by Fern Britton
‘OK, why not? How do you get one of these things on?’ he said with more enthusiasm than he felt.
While Ed and Sam pulled out the squeaky rubbery suits and tried to work out which part went where, Alex plonked herself down on one of the deckchairs and pulled a book from her bag.
Charlotte, meanwhile, was busy exploring. Next to the cupboard was a little, bleached, white wooden table about waist height. There was a gingham curtain around it, and when she pulled it aside she could see a bowl and some washing-up liquid, as well as some tea towels. She’d noticed a standpipe on the beach at the bottom of the path, so that must be where the water came from. Cute. In fact, there were cute things all over the place, from frames filled with old seaside postcards and seaside knick-knacks adorning every surface.
‘Now, where are the mugs?’ she said to herself.
Opening the bottom of the dresser, she couldn’t see any mugs but she did see something else which caught her eye. There were some very old board games, including snakes & ladders and ludo, Scrabble and Yahtzee, as well as a few jigsaw puzzles, but she also spied an old Tea Time biscuit tin. She pulled it out and prised the lid off. It was filled with colour pencils and a few sticks of charcoal. Peering further inside the cupboard, she could also see a supply of artist’s paper and a couple of sketchpads. She pulled them out and flicked through the pages; someone had already drawn several pretty pictures of the local area. One of them was of the cabin. It was a little amateur, but the colours and the flag were pretty accurate. Across the top of the picture the artist had written, ‘The perfect place to be yourself’.
She smiled and gathered up all the materials – it would be the ideal beach occupation. And who knows? she thought. Maybe she would find herself again.
Hearing the sound of her husband’s laughter, Charlotte looked up from her sketchpad. Despite Ed’s protestations, Charlotte could see that he had quite taken to the surfboard. While their thrashing and floundering might not, strictly speaking, be classed as surfing, he and Sam seemed to be having a lot of fun.
In her own quiet way, she too was having fun. For the last couple of hours, she’d been trying to capture the scene in front of her. Drawing by the sea had been a favourite pastime of her childhood, back in the days when her parents would set up the windbreakers and sun shade and picnic hamper for long summer days on the beach near Weymouth. It was there that she’d acquired a lifelong fascination for the ever-changing colours of the sea and sky. No sooner had you picked out the subtle teal and turquoise tints of the waves than the clouds would shift and the tones would shift to purple and grey. After a couple of attempts she had decided it was impossible to capture a moment in time; better to be more impressionistic. The figures of Ed and Sam were fluid dashes, as was Molly, the rest of the holidaymakers and surfers mere traces against the cerulean blue of the sky and the cobalt brilliance of the sea.
She put down her pencil and scrutinised her work. Overall, she was pleased with it. She hadn’t quite got the shade of the sky right, but she hadn’t been aiming for perfection. Her stomach rumbled. Breakfast seemed hours ago.
As if on cue, dripping with sea spray, her son and husband came running towards her.
‘Mum, the sea’s freezing! Even with the suits on, it’s wicked. What’s for lunch?’
‘You’re a bottomless pit, Sam Appleby.’ Though only eleven, Sam was already shooting up and looked set to be as tall as his father. ‘Sausage sandwiches for you. Cheese for Alex. Egg-mayo for anybody.’
Sam narrowed his eyes. ‘Normal egg-mayo?’
‘Yes. Normal egg-mayo.’
‘You didn’t put anything weird in it – not like last time?’
Charlotte feigned shock. ‘I don’t know what you could possibly mean. Of course there’s nothing “weird” in the egg-mayonnaise sandwiches. What a funny boy you are!’
Sam wasn’t convinced. ‘I’ll have sausage. What’ve you been doing, Mum?’
‘Mum’s been working on that drawing for ages,’ Alex said, putting down her book and springing to her feet. ‘Come on, show us.’
Alex and Sam peered over her shoulder at the sketch, Sam dripping seawater on the page.
‘Careful!’
‘Wow, Mum, that’s reeeeally good!’ Sam congratulated her.
Charlotte couldn’t help preening slightly.
‘Well, I quite like it.’
Alex feigned indifference. ‘Yeah, it’s OK. I forgot that you used to be an artist or something.’
‘What do you mean, “used to be”?’ Charlotte bristled.
‘I mean before, when you had a proper job. Wasn’t it something to do with art?’
Charlotte instantly made the transition from bristling to prickly. ‘For your information, I was a design director on a number of TV programmes and films. Yes, it was something to do with art and, yes, you do need to be quite good at it. As far as I know you don’t stop being artistic just because your womb has been commandeered for the purpose of having children. The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know!’
Alex merely shrugged and looked bored, returning to her deckchair and her book.
Charlotte stood, hands on hips, glaring.
‘Look, love, I don’t think Alex meant anything,’ said Ed, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. ‘She wasn’t thinking, that’s all.’
Still fuming, Charlotte turned her glare on Ed, who attempted what he hoped was a concerned and sympathetic smile. To her it seemed condescending.
‘It’s an incredible picture,’ he gushed, digging himself in deeper. ‘And I think it’s great that you’ve found an outlet for your creativity while we’re here.’
For a split second, Charlotte felt like strangling him. Instead, she said through gritted teeth, ‘Could you try and be a little more patronising, Ed. You’re almost there, but you’ve not quite managed to make me feel completely, utterly belittled – though you’re obviously trying very hard.’
Ed’s face fell. Charlotte felt a twinge of guilt for turning on him, but it was too late. Her anger was in full flow.
‘How do you know that I don’t already have an outlet for my creativity, Ed?’ she went on, her voice rising an octave or two. ‘Though it would actually be quite difficult, wouldn’t it, seeing as I’m raising our children practically on my own? I’m not surprised they’ve forgotten what I’m capable of – all they ever see is the mum who cooks, cleans and nags!’
‘Charlotte, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘Oh, forget it. I’m going to take Molly for a walk and stretch my legs.’ She grabbed Molly’s lead from the rail and Molly shot out from the beach cabin where she’d been keeping out of the sun. ‘Come on, Mol, let’s go!’ she called, striding off in the direction of the cliff path without so much as a backward glance as she added, ‘The sandwiches are in the cooler box. Help yourself.’
Ed took a bite of egg-mayonnaise sandwich. As the first tang hit his taste buds, he realised that there was something mixed in with the egg and the mayonnaise, something that crunched and that didn’t quite work. It tasted odd. He put it back in the sandwich bag.
‘Where’s Mum gone?’ Alex plonked herself down next to him.
‘For a walk.’
‘Is she in a huff?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Sorry.’ Alex drew a circle in the sand and looked sheepish.
‘Never mind. As much my fault as yours, and you know it won’t last.’
‘Why isn’t Mum a…design director any more?’
Ed sighed and wondered how to put it. ‘Working in film and TV isn’t exactly compatible with a normal family life. The hours are crap and production companies don’t tend to make allowances for working mothers. The two don’t mix.’
‘She likes her job at the theatre.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She’s always on the phone to Henry talking about it. He’s the director. She spends most of her time at the theatre. Sometimes she asks me to be at home for Sam when he gets back f
rom school because she’s running late.’
Ed felt a hot flush rush up his face and tried not to focus on what could be making her late. I love you…can’t live without you…
‘Will Mum ever go back to work properly? Like before?’
He started to answer but then realised he had no idea whether Charlotte had ambitions in that direction. When the children were little, Charlotte hadn’t wanted to leave them, but once they were both at school they had discussed the possibilities. Ed knew that Charlotte missed her work. But jobs were few and far between, and those that did come were either too far away or the hours couldn’t fit around the children. Eventually, the subject was quietly dropped. Ed’s career had taken off and Charlotte had seemed content to help out at the local theatre, which put on short runs that were geared towards families. ‘I don’t know, Alex,’ he sighed.
‘Dad, there’s someone waving at you – over there.’
‘Where?’
Alex pointed at a woman coming down the path. ‘Put your glasses on, Dad!’
Ed scrabbled around in the sand for his specs and put them on. The blur formed itself into Penny coming into view. He smiled widely and waved her over.
‘Good God – Alexandra, is that you?’ Penny exclaimed when she saw Alex. ‘You’re just like your father!’
‘Hopefully she’ll grow out of it. Hello, Pen.’ Ed stood and gave her a big hug.
‘Hi, Penny.’ Alex gave Penny a hug too before joining her brother and Penny waved to Sam who waved his spade back in return.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked. ‘This is an amazing place, isn’t it? It has a completely different feel when you’re not working.’
‘I know. It’s perfect. Well…almost.’
‘Where’s Charlotte?’
‘Um, she’s gone for a walk.’
‘Things still a bit rocky?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Give her time – your time. And don’t give up.’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m trying.’
‘Isn’t that Charlotte coming down the path?’
Ed turned and saw his wife heading towards them with Molly. The tense bad humour was gone from her face, but there was a definite flicker of caution in her eyes when she registered Penny Leighton’s presence – effectively her husband’s boss.
‘Hi, Pen, lovely to see you!’ Charlotte gave Penny a hug. They knew each other well.
‘Have you been walking on the cliffs? Majestic, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, and the perfect antidote to disappearing up my own arse.’ Charlotte shot Ed a quick glance. ‘Not trying to drag my husband away from his holiday, are you, Pen?’ She said this lightly, but Ed knew there’d be trouble if he reneged on his promise.
‘Not on your nelly! Simon’s banned me from talking about work, so no worries on that score.’
‘How’s your lovely daughter, Jenna?’
‘Exhausting! But we’ve got a night off this evening. Why don’t you all come and join us for dinner at the Dolphin later? Don and Dorrie are doing a hog roast and all the locals will be there.’
Charlotte looked at Ed, uncertain.
‘No work talk, we promise – don’t we, Pen?’
‘Brownie’s honour.’
It took Charlotte a nanosecond to make up her mind. ‘You’re on!’ She gave Penny a huge grin. ‘I could do with a pint of Cornish Knocker!’
The Dolphin was packed out. Holidaymakers and locals alike seemed to be making the most of summer’s last hurrah. Ed, Charlotte and the kids made their way through the throng and found that Penny and her husband, Simon, the local vicar had saved them a seat at a table with two of their friends: Helen Merrifield and Piran Ambrose.
They all shook hands and said their hellos, then Piran, Simon and Ed duly trooped to the bar, as men do, while the women got chatting about life and kids.
Charlotte warmed to Helen immediately. It came as a surprise that Helen was now a grandmother – Charlotte thought she was way too young. And she seemed so at home in the community that it was hard to believe she’d left her husband and moved down here from London only recently.
‘I thought Piran was your husband.’
‘Good God, no!’ Helen laughed. ‘We’d end up killing each other. I’ve been there, done that, and he’s way too grouchy to be a full-time boyfriend. I know you’ve got to take the rough with the smooth, but he takes the biscuit sometimes, so it’s better this way.’
It turned out that Helen lived a few doors down from their holiday let, in Gull’s Cry – the cottage she’d admired when she arrived.
Helen clapped her hands. ‘Fabulous, I can take you for a tour round the village. I’ll introduce you to Queenie and Tony.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve already met Queenie.’
The men rejoined them at the table. ‘Guess what: Piran’s a proper Cornish fisherman!’ announced Ed. He had a boyish flush, and Charlotte suspected he was already a bit pissed, but she was glad to see that he was enjoying himself.
Piran gave them a stern look. ‘Proper fisherman are the only kind we have in this part of the world. ’Tis a serious business.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m not much of a fisherman myself. I only went once with my dad, and neither of us could bear to kill the poor buggers. We threw most of them back in.’
‘I could never, ever kill a fish. They have the same feelings as people and catching them is murder!’ Alex said with feeling, looking up from her iPad.
A smile danced around Piran’s lips. ‘Aye, maid, their lives is as precious to them as yours is to you. All good fisherman respect that and only take what they need.’
‘Ha, that’s funny, Alex,’ continued Ed, getting into his stride. ‘I seem to remember that you ended up killing quite a lot of fish when you were younger. Your fish tank had what you might call a revolving-door policy!’
‘That wasn’t the same thing, Dad!’ she protested, but she laughed along with everyone else.
‘At least it can’t be as bad as Mum,’ Sam chipped in. ‘She’s been prosecuted for crimes against fish dinners! Harry Potter wants her prawn surprise recipe so he can use it to defeat Voldemort!’
‘You don’t appreciate fine dining, that’s your problem,’ protested Charlotte, but she was laughing too.
The laughter was interrupted by Alex’s ringtone, which was an incredibly loud and annoying jangle.
She looked at the caller and answered it quickly, whispering into the phone that she’d call back when she was alone.
‘Got a secret admirer, Alex?’ Ed joked. ‘Make sure you don’t bring him home on prawn-surprise night – that might be the last we see of him!’
Alex’s face went puce and she balled her fists.
‘Ed, hang on…’ Charlotte could see immediately that Alex was upset. But Alex had already stood up and was facing her father, blushing hotly.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t understand and you don’t even care!’ Then she stomped off to sit outside on the terrace.
‘What did I say?’ Ed looked aghast, stung by the ferocity of her words.
‘Teenagers – they’re a mystery,’ said Simon, with a sympathetic shake of his head.
‘It’s getting late. Perhaps we should go.’ Charlotte started gathering up their things, casting anxious glances out to the terrace, where Alex could be seen furiously texting on her phone.
They all said their goodnights, Helen and Charlotte promising to see each other again. Charlotte retrieved Alex from the beer garden and the two of them walked on ahead with Sam and Molly, while Ed followed gloomily behind.
‘She seemed so angry,’ he said to Charlotte hours later as they lay in bed. Outside the night air was still, punctuated occasionally by a barn owl emitting its blood-curdling scream as it swooped on its prey. ‘I’ve never seen her like that before.’
‘She’s very touchy.’ Charlotte said sleepily from her side of the bed.
‘But it’s so unlike Alex. She hates con
frontation, even if she is a sulky teenager.’
Charlotte sighed from the depths of her pillow, then propped herself up on her elbows and turned to face Ed. ‘She’s been like this for a while now. Something’s bothering her, but she won’t confide in me. If you’d been around more, you might have noticed before now.’
There was no vitriol or accusation in her words – it was a merely bald statement. They both knew the truth of it and there was nothing Ed could say in his defence.
He ran a hand over his face. ‘I know, I know – it’s just been so hard to get home. Maybe I can reschedule a few things, put a few projects on the back burner…’
‘Ed.’ Charlotte lifted her hand to still his words. ‘This isn’t about “rescheduling a few things”. Alex is growing up. In a few years she’ll be an adult. That’s something no one can reschedule. And, if you don’t adjust your priorities, you’re going to miss what’s left of her childhood. Sam’s, too. Before you know it, they’ll have drifted away from you and you’ll never be able to get back what you’ve lost.’ Her voice softened as she saw the impact her words were having. ‘Right now, Alex needs us – even if she doesn’t realise it.’
Then Charlotte turned her back on him and settled herself down to sleep. As her breathing deepened and she drifted off, Ed noticed a tightness grip his jaw and recognised the familiar feel of a long sleepless night ahead of him.
4
Typically for an English summer, a day of sunshine and blue skies was followed by a gloomy, overcast morning with ominous grey clouds threatening rain. The weather seemed to affect the mood in the cottage and, despite Ed’s entreaties, Alex was refusing his offer of a vegetarian fry-up.
‘I only want toast, Dad.’
Alex was huddled up beneath the duvet in her bedroom, wrapped in her hoodie. Ed thought she looked much younger than her fifteen years.
‘Come on, kitten,’ he coaxed. ‘A bite to eat and then we can take a trip somewhere. There’s a lot to see around here. How about driving to Tintagel? There’s a castle.’
