Summer at Shell Cottage

by Lucy Diamond

  Olivia had never actually been to Katie’s house before but they had her address for Christmas cards, and she knew vaguely where the street was. Thinking of Alec sidling up this same street to sneak a visit to his other family left a nasty taste in her mouth. Jim going behind Margaret’s back. Alec and Katie. Would she have guessed anyway, reading the novel, if she hadn’t already found out?

  No, she decided. Olivia had always been too trusting; she’d believed everything he’d ever told her. Some might say that was her downfall, of course – but in hindsight, she was glad she’d lived her life that way. Imagine how exhausting it must be to mistrust your husband, to check up on his every night away, to drive yourself mad, wondering how many hearts he was shattering around the country while you weren’t looking.

  She had loved him. Why would she have doubted his word? That approach to marriage only led to misery, she was certain.

  Still. Here she was now, about to confront Alec’s long-standing mistress, which was not exactly a situation that arose out of wedded bliss either.

  Her nerve failed her as Katie’s house came into view, down at the end of the street. She recognized Katie’s car outside, a small red Fiat, and noticed that the front door needed painting, and the garden needed weeding. (Had Alec ever helped out around the place? she wondered wretchedly. He wasn’t the most handy of men – he’d rather pay someone else to fix things and decorate – but he might have shown willing with the odd job now and then, she supposed.)

  Don’t think about that now, she ordered herself. Just do what you came to do, then leave.

  ‘Oh,’ said Katie when she answered the door to Olivia a few minutes later. A whole series of emotions flashed across her face – shock, anguish, apprehension, before she finally settled on defensiveness. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the jamb, subconsciously – or maybe deliberately – blocking the entrance. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello,’ Olivia replied, trying to keep her composure. ‘I was wondering if we could talk. Is now a good time?’

  Katie glanced over her shoulder and Olivia could hear the sound of boys’ laughter floating out from one of the rooms. ‘Sure,’ Katie said, after a moment. ‘Come in. We can sit out in the garden, away from the rabble. It’s my day off work today,’ she added unnecessarily, as she led Olivia down the narrow hallway and into a small pristine kitchen at the end. ‘I feel obliged to have everyone else’s kids here, when I’m not working, because so many mums look after Leo for me on the other days.’ She was babbling and must have realized it, because she pulled herself up short and gave a quick, awkward smile that lasted a whole two seconds. ‘Sorry. You don’t need to know that. Can I get you a drink of something?’

  Katie poured them both tall glasses of elderflower cordial and they ventured out to the garden, where a bench stood under a cool, shady canopy of scrambling passionflower, its exotic white and purple flowers humming with bees.

  ‘This is nice,’ Olivia said politely, casting a professional eye around the small garden as Katie dragged over a patio table for their drinks. There were hollyhocks and sunflowers, bright orange Californian poppies, and a glorious sprawl of rudbeckias, their golden faces upturned to the sky. She’d missed spending time in gardens, she thought, with a sudden pang for her neglected flower beds at Shell Cottage and home, not to mention her work back in London. Her two beleaguered members of staff had shouldered the entire workload since Alec’s death, she remembered guiltily. She would make it up to them, she vowed, planning to get stuck in again just as soon as she was back. By then, of course, it would all be about the weeding and dead-heading, and thinking ahead to brown paper bags full of crackling bulbs, hardy annual seeds to choose and plant, staking all those overblown cosmos and dahlias and …

  First things first, though. She’d come here for a reason and now Katie was sitting and looking expectantly at her, and she had to get started.

  ‘I just wanted to talk to you,’ she said. ‘To make some kind of truce. I’ve come to terms with – ’ she gestured mutely at both Katie and the house, words not seeming sufficient – ‘with … what happened. I realize that what’s done is done, there’s no use crying over spilt milk, and all those other insufferable clichés. You and I, we’ve both had Alec’s children, we both loved him. We’re bound together now, like it or not, so at the very least we should be civil to one another.’

  By the look of relief on Katie’s face, she had clearly been expecting Olivia to put up more of a fight, start shouting at her again, probably. ‘Yes,’ she said earnestly. ‘And … look, I’m sorry. He was your husband. I should never have got involved in the first place, it was wrong of me, I was swept away. Selfish.’ Her mouth twisted, defensiveness creeping back in. ‘But then, like I said to Robert, of course I’m not that sorry because I wouldn’t have had Leo otherwise. And he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.’

  Olivia softened. She had always liked Katie, after all. ‘Of course he is,’ she said. ‘I understand that.’

  Katie hung her head, looking down at her lap. (Such lovely brown legs she had, Olivia thought with a stab of envy. No wonder Alec had been tempted by a younger model.) ‘For what it’s worth,’ Katie went on in a low voice, ‘he always did love you more. I know he did. I’m not just saying it to make you feel better, but I knew all along he was never going to leave you for me, or anything. That was never an option.’ They both watched a red admiral butterfly as it fluttered past, alighting on the sprawling buddleia that had elbowed its way over the fence from next door. ‘He felt bad for cheating on you,’ she continued, sounding sad. ‘At times he said he loathed himself for being so weak.’

  The irony wasn’t lost on Olivia. Hadn’t she just sat and read this entire story in the tea room, from Jim Malone’s point of view? The guilt, the self-loathing, the conflict of loyalties?

  ‘That must have been nice for you,’ she said dryly.

  Katie looked up anxiously, still wary that she might be under attack, but gave a rueful smile when she realized Olivia was being sarcastic. ‘I loved him,’ she replied simply. ‘I was willing to take being second best if it meant I could still … you know. Be with him.’

  Olivia nodded. She did know. Alec had always made a room feel brighter, an occasion more fun. If her and Katie’s roles had been reversed, she might well have settled for being second best herself. He was just that kind of man you wanted in your life, the kind of man who lent you an added lustre simply by being beside him. ‘It was hard not to love him,’ she conceded. ‘Impossible, probably.’

  Katie nodded, eyes sad. ‘Yes.’

  There was a pause while they both sank into memories. Happy times. Laughter. Then Olivia gave herself a shake and said with her usual briskness, ‘Look. We’re never going to be the best of friends but we can put aside our differences, can’t we? Alec would have wanted his children to know each other and stay in touch. So …’ She took a deep breath. ‘So I was wondering. Our holiday’s almost over and we always have a big family barbecue on the last evening. Maybe … Maybe you and Leo could join us this time?’

  Katie’s mouth quivered. ‘I’d like that,’ she said, clearly trying to hold her emotions in check. ‘I’d really like that. Thank you, Olivia. We’ll be there.’

  ‘Right,’ Olivia said, unsure whether to feel pleased or trepidatious. The wife and the mistress, their children together. Would it ever stop feeling so awkward? Probably not, but she knew they had to try. They had to make an effort, like it or not. ‘Well, in that case, we’ll see you both there,’ she said, then paused. ‘I’m glad we’ve talked,’ she added, rather in a rush. ‘I have been dreading this conversation, I have to say.’

  ‘Me too,’ Katie said.

  They looked at each other with new-found understanding. ‘But we’re grown women, aren’t we?’ Olivia went on. ‘We’re experts at dealing with difficult things that come our way – including extraordinary men. And we can go about this with our dignity intact.’ There was a brief moment where Olivia im
agined they were both remembering that ugly shrieking scene in her kitchen, where there had not been a shred of dignity to be had, by her in particular. That was the past, though, and they were moving on. They could airbrush the worst moments out of their collective history, she decided, saying goodbye and walking away from the house with a little wave.

  There, she thought. There, Olivia. You did it.

  And now she felt positively triumphant for having dredged up her bravery in order to confront the woman who had been her rival, the woman she’d have been well within her rights to consider an enemy for life. But no, Olivia had risen above; she’d been a better person. So that was two difficult things achieved in the space of a day. Just wait until she told Gloria!

  She got back into her car feeling as if she’d just come through a long dark tunnel and out into sunshine on the other side. Even better, her next task was going to be a truly joyful one: baking cakes with her granddaughter. She started the engine and drove away without looking back. There might even be some more singing, she thought to herself with a smile.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Libby had had a really good day. After breakfast, she’d made a daisy chain out of twenty-two daisies from the lawn and even Molly had said it was cool and took a photo of it on her phone.

  Then they had gone to Bigbury beach and they’d ridden over to the island on the big wobbly sea tractor, which was so exciting, she and Teddy had bounced up and down in their seats. ‘It’s like riding an elephant,’ Mum had said, laughing. They’d had a picnic on the beach – egg sandwiches, which tasted really yummy if you pushed in bits of salt and vinegar crisps (‘Poo!’ said Teddy, wrinkling his nose), flaky sausage rolls from the bakery and round red apples.

  And then, best of all, they’d come home to find Granny in the kitchen, wearing her apron and getting out the cake-making ingredients. Teddy had wanted to help too but Granny had said, sorry, darling, but she was going to bake just with Libby today, they could do something nice together the next day – and Libby had felt all fizzly inside with happiness that Granny had remembered.

  They weighed and mixed, they sieved and whisked, they set out the paper cake cases in trays and Granny let Libby spoon in the mixture, dollop by dollop. Then, while the cakes were baking in the oven, Libby reached into her shorts pocket, remembering something she’d put there earlier.

  Her cheer-up-Granny plan wasn’t really necessary any more, she thought, glancing over at her grandmother, who was humming to herself as she scrubbed the mixing bowl and wooden spoons at the sink. Granny seemed to have made herself happy again all by herself, without Libby’s help. Still, earlier that day, Libby had thought of the perfect present to give her grandmother, and now seemed like the right time.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said, hiding the perfect present in her fist and holding it out. ‘Here.’

  ‘Whatever could it be in there?’ Granny said and peered at Libby’s folded-up fingers. ‘Let me guess … A lovely new spade for the garden?’

  ‘No,’ Libby giggled.

  ‘A beautiful red dress and some high heels, so I can go dancing?’

  ‘No!’ Libby gurgled.

  ‘Oh, you haven’t gone and splashed out on a snazzy silver sports car when it’s not even my birthday?’ Granny guessed.

  Libby laughed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s …’ She opened her hand to reveal the small brown pip on her palm. ‘It’s a new apple tree for the garden. Well. Not yet. But one day.’

  Libby had expected Granny to smile but instead her mouth went all wonky and her chin gave a wobble. ‘Oh, darling,’ Granny said in a chokey sort of voice, and she gave Libby such a sudden, fierce hug that Libby almost dropped the apple pip. ‘Oh, my darling girl. That is the best and nicest present ever. Will you help me plant it when the cakes are out? Shall we do it together?’

  ‘Yes,’ Libby said shyly, from the depths of the enormous perfumed Granny hug. It felt lovely in there: squishy and safe and warm. She had forgotten how much she had missed Granny hugs. They were awesome. ‘Yes please.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Harriet shared the double bed with Molly for a second night and they both slept deeply. Neither of them stirred until it was nine thirty the following morning, when Robert came creeping into the room laden with a tray of coffee and pastries, and a hot chocolate for Molly.

  ‘Morning,’ he said quietly, setting the tray down on the bedside table next to Harriet.

  She opened her eyes and blinked, taking a few seconds to jigsaw together the pieces of what was happening. Robert. Breakfast. Last night. The stupid non-existent book deal …

  ‘Morning,’ she said, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. Harriet always looked dreadful first thing: creased face, flat hair, general air of dishevelment. Having Robert wake her like this made her feel at an immediate disadvantage.

  ‘Freya told me what happened,’ he said. He looked pretty good for the hangover he must have, she thought, with a flash of irritation as she took in his freshly showered hair, and the mint-coloured T-shirt which brought out the green of his eyes. ‘About Molly, I mean.’ He shook his head, words bursting indignantly out of him as if they’d been pent-up inside all night. ‘Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it. Is she all right? Molly, are you all right?’

  Molly shifted slightly under the cover. ‘She’s fine,’ she muttered. ‘A bit pissed off to be woken up so bloody early but—’

  ‘Language, Molls,’ Harriet said automatically.

  Robert was pacing up and down in agitation. ‘I could bloody kill him for this. I could punch his fucking face in. Mr sodding Jamison, how dare—’

  ‘Language, Robert,’ Molly chided.

  ‘Sorry. But… shit. I can’t get my head around it. Thank God you got there in time. Thank God everything’s all right.’ He paused, mid-pace, to peer closer at Harriet. ‘Are you all right?’

  There was an angry part of Harriet that wanted to put a hand on his chest and push him away, sneering, What’s it to you, Robert? Like you’re even allowed to ask me that any more, when you’ve been lying to me for the last three months?

  But confusingly, there was also this other part of her that just wanted to be folded into his arms, and to tell him gratefully that yes, she was all right now, but oh, it had been her worst nightmare, the most horrible series of events …

  She didn’t do either. She felt paralysed by not knowing how to respond. This was Robert, the man she’d loved and aligned her life with – and yet, it wasn’t the same Robert any more. This was Robert mark 2, the one that had revealed himself so shockingly as flawed and faulty. As the man who had lied and lied.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she mumbled, not looking at him.

  ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,’ he said, arms dangling helplessly by his sides. ‘And I’m sorry about everything else too. I’ve done a lot of thinking since then.’

  Molly pulled the pillow over her head. ‘Too weird,’ she groaned. ‘Too awkward. Please don’t start talking about feelings in front of me. I’m serious.’

  Robert looked chastened. ‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Of course. It’s a conversation for me and your mum to have when – if – she wants to.’ His eyes pleaded silently with her and Harriet felt her anger wavering before she turned her head resolutely away. Don’t look into those eyes, she reminded herself. Do not be swayed.

  ‘Harriet?’ he prompted, waiting awkwardly for her reply.

  I know he’s been a bit of a jerk, Mum, but don’t be too hard on him, Molly’s voice piped up in her head. He’s just a bloke, remember.

  ‘Maybe later,’ she mumbled, sipping her coffee. His gaze, when she could bring herself to meet it, was sad and repentant.

  Well, and rightly so, she thought defensively, as he nodded and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Sad and repentant was no more than he deserved, and she was not about to start feeling sorry for him just because he gave good puppy-dog eyes and brought pastries. A husband shouldn’t deceive his wife like tha
t, end of story.

  She grimaced, wishing she could follow her daughter’s example and pull the pillow over her head. Instead she needed to think very hard about what she should say later on in this big serious chat they needed to have. She had to weigh up the best possible outcome for her and Molly – and, not to put too fine a point on it, whether that involved Robert or not.

  Right now, though, she couldn’t face any major decisions. First things first – there was a large sticky Danish pastry within reach, and a bloody good cup of coffee. Food first, love life later, she told herself. When in doubt, eat.

  They needed a nice day today – a fun, happy holiday-ish day, after the trauma and shouting of yesterday. They definitely needed to get away from Robert and his kicked-puppy eyes too, so that she could clear her head and think straight. And so after breakfast, Harriet packed up a picnic and then she and Molly drove out to a stable yard near Tavistock for a lovely long hack across the moors. There was something about jolting along on horseback on a summer’s day, the wind in your hair, the land unrolling green and wild before you, not to mention laughing childishly with your daughter about your horse’s enormous genitalia, that somehow made the world seem bearable again. It would be all right, she told herself. She would make sure of it.

  Later that afternoon, they arrived back at Shell Cottage, aching but energized, to be greeted by a delicious smell of baking from the kitchen and a scene of utter chaos in the garden. Robert was struggling manfully with assorted camping equipment strewn across the lawn, while the children were getting underfoot and generally making his life ten times harder. The boys were having sword fights with tent pegs and Libby appeared to be plaiting some of the guy ropes in a particularly unhelpful way.

  ‘What’s going on? Are you moving out?’ Harriet asked Robert. She was joking – well, pretty much – but her voice clearly didn’t sound jokey because both he and Molly turned and looked at her doubtfully.