The Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  Roy just smiled. She knew as well as he did that he was hardly likely to breathe a single syllable. Roy had always known how to keep his counsel.

  Jane sat back comfortably on the sofa in Roy’s living room and stretched out her legs. She was exhausted, but very grateful for his offer. She couldn’t quite face going back to her family yet - she would be hit with a barrage of questions, and problems that had arisen over the party, and no doubt there would have been some drama over the Adrian/Philip/Serena triangle. Roy’s house was a little haven from all of that. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. She ran her eye around the room, admiring the simplicity - his black and white photos on the wall, a shelf of books, another shelf of CDs. On the coffee table next to her was an open brochure for a world cruise. She picked it up-a luxury cruise, by the looks of it, and her mouth watered as she leafed through it. Enticing locations, top-notch accommodation, wonderful food. How heavenly . . .

  ‘Are you going on a cruise, then?’ she asked teasingly, as Roy came through with her supper on a tray.

  ‘I thought I might. Thought it was about time I saw something of the world. Nothing much happens in Everdene in November. It would make a change.’

  He put the omelette in front of her. A perfect yellow crescent, flecked with parsley and chives picked from the garden. A handful of cherry tomatoes from the greenhouse. And a glass of crisp white wine.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Jane, and picked up her knife and fork thoughtfully. A cruise in November. It sounded ideal. She could be miles from home when her story hit the newsstands. Soaking up the sun while tongues wagged.

  She looked up at Roy. He was watching her rather intently. Waiting for her verdict on the omelette, she supposed, but he blushed and looked away when she caught his eye. Strange, she thought, but maybe he was self-conscious about his cooking.

  ‘Roy - be honest with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll totally understand if you say no. But this cruise you’re thinking about . . . how would you like a travelling companion?’

  12

  THE ROCKPOOL

  Alison hadn’t been at all convinced when Mike had suggested a week in Everdene for Chayenne’s first holiday. Even less so when he had proudly announced he had booked a beach hut for them to stay in. The British seaside on a bank holiday? She pictured kiss-me-quick hats and men with fat stomachs slumbering in deckchairs. She wanted to go to Majorca, but Mike had insisted it would be too traumatic for Chayenne to go abroad - she might not like flying, or the heat, or the food. Alison thought longingly of the villa they had rented once or twice in Puerto Pollensa, and held her tongue. He was probably right. He seemed to be right on all matters concerning Chayenne so far. He had an instinct for what she needed. Which was probably why the two of them had bonded so well.

  And Alison had been left feeling like a spare part.

  She had known it would be difficult. After all, they’d had to jump through enough hoops, and it had been made clear at every stage of the process that adoption was no picnic. Applications, assessments, preparation classes, counselling. References. Endless meetings with the social workers. Forms and more forms. Until finally, two years after they had come to the conclusion that they were never going to have children of their own and that this was the right thing to do, Alison and Mike became Chayenne’s mum and dad.

  She was seven years old. She had lived for all of her short life with a bipolar mother, in a house that was stinkingly filthy, piled up to the rafters with junk her mother had accumulated obsessively. Even now Chayenne freaked out when Alison tried to get her into a shower. She could, eventually, coax her into a bath, but only a very shallow one. Alison didn’t think that swimming about in your own dirty water made you properly clean, but she knew she had to be patient.

  Only she’d never found it easy to be patient. She did her best to look calm and serene, but inwardly she spent half her life screaming. She wasn’t used to coaxing and cajoling and murmuring gentle words of encouragement. As a busy estate agent who ran her own office, she expected people to ask how high when she said jump.

  Well, an erstwhile estate agent. She and Mike had agreed that she would take some time off when Chayenne arrived. The same amount of time she would have had off if she’d had a baby. Three of the months had already gone, and the remaining six stretched interminably in front of her.

  She hadn’t expected to feel like this. She hated - hated - herself for finding it all so difficult. She had been so sure she would rise to the occasion, even though there had been no shortage of people telling her it would be more testing than anything she had ever faced - but Alison had never been afraid of a challenge. Now, however, she was finding her confidence waning on a daily basis. She was starting to doubt her own judgement. She was almost frightened of Chayenne, of how she was going to respond to her, of what her reaction was going to be.

  And as Alison’s confidence shrivelled, Mike’s seemed to grow. He sensed Chayenne’s needs and could elicit a positive response from her. They were becoming quite the twosome, partners in crime, and were growing even closer on this holiday.

  When Alison had taken Chayenne down to the water’s edge to paddle, the child had screamed blue murder. Everyone had turned to see what she could possibly be doing to her. Alison had been mortified, and had hurried Chayenne back to the hut as quickly as possible. Mike had reprimanded her quietly, insisted that she had pushed the girl too far too quickly. Alison had felt totally undermined and thoroughly guilty as she listened to Chayenne’s shuddering sobs, and had shed a few tears herself in the privacy of the loo.

  Two days later, under Mike’s expert and intuitive tutelage, Chayenne was running in and out of the water giggling, and had demanded a bodyboard. Mike had of course given in to her demand immediately. Today, they were spending the morning in the sea, complete with new wetsuit, goggles and armbands, while Alison sat on the veranda of the hut with her binoculars, watching their progress and wondering where it was she was going wrong.

  She understood it was going to take a long time for the little girl to adapt. That her behaviour patterns were ingrained in her. That she wouldn’t go from abused, neglected and traumatised to happy and carefree overnight. Alison had thought that it would be easy to love. She had wished for so long for someone to nurture and care for. But she felt cold inside, and resentful - of both her daughter and her husband - and she loathed herself for it.

  The social worker had warned her that it would be difficult for Chayenne to bond. She had, after all, only known maltreatment from her mother, so it was going to take a long time to earn her trust. Alison knew that she was the grown-up, that she was the one in the position of strength, but still it hurt when the little girl turned away from her and stretched out her arms to Mike. Chayenne never smiled at her, just seemed to specialise in sullen glares or wary glances that made Alison feel like dirt. She had tried every trick in the book: firm jollity, loving kindness, trying to treat her like a baby, a grown-up, a friend, an ally. She’d tried buying her love, with shopping trips when they had come back with carrier bags bulging with clothes and games and DVDs. She’d tried activities - taking her for a bike ride, to the bowling alley. She’d tried reading to her, but Chayenne didn’t seem to have any concept of being read to and immediately got bored. Except when Mike read her a bedtime story, when she snuggled up and listened, rapt, eyes round with wonder. Alison had learnt to keep away. It hurt too much. It was all she’d ever wanted, a dear little girl in a brushed cotton nightdress, all ready to be tucked up in bed with cuddles and kisses. Instead, she had a hostile monster who pushed her away time and again.

  ‘Give her time,’ Mike kept saying, but it was all right for him. He was reaping the rewards, after all. And sometimes Alison wondered if he enjoyed the way things had turned out. If he was secretly trying to turn Chayenne against her, as some sort of punishment for the fact that she couldn’t bear him any children of her own. She knew that was crazy - that wasn’t the sort of man Mike was, not at all - but the continual
stress was making her lose her judgement. She was becoming paranoid. To the point where she was starting to feel that Mike and Chayenne would be better off without her.

  Maybe the whole thing had been a mistake. Maybe she should have pulled out long before the adoption went through, when she had first started having nagging doubts. Doubts she had successfully managed to cover up throughout the entire process, because she had persuaded herself that it would all be all right in the end, that once Chayenne was officially theirs they could concentrate on becoming a family, and that she would eventually come to love her as her own.

  Now, as she sat outside the beach hut, this eventuality seemed entirely unlikely, and she was powerless to do anything. She couldn’t send her back - she wasn’t a dress she’d ordered on the internet that hadn’t lived up to her expectations. She was a living, breathing human being, and she was certainly better off with Alison and Mike than she had been with her mother. So Alison was going to have to find a way to deal with it.

  She watched the pair of them come up the beach in their wetsuits. They looked to any outsider like a normal father and daughter, chasing each other across the sand and laughing. Eventually they reached the hut.

  ‘Did you have a lovely time?’ asked Alison. Every time she spoke to Chayenne she felt she sounded false, her voice ringing with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.

  ‘Awesome,’ said Mike, but Chayenne didn’t respond. ‘Go and get yourself dry, sweetheart. Then get dressed for lunch.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand.’ Alison stood up. Chayenne still struggled with simple tasks, and couldn’t manage her buttons.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Chayenne spoke flatly, and didn’t look her in the eye. ‘I can do it myself.’

  The two of them watched her go into the hut.

  ‘Quite the Miss Independent now,’ noted Mike.

  ‘She hates me.’ Alison knew she sounded like a child. ‘Why doesn’t she want me to help?’

  ‘Because she wants to prove to us that she can manage.’ Mike couldn’t hide his exasperation. ‘It’s not about you, Alison. It’s about her.’

  ‘I know it’s about her.’ Alison clenched her fists tightly to stop herself from crying. ‘Everything’s about her.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ replied Mike. ‘She’s seven years old and she’s had a shit life.’

  ‘I’ll go and get the lunch.’ She stood up. There was no point in having the conversation. She was wrong and she knew it. Which made it even worse.

  David bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath. It was three miles from one end of the beach to the other, and he had run non-stop. He was badly out of condition, and now he had to run back. He was determined to do it, though. He’d been a complete slob lately, and he’d forgotten how good running was for clearing your head and giving you a chance to think about things.

  He certainly had a lot to think about. When Adrian had told him about him and Serena the night before, he had been shocked, deeply shocked. He could see how it had happened - of course he could. Philip was a tricky customer, Serena was a very attractive girl, and Adrian . . . well, Adrian was Adrian and always managed to leave a trail of disruption wherever he went, although until now he had kept his destructive tendencies away from his own family. It was almost as if he had been saving it up to cause maximum damage, blowing apart the fabric of the Miltons with one treacherous move.

  David couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t just about the fact that Adrian and Serena had fallen in love and couldn’t help themselves. He was very fond of his brother, but he wasn’t taken in by Adrian the Victim. He knew very well that Adrian wasn’t a victim at all, but an arch manipulator who knew exactly how to get what he wanted, whether it was a flat bought and paid for by his parents, or his brother’s wife. But he was charming nonetheless.

  As the eldest brother, David wondered if perhaps he should step in and take control of the situation. He supposed with the death of his father he was now the head of the family, but it wasn’t a role that sat comfortably with him. Besides, what on earth could he do? He had visions of a family conference, all of them sitting round a table like the Ewings at Southfork, and immediately dismissed the idea. What good would it do? Philip certainly wouldn’t attend. And it would only upset his mother. She’d had enough to deal with this summer. He leant against a rock and stretched out his calves, hoping it would ease the burning sensation on the way back. Running on the sand was surprisingly tough, but he could already feel it doing him good, and he resolved he would go for a run every morning for the remainder of the holiday. His last holiday at Everdene.

  He couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t be coming back. Because he wouldn’t - there would be no point once The Shack had gone. He turned and started his way back along the beach, memories crowded into his mind. It had been such a huge part of their life for so long, he wasn’t sure how they would all manage without it. Coming to Everdene had provided a rhythm that would no longer be there. Life wasn’t going to be the same without the annual jaunts: the winter trips to paint the exterior, the ceremonial opening, the birthday barbecues, the infamous bank holiday party which was even now being prepared . . .

  But life wasn’t going to be the same anyway. With Adrian and Serena’s revelation, the family was fractured. It was going to be a long time before they all felt comfortable with the new arrangement - if indeed it went ahead. David wouldn’t put it past Philip to fight for his wife, if only so it meant that Adrian couldn’t have her. He had been like that all through their childhood - possessive and unable to share - while Adrian had always been able to engineer things to get what he wanted. David always had to be the referee, trying to keep the peace between his two younger brothers. And now, thirty or so years later, he felt he should be doing the same. He should know what to do now, but he didn’t. After all, this wasn’t beach balls and cricket bats being fought over, it was people, and the fallout affected more than just Adrian and Philip. There were Spike and Harry and Amelia to consider. It was beyond his remit. He realised he didn’t want to get involved. He would be there for any of them if they wanted support or advice, but he wasn’t going to go wading in and dictating terms, like he might have done when they were small.

  As he pounded back up the beach, he pondered that if it wasn’t for The Shack, the affair would probably never have happened. There wouldn’t have been long, hot, lazy summers for Adrian and Serena to get closer and closer. They might have seen each other once, maybe twice a year at some family event, but there would have been no opportunity for their relationship to turn into something significant. Maybe this affair marked the end of an era. Maybe it was going to make it easier for them all to move on.

  He slowed down as he reached the halfway point. He was determined not to let the way things turned out sour his memories. He looked out over the ocean, remembering the three of them learning to swim, then bodyboard, then surf in its cerulean depths. And their own children doing the same. They were all waterbabies. He looked at the dunes, and remembered rolling down them, getting giddier and giddier as he reached the bottom, then standing drunkenly, only to do it all over again.

  He remembered the three of them ruling the Ship Aground as teenagers, only a few years between them, total babe magnets with their sun-streaked hair and tans, the infamous Milton brothers. And it was always Adrian and Philip who competed over women. It had often been the source of tension, although of course the outcome hadn’t mattered so much then. They were transient holiday romances. Only now history was repeating itself, and a family was going to be broken up. Bloody Adrian, thought David. Though in fact, bloody Philip too. If he had been a more attentive husband, and not such a sleazy Lothario, Serena wouldn’t have been tempted to stray.

  Alison laid out what she thought was the perfect lunch on the picnic table in front of the hut. Soft white bread rolls with ham, crisps, carrot sticks, hummus, and a big bowl of strawberries. She had already learnt not to present Chayenne with granary bread. The child had bee
n brought up on a diet of McDonald’s and sugary cereal, which she used to eat in handfuls from the box. Alison was gradually trying to wean her onto healthier foods, but it was an uphill struggle.

  Chayenne refused to eat anything but the crisps.

  ‘Don’t stress,’ said Mike. ‘She’ll eat when she’s hungry.’

  ‘But she must be starving! She’s been in the water all morning.’

  Mike put up his hand to calm her.

  ‘It’s fine. Just leave her a plate with some food on for later.’

  Alison pursed her lips, then caught Chayenne looking at her with what she was sure was a triumphant gleam in her eye. She cleared the table and walked back inside quickly. She could feel the tears coming. She didn’t want to be the enemy. She didn’t want to be this person - the disapproving bad cop. All she wanted was the best for Chayenne, but it was so difficult. She felt a wave of exhaustion. Living in a state of tension was completely draining her.

  She tensed even more as Mike came in behind her.

  ‘I’m going to wander up to the village for a paper,’ he said. ‘Can you keep an eye on her for half an hour?’

  ‘Of course I can!’ she replied. ‘She probably needs a rest, anyway.’

  He came up and gave her a hug.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I know it’s tough, but it will be fine in the end. She’s got seven years of hell to get out of her system. Don’t blame yourself.’

  Alison felt herself soften. He was right, of course he was. Mike wasn’t her enemy, he was her husband and her best friend. And they had to get through this together.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him. ‘I’m just finding it hard. I’m . . . jealous, I suppose.’

  ‘She doesn’t know how to show she loves you yet.’ Mike squeezed her in his arms even tighter. ‘But she will. Because how could she not love you?’