away outfit, the smartest thing she had: a turquoise linen suit from Jaeger her mother had chosen for her. It felt odd, putting it on now, over a year after she should have worn it. She looked in the mirror and didn’t really recognize herself. She looked older, and thinner, rather surprisingly – well, her face certainly was – and her hair was past her shoulders so she’d tied it up in a low bun.

  She looked, she realized, like a grown-up.

  She made her way from Kensington into the West End on the bus, to Broadcasting House. As the bus made its way up Regent Street, she tried not to think about all the times she and her mother had gone up there, weaving in and out of the shops, buying whatever they wanted, knowing that Desmond would pick up the bill. Not that Elodie had ever been that interested. She had always shopped under sufferance, dragged along in Lillie’s wake. It seemed a million years ago. Now she was just another girl swallowed up by the big city. A girl trying to make her way in the world with more than her fair share of encumbrances. How did life do that: turn your world upside down in
a trice and take away your anchors?

  She was surviving, though. She had found new anchors. And a new side to her: her love for Otto was the most profound and perfect thing she had ever felt. Motherhood made her feel complete. Now she was just going to have to find a way to protect and keep her tiny little family – her family of two. She couldn’t rely on Lady Bellnap’s benevolence indefinitely. She had to be independent. It was terrifying, but Elodie had discovered of late that she was stronger than she ever thought she’d need to be.

  In Broadcasting House, she found herself led down endless dingy corridors, then was left to sit in a plastic chair outside a door alongside two other women obviously being interviewed for the same role. They were both older than she, quietly confident, and looked her up and down. They were both in drab skirts and cardigans without a trace of lipstick. Her mother’s grooming habits had been drilled into her, so by contrast Elodie felt overdressed and over made-up. She felt her mouth go dry and her mind go blank. What on earth was she going to say at the interview? She knew nothing about radio, or drama, let alone the two together. She hadn’t an earthly how a programme was put together or what her role in that might be. She held tight onto her handbag until she was finally called in, the last candidate.

  Edmund Smithers, her prospective employer, looked at her with slight bemusement all the way through the interview as if he wasn’t quite sure what she, or indeed he, was doing there. He frowned down at her details, which were sadly lacking due to the short notice, and ran his fingers through his flyaway curls, as if hoping they might be persuaded to stay put. She couldn’t put an age on him. He had a baby face yet his hair was greying. He could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, she thought.

  ‘Jam,’ he said, staring at her. ‘Jam. How fascinating.’

  ‘Well,’ said Elodie. ‘Not really. But it was my job to make everyone want it.’

  ‘Who doesn’t like jam?’ He seemed to give this great thought.

  ‘Oh everyone loves jam. But I had to make them want our jam. That was the trick.’

  She told him about Sammy and Sally Strawberry, and he seemed tickled by the notion.

  ‘Were they your idea?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, absolutely. No one else would have come up with anything so ridiculous.’ Elodie made a self-deprecating face. ‘But you’d be amazed how many children sent off for the badges.’

  Edmund nodded. He was staring at her again, almost puzzled.

  ‘What do you think the most important part of this job is?’ He spoke the question as a sort of sigh, as if the question was rather unsavoury but he felt he had to say it.

  Elodie wondered if perhaps he didn’t want a secretary at all, but was being forced into it. She felt as if she was supposed to say something frightfully clever and intellectual at this point, to pique his interest. But in the end, she could only come up with one answer.

  ‘Well,’ she replied. ‘I suppose it’s to make sure you’re happy. Otherwise there doesn’t seem to be much point at all.’

  To her astonishment this answer seemed to please him greatly, and he positively beamed. Then laughed. She blushed a little, wondering if her reply had been pert or unseemly.

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘That’s all,’ he said. ‘I can’t think of anything else to ask.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Elodie. ‘Well, thank you.’

  She went to shake his hand. He looked perturbed, but took it nevertheless. She felt crushed with disappointment that she was being dismissed so quickly. The other two women had been interviewed for at least quarter of an hour. She’d only been in there five minutes.

  She left the building as quickly as she could. Hats in Harrods it was.

  She rushed to Bernie’s to collect Otto, who had been utterly contented all afternoon. It was the longest she had left him, and Elodie wasn’t sure whether to be offended or relieved, but it certainly boded well for the future. She scooped him up in her arms, hugging his warm little body to her.

  ‘I’m sorry I had to leave you,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘But this is how it’s going to have to be. Else we’ll starve.’ By way of reply, he squirmed and giggled, seemingly unperturbed by his ordeal, going limp in her arms and spreading himself out like a starfish, looking up at her with love and absolute forgiveness, his head flung back. For one fleeting moment she thought of Jolyon, and felt a squeeze of guilt that he would never know the sheer joy of his son, but then she hardened her heart. He’d relinquished any right to Otto the day he had succumbed to her mother. She quickened her step so as to get back home quickly, to immerse herself in the evening ritual of tea, bath, bedtime. Anything to stop her thinking of her past.

  As soon she got back to the flat, Lady Bellnap was holding out the telephone for her. It rang only rarely, and hardly ever for Elodie, so she was puzzled.

  It was the personnel officer at the BBC. Elodie couldn’t really take in what she was saying.

  ‘We’d like you to start as soon as possible,’ she finished. ‘Would a fortnight be enough time?’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Elodie, confused.

  ‘The job? You came in this afternoon? Mr Smithers made his mind up straight away it was you he wanted. When would you be able to start?’

  Elodie looked at Otto in his high chair. Her heart gave a lurch. She had absolutely no choice in the matter. She needed to work. She had to leave him. From across the room, Lady Bellnap gave her an encouraging nod.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘A fortnight sounds fine.’

  That would give her enough time to get organized, buy some new work clothes – and spend her last few days with Otto, spoiling him rotten.

  She put the phone down rather dazed.

  ‘Splendid!’ said Lady Bellnap. ‘There we are. Shop girl indeed. You mark my words, you’ll be Director-General before we know it.’

  Within a week of starting work, Elodie realized she had strayed rather by default into a rather magical world.

  The job itself was complicated, varied and required immense concentration and attention to detail. As well as the usual secretarial duties – answering the telephone and taking dictation– she was to type scripts and fill out the seemingly endless forms that went with recording a drama. At first it all made her head spin as there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to any of it and Edmund seemed rather baffled by it himself, but she quickly made friends with some of the other staff in the canteen and worked out the logic.

  ‘Wait until you go into the studio!’ one girl told her. ‘Then the fun will really start.’

  Gradually she got her typing up to speed and began to make less mistakes. As the weeks went by, she became more absorbed in the content she was typing up. Edmund engaged her in conversation, asking her what she thought about characters and how the plots developed, and she began to think about how each play was structured, and understand the scribbles he put in the margin, and the cuts he made to up the tension.

  When they went into the studio, her job was to time each segment they recorded with a stopwatch and mark up the script, so that when Edmund went to edit the material, he could get the programme to run to time – the slots were very specific and there was no margin for error. Elodie was spellbound by the whole process – how a sixty-page script could turn into something that transported you to another world. She had nothing but admiration for the actors who brought the scripts to life, and the soundmen whose ingenuity created a soundscape. There was an immense library of sound effects which meant anything could be recreated: a medieval battle, a car crash, a football match …

  It was a truly happy time for her. It was tough, of course it was, with a small baby, but by being very organized she managed it. She got up very early, at six o’clock, and had an hour of playtime with Otto before they both got dressed and had breakfast. Then she pushed him in his pram down to Bernie’s before running to catch the bus to be at work by nine. She
left on the dot of five and was usually back home by six. She crawled into bed not long after Otto, barely reading two paragraphs of her book before falling asleep.

  And at the weekend, she had two full days to spend with her boy. She usually packed a picnic and they walked up through Kensington to Hyde Park, and he learned to take tentative steps on the paths that wound alongside the Serpentine.

  And if sometimes, she thought about The Grey House, and how much Otto would enjoy being on the beach, and splashing about in the shallows, and digging in the sand, she soon banished the thought. This was her new life. She wasn’t going to reflect on her old life. Or anyone in it. Not for a moment longer than necessary.

  After a year, she had saved enough to move to her own little flat – not in grand Kensington, which she couldn’t afford, but in Ealing. She still had to share a bedroom with Otto, but she didn’t mind, and she need no longer worry about getting in Lady Bellnap’s way or disturbing her. She cried copiously the day she left.

  ‘You’ve been like a mother to me,’ she sniffed, thinking that actually Lady Bellnap had been far more. And, for the first time ever, she found herself folded in Lady Bellnap’s arms, as the old lady squeezed her to her ample bosom with what Elodie thought was probably the most impulsive gesture she had made for years.

  ‘I’m only a bus ride away,’ said Lady Bellnap in a voice gruff with unshed tears. ‘I’ll be livid if you don’t call in with Otto at least once a fortnight.’

  She sent Elodie off with a stack of linen sheets and pillowcases, a set of coffee cups and some silver teaspoons for her new flat.

  In the meantime, Elodie became more and more absorbed by her job. Edmund didn’t treat her like a secretary, more an assistant. He valued her opinion. Demanded it, even. He took her out to lunch with any writers he was working with, expecting her to stay drinking wine with them rather than return to her desk at two o’clock, and she loved listening to them discussing the plays they were working on, and dissecting other people’s work. She loved being part of the fictional world Edmund created for the listener.