The Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  For some reason, this made Alison want to cry even more than the frustration of earlier. She laughed as she wiped away the couple of tears that escaped despite her best efforts.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mike. ‘Forget about clearing up. Come and sit outside under the parasol with Chayenne. I’ll bring you both back an ice cream.’

  David’s lungs were screaming and his calves were burning as he reached the first of the beach huts. He didn’t want an audience, so he slowed down to a brisk walk. He’d cool down by walking as far as the rocks at the top of the beach, get his breath back. Then he supposed he’d better get back to the hut, and get his instructions from Serena and Chrissie. Thank God everyone had preparations for the party to focus on. It helped the awkwardness.

  His heart rate slowed as he reached the top of the beach, and he started to get his breath back. There was a time when he could have done that run without even breaking into a sweat. He resolved to hit the gym when he got home and get himself match-fit again. He didn’t want Chrissie thinking he’d run to seed and going off with a younger model . . . though he didn’t think she would. They were pretty solid, he and Chrissie, even if they did have their ups and downs. But no one had a totally smooth ride. That would make life boring. You had to earn the high points by having low ones as well.

  He kicked off his trainers and socks, stuffing the one into the other, and walked through one of the rock pools to cool off his feet. The air smelt different here, and he breathed it in - the briny scent of the seaweed always made him nostalgic. The three boys had spent hours scrambling over these rocks with their nets, bringing home buckets of unfortunate creatures for inspection and identification with their Observer’s Book of Sea and Seashore. It had been idyllic, and David was grateful that he had been able to give his own children the same pleasures.

  The tide was coming in now, filling up all the dips and nooks with flurries of water. He remembered Adrian wandering away from them one day, and then becoming trapped on a rock as the water rose. The little boy was too terrified to climb down into its swirling depths, and too frightened to jump. Philip had refused to do anything to help, and David remembered now seeing a look of what he suspected was pleasure on his brother’s face, evidence of Philip’s sadistic streak. In the end, David had skirted around the rocks, leaping over the chasms until he had reached Adrian, and had guided him back, holding his hand as he jumped. He remembered Adrian dropping his hand as soon as they had reached safety, not wanting to look like a cissy in front of his brothers. Philip had just smirked.

  As he replayed the scene that was now so telling, David looked over the rocks and picked out the one that Adrian had been stranded on. The landscape hadn’t changed in all those years - he thought he could imagine the frightened figure on there even now. And then he realised that there was a figure on there. He took off his sunglasses, peered even closer. It was a little girl. A little girl who was sitting, perched on top of the rocks, her arms around her knees, clearly frozen in fear. The water was getting higher and higher as each wave came in with the tide. Unless she knew the rocks well, she was going to be completely stranded in a matter of minutes.

  David ran into her eye-line and gave her a wave.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Hang on. I’ll come and get you.’

  The child didn’t reply. Either she hadn’t heard him, or she was too scared to respond. David began clambering over the rocks, swearing as a sharp barnacle dug into his foot. He didn’t have time to put his shoes back on.

  ‘Alison!’

  Alison’s eyes snapped open. Mike’s tone was sharp. What had happened? She sat up, sure she’d only shut her eyes for a moment. It had been so warm in the afternoon sun, and she was exhausted. Chayenne had been happy on the rug next to her, messing about with the Nintendo DS that Alison had resisted buying at first, though she was glad she had now she realised that it brought considerable respite.

  The DS was lying on the blanket, still emitting squawks and beeps.

  ‘Where’s Chayenne?’

  Mike was standing over her, a Magnum in one hand and a Fab in the other.

  Alison’s heart rate doubled.

  ‘She was here a second ago. She must have gone to the loo.’

  The bitter taste of fear swam up into her mouth. Mike ran into the hut and appeared moments later.

  ‘She’s not here. Where the hell has she gone? What happened? You fell asleep!’ He glared at her accusingly.

  ‘I shut my eyes for two minutes. She was right next to me.’

  ‘Well, she’s not now.’

  Alison put a hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the sun and scanned the beach. A yellow T-shirt and denim shorts, that’s what she’d been wearing. Hadn’t she? She couldn’t be sure now. Shit - the beach had filled up since lunchtime. The sunny weather had brought the grockles out in droves. They were sitting in clusters, spreading out their blankets and putting up their windbreaks. It was almost impossible to pick out an individual child.

  ‘I’ll start looking. I’ll go and find the lifeguard.’

  ‘No.’ Mike’s tone was firm. ‘Stay here in case she comes back. How long do you think she’s been gone?’

  Alison had no idea. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t look Mike in the eye. He gave her one hard look of reproach, then set off down the beach.

  Alison felt her knees go weak and she sank back down onto the rug. Dear God, she pleaded silently, please let her be safe. She thought of all the terrible things that could happen to a little girl in such a short space of time. She cupped her hands round her face and scanned the beach again. It was hopeless.

  ‘Put your arms around my neck,’ David instructed. The little girl stared blankly at him. ‘Come on. We haven’t got long. This rock will be covered completely in a minute. You’ll be fine. I’ll carry you. I’ve done it hundreds of times with my daughter.’

  The girl obeyed eventually, and David scooped her up. She barely weighed anything. She was painfully thin, just a scrap. He could feel the tension in her body as he held her, taut as a piano wire.

  ‘Hey,’ he said jovially. ‘This is an adventure. This happened to my brother when we were little. But I know the secret escape route. Three rocks this way, then two rocks that, and we’ll be able to get back onto the sand. Ready?’

  She nodded dumbly, then buried her face in his neck as he began to negotiate the journey - never easy, but even more difficult when you were holding someone. It could have been Adrian he was holding, he thought, as he scrambled over the eddying incoming tide. Where had all that time gone? And were they so very different from the three boys who had spent their childhood on these slippery rocks?

  He slipped once, grazing his knee badly, but he scrambled to his feet again, then made the last leap to freedom and safety.

  The little girl didn’t want to let him go. She was whispering something.

  ‘Eh?’ he said, leaning in closer to her.

  ‘I want my mum.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can find her. Are you just here for the day?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Are you staying here?’

  She looked very confused.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What’s your mummy’s name? We can go and find the lifeguard. He’s got a special loudspeaker.’

  The child seemed to be thinking very hard.

  ‘What’s your mummy’s name?’ he prompted again. Again, silence.

  ‘Alison,’ she managed eventually. ‘Alison,’ she repeated more definitely, as if this time she was quite sure.

  ‘Okey-doke.’ David thought about putting the child down, but she didn’t seem to want to let him go, so he decided he would carry her. She barely weighed anything, so she was hardly a burden. He scanned the beach for the lifeguard’s truck, positioned in between the safety flags, and started heading for it.

  ‘There.’ The child pointed to the row of huts. ‘There. That’s where we live.’

  ‘In the huts
?’

  ‘The green one.’

  ‘You’re very lucky. Those huts are very special.’

  She didn’t respond. Maybe she was in shock? David strode out across the sand, the searing heat of the afternoon sun burning his feet.

  ‘Your mummy’s going to be very pleased to see you.’

  Alison had never known terror like it. At one point she thought she was going to pass out. How could she ever forgive herself if anything had happened? And Mike would never forgive her, she knew that. She searched the beach to see if she could see him, to see if he was walking back up with that familiar little figure, but there was no sign.

  ‘Hey!’

  An assertive voice made her turn. A tall man was striding towards her, a child in his arms.

  Chayenne.

  Alison swayed for a moment, dizzy with the relief, her mouth dry, as the man came nearer.

  ‘I found her on the rocks,’ he was saying. ‘She had a bit of an adventure.’

  Thank God he wasn’t going to chastise her. She didn’t think she could cope. She held out her arms.

  Chayenne looked at her. She was ready for the stony stare, for the child to recoil, and she prayed she wouldn’t. Her rescuer would think it strange.

  But to her amazement, Chayenne held out her arms. Alison stumbled forward in disbelief, reaching out for her, her heart nearly bursting with joy as she took the little body and pulled it into her.

  ‘Mummy.’

  Just one little word. Just one little word, but it meant so much. Alison felt a lump in her throat and an overwhelming sense of elation that she knew she had never felt before, and would probably never feel again.

  ‘I love you,’ she murmured, burying her face in Chayenne’s neck. ‘I love you ...’

  There was no answer, but a pair of thin arms squeezed her just a little bit more tightly round the neck.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to the man, and he stuck up his thumb in a gesture of goodwill.

  ‘No worries,’ he replied, and jogged his way back along the beach.

  13

  FLOTSAM AND JETSAM

  Whichever deity it was that controlled the weather could not have failed to notice that there was a party being planned on Everdene beach that bank holiday. And it must have heard the silent and not so silent prayers that were sent up by the organisers, for the day dawned as warm and balmy as a holiday brochure, and all the reports confirmed that the weather was set fair for the entire weekend.

  A large section of the beach in front of the first five huts, starting with The Shack, had been roped off to designate the official party area, and a cluster of gazebos and tents had been erected. There was a drinks tent, centred around a mighty bucket of punch made by Jane Milton from a recipe handed down to her by her mother, which had been served at the very first party in 1964. It was said to be deadly but delicious. There were also barrels of beer, and tubs full of ice on which rested cans of fizzy pop for the children and bottles of water. Two more tubs filled with ice waited for the bottles of champagne which were the entry ticket - these would be drunk as the sun went down. Gaily coloured bunting abounded, as did inflatable palm trees and flamingos and parrots. Cardboard cut-outs of hula girls and Hawaiian tiki gods were dotted around amongst the tables and chairs. The pig roast was already turning, and the gazebo next to it contained a long trestle table where the salads, bread and plates were waiting. Another table stood by ready for puddings. There was a bouncy castle for the children, and, as had long been the tradition, a huge tent had been put up and filled with rugs and cushions, to protect the smaller guests from the sun during the afternoon, and to provide somewhere for them to crash out as the evening went on. Miraculously, they always seemed to conk out at about nine, sleeping through all the noise and allowing the adults to really let their hair down.

  Jane ran through her checklist yet again, though she had organised this party so many times she could do it standing on her head. She kept the thought that this was the last time to the back of her mind. She wanted to enjoy tonight, not get emotional.

  She had phoned Norman the day before, and told him which offer to accept. The potential buyer had, apparently, been delighted. She had wanted the deal under way before the party, for some reason, so she could say her farewells and then make a clean break of it. Besides, she could always come and visit if she wanted to. She looked over at Roy, who was unloading some extra chairs from the back of his Volvo. She felt a squeeze of pleasure inside. She realised now how much she had come to depend on him over the years. He had been a true friend - more than a friend - and the more she got to know him, the more intrigued she was. It was funny, she had never got to know anything about his private life when Graham was alive - or maybe it wasn’t funny at all. Maybe she had held back for a reason. Her mind flashed back suddenly, to a girl in a yellow dress, and a boy in white cricket trousers. How different their lives might have been . . .

  She couldn’t spend the afternoon reminiscing. She dragged her mind back to the here and now. She couldn’t help feeling a bit sad that all her family weren’t around her - Philip had gone home and was refusing to speak to anyone, although he had texted to assure her he was basically all right. It was hard being the mother of someone who had behaved so badly throughout their marriage - your instinct was to protect them, and yet you had to face up to the truth: that he pretty much deserved what he had got. Although being cuckolded by your own brother was probably a punishment too far.

  And Adrian and Serena did look happy. They had come clean to the whole family - Serena had told Harry and Amelia, and Adrian had told his brother David, then they had told Spike together. Jane was worried about Harry more than anyone - he had been very quiet since the news, whereas Amelia, in typical fashion, had looked at the situation to see what she could get out of it and had already decided she wanted to move in with them in Frome and go to college in Bath. Amelia was a survivor, like her father, but Harry was more sensitive. Still, he’d be near enough to his mother when he went to medical school in Bristol.

  She checked her watch - just half an hour before the party began. There was nothing else she could do until it started. She smiled at the sun, asking it silently to hang in there, and went back into the hut to get ready.

  Harry was setting up an elaborate sound system for the party, hoping that the music he had downloaded was catholic enough to keep everyone happy. He’d gone for compilation albums of the last four decades, as well as a comprehensive selection of up-to-date hits for the younger generation. If history was anything to go by, the dancing would go on until the small hours.

  He was glad he had something to keep him occupied. He was still reeling from his mother’s revelation - about the prospect of having his uncle as a stepfather, although they hadn’t intimated they were getting married. The whole thing had made him feel a bit sick, if he was honest. OK, so he knew his father was no angel. No one had ever said it out loud before, but he knew in his gut Philip played away. He could tell by the way his mother sighed when he phoned to say he would be home late; by the way his father was so robustly cheerful the next day. Almost smug. He didn’t do anything as pat as try and be extra nice when he returned from one of his liaisons: Philip never apologised for anything, let alone something he hadn’t admitted to. So Harry always felt it was his duty to be extra nice to his mother - when he was home from school, at least. The rest of the time he didn’t like to think of her alone and miserable, knowing her husband was out flirting with first-year students, and worse. So the bottom line was he didn’t blame her for leaving, though he was shocked about Adrian. Very shocked. He wasn’t sure about the nasty feeling it gave him in his stomach, though he thought it might be jealousy. Jealousy that Spike was going to get his mum’s attention, while he was off in his first year at uni and supposed to be grown up and independent when actually he felt very small and a bit like crying.

  What a wuss. No wonder Florence had run a mile from him. That was the other thing that was giving him a nasty feel
ing - the knowledge that she would be there at the party tonight. After that disastrous episode with her in June, just after he’d finished his exams, he had fled back home and got a job at Warwick Castle, showing tourists around. But he’d had to come back for the bank holiday party. It was a family tradition, and the last one. So here he was, nearly two months later, hoping and praying that when he set eyes on her he would feel nothing.

  Sarah was trying to suppress her inner control freak while the girls helped her ice the beach-hut biscuits. She had baked a hundred - tricky given the facilities, but she had managed - and now they were all spread out on the table while she mixed up icing in shades of pink, blue, green and yellow. She decided the best plan was to give the girls ten to do between them, which they could mess up as much as they liked, and do the others herself. She’d cut out a dinky little template, and was going to decorate them with stripes and a little lifebuoy. They’d be popular with the kids at the party, at least. Everyone who came had to contribute something towards the food, and Sarah had wanted to do something special.

  Something that would take her mind off the fact that Ian was refusing to come.

  It had, quite frankly, been the worst summer of her life. Ian was not taking being made redundant very well. He had had a spurt of optimism at first, done some networking, applied for jobs he’d seen in the paper or on the internet, but gradually his enthusiasm had waned. He had become bitter, and bad-tempered, snapping at her and the children. Eventually he had stopped making any sort of an effort at all, claiming that it was humiliating to be continually rejected. Sarah had tried to be sympathetic, but inside she was panicking - what if he didn’t get another job? What would they do? She tried to build up her own business, pitching for as many jobs as she could, but it was difficult when the girls were at home, and even though Ian wasn’t working he didn’t seem to think it was his place to look after them. Plus she’d sent her book ideas off to her agent and had heard nothing, which was very dispiriting.