It would be very interesting, she thought, to see how the family would treat her now that Graham was no longer around to spearhead the anti-Chrissie campaign. And now that it was obvious she was the only one with any cash floating around - she might not gloat about it, but they all knew she was minted. She smirked slightly into her champagne, then told herself off. It wasn’t nice to revel in other people’s misfortune, but she wouldn’t be so gleeful if they hadn’t all taken their lead from Graham.
After the birthday tea, Chrissie and David went back to Ocean View, the bed and breakfast the family used when there wasn’t enough room for everyone in the hut. They were going to have a lie-down before they got changed and met the others for dinner.
David was visibly shaken by his mother’s news.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s quite clear what we’ve got to do.’
‘Is it?’ asked Chrissie warily.
He spread out his hands to indicate how obvious the solution was.
‘We’re going to have to raise the money to buy it. We can’t let it slip out of the family. We were the first people to have a hut on this beach. It’s our legacy.’
‘And how do you propose we raise the money?’ asked Chrissie. ‘Your mother’s asking for offers over a hundred and twenty grand. We can’t just stick that on the mortgage. It’s big enough as it is.’
David looked at her. She shook her head at him.
‘Your salary won’t cover it, David. We’re at four times already. We’d be mad to go any higher, even if they’d give it to us. Which they probably won’t. Don’t you read the papers?’
He looked away for a moment, then cleared his throat awkwardly.
‘I was thinking . . . as it’s an emergency . . . you could . . . sell one of the launderettes?’
Chrissie put her hands up. She feigned surprise, although secretly she had been wondering just how long it would take him to pluck up the courage to ask.
‘Oh no. Oh no no no no no.’
‘Why not? It’s a good investment - these huts keep their value, even in a recession—’
‘That’s not the point. The point is the launderettes are only valuable as a package. They’re all propping each other up. It’s a deck of cards. Take one out of the equation and you put the whole lot in jeopardy. ’
‘I don’t see how.’
Chrissie bit her tongue. Of course he didn’t. That’s why he wasn’t a businessman but a mere employee in someone else’s company.
‘It’s our family duty,’ he carried on.
‘Rubbish,’ replied Chrissie crisply. ‘Our duty is to our kids, and if I’m going to sell one of the launderettes to fund a holiday home, it’ll be in Spain or Cyprus or Majorca - somewhere we can go all year round. Not the bloody freezing west coast of England.’
‘But the kids love it here.’
‘The kids would love it anywhere there’s water and other kids to play with. It’s not a tragedy, David, it’s a fact of life.’
He stared at her.
‘You really are a hard-nosed bitch, aren’t you?’
She shrugged.
‘If that means I’m not sentimental, then yeah.’
David was trembling with emotion.
‘Is that really how little you value this family?’
She took in a deep breath. Maybe it was time to voice some home truths.
‘I value them about as much as they value me,’ she answered. ‘Don’t you think that’s fair?’
She saw him roll his eyes.
‘You’ve always had a chip on your shoulder about not being good enough.’
‘Actually, no, I haven’t.’ She felt a surge of anger. She didn’t want to get into this - when she’d watched Graham’s coffin disappear into the ground, she’d hoped for a fresh start. But it seemed his prejudice lived on, and she bloody well wasn’t going to keep her lip buttoned any longer. ‘I’ve always thought I was good enough for you. It was your ignorant pig of a father who decided the moment he set eyes on me that I wasn’t good enough, and he made damn sure I knew it until the day they put him in that bloody coffin. And the rest of you took your lead from him. Sneering, smirking, nudging each other—’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You all think you value good manners so highly, but between you, you’re the rudest bunch of people I have ever met. I was brought up to make people feel welcome, make them feel good about themselves. But you and your family have done their best to make me feel an outsider. I’m not a Milton - because I didn’t have my own silver napkin ring at home, I didn’t go to a posh school—’
‘You see?’ he broke in. ‘Chippy.’
‘I am not fucking chippy!’ She picked up a shoe and threw it at him. He sat up in alarm, blinking.
‘Jesus, Chrissie.’
‘You make me so angy—’
‘Well, you’ve just proved it, haven’t you? If you were well brought up, you wouldn’t scream like a fishwife and throw your shoe at me.’
Chrissie drew herself up with all the dignity she could muster.
‘At least if I die,’ she managed to say, ‘I won’t leave you in the financial shit. What kind of a man leaves his wife penniless? A total loser. And, I can assure you, no gentleman.’
She was going to go too far. She could feel it. She looked up at the ceiling, prayed for the strength to stop there, to keep her mouth shut. By now David had rolled off the bed and was getting to his feet, looking upset. She’d gone too far already.
‘How dare you speak about my father like that? Have you no respect?’
Chrissie narrowed her eyes.
‘Actually, no, I don’t. I never did, and I certainly don’t now he’s dead. I’m not going to pretend.’
‘In that case, maybe we should just get a divorce. If that’s honestly how you feel.’
David always trotted this out when he felt threatened and undermined. He didn’t mean it. It was just her cue to tell him how much she loved him. Today she wasn’t going to play.
‘Try that, and I’ll run those launderettes into the ground before you can say knife. And half of nothing is precisely nothing.’
David looked completely shell-shocked and for a moment Chrissie felt ashamed. He looked like a little boy lost. About fifteen years old. As if his whole world had fallen apart. She shouldn’t have shouted at him like that, but years of being marginalised had made her feel indignant. Why shouldn’t she be able to voice how she felt?
Because she was the one who was in the position of strength, that was why. The Miltons had only marginalised her because they felt threatened. She might hold her knife like a pen - well, not any more - but she had what they all wanted. The ability to make something of herself, to take risks.
Chrissie walked across the room and ran her fingers over her husband’s chest. He might be a bit of a loser on the business front, but he was still sexy. Sometimes she wanted to tell him just to shut up and look nice.
‘Move on, David,’ she murmured. ‘That’s how life works. You can’t cling onto things.’
‘You don’t understand, do you? What it means to lose something that’s been in your family.’
‘Maybe I don’t, no. The only thing I’m going to get left is a couple of racing pigeons and a shelf full of Lladro—’
‘That hut is part of our heritage. It’s in our blood. It should be handed down to generation after generation of Miltons . . .’
Chrissie stared up at the ceiling.
‘David?’
‘Yes?’
‘Get over it.’
She turned away. She slid out of her robe and squirted a handful of body cream into her hand then started to work it into her skin.
‘Anyway, if you love it down here so much, you can always hire one.’
David glared at her.
‘You really, really don’t get it, do you?’
She stood in front of him, her magnificent breasts glistening with recently applied lotion.
�
�David. It’s time for a new beginning. Goodbye Everdene, hello the rest of the world. Now for fuck’s sake get dressed for dinner.’
David flopped onto the bed with a groan and buried his face in the pillow. Chrissie pulled a dress out of her suitcase and shook it out. He wasn’t going to make her feel guilty. Every summer they were held to ransom by the bloody beach hut. She didn’t have an issue with the next generation enjoying it. They were all great kids, they all mucked in together, and she didn’t begrudge the cousins time together, not for a second. But David and his brothers were completely dysfunctional. Competitive, argumentative, jealous, always homing in on each other’s anxieties. Graham had seemed to thrive on it, almost seemed to goad them, while Jane ran around trying to placate everyone but at the same time desperately not being seen to take sides. Chrissie refused to get involved. Occasionally she was tempted to pull the pin and throw in a hand grenade and wait for the explosion, but she didn’t want to descend to their level. Instead she drank wine, read books, surfed on her laptop, made phone calls to her friends, painted her nails, but the whole set-up made her feel slightly ill.
It was definitely time for a new start.
The Miltons totally dominated the tiny French restaurant at the foot of the hill that led out of Everdene. They’d had a huge long table: all the kids sat at one end and devoured Martine’s legendary roast chicken and frites while the adults went for the à la carte. The food was good - honest, well-cooked bistro fare and despite, or more probably because of, Graham’s absence, the mood was convivial, helped along by plenty of Kir Royales.
After tarte au chocolat, Chrissie went outside onto the terrace for a cigarette, and wasn’t surprised when Philip joined her with a Cohiba. They sat on a bench next to the patio heater put there for the smokers - being French, Martine understood the need.
Philip was drunk. Four Kir Royales, the lion’s share of the red wine, and a hefty Calvados he was cupping in his right hand. Chrissie was more than relaxed, but hadn’t tipped over into the danger zone.
‘Well,’ said Philip, blowing out a plume of richly scented cigar smoke. ‘Bit of a blow, Mum’s announcement. ’
‘It’s not really surprising, is it? Given the shit your father left her in. Makes total sense to get rid of it.’ Chrissie knew she was being brisk, but she had to make her feelings clear from the start.
Philip turned to look at her. He wore a smile that was more of a smirk - he could never smile without seeming patronising, because he genuinely did think he was better than most people. If David had got the looks, then Philip got the brains. He’d been to Oxford, and now he was a professor of English at a university in the Midlands. Lots of kudos, lots of people licking his arse, but not a lot of money. Especially not once you’d taken school fees out of the equation. Philip and Serena didn’t believe in state education. They believed in giving their children the best possible start in life, so the two of them went to a horribly expensive private school. Chrissie couldn’t understand how they could rationalise the expense, which took up at least half of Philip’s salary. She was sure Harry, their eldest, would have got into medical school wherever he had been educated.
Philip was swirling his Calvados round in his glass now, obviously gearing up for a change of tack.
‘You know I’ve always admired you, Chrissie.’
‘Well, you’ve hidden it well.’
‘We’re both winners, you and me. We’ve got a lot in common.’
‘Have we?’
‘Drive. Ambition. A need to accomplish.’
‘Possibly,’ Chrissie conceded, although in Philip’s case his drive was all about feeding his ego. She could imagine him swanning about the campus, fantasising about his students falling in love with him, preening himself in the mirror before every tutorial to make sure his tie was tied just loosely enough, his hair was just tousled enough, to ensure maximum adoration.
‘Come on. You can’t say you don’t feel a connection.’ He put his cigar in his right hand, the hand that was holding his glass, then reached out and touched her waist.
‘Er, no, I don’t, Phil. There’s no love lost between us. Never has been.’ She knew he hated being called Phil.
‘Yes, but it’s just a cover, isn’t it?’
He was stroking her hips, edging his hand up towards her breasts.
‘Touch my tits, and it might be the last thing you do.’
He gave a little moue and moved his hand away. He put his head to one side and looked into her eyes.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘About what?’
‘If Mum sells the hut, we won’t be seeing each other. I don’t know if I can live with that, Chrissie. Our little summers together keep me going.’
‘I thought you and Serena were very happy?’
He flicked the ash off his cigar.
‘Oh, we poddle along on the surface. But there’s no passion.’ He gave her a look that was supposed to be searing. ‘In fact, I can’t remember the last time we had sex.’
‘God, how awful. And you a red-blooded male. That must be a terrible trial. Unless you have . . . other arrangements?’
Again that irritating smile. Then he moved in closer and slid his arm around her.
‘I could certainly make other arrangements.’
Chrissie wriggled out of his grasp with an exasperated sigh. She wasn’t going to slap him. He didn’t merit that much attention.
‘Phil - why don’t you drop the pretence and just come straight out with it? You want me to buy the hut.’
To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat.
‘You know it’s the only decent thing to do. None of us mere mortals can afford it.’ He smouldered at her again. ‘And maybe you and I could come down here alone one weekend. Necessary maintenance.’
‘Is that what you call it?’ Chrissie couldn’t help smiling. God, he was arrogant beyond belief. ‘Sorry, but all my cash is tied up. I couldn’t buy it even if I wanted to.’
He scowled. He was clearly trying to figure out if she was lying. Chrissie stubbed out her cigarette. She wasn’t going to stay around to listen to any more of his lecherous nonsense. What an unbelievably deluded twat. Had that been a gamble on his part, or was he really vain enough to think she fancied him?
Serena approached her the next morning on the beach. They were sitting outside the hut on the deckchairs, surrounded by magazines and bottles of suntan lotion, keeping half an eye on the children. Except for Spike, who was Adrian’s responsibility, they were all old enough to roam the beach on their own and not have their parents hovering over them, but Chrissie always liked to have her three in her eye-line.
It was a dazzling day, a clear blue sky, the surf high enough for bodyboarding but not alarming, a gentle breeze. Serena stretched her legs, wiggled her toes and sighed.
‘I’m going to miss this place.’
‘We all are,’ Chrissie agreed. ‘But we should think ourselves lucky that we had it at all.’
‘It seems such a shame, just to let it go like that.’
‘Jane will do well out of it. Look at it that way.’
Serena was studying her nails. Chrissie could see her brain ticking away under her blond fringe, wondering how to play it.
‘I was thinking . . . maybe we should club together, all of us? Keep it in the family.’
Chrissie tried hard not to show her irritation - what was this obsession with the family? She put on a puzzled expression. She was going to make Serena work hard for this.
‘How would that work, exactly?’
‘Well - split it between the three boys. It would only be forty thousand each. That’s not so hard to find.’
‘Well, it definitely would be for Adrian. And we’re certainly stretched on our mortgage. I don’t know about you two . . .’
Serena’s baby-blue eyes clouded over.
‘But I thought . . . I thought . . . you were quite well off?’ She looked down, her cheeks high with colour. ‘I was thinking . . . perh
aps we could borrow the money . . . from you?’
Chrissie surveyed her sister-in-law. She felt sorry for her, chained to Philip. She didn’t think Serena had much of a life. She was pretty much just there to serve her husband, the great academic. He clearly hadn’t married Serena for her brains, but her soft, kittenish beauty. He didn’t want an equal, he wanted someone he could control, so he could please himself. And Serena was a willing enough servant, as far as Chrissie could make out. If Philip said jump, she asked how high? Not a dissimilar relationship to Jane and Graham, she mused. The bully and the doormat.
‘Look, Serena. I don’t know where everyone’s got this idea that I’m loaded. I own a couple of launderettes. A hundred and twenty thousand is a lot of pound coins. I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to bankroll this one—’
‘We’d pay you back! With interest.’
Chrissie shook her head.
‘Apart from anything, I don’t want to invest forty thousand pounds in this hut.’
‘But we’ve always had such happy times here.’
Chrissie looked at her quizzically. What made Serena happy, she wondered? Probably having her husband here, by the sea, where she knew he couldn’t shag his students. What a miserable existence. Chrissie, however, was not responsible for the state of Serena’s marriage. She picked up her magazine.
‘Sorry,’ she said, giving no further explanation. She didn’t have to explain anything to her sister-in-law.
Adrian was a different matter entirely.
On the second night of the birthday weekend, the middle generation all piled up to Tallulah’s nightclub while Jane looked after the children. Tallulah’s had been in Everdene since the dawn of time. It was dark and seedy, with sticky floors and the loudest, most brilliant music. The resident DJ seemed to have the knack of exactly judging his audience’s mood - every track was a surprise, a gem, a memory. None of the Miltons ever went to a nightclub any other time of the year, but this had become a tradition. They let their hair down and danced the night away. The Milton men were all surprisingly good dancers, exhibitionist Chrissie was often told she should have been a pole-dancer, and given enough to drink Serena got into the groove in a dreamy, detached sort of a way. They ruled the dance floor between them, swapping partners, swapping styles, finding an energy that eluded them on a daily basis. They would all suffer the next day, but they needn’t do anything but doze on the beach.
The Beach Hut Page 12
