Meet Me at Beachcomber Bay

by Jill Mansell

  Verity said, ‘No problem, it’s fine. At least you had a great time.’

  There it was again, the assumption that everything in her life was wonderful. Belle leant back on her elbows and gazed out to sea, wishing she could say all the things she really wanted to say.

  Beside her, Verity murmured, ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ Belle nodded in a just-about way.

  ‘Sure? Because you have Sam at home waiting for you. But instead, you’re sitting here on the sand in a very expensive dress.’

  ‘True.’ Another nod.

  After a few seconds of silence, Verity said, ‘I’m a good listener, if you think it might help to talk about it.’

  ‘Talk about this dress? Well, it’s dry-clean only …’ See? All was not lost; she could still make a joke.

  ‘Not the dress. You and Sam. I mean, I’m no expert, but I’m guessing that’s what this is about.’

  And the rest. Belle nodded slowly. ‘All my life I’ve wanted the perfect husband. Even when I was at school, it was the one thing I dreamt of: getting married to the best man ever, so we could have children and be the happiest family in the world. OK, I know it sounds like something out of an Enid Blyton book, but I can’t help that. It was what I wanted. And now I have Sam, and he is everything I ever wanted, but … oh, I don’t know …’

  ‘If it isn’t right, and you don’t think you can make it right, you should call it a day,’ said Verity. ‘There’s no shame in that.’

  ‘I know, I know. But the thing is, I’ll never meet a better man than him. Oh God … I haven’t breathed a word about this to anyone. You won’t say anything, will you?’

  ‘Of course I won’t. You can trust me.’ Verity reached across, her fingers closing around Belle’s right wrist. ‘I promise.’

  Her hand was dry and firm. Belle closed her eyes. Verity was trustworthy, of course she was. She cleared her suddenly constricted throat. ‘When I was at school, being obsessed with boys was what all the girls did. So I joined in and was obsessed with them too. Which was fine, but sometimes the way they talked about how they felt made me wonder if I was missing out on something. I just didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for, you know … things, as they did.’

  Things. Listen to me. What do I sound like?

  Verity nodded. ‘You mean sex.’

  Oh, the guilt. The guilt and the shame, the terrible shame. Belle nodded; for the first time in her life, she was admitting her most embarrassing secret. ‘Yes, that too. It was never as amazing as they all said it was. But if I’d told them that, they’d have laughed at me. Because they laughed at anyone who wasn’t like them.’ She faltered. ‘God, I don’t know how to explain it … Is there a kind of food you really don’t like?’

  ‘Mustard,’ Verity answered promptly. ‘I hate mustard.’

  ‘So it’s like you’re telling all your friends that you don’t like mustard and they’re all looking at you as if you’re completely mad, because who in their right mind wouldn’t love mustard? And then they start saying there must be something wrong with you … but it’s no good, it doesn’t help, because no matter how many times you try your hardest to make yourself like mustard, it’s never going to happen.’

  ‘I know.’ Verity nodded to show she understood. ‘That’s a good way to explain it. Not much fun for you, though.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Probably not much fun for Sam, either.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about Sam. He has no idea about any of this,’ said Belle. ‘I’m a fantastic girlfriend.’ Not to mention a wonderful actress. It was a point of pride to her that none of the men in her life had ever suspected anything was wrong.

  ‘How about counselling? Ever thought of giving it a go?’

  ‘That wouldn’t help.’ This much she did know.

  ‘OK.’ Verity nodded. ‘Well, like I said, this is just between us. Do you feel better for having told someone?’

  Was the conversation over? Belle realised she was disappointed; oh God, had she been boring her to tears? Aloud, she said, ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Good.’ Verity was getting to her feet, preparing to leave. ‘Happy to help. Now, fancy a swim?’

  Belle stared up at her. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You know. That thing where you get in the sea and waggle your arms and legs to stop yourself sinking to the bottom.’ In one smooth movement, Verity pulled her black Lycra sports vest over her head and kicked off her trainers. Then she peeled off the matching Lycra shorts. Beneath them, she was wearing her slate-grey bikini.

  ‘Is this a joke? You’re asking me to go swimming with you at half past eleven at night?’

  ‘You don’t have to say yes,’ said Verity.

  ‘It’ll be cold.’

  ‘It won’t be.’

  ‘How are you going to get dry afterwards?’

  Turning, Verity made her way over to the rocks to the left of the steps and retrieved a black sports bag from the shadows. ‘Only one towel, I’m afraid. But we can share it.’

  ‘I don’t have a swimming costume,’ said Belle.

  ‘So is that a no, then?’

  Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Belle could make out the glint of amusement in those light blue eyes. The note of challenge in her voice was barely discernible, but it was there. Belle shook her head; did Verity seriously think she was the type who’d respond to a dare? What were they, ten years old?

  ‘Waaahh!’ Belle let out a muffled shriek as she ran into the sea and felt just how cold it was against her ankles, her knees, her thighs …

  ‘OK, so I may have lied a bit.’ Next to her, Verity spluttered with laughter.

  The stomach and chest were always the worst bits. There was only one way to do it. Belle gasped, ‘One, two, three … go!’ and threw herself into the water to get it over with.

  A few minutes later, they’d rounded the headland and reached the next cove along the coastline. Behind them, the golden lights of St Carys had slipped from view. This one, Mirren Cove, was tiny and unreachable on foot. Lazily treading water beside her, ten or so metres from the beach, Verity said, ‘Look how much brighter the stars are from out here.’

  ‘Amazing.’ Belle rolled on to her back and gazed up at them. ‘I haven’t visited this cove for years.’

  ‘You’re a good swimmer.’

  ‘I know.’

  Verity laughed. ‘Still cold?’

  ‘I’ve warmed up now.’

  ‘Isn’t it magical, the way that happens? Never gets old. Are you worried about your stuff?’

  ‘No.’ Belle shook her head. She’d stepped out of her dress and left it in Verity’s sports bag, along with her shoes and the tiny pink handbag containing her purse, keys and phone. Hopefully no one would find the bag and make off with it.

  ‘And how are you feeling?’ said Verity.

  ‘Not too bad at all, considering I’m bobbing around in the sea in the middle of the night in my bra and pants.’

  Verity smiled, her teeth gleaming white in the moonlight.

  ‘I tried to persuade David to come swimming with me one night on our honeymoon. He wasn’t impressed, said he’d rather jump off a bridge without a bungee rope.’

  ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Just over two years.’

  The water lapped at Belle’s sides as she moved her arms to keep herself afloat. ‘Am I allowed to ask what happened?’

  ‘You mean why did we break up? I suppose you could say we weren’t that suited to each other.’

  ‘Was it amicable?’

  ‘Not at first, no. But we got there in the end. We’ve managed to stay friends.’

  ‘Why weren’t you suited?’ said Belle.

  ‘Well, Dave likes women. A lot.’ Verity paused, then said, ‘And so do I. Which kind of made being married to each other a bit awkward.’

  Belle looked at her. ‘You mean …?’ The rest of the sentence remained stuck in her throat.

  ‘Yes.’ The light blue gaze was
unflinching. ‘But then you already knew that, didn’t you?’

  Had she? Deep down, had she guessed, had she actually sensed it? Belle heard her own shallow breathing as she digested Verity’s words. She also realised that the incoming tide had carried them closer to the shore. Instead of floating horizontally, she put her legs down, encountered sand beneath her feet.

  Verity did the same, and they stood facing each other, up to their shoulders in the gently lapping water.

  ‘I didn’t know for sure.’ Belle’s voice faltered as she prepared to say the words she’d never imagined being brave enough to utter aloud. ‘But I wondered. And … I hoped it might be true.’

  Verity said calmly, ‘Well done for spotting it. Not always easy, is it?’

  Belle shook her head. There was a rising clamour inside her chest; her body was on fire with anticipation. Was this it, was something about to happen at last?

  ‘Have you ever kissed a girl before?’ Verity’s voice was low.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you like to?’

  Oh God. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  And now they were both smiling. Verity’s long wet hair was slicked back from her face, the ends fanning out around her in the water. She reached out and rested her hands on Belle’s bare shoulders, and the physical contact caused an adrenalin rush so acute that Belle almost forgot to breathe.

  Then Verity moved closer, and closer still, until their bodies beneath the water were touching and their mouths above the water finally met.

  So soft … so beautiful … so right …

  As the kiss deepened, hot tears seeped out from beneath Belle’s closed eyelids.

  Because what was happening now, she knew, threatened to bring a whole world of trouble into her carefully mapped out, oh-so-perfect life.

  Chapter 37

  Ronan heaved a sigh of relief as he locked up the office. He loved his job, but sometimes the general public drove him nuts. Today had been one of those frustrating Saturdays when they’d been inundated with well-meaning time-wasters, holidaymakers for whom a spot of window-shopping just wasn’t enough. Carried away by the thrill of being on holiday, they came piling into Barton and Byrne to take advantage of the free air-conditioning and to collect as many glossy property brochures as they could get away with, so they could take them away, gaze at the colour photos and fantasise about buying themselves a holiday home with glorious sea views in St Carys.

  It was a harmless enough daydream, but still annoying when they engaged you in enthusiastic conversation for twenty minutes about desirable properties you all knew perfectly well they were never going to buy.

  Anyway, done now. He was free for the rest of the evening and had been invited along to an early barbecue at the cricket club, which would be a laugh and give him a chance to catch up with some of his more boisterous friends.

  ‘Ronan! Hey, just caught you in time!’

  Ronan turned to see Terry Ferguson jumping down from his white transit van. His heart sank, not because he didn’t like Terry, who worked as a window-fitter, but because Terry never used one word where a couple of hundred would do. In his late thirties, single and desperate to find himself a girlfriend and settle down, his ability to talk for England had seen off a stream of exhausted girls, who complained that he interrupted them constantly and never listened to a single word they said.

  ‘Hi, Terry, how are things with—’

  ‘Great, never better! Have you heard the news?’ Terry beamed at him, red-faced and pleased with himself in his green and white checked shirt and ripped work jeans. ‘Well I suppose you wouldn’t have, seeing as you’re the first to know. I’m leaving, mate. Off to Liverpool! Moving in with Deena, can you believe it? Happy days!’

  ‘Wow,’ said Ronan. ‘Who’s Deena?’

  ‘My girlfriend! Come on, you remember, don’t you? I told you all about her the other week.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ In all honesty, people tended to zone out when they were cornered by Terry, but the gist of it was coming back to Ronan now. ‘You met her on Tinder and she works in a call centre, is that the—’

  ‘I met her on Tinder and she owns a call centre! But she didn’t want men who were only after her for her money, so she pretended she didn’t have any, see? But now she trusts me. And I don’t even care about that side of things anyway. I’d still love her if she didn’t have any money at all!’

  ‘Right.’ Ronan nodded. ‘And what brings you here now?’

  ‘Selling my place, aren’t I! Don’t need it no more! Deena’s got a big house and I’m going to use the money from mine to set up my own window-fitting business on the Wirral. So the sooner you can put it on the market, the better. I just want to get my hands on some cash, quick as you like!’

  ‘Right.’ Ronan hesitated, wondering how to phrase the next question. ‘Look, can I—’

  ‘So could you come and take a look at it now?’

  OK, whoa. ‘Terry. Have you actually met Deena, or is this another one of your email friendships?’ The last girlfriend, it had transpired, had been a startlingly buxom beauty who’d required Terry’s help in getting hold of the £76 million she’d been bequeathed by her late father, the president of an African country.

  ‘Oh come on, don’t start on about that again. This one’s the real deal, I swear.’

  ‘And you’ve seen her, have you? I mean, not just in photos. In real life?’

  ‘Blimey, you’re suspicious!’ Whipping out his phone, Terry showed Ronan the screen saver, a photo of himself with his arm around a smiling blonde in her thirties. ‘We’ve been meeting up every weekend for the last two months. I told you all about her last week.’ He shook his head pityingly. ‘You need to pay a bit more attention, mate. Sometimes it’s like you don’t listen to a word I say.’

  ‘Sorry. Look, I’m just worried that you’re rushing into things. Putting your home on the market is a big step to—’

  ‘Ronan, what’s the matter with you? Call yourself a salesman? I’m doing it,’ Terry declared, ‘and nobody’s going to stop me. You might not know how it feels to fall in love, but I do.’ He jabbed a finger with pride at his own chest. ‘And if you’re not interested in selling my place, that’s no problem at all, mate. I’ll just go to Rossiter’s instead.’

  Ninety minutes later, Ronan called Kate’s number. At the thought of speaking to her, as always, his heart quickened. When she answered the phone, he said, ‘Hey, good news. I think I’ve found it.’

  ‘It? You mean it?’ He could hear the smile in her voice; she knew at once what he was telling her. ‘Really?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’ And now he was smiling too, although logically this was the last thing he wanted to happen. Once Kate had her own home, he’d no longer be able to take her out on viewings. ‘Of course, I could be wrong, but …’

  ‘If you think this is the one, I’m excited. What’s it like?’

  He gave her the basic details of Terry’s traditional whitewashed terraced cottage on Victoria Street, with its cleanly decorated interior, pretty back garden and – it went without saying – excellent replacement windows.

  ‘There’s even a sea view,’ he added happily, because he knew this was something Kate had always wanted but thought she probably couldn’t afford. ‘I told him that if he waited a while he could get more for it, but he’s desperate for a quick sale. At this price, it’s going to be snapped up, but no one else has seen it yet. I told him I had a possible buyer in mind and he’s keen for you to see it as soon as possible.’ Thud-thud went his pulse. ‘So, what are you doing tonight?’ For a mad moment it had occurred to him that the cricket club barbecue was being held not far from Terry’s cottage … maybe after the viewing he could casually suggest to Kate that they drop in for a quick drink and a burger …

  ‘Oh I can’t do it tonight,’ said Kate. ‘I’m sorry. My grandparents are off on holiday to America and our neighbour’s giving them a lift up to Heathrow,
so I’m babysitting until she gets back.’

  ‘OK.’ So much for that fantasy. Except, Ronan belatedly remembered, if he had invited Kate along to the barbecue, she’d have wondered why he wasn’t taking Clem. ‘Well, how about tomorrow then? Say around midday?’

  ‘Tomorrow would be great.’ Kate sounded relieved. ‘And midday’s perfect. Give me the number of the house and I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Or I could drive over and pick you up,’ Ronan offered. ‘Save you having to come all that way on your bike.’

  ‘Only if you’re sure that’s OK. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  As if you could be. Aloud, Ronan said, ‘No problem. All part of the service. I’ll come over just before twelve.’

  ‘This is so exciting.’ Kate sounded thrilled. ‘I can’t wait!’

  Well, what a strange night that had been. Kate, who normally slept really well, gave up at seven and got out of bed. She’d dreamt about Ronan – no change there – who’d been showing her around the house, except it was actually a small zoo and there’d been a llama in the kitchen, and when she’d protested about the llama, Ronan had said crossly, ‘Has it ever occurred to you that you’re too damn fussy? Clem would love to live in a place like this.’

  Which had woken her with a jolt at two in the morning and prevented her from getting back to sleep again. By five, she had begun to wonder if she was coming down with something; she felt restless and uncomfortable and generally not quite right.

  To take her mind off the low-level sensation of weirdness, she jumped into the shower and used her favourite lemon foaming shower gel. She was probably on edge because she knew she’d soon be seeing Ronan.

  Seriously, was this stupid crush ever going to fade away?

  After having dried her hair and put on a tiny bit of make-up, she was still unable to quell the restless sensation in her chest. At 8.30, she found herself cleaning the oven and scrubbing down the fronts of the kitchen cabinets. By nine o’clock she was prowling around the garage in search of a can of crimson matt emulsion.