The Beach Cabin

by Fern Britton

  ‘I don’t want to tramp round a boring castle.’

  ‘It’s not boring – they say King Arthur was born there.’

  ‘Who?’

  There’d been a time when Ed could shake his daughter out of a moody spell in minutes. Alex had been a naturally sunny child who was easily reduced to helpless giggles. He realised with a pang of disappointment that those days were gone. Getting a laugh today would be like getting blood out of a stone.

  ‘Brown or white?’

  ‘Brown. White bread is full of additives.’

  ‘So virtuous – aren’t you supposed to be living on McDonald’s and alcopops at your age?’

  Ed’s attempt at playful banter merely drew a roll of the eyes before Alex pulled the duvet over her head, signalling an end to the conversation. Defeated, he headed back downstairs.

  Charlotte was putting on her waterproof and Sam was in his usual spot on the sofa, watching an episode of The Big Bang Theory.

  ‘Off somewhere?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘I’m going to take a walk down to the beach hut with Molly.’

  ‘But it looks like rain. I was going to make breakfast.’

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Oh. What about you, Sam? Not going to reject the only meal I’m any good at, are you?’

  ‘Nah, I’m starving. Is it ready now?’

  Ed looked in the fridge. Their supplies had been somewhat depleted since yesterday. ‘We’ll need to go on a foraging expedition. We’re running low.’

  ‘Try that shop I was telling you about in the village,’ suggested Charlotte.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Ed, you’ll have me doubting that you hang on my every word if you say things like that. I nipped in there for a paper yesterday morning – you can’t miss it: the windows are lined with yellow cellophane and crammed with old boxes of Black Magic and York Fruits. It’s as if the last fifty years never happened. The owner’s an old Cockney—’

  ‘Oh, you mean Queenie’s shop. She does lovely pasties – or “oggys” as they call them round here. You have to order them in advance though. The crew practically live off them when we’re filming.’

  ‘Well, I think you’ll find she sells groceries and everything else we need to top up our dwindling supplies. I can’t believe you’ve been coming here year after year and you don’t even know where to buy a loaf and a pint of milk.’

  ‘OK, Queenie’s it is, then. Fancy a trip out, Sam?’

  ‘Aw, I’m watching this!’

  ‘You can watch that any time. Queenie’s has to be seen to believed.’

  Leaving Ed to take on the parental duty of tearing his son away from the TV, Charlotte clipped Molly’s lead onto her collar and opened the door. It was starting to rain, but she didn’t care. The beach cabin was calling her.

  By the time Charlotte got down the path to the beach, a steady drizzle had set in. Nothing too heavy, but enough to keep most people away. Aside from the odd dog-walker passing by, she had the beach all to herself.

  She had left some dog towels in the cabin the day before and the first thing she did after undoing the padlock was to fish them out and give Molly a good rubdown. Molly looked out from behind the long hair that covered her eyes and groaned.

  ‘Don’t moan – I get enough of that from the kids! I know you hate the rain, but everything will end up smelling of wet dog if I don’t dry you off.’

  Molly licked her face by way of apology and, once that was done, she settled down on her dog blanket while Charlotte put the kettle on.

  Looking out at the turbulent greys and greens of the surf, whipped up by the rain, Charlotte thought she liked the beach even more today. There was something wonderfully liberating about being here alone. She’d had to get used to being by herself, with Ed away from home so much, but this was a different type of alone. Solitude rather than loneliness. She liked it. The thought of having this on your doorstep every day was hugely appealing and she could see why Helen had come to Pendruggan and stayed put. Maybe when the kids were older…

  She dismissed the thought. No good daydreaming about something that could never happen – not the way things were.

  Taking her sketchpad and pencils from the cupboard, she settled herself down on a deckchair on the veranda, well out of the rain. Then she began to draw.

  Charlotte had completely lost track of time when a voice broke her concentration. On looking up she was surprised and delighted to see Helen Merrifield, accompanied by a lively Jack Russell terrier who danced around her feet. Helen hailed her and headed over. Charlotte waved back, laid her drawing down by the deckchair and put the kettle on. She had no idea how long she’d been there but the weather had brightened.

  ‘Good afternoon, Charlotte. How are you today?’

  ‘Afternoon? What time is it?’

  Helen looked at her watch. ‘Coming up to one o’clock.’

  ‘Crikey! I’ve been here for hours. Cuppa?’

  ‘Yes, please, I’m parched.’

  Helen pulled out another deckchair and plonked herself down on it, watching as her Jack Russell greeted Molly, the pair of them nose to nose, tails wagging, and then sniffing each other’s bum in a doggy hello.

  ‘What’s your dog’s name?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Jack – and he’s not mine, he belongs Piran, in as much as he belongs to anyone. He’s a law unto himself, that dog. He seems to have taken a fancy to yours.’

  Jack was chasing Molly in circles around the beach. Despite the difference in size, Jack seemed to have the upper hand.

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Poor Molly, she’s like a giddy schoolgirl. Has Jack been neutered?’

  Helen snorted. ‘No dog of Piran’s would have his knackers tampered with. Molly?’

  ‘No idea. Don’t think so…’

  ‘Oh, well, a marriage made in heaven. The mind boggles. Is that your drawing?’ Helen picked up the sketchpad from her feet. The picture was a brooding mass of greys and greens, depicting the turbulent surf of earlier. The colours were vivid and dramatic and the picture perfectly caught the atmosphere of Shellsand Bay. ‘You’re very good, Charlotte. Is this the sort of thing you do at the theatre you were telling me about?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Charlotte joined her, handing over a mug of steaming English breakfast tea. It wasn’t a green-tea sort of day. ‘The sets are bigger, so you can’t be so precise. It’s more about getting the right feel for a production and creating a canvas that helps the performers tell the story. You have to think a bit differently.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  Charlotte thought for a moment, looking out to the horizon. ‘Yes, I do. It’s not the same as working on TV sets, not as exhilarating, but you get to be creative. You have to work very closely with the director, channelling his vision…’ she trailed off and Helen could sense something beneath.

  ‘I can imagine. It’s a collaboration.’

  ‘Yes, Henry’s been very…’ – Charlotte searched for the right word – ‘supportive.’

  Helen didn’t pry further. ‘How’s the holiday?’

  ‘Oh, not too bad. The usual bickering, but it’s always like that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ Helen said with feeling. ‘I’ve lost count of the family holidays that have been marred by squabbles and mood swings and tantrums. They can be quite a trial. All too often it’s a relief to go home.’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘It’s nowhere near as bad as that. It makes a nice change for us to be together. And this is absolutely wonderful.’ She threw her hand out expansively at Shellsand Bay. ‘It’s just…’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me,’ Helen said sympathetically. ‘It’s hard for everyone to rub along sometimes, isn’t it? Families change and grow, and not always at the same rate. I had a husband who spent most of our holidays chatting up the barmaid or trying to cadge telephone numbers from young waitresses. One day I woke up and realised that, while I’d changed and matured, my silly husband Gray was still the same in
secure man-child he’d been twenty-odd years ago. It was liberating to realise I wasn’t going to put up with it any more.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Yes, we do change. I can’t even remember what I was like when Ed and I first met. I must have been quite confident, but I think it was more bravado than anything. Ed was so intense, took everything so seriously.’ She watched a small boat chugging far out at sea, tossed gently by the waves. ‘He still does take it all so seriously. I know he seems like a lovely easygoing guy, but he’s a worrier, forever driving himself, like he’s on a treadmill he can’t get off of.’

  Helen sipped at her tea. ‘Maybe you should swap roles for a while.’

  ‘He’d never be able to do that.’

  ‘Try him. You never know.’

  Charlotte frowned, thinking.

  ‘Why not suggest that you both give it a trial run?’ said Helen. ‘He should embrace change and so should you. If your marriage is solid, then it’ll be good for both of you – sometimes a marriage needs a helping hand to get it over that midlife hump. None of us stay the same all our lives, we grow and we change – it’s human nature.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Charlotte didn’t look convinced. Was their marriage solid? ‘Are you going back up to the village now? I’ll come with you.’

  They packed up and Charlotte put Molly on the lead. Jack didn’t have one.

  ‘Got time for that village tour? We can pop in and say hello to Polly, who lives next door to me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘By the way, Piran’s offered to take you all out on his boat – the weather looks like it’s going in the right direction, so how about this afternoon?’

  ‘What a great idea! Thanks, Helen.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I’ll text Piran.’

  ‘Not just for that…I mean, you know…the tea and sympathy.’

  ‘Any time.’

  The two women exchanged a hug and headed back towards Pendruggan.

  Charlotte loved Polly’s cottage. It was full of wind chimes and the scent of jasmine. Polly gave her some Tregothan tea – ‘It’s good for your chakras’ – and she fed Molly an organic vegetarian dog treat, which Molly ate politely though with a certain lack of enthusiasm.

  There was a bounce in Charlotte’s step when she got back to the cottage to find Ed and Sam on the sofa watching surf videos on YouTube.

  ‘We went to Queenie’s,’ Ed told her. ‘I’m afraid she didn’t have any oggys left for our lunch, but I got some stuff for sandwiches.’

  ‘Mum, come and have a look at this,’ Sam said. ‘We’ve been watching these huge waves and—’

  ‘Put that thing away. The sun’s shining and we’re going out for the afternoon.’

  She skipped up the stairs to find Alex still in her room. ‘Hey. How’s it going?’

  Alex grunted something incomprehensible from beneath her hoodie.

  ‘Sun’s out.’

  ‘I don’t like the sun.’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Or anything else for that matter, it seems. Stop hibernating, let’s go out.’

  ‘I’m tired. I don’t want to tramp round a stately home or a lobster farm.’

  ‘Ah – I’ve got something much better than that in mind.’

  Alex’s interest was piqued. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Fancy a trip out on a fishing boat?’

  Alex sat up – she loved boats. ‘Piran’s?’

  ‘Who else’s!’

  ‘Awesome! When are we going?’

  ‘Now?’

  Alex jumped out of bed and Charlotte headed back downstairs to rally the troops.

  An hour later they headed out of Trevay on Piran’s fishing boat. The rain had cleared and the sun kept breaking through the clouds, promising warmer weather to come. The family foursome were all decked out in lifejackets and chatting excitedly as the boat chugged out into the open sea.

  ‘Backalong times, Trevay was full of little boats and fishermen like me,’ Piran informed them. ‘Nowadays, it’s the big boys like Behenna and Clovelly Fisheries what gets the big catches, but some of us still stick to the old ways.’

  They spent the next few hours learning about tackle and lines. Despite his gruff manner, Piran was a patient and thoughtful teacher. Alex and Ed were in their element. Alex had always been fascinated by how things work, and Piran’s informed explanation of long-line fishing and how to set the lines near the surface kept her completely absorbed.

  Sam and Charlotte were more interested in watching the wildlife. They thought they saw a dolphin’s fin and definitely spotted a couple of seals popping their heads out of the water, eyeing them curiously.

  ‘I’ve caught some!’ Alex was thrilled when she felt the tug of mackerel on her line. Neither Ed nor Charlotte wanted to spoil the mood by reminding her of her vegetarian principles.

  After a happy afternoon, they headed back towards Trevay. To everyone’s delight, a pod of dolphins appeared alongside the boat and raced them for a few minutes before breaking off and disappearing back under the waves. Charlotte watched in awe as the lithe creatures darted beneath the water. She remembered that the ancient Celts believed that dolphins had healing powers. Was it too much to hope that this could be the start of the healing process for her family too?

  When they pulled into the harbour and unloaded their catch, everyone agreed that a barbie down on the beach would be the perfect end to a perfect day. Charlotte filled a cooler box with ingredients that Ed had picked up from Queenie’s shop, along with their fish.

  Aside from a fry-up, Ed’s other speciality was a barbecue. He loved the rigmarole of setting the charcoal – never briquettes – getting the glow just right, and then judging with minute precision whether it was time to put the food on. No charred-on-the-outside-raw-on-the-inside frozen sausages on his watch.

  As Ed set the barbecue going in the fading evening sunlight, Sam tackled Alex about her mackerel, half a dozen of which hung from a string attached to a hook outside the cabin.

  ‘If you’re a vegetarian, how come you’ve gone fishing?’

  Charlotte held her breath for a moment, fearing that the blue touchpaper had been lit and an explosion would surely follow.

  But, after taking a moment to consider her response, Alex said calmly, ‘Fishing felt different than I thought it would. Piran explained that fishing didn’t have to be destructive as long as you fish responsibly and think about your impact on the environment. I liked setting the lines and doing it properly.’

  ‘Are you going to eat one?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Well, I’m hoping they’ll be delicious,’ Ed chipped in. ‘But I wish we’d asked Piran to gut them as well.’

  ‘He’d have told you not to be a “bleddy lazy up-country arse” and to do it yourself.’ Charlotte came alongside him, carrying a chopping board and a plastic bowl filled with new potatoes and some beetroot, which she placed on the camping table. ‘What are you going to cook them in?’

  ‘I’ve got a marinade of lime, ginger and chilli.’

  ‘Nice! I’m starving.’ She handed him an open beer and took a swig from her own.

  ‘Cheers.’ They chinked bottles.

  As the cooking got under way, the appetising smell from the fish was unbearably tempting and Alex found herself hovering by her dad as he dished hot fish onto plates.

  ‘Want some?’ he offered non-judgementally.

  ‘Go on then.’ She picked hot chunks of mackerel off with her fingers and declared them delicious.

  ‘Does this mean you’re not a vegetarian now?’ Sam badgered.

  ‘I’m a fishetarian!’

  There were plenty of other people down at the beach that evening and they stayed on until quite late. Charlotte was disappointed to see that her potato, beetroot and egg salad remained untouched. She was sure that was the list of ingredients that Lorraine Pascale had used…But maybe the egg was wrong – or was it the beetroot? She offered it to Molly, who gave her a courteous thank-you lick but left the bowl
untouched.

  When they got home, Charlotte tidied away the things while Ed collapsed on the sofa and the children drifted off upstairs to bed.

  Charlotte poured herself a glass of red wine and one for Ed, but by the time she sat down, squeezed onto the sofa in the tiny space left by his big long legs, he was fast asleep and snoring loudly.

  Noticing that his glasses had fallen halfway off his face, she removed them. He never carried a spare pair and would be lost if they got broken. Looking at him now, she thought that, apart from the grey hair around his temples, he looked almost exactly the same as he had when they’d first met. Essentially, he was the same, she realised. Constant. Steady. Just never there these days…She wondered what he would say about her.

  Charlotte took a blanket and gently tucked it around him, then turned and headed to bed with Molly close behind her.

  5

  It was the Applebys’ last day in Pendruggan. Tomorrow Charlotte and the kids would be going home, and Charlotte was surprised how sad she felt at the idea. She’d fallen in love with the place. As she looked around her at the dozens of families, surfers and walkers who had come to Shellsand Beach to enjoy the late-August sunshine, she thought there was no better place to be than here.

  Their imminent departure meant the time for prevaricating was over. Charlotte would have to talk to Ed today. She’d decided what she was going to say and how she was going to say it – she’d have to pick her moment.

  For the first time since they’d been on Shellsand Bay, there was a sign of life from one of the other cabins. The one next door to theirs was occupied. It looked to Charlotte like a family of surfers. There was an older man – a well-preserved specimen, perhaps in his late forties – accompanied by a young man who looked to be just out of his teens, and another lad about the same age as Alex. The younger two had blond hair, while the older one had probably been blond once but his hair was now white, with thick Boris Becker eyebrows that stood out in stark contrast against his tanned skin. All three had the sort of tan that comes from year-round exposure to the Cornish elements rather than a few weeks on the beach in summer.