The Beach Hut
Page 23
They walked away from the Grand Prix simulator. All around them, people were hypnotised by the games on offer, even though the odds were stacked against them. Fruit machines, roulette wheels, Kentucky Derbys: they pumped coins in endlessly, the thumping cascade of occasional winnings spurring them on.
‘Of course, Philip would have flipped if he knew. He hates this place.’ She made a face, imitating her husband. ‘It’s for drongoes.’
She didn’t have to explain to Adrian. He knew his own brother only too well. He could just imagine his reaction if he found out his wife and son had been sneaking into the arcade for a bit of harmless fun. Sneeringly condescending vitriol. And some sort of sadistic punishment for Serena when she was least expecting it-a cruel put-down in front of guests, probably, or his refusal to attend some social occasion she was looking forward to. Petty punishments, because Philip was a coward and a bully. Adrian had been at the mercy of his brother’s tongue more times than he cared to remember when they were young, and because of his placid nature he had never retaliated.
He was getting his own back now, however.
Not that this was motivated by revenge. Not at all. Adrian genuinely adored Serena. He had done since the day Philip had brought her home with him to meet the family, nearly twenty years ago. Adrian had only been sixteen then, and at the time thought it was probably a rite of passage to fancy your brother’s girlfriend and that he would get over it one day. But he hadn’t. Gradually, over the summers at Everdene, they had become closer. And closer. Until now . . .
He grabbed her to him, suddenly overwhelmed by his strength of feeling. The slightly surreal surroundings had brought it home even more. It was nearly the end of the summer; The Shack would be handed over to someone else come the autumn. If they didn’t come clean, she would slip away, back to Warwickshire, and maybe the strength of her feelings would fade. The summers were the only time they had together - snatched, stolen moments, always cautious not to arouse anyone’s suspicion. The rest of the time they communicated by mobile via an elaborate system of codes. He thought back on those phone calls; they sometimes spoke for hours, lying on their respective beds, the miles stretching interminably between them. Even when they spoke about the mundane it was intimate, and when they spoke about the intimate . . .
‘We have to tell everyone,’ he told her. ‘We have to tell them now. Or we never will.’
He pushed her back against the fruit machine. He could feel the bass through her body. He wanted her so badly it hurt.
They still hadn’t had sex. Something was holding them back. When it happened, they both wanted it to be right, not a sin. They’d only ever kissed. He couldn’t imagine anything better than kissing her, but no doubt it would be.
‘I know.’ She looked into his eyes, her gaze unfaltering. Behind her head the machine flashed and winked. ‘I’ll tell Philip tonight.’
‘And I’ll tell my mother.’ Adrian didn’t relish the prospect. Jane had had her fair share of bad news this year, and she was very protective of her family. He didn’t know how kindly she would take to someone trying to destroy it from within. Serena would be the scapegoat, he knew that already. Not him. And not Philip.
They held each other tightly. Around them, chaos reigned - neon flashed, machines beeped and squawked, the carpet swirled in a tangle of electric blue and acid yellow. The air was thick with the scent of burgers and candy floss from the snack bar in the corner, and kids wandered around with cups full of luminous flavoured ice. It was hell or heaven, depending where you stood on amusement arcades.
‘Dad?’ To six-year-old Spike, blinking up at them, it was absolute paradise. But he looked confused. Why were the two of them hugging like that?
They peeled away from each other quickly. It had been one of the strictest rules of their affair, not to compromise Spike in any way.
‘Hey.’ Adrian ruffled his son’s hair, the little tuft that still stood up in the front, the tuft that had given him his name. ‘Serena just beat me hands down.’
‘I’ve run out of money.’ Spike held out his hands to prove he wasn’t lying.
‘Two pounds. That was your limit.’
‘I wanted to win the Bart toy. I nearly got it.’
Adrian sighed. That was the problem with the arcade. It taunted you and teased you, made you believe you were about to come away with one of its crummy prizes. Spike had been longing for a Bart Simpson cuddly toy from the grabber.
‘Let’s give it one more go,’ said Serena, taking Spike’s hand. ‘You never know.’
‘I do know,’ said Adrian, but he followed them anyway.
Serena slotted another fifty pence into the machine. She bent down next to Spike and told him which buttons to press to manipulate the grabber. Adrian knew what would happen. It would hover tentatively over Bart, then reach down with its claws and clutch helplessly at the prize, an ineffectual grasp of maybe an arm or a leg, before raising itself up again to its starting position, empty-handed.
But to Adrian’s amazement, under Serena’s guidance and encouragement, Spike managed to position the grabber in just the right spot. He squealed in excitement as Bart was born aloft. Moments later, he had him in his arms, a fluorescent-yellow toy made of cheap synthetic fibre that undoubtedly did not bear the approval of the programme-makers.
Seeing the incredible pleasure on his son’s face made Adrian feel warm inside. It was what life was all about. And he knew that a future with Serena would make sure his life would be filled with these moments. It was one of the things - one of the many things - that he loved about her, the way she treated Spike. She always had time for him, had time to make things special. She always thought about what he might like, and bought him little presents. Nothing expensive-a windmill on a stick, a set of paper flags to stick in his sandcastles, his favourite magazine. Or a delicious oyster, the ice cream packed inside the wafer shell-a sweet treat that wouldn’t spoil his lunch.
He shut his eyes so he could savour this precious moment. Tomorrow, all hell would have broken loose. She might be his, or she might not. He prayed she had the strength to fight for what they had talked about incessantly for over a year now, but he knew she had a lot more to lose than he did. Serena had a marriage, and two children, and a family home. Adrian just had Spike. And Spike was only ever on loan to him as and when his mother thought fit. So he had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
Adrian waited until Spike was tucked up in his bunk with Bart firmly under his arm, then poured his mother a glass of Bourgogne Aligote and flipped the lid on a Peroni for himself before he took the plunge. He, Jane and Spike were alone at The Shack; Philip, Serena, Harry and Amelia had rented a hut a few doors down, and David and Chrissie and their three were coming down the next afternoon, all in readiness for the annual end-of-season party at the weekend. That seemed a lifetime away at the moment. Adrian knew he had to strike now, before arrangements took over and everyone descended into pre-party hysteria and catering crises, which they did every year.
His mother, he thought, looked well. She had seemed very relaxed this summer, despite, or perhaps because of, her bereavement. In the past, she had always been on tenterhooks, having to second-guess Graham’s mood, pussyfoot around him.
Adrian didn’t need a therapist to tell him that it was probably his relationship with his mother that had fuelled his relationship with Serena. They were both in the thrall of powerful but selfish men who treated them like dirt. Adrian had always tried to protect his mother from his father, but what could he do when the cruelty was more mental than physical, when he couldn’t put his finger on what his father had ever done, only knew that it made his mother desperately unhappy? At least with Serena, who suffered in much the same way, he could do something to help her, by taking her away from the source of her unhappiness.
He remembered the first day he realised that she felt for him too. Just over three years ago. He had found her crying round the back of the hut where they hung the wetsuits to dry.
‘Just a silly argument,’ she tried to assure him, but the tears flowed thicker and faster. He put an arm round her, and she buried her face in his chest. He could have stood like that for ever.
She didn’t confide in him that time. He knew he would have to build up trust. So he didn’t probe, he was just there. And when, finally, the tears stopped because there couldn’t possibly be any more, he told her he was going out in the RIB, the lightweight speedboat the family had bought a few years before and kept in a unit further down the estuary.
‘Fancy coming?’ he asked. ‘It’ll blow away the cobwebs. Mum’s looking after Spike for a while. I said I’d go and check the boat out, give it an overhaul.’
She sniffed, and nodded, balling her hanky up and shoving it in her pocket. ‘That would be lovely.’ She paused, frowned. ‘I better check with Philip.’
‘Why?’ asked Adrian. ‘You’re a grown woman. Harry and Amelia are old enough to look after themselves. What’s the problem?’
She thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
‘You’re right,’ she replied, and followed him to his beaten-up old Mitsubishi Warrior. He took Spike’s child seat out of the front to make room for her. Once she was inside, he couldn’t believe he had captured her. The smell of her scent filled the cab, overpowering the roll-up butts in the ashtray (though he never smoked when Spike was in the car) and the open packet of Cheesy Wotsits on the dash.
‘What are you wearing?’ he asked, and she looked at him a little askance. ‘I mean your perfume ...’
She laughed. ‘Coco. By Chanel.’
‘Coco ...’ he murmured. A few days later, when he got back home, he went into Bath, to House of Fraser, and begged a sample off the woman at the Chanel counter. He wondered if it was really pervy, to breathe in the essence of Serena before he went to bed at night. He found it comforting.
They hooked the boat trailer to the back of the truck, then drove to a slipway on the estuary where they could launch it easily, just the two of them. Adrian loved the boat - it was so light and so powerful, gliding across the water. He opened the throttle and they flew over the waves. It was immensely exhilarating and, Adrian knew, dangerous - they only had to hit a wave at the wrong angle and the boat would flip - but he was a good judge of what he was doing. Besides, he wanted adrenalin. He wanted something to cover up the real reason his heart was racing.
He pulled the boat onto a tiny beach along the coast where the family often came for picnics. They clambered out, falling onto the sand, laughing. And then they stopped laughing and looked at each other.
‘Shit,’ said Adrian.
‘Oh,’ said Serena, surprised.
They hadn’t looked back since. They had tried to resist it, but it was bigger than both of them. It felt so, so right when they were together. But of course, it was dynamite. You couldn’t have an affair with your brother’s wife and not expect fireworks. And Serena was riddled with guilt, almost paralysed. He would hold her in his arms while she sobbed, distraught.
‘This is so wrong,’ she would wail.
‘But we haven’t done anything,’ Adrian would assure her.
‘But we want to,’ she’d reply, clinging on and making his shirt wet with her tears.
‘I know ...’
Now, Adrian took a swig of his beer. His mouth was dry with nerves. Every time he went to speak, his nerve failed him and he found something to do instead. Open a packet of peanuts. Tidy away Spike’s Lego. Then he pictured Serena having to tell Philip, and it spurred him on. His was by far the easier option.
‘Mum . . .’
Jane looked up from reading The Times with a half-smile. Adrian hesitated again. She seemed so much happier lately, looking so much younger than her years, a sparkle in her eye. He didn’t want to be responsible for bringing her down again, but he couldn’t keep quiet for ever.
‘I’ve got something to tell you. Something important. I think it might be a bit of a shock.’
Jane dropped the paper.
‘It’s not Donna?’ she asked. ‘She’s not taking Spike to Australia? Please, no ...’
‘No. No - nothing like that.’
‘Thank God.’
It hadn’t occurred to Adrian that his mother would jump to the wrong conclusion, but it wasn’t that surprising. Donna was for ever making empty threats she didn’t keep.
Donna had been what he thought was the antidote to Serena. He had fallen for her seven years ago, a stunning raven-haired vixen who ran a vintage dress shop in Frome, where he was living. He had thought her exotic, ethereal, intriguing. By the time he realised she was highly strung, self-centred and delusional, she was pregnant. He couldn’t stand to spend another minute in her company, but he wasn’t going to turn his back on the baby. For months she tormented him, pretending she was going to have an abortion, pretending she’d already had one, denying he was the father. By the time Spike was born, Adrian realised she was borderline insane, and he was determined to do as much as he could to protect his son. Donna, however, didn’t make it easy for him. She didn’t make anything easy for anyone, not even herself. And that was why his parents had bought him his tiny flat, so that he would have a permanent base for Spike whenever he had access. Ever since, the Miltons had all lived in fear that the little boy they loved so much would come to some harm at Donna’s hands, or that she would run off with someone and they would never see her again. The only weapon they had was money - Jane and Graham had continually forked out for things, and it was only because Spike was so adorable that it didn’t cause more resentment.
‘It’s not about Donna,’ Adrian repeated. ‘It’s about Serena. Me and Serena.’
His mother gave him The Look. The Look that made you admit to pinching the last custard cream from the biscuit jar. He swallowed.
‘I don’t know how it’s happened, but it has. We’re . . . in love. And she’s going to leave Philip.’
Jane gave a little laugh.
‘Adrian. Don’t be ridiculous. That’s . . . impossible.’
‘No, it’s not.’ He had to be firm. ‘We’ve been talking about it for nearly a year, and we’ve finally decided.’
‘A year ... ?’
Jane paled as the realisation dawned that her son was speaking the truth.
‘It’s not what we both wanted,’ Adrian told her. ‘The last thing I wanted to do was to break up my brother’s marriage.’
‘Oh, Adrian,’ his mother sighed. She wasn’t angry, Adrian realised. She just looked incredibly sad.
‘Listen, Mum. We love each other. We can’t live without each other. And Serena can’t live with Philip any longer.’
‘But she’s his wife.’
Adrian sighed. His mother belonged to a generation who still believed in for better for worse, no matter how bad it got.
‘Mum, you know Philip’s a bastard to her ...’ He felt guilty hitting her with this one, but it was true. Serena had put up with Philip’s callous bullying for years. Just like his own mother had. ‘He’s just like Dad.’
Jane looked up sharply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Please, Mum. I don’t want to drag it all up. But I know you didn’t have an easy time.’
Jane didn’t contradict him. She put her face in her hands for a moment while she took in the implications.
Adrian looked around, at the walls that were more familiar to him than the home he had grown up in, or the house where he lived now. He knew every knot in the wood, every crack in the floorboards. He remembered as if it was yesterday sleeping in the bunk where Spike was now, the ceiling as low as a ship’s cabin, the mattress lumpy - but why would you care when you had a whole summer by the sea?
He could also remember waking there in what felt like the middle of the night, but was probably only about ten o’cl
ock, and hearing his father berate his mother in that low but insistent voice that went on and on and on. He could never quite make out the words, but he knew they were nasty, because his mother would cry. And he would lie there clutching the ears of his velvet Eeyore, wishing he was brave enough to scramble down and tell his father to stop, but he never had the courage.
They must have loved each other once, just as Serena and Philip must have done. When did love turn to hate, passion to disdain, tenderness to cruelty?
‘She’s going to come and live with me in Frome,’ he went on. ‘She’s going to help me run my business. She’s going to do all the stuff I’m rubbish at. Paperwork, sending out bills, doing quotes. Chasing customers. She’s got loads of ideas how I can expand, and how to market the business. She’s what I need. We’re going to be as poor as church mice to start with, but we’ll have each other. Plus having her there means I can have Spike with me a bit more - she’s happy to pick him up from school while I’m working, instead of him having to go to that bloody aftercare club Donna insists on when she’s at the shop . . .’
He trailed off. The emotion was getting to him, the thought of how different his future was going to be.
Jane finally looked up again. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
‘I understand,’ she said simply. ‘I can’t give you my blessing, because Philip is my son too, and I have to be impartial. But I do understand. What it’s like to love someone.’ She tried to smile. ‘I like Serena very much. And I know she will be good to Spike. Which is, after all, what really matters in all of this.’
Adrian nodded. He found he had a lump in his throat too.
‘I promise you, Mum. This wasn’t some sordid affair. We haven’t even ...’ He attempted a grin. ‘I won’t go into details, but this is about love, not sex, or obsession. She’s good for me, and I know she’s been unhappy. For a very long time.’
Pain fluttered over Jane’s face. It pains every mother to know that their child has inflicted misery on someone else.
‘Philip?’ she asked. ‘Does he know?’