Summer at Shell Cottage

by Lucy Diamond

  She was done with apologies, she realized. There were only so many a person could bear to hear before they became downright irritating. ‘What are you going to do now, then?’ she asked, heading this one off at the pass.

  The question took him by surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, job-wise. Now that the book isn’t happening. Will you try again, or … ?’

  He gave a hollow laugh. ‘God, no. Fifty or so rejections is enough to put me straight on that front.’

  There was a terrible despair in his face, genuine humiliation. Despite everything, she felt a stab of sympathy for him. ‘Don’t say that, Rob. I read some of it, remember. I thought it was good!’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ He grimaced. ‘That’s because you’re a lot kinder than all the editors and publishers who turned it down.’ He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. ‘What I really want to do – don’t laugh – is something sporty. Be a personal trainer, do a bit of kids’ football coaching. I know it’s not exactly highbrow, but—’

  ‘But who gives a shit about highbrow?’ she burst out. This, then, was the core of the whole problem – this stupid shame he seemed to feel about his career choices. ‘Being a social worker isn’t highbrow either but it’s a good job. It helps people.’ There was a small silence and she felt defensive all of a sudden. ‘I mean, the money’s not great and there are no fancy parties or glamorous working lunches, but …’

  He winced. ‘Yeah. It is a good job.’

  ‘It’s about doing what makes you feel happy, Rob. Doing what satisfies you here.’ She banged a fist against her chest. ‘It’s really not about what’s going to impress the rest of your family.’

  ‘I know. I get that now.’ He ran his fingers through the grass, eyes down. Sad puppy. Apologetic puppy. She wasn’t going to let him get away that easily, though.

  ‘Or me! You didn’t have to try and impress me either. Because I was already impressed, Rob. Don’t you see that? I was already impressed!’

  He looked ashen-faced but didn’t speak.

  ‘I was impressed when you helped me with the power saw in our woodwork class. I was impressed when you took Molly and her friends to see that awful teenybop band when I was ill. I was impressed when you worked around the clock at that dreadful cycle courier place, Rob, when we were saving up for our wedding!’ Her voice had become so loud and high-pitched that the giggling from the children’s tent suddenly ceased. ‘That’s what does it for me,’ she said in a quieter tone, hands shaking on her wine glass. ‘Kindness and thoughtfulness and hard work. Not you spinning off into some fantasy realm where you think you’re famous!’

  He recoiled as if she’d slapped him but then nodded with a certain grimness, tacitly acknowledging that he deserved every word. ‘I never meant it to get so out of hand,’ he mumbled. ‘So … ridiculous.’

  She looked at him. Really looked at him – this man, her husband – as she wondered what was best to do. After Simon, she hadn’t been sure she could ever trust another man again, but when she met Robert, it seemed so easy, she was surprised to have doubted herself. So where did they go from here?

  Two paths lay ahead of her in this moment. One, where she and Robert split up and she vowed to steer clear of men all over again. A lonely path, but a self-righteous one too. A path where she would never be hurt or lied to or made to feel an idiot again. She would be safe that way.

  And then there was a second path, of course. A path where she and Robert started over. A less lonely path but a less certain one for that. She would have doubts, suspicions. It would take her a while before she could continue along the path without sidelong glances at Robert to check what he was up to.

  But what good does being angry do, really? It only gives you wrinkles at the end of the day. I don’t want to live the rest of my life with bitterness, Olivia had said that afternoon.

  Neither did Harriet. ‘A sports coach would be cool,’ she found herself saying, as if the last part of their conversation hadn’t just happened. ‘And you’d be a great personal trainer. Think of all those new-year’s-resolution-ers in January who’ll be desperate to get in shape.’

  He looked up, recognizing an olive branch when he saw one. ‘I think I’d enjoy it,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘I know you’d enjoy it.’ She finished her glass of wine and set it down on the grass. Olivia was right, she thought. Forgiveness – even the first tiny step towards forgiveness – left you feeling a whole lot better. They could make this work. She indicated his tent with a tilt of her head. ‘So … is there room for two in that thing or what?’

  His eyes widened, full of hope. ‘Are you saying … ?’

  ‘I’m saying, you’ll have to budge up in there, Bear Grylls. Mrs Grylls here fancies a night under canvas, too. Is that all right?’

  The look on his face made it quite clear that yes, this was very much all right.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  A few days later, it was the end of the holiday and time for the traditional last-evening party. Bunting and fairy lights were strung around the garden, the barbecue was fired up and the fridge groaned with salads and meat and bottles of champagne. Despite the chatter and the jollity, the spectre of Alec still loomed large, with all of them fondly remembering how he’d loved this end-of-holiday last hurrah. He’d always taken charge, issuing orders from his position at the barbecue, bellowing for more champagne, taking great joy in complaining about whichever music his children or grandchildren had put on (‘What a racket!’) and then leading the toasts when everyone was sated. ‘To the holiday! To my splendid wife! To my magnificent offspring! To their marvellous offspring! To the weather! To the wine! To our health! …’ He would go on all night, given half a chance, thinking up one thing after another for which they should give thanks and celebrate.

  And tonight they would have to do it all without him – and tomorrow night, and the night after that, and all the nights to come, of course.

  It wasn’t so long ago that this thought had gripped Olivia in a state of fearful paralysis – the sheer terror that came from being left a widow. And yes, of course, there were still moments when she felt his loss most keenly, and looked ahead towards Christmas and the winter, for instance, with a certain amount of trepidation. Yet this summer had proved to her that it was possible not only to survive when the worst happened, but to smile again, laugh again, take your clothes off and cavort in the sea if you felt like it.

  It had also reminded her that life went on – and that you could start again. Two days earlier, she and Libby had filled a flowerpot with compost and then carefully pushed in the apple pip. ‘Once it’s big enough, we’ll decide where to plant it out in the garden,’ Olivia said, filling the watering can, ‘and with a bit of luck, it’ll still be producing apples when you’re coming here with your children.’ The flowerpot on the sunny kitchen windowsill was a symbol of that hoped-for longevity. New life to come. Every time she looked at it, she felt optimistic.

  The pip-planting wasn’t the only positive thing she’d done recently. She had gone out with Gloria a few nights ago, and found herself dancing to a live band in The Hope and Anchor. Dancing like a teenager, no less, as if she didn’t have a care in the world! She had even found herself laughingly telling Mitch that she would quite like a tattoo of a scallop shell, just as soon as she plucked up enough courage. ‘Good for you, girl!’ he’d cried, those blue eyes twinkling.

  Girl. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that. It felt wonderful, she thought with a smile. Really wonderful.

  Katie and Leo had arrived for the barbecue, both looking slightly anxious as they handed over a Tupperware container of home-grown plump strawberries and a bottle of cava. Olivia couldn’t help a catch of breath in her throat as Katie said hello to everyone and introduced Leo, but the awkwardness soon passed, and she saw both Robert and Freya making an extra effort to speak to her and find ways to engage Leo. He was their half-brother, after all. Part of the family. This
was how it would be from now on.

  ‘You okay there, love?’ said Gloria in Olivia’s ear, arriving with a huge Victoria sponge crammed with whipped cream and raspberry jam.

  Olivia smiled gratefully. ‘I think so,’ she replied. ‘I can live with it, anyway.’

  Now that all the guests were here, the barbecue could get under way, tended lovingly by Robert and Freya, who had stepped into their father’s usual position as Guarder of the Meat Tongs and Chief Sizzler of the Sausages. Meanwhile, Harriet and Katie were mixing up cocktails, Molly was teaching Libby and Teddy a series of dance moves, and Victor had set up the telescope to show Dexter and Leo some of the constellations that were just appearing in the sky above.

  Yes, thought Olivia, as she clinked a glass of champagne with Gloria, this was okay. They had made it through a difficult summer together, and everyone was just about in one piece. What was more, she was planning to stay on a few extra days after everyone had left, to enjoy the peace and beauty all by herself. Well, she corrected herself, not strictly by herself. She and Gloria had already made plans for a return visit to their secret cove and she was going to take the plunge and ask Mitch round for dinner one evening, too. And why not? She was single these days, after all – and didn’t everyone say that a bit of what you fancy did you good?

  Later on, when everyone had eaten their fill and most of the adults were pleasantly drunk (Freya was managing fine on sparkling water, Olivia noticed, feeling proud of her determined daughter), Robert surprised them all by producing a white paper lantern and some marker pens. ‘It’s a Chinese lantern,’ he said. ‘One of those that you set alight and let drift away into the night. I thought we could each write down a few words about Dad, or this summer, or anything at all, then light it together.’

  ‘What a gorgeous idea,’ Freya said. ‘Kids, did you hear what Uncle Robert said? Think of a nice message to write on the lantern. Maybe about Grandad, or something really lovely we’ve done together.’

  The family leaned around the picnic table, taking it in turns to compose their sentences.

  Goodbye Dad. Thanks for all the summers. Robert

  Miss you, Dad, wrote Freya. PS New barbecue chiefs are in town. Hope we did you proud!

  Harriet, after a glance across at her husband, wrote, All you need is love.

  Gloria looked surprised to be passed the pen but duly scrawled, I thought your books were cracking – thanks, mate. PS Your wife is awesome.

  Bit by bit, the lantern filled up with messages. Katie – tactfully – just wrote her name and a kiss underneath. Leo drew a picture of the terrier puppy they were planning to bring home in a few weeks. You so weren’t a talamanca, Grandad! Dexter wrote, much to the puzzlement of everyone except Freya and Victor, who rolled their eyes and laughed. I likd roling down the hill, Teddy wrote laboriously, his tongue poking out with the effort.

  Libby, of course, couldn’t resist one last joke.

  Knock, knock, Grandad!

  Who’s there, Libby?

  I map! (‘Oh, Libby,’ Freya said, seeing this. ‘Honestly!’)

  I map who?

  REALLY, GRANDAD???!!!!

  And then it was Olivia’s turn, and all of a sudden she had nothing left to say. She had yelled out her anger and hurt in the first week, she had sobbed out so much sadness and loneliness. Were there any last words still to voice?

  Summer wasn’t the same without you, Alec, she wrote eventually. But we’ve all learned something from it. I hope you’re smiling, wherever you are. Your Liv x PS I read the manuscript and I think I understand.

  She turned the lantern over so that nobody else could read her words and smiled brightly at the others. ‘Done! Now, how do we light this thing, then, Robert?’

  There was something about standing silently in the darkening garden, watching the glowing yellow lantern sail majestically up into the evening sky and out towards the sea, that felt completely magical, thought Freya, slipping her hand into Victor’s. Even the children were hushed as the floating ball of fire became smaller and smaller until it was a tiny speck.

  Standing there, her husband beside her, surrounded by the whole family, new additions and all, she felt a soft, velvety peace settling on her shoulders. The holiday was almost over. Summer would turn into autumn within a matter of weeks, and they’d be flung straight back into work, as well as the flurry and rush of a new term at school: homework, PE kits, packed lunches. She knew already how quickly the long sunny days on the beach would fade into distant memories. Here at Shell Cottage, life was easier, with fewer pressures to absorb. Once back at work, it might become more difficult to stay on the wagon, when her To-Do list spilled onto several pages, when Christmas shopping became an issue, when she began to panic about juggling homework supervision and carol concerts and nativity play costumes, and the rest of it. But next time, if it all got on top of her again, she would talk to Vic before everything got out of hand. She had learned that it was okay to say, ‘I’m not coping very well,’ to him or to her mum or even to Harriet, and the world wouldn’t come crashing down as a result. Hopefully, this knowledge would make all the difference.

  ‘Mum,’ said Libby, sidling up to her just then. ‘I’ve got a joke for you. A really, really good one. Knock, knock!’

  And in the meantime, thought Freya, laughing and putting an arm around her daughter, she had Libby and Dex and Teddy to keep her on her toes. That was all anyone needed, really, wasn’t it?

  Once the Chinese lantern had drifted away into the darkness, Harriet realized that Olivia had vanished as well. Oh dear. Perhaps the lantern had been a step too far. It had made her feel like welling up, she could only imagine how emotional Olivia must have felt, after everything else she’d been through lately.

  Just as she was about to murmur her concerns to Robert, though, Olivia reappeared out of the back door, clutching what looked like an armful of paper. Harriet nudged Robert and they both watched in surprise as Olivia marched over to the barbecue and heaved the pile of paper onto the smouldering coals.

  ‘Oh!’ Robert exclaimed. ‘Mum, what are you … ?’ He gaped, stricken. ‘Is that Dad’s manuscript?’

  The tranquillity of the Chinese lantern’s journey was forgotten as everyone whirled around to see Olivia squirting lighter fuel onto the barbecue, causing bright orange flames to flare up with an audible woof, licking greedily around the papers. ‘Whoa!’ Dexter cried. ‘Granny’s gone pyro on us!’

  ‘I heard that, young man,’ Olivia said, but there was a smile of satisfaction on her face. More than that, Harriet observed, she looked positively gleeful, standing there, prodding the burning paper with the barbecue tongs.

  ‘Mum, is this such a good idea?’ Freya asked, although it was already way too late to be posing such a question now. The paper was charring around the edges and scraps of ash flew up like soft grey snowflakes into the air, along with twisting plumes of smoke.

  ‘Oh, I think it’s a very good idea,’ Olivia said, still busily prodding. ‘The world doesn’t need to read Alec’s book about a wife and a mistress, do they? I don’t want them to, anyway.’

  Katie was standing in the shadows, her hands on Leo’s shoulders. ‘I don’t want them to either,’ she said, exchanging a glance of recognition with Olivia.

  ‘There are some things which are best kept within a family,’ Olivia said.

  And amen to that, Harriet thought. This family had had its fair share of secrets in recent times – some that had festered and caused pain, admittedly – but this kind of secret was one she could endorse. Why create more discomfort when there was no need?

  She looked across to where Robert had wandered over to talk to Leo, ruffling his hair and making him laugh about something, and she felt her heart swell. He had already found a couple of sports coach training programmes that he liked the sound of, one of which was based very near Riverdale, the school where Harriet worked. ‘We could have sneaky lunch dates,’ he had said. ‘Catch the Tube home together every night.’ She had n
ot entirely forgiven him for the monstrous lies he had told – that would take a while – but she liked the thought of sneaky lunch dates and maybe even cheeky pub stops on the way home together. She was glad, too, that they were giving things another try, rebuilding trust one day at a time. That was all you could ask for in a relationship anyway, wasn’t it? Nobody came with a lifetime guarantee that they wouldn’t malfunction and go weird on you.

  ‘I think we should have a toast,’ she declared, feeling caught up in the moment. ‘A toast to us all, and our memorable summer together.’

  Olivia bestowed a smile upon her. ‘To the Tarrants, and all those we love,’ she said, holding up her glass. ‘To absent husbands, good and bad – ’ her gaze shifted from Katie to Gloria – ‘and to a happy future for every one of us.’

  ‘Cheers!’ came the chorus, glasses held up in salute. ‘To every one of us!’

  Harriet looked around the circle. There was Molly, who was now itching to get back to London to see her friends and put her complicated summer love story behind her. There was Katie, so brave in coming tonight, who had maintained her dignity throughout. There was Freya, leaning against Victor and looking happy again, her forehead no longer pinched with a frown. There was Gloria, giving Olivia a hug and shutting the lid on the barbecue now that the manuscript was burned away. And there was Olivia too, of course, still radiant, still determined; a force to be reckoned with and a brilliant role model for all of the other women around her. Why had Harriet ever doubted her own place in the circle? She belonged here – and was proud to be part of this family.