Now she’d opened the box, and her mother had a name, she had become a real person in Robyn’s mind, not just a vague shadowy concept. The few things Emily Silver had put in the box had personalised her. She was a mystery Robyn wanted to solve. Who was the person who had chosen the velvet piglet, and placed it in the box? Who had taken the photograph, and where? And who was playing the piano on the tape? What did that haunting music mean?
She’d dreamed about her mother all night, a blurry figure on the edge of her line of vision, reaching out her hands as the tune played itself over and over. Robyn had woken at four o’clock with tears streaming down her face, convinced her mother was in the room with her.
She went back to sleep eventually, but the emotions lingered. She felt reluctant to tell Jake, though. She knew he would worry about the effect all this would have on her. And the baby, of course. He would be anxious that she might be upset by what she discovered. It was lovely to think he cared about her so much, but this was a very personal undertaking, and it had taken her a long time to take the plunge: years of agonising and indecision.
And now she had finally taken the first step, she felt a peculiar loyalty to her birth mother; an urge to keep everything confidential until they had decided between them what their future might hold.
If they found each other, that is.
Besides, Jake had enough to worry about, trying to smooth things between Tina and Rocky. He was protective of his father, but mindful of his mother. It was a precarious, fragile relationship they all had, even fifteen years on, and she knew it weighed heavily on Jake. He had strong shoulders, but she didn’t need to burden him further, especially when they were under pressure to finish the pool on time.
So she said nothing for the time being. She decided she would take advice from someone older and wiser. Her friend Gwen had been her rock, her confidante and her advisor for over five years now. She would understand the nuances. She would know the right thing to do.
She changed the subject.
‘We need to think about where to have the reception.’ She put her empty cup on the table. ‘Maybe Bruno would give us a deal here?’
‘It would still be expensive. And it’s all so slick now. Not like when Dad used to take us here for scampi and chips as a treat.’ Jake looked around the bar. It was stunning, but probably a bit formal for what they had in mind.
‘I suppose the tradition is to have it at home. But Mum will go into overdrive if we have it at Hawksworthy. You know what she’s like.’
Sheila had the biggest heart in Everdene. She personified the saying that if you want something done, ask a busy person. She ran two businesses, helped at the food bank in Tawcombe and was treasurer of the Everdene WI. She did more before breakfast than most people did in a day and was always the first to put her hand up. But she had a tendency to take over and she could get a little worked up as she overthought things and micromanaged.
Robyn suspected that if the wedding was at Hawksworthy, it would run away with itself and be the exact opposite of what she and Jake wanted. She sighed.
‘What about having it at the Shedquarters?’ suggested Jake. ‘Like one of our Friday nights, but with a bit more effort?’
Robyn’s eyes lit up. ‘Would your dad let us do that?’
‘Of course he would! He’d love it.’
Robyn began to laugh. ‘You’re a genius. You know that, right?’
‘Yep, yep. I do.’ Jake nodded his agreement, trying to look modest.
‘It’s the perfect way of keeping numbers down. We could have, what, twenty? Thirty max?’ She began to count on her fingers. ‘That really does keep it to family and a few close friends.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘And no one has to get too dressed up if they don’t want to.’ She grinned. ‘Even me. I’m not a meringue sort of person. I’d be happy going up the aisle barefoot.’
‘We need to check the tide times.’
‘Oh God, yes. Can you imagine? Everything floating away? The cake heading out to sea.’
‘Hang on. What if it rains? Like it is now.’
‘It wouldn’t dare. But we can put up gazebos.’ She held up her ring finger. ‘It ties in with where you proposed. We can have a starfish theme.’
‘Whoa – let me talk to Dad first.’ Jake laughed at her getting carried away. ‘Though I know he’ll be cool with it.’
Robyn was delighted. Everything was falling into place, and all her other worries began to fade. She gave a little clap.
‘A wedding at the beach hut, Jake. It’s going to be perfect.’
14
A grandmother.
She was going to be a grandmother.
That was quite a lot to take in on a Monday morning.
Tina Young sidled over to the nearest mirror to check her reflection. There were enough of them in the salon, and she’d chosen them very carefully to take at least five years off anyone who looked into them, for she wanted all her clients to be pleased with what they saw.
As a result, they took five years off her too. She definitely didn’t look like a traditional ‘nan’, she reassured herself, in her sleek white trouser suit and high-heeled boots, her hair in a long bob that managed to be both sleek and tousled from expert blow-drying. Good cheekbones, strong eyebrows, full lips. She nodded in approval.
Tina had always been fixated on her appearance, but that was the job she was in. When you gave people the hairstyle of their dreams and made them look like a million dollars, you had to look good too.
‘All right, babe?’ Tomas, her top stylist glided past her, scissors at the ready. He knew she had been suffering of late – years of hairdressing had resulted in RSI in her right hand, and of course the answer was to step back a bit, but how could she?
‘Fine,’ she responded automatically, but she was still in shock.
Of course, she was delighted with the news. But she hadn’t been prepared for it at all. Jake hadn’t given her any indication that he and Robyn were trying for a family when she last saw him at Christmas. The boys always came up to her in Enfield, to see their London relatives and do the things they used to do when they all lived here.
Before everything went wrong.
She appreciated them keeping up the tradition. They were grown-ups now, and they could do whatever they wanted at Christmas, but they loved going down the pub with their old friends and going into the West End to finish their shopping. Every year she was convinced this would be the year they would tell her they were staying in Devon, but it hadn’t happened so far. They knew she was tied to the salon and only had a few days off. She worked right up to Christmas Eve, and was open again less than a week later for New Year’s Eve hair-dos.
A baby meant that would all change, she realised. For Jake, at least. She didn’t resent it, but her eyes filled with tears. The end of an era. And where was she going to fit into the picture? She was so far away. She was surprised to feel a tug deep inside her. Something similar to a maternal urge, but deeper and richer. She laughed at her image in the mirror. For all her obsession with looking young for her age, she couldn’t fight nature. Or deny the fact that she was going to be a grandmother – and she was chuffed to bits about it.
She knew, as the mother of the baby’s father, she was in the second division. Robyn’s mother would get first dibs. That was the unspoken rule of grandmothering, unless things were out of the ordinary. And she knew Robyn was close to her parents. Tina had a vague idea that she was adopted, but it didn’t matter a jot. They were a tightly knit farming family. Jake and Robyn were going to be moving in right next door. Mick and Sheila would be on hand for babysitting and cuddles and emergency cover and farmhouse tea and Sunday lunch and nursery drop off and school pick-up …
Tina sighed. She would have to be a different kind of granny. Glamorous granny. The one who whisked them off on holiday,
perhaps, or took them to the pantomime at Christmas and sent down big shiny parcels wrapped in proper ribbon.
It wouldn’t be a fight, she reminded herself. There was room for all of them in the baby’s life. And it was very early days yet.
‘We had our twelve-week scan on Friday,’ Jake told her. ‘Everything’s good. Due on the fifth of November, so keep your diary clear.’
She felt a thrill go through her. She almost laughed out loud. She had no idea she’d be so excited. She wanted to tell someone, but not yet. She didn’t want everyone in the salon speculating about whether it was a boy or a girl and what it would be called. It was her own secret, something to keep to herself and mull over. Something lovely to think about when she woke up in the morning.
His other piece of news she wasn’t so thrilled about. For him and Robyn, yes. It was wonderful that they were getting married. But she was shocked that the wedding was only a month away. That wasn’t long enough for her to prepare herself.
Not practically. She had a million outfits she could choose from. Emotionally.
It was over ten years since she had seen him. She could call his face to mind even now. The most handsome man in Enfield. North London. The country! And his looks weren’t even his best quality. Rocky Young was the kindest, most dependable, hardest working man she’d ever come across. Why hadn’t she recognised the importance of that? Why had she been so caught up in herself that she’d lost sight of what mattered?
She’d lost everything. Again, not materially – it was a fifty/fifty split. Instead, she’d lost her heart, her mind, her soul; her place in the family; her reason to get up in the morning. Her confidence and self-belief. All through selfishness and an inability to compromise. Her stomach curdled with anxiety as it always did when she thought about it, even now.
When you put yourself first, before everyone you supposedly loved, you ended up at the bottom. No one looking at her today would suspect the truth. She looked like the woman who had it all: the looks, the glamour, the successful business, the flashy car. But it was a glossy veneer: despite her success, she knew she had failed at the most important thing in her life.
Would she have the courage? Could she find the mettle to turn up to the wedding and see it all unfold around her, smiling graciously, as if it wasn’t tearing her apart? She had to, for Jake. He would want her there. She was still his mum, after everything that had happened. Her sons had never held it against her. Though if they had known the truth, maybe they might have felt differently.
Honourable, selfless Rocky had made sure Jake and Ethan never found out what she had done.
She caught sight of the clock and realised she needed to get going.
‘I’m off now for the rest of the day,’ she told the receptionist, and headed to the staffroom to get changed. There, she took off her suit and high heels and slipped into jeans and a hoody and trainers. She picked up a large bag full of hair products, dryers and brushes and headed out to her car.
Every other Monday afternoon, she went to the refuge. She never talked about it to anyone. Even her staff didn’t know she went there. The location was a secret, for the women there were in hiding, most of them in danger from abusive ex-partners. Going there had saved Tina from herself. It had given her a reason to climb out of her misery. She arrived at the refuge twice a month with her bag of tricks and spent the afternoon washing, conditioning, snipping and drying. Some of the women hadn’t been to the hairdresser for as long as they could remember, and most of them certainly hadn’t been pampered for a long time. She did some of the children as well, teasing out tangles, cutting too-long fringes and straggly pigtails. For some, the intimacy was an ordeal, but Tina was kind and gentle. Sometimes, the gratitude affected her so much she had to rush to the cloakroom and shed a few tears.
She loved it a million times more than tending to the clients who paid her over a hundred pounds for her services. She was the best hairdresser for miles around and she knew her handiwork went on to attend the most glamorous places, to glitzy parties and premieres and on cruises. But nothing meant more to her than a woman staring at herself in the mirror and seeing a transformation. She hoped it went some way to rebuilding their confidence and empowering them. Even if it just made them feel like someone else for a moment, she had done some good.
Half an hour later she was spreading all her kit out on a table in the refuge while an orderly queue formed outside the door. For the next four hours she worked without a break. She chatted while she worked, for sometimes the women would open up to her. She never gave them her opinion or told them what to do, just let them say whatever was on their minds. She saw fear and hopelessness and exhaustion. And she did her absolute best to alleviate it for the short time she was there.
Today, she had done a wash and blow dry for a woman her own age whose face still bore the yellowing traces of bruising. The woman could barely look at herself in the mirror, her confidence was so low. She had almost refused the offer of a hairdo, but somehow Tina had persuaded her.
‘Let me do your make-up,’ said Tina when she’d finished the blow-dry, and with the lightest of touches she’d applied a bit of her own foundation and mascara and a hint of lipstick.
‘I can’t remember the last time I put make-up on,’ said the woman, looking in the mirror. Her eyes looked slightly less dead and it took years off her.
‘Have that little lot,’ said Tina. ‘I’ve got loads more. I get samples at the salon.’
She might as well have given the woman the moon.
It always made her feel guilty when she heard their stories, and realised how hard-done-by she had once thought herself. How little effort she had put in to rescuing her marriage. She could have done more – found premises to open her own salon like she was supposed to, instead of sulking.
And she could definitely have ignored the advances of the smooth-talking chancer she had met when she was back in Enfield one weekend. It had only been once, but once was all it took to lose Rocky for good. It made her feel sick when she remembered. At the time, she’d given herself a million reasons to justify it, but now there wasn’t one that stuck.
The refuge wasn’t all doom and gloom. There was humour and camaraderie too, and they loved a bit of gossip.
‘I’m going to be a grandmother,’ she told them while she sat drinking tea after she’d finished. It felt so good to say it and she knew her news would be safe here. All secrets stayed inside these walls. ‘My son phoned me this morning. The baby’s due on Bonfire Night.’
The baby. Now she had spoken about it, it became more real.
‘No way!’ They were all amazed. ‘You’re not old enough. Everyone will think it’s yours.’
For a moment, Tina imagined pushing her grandchild along in a pushchair. It gave her a funny warm feeling. Maybe she would buy one of those four-wheel-drive strollers you could take on the beach?
‘And my son’s getting married. In four weeks.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. What are you going to wear?’
A big smile, thought Tina. That’s what I’m going to wear. A big smile to cover up the broken heart I stupidly smashed into tiny pieces. And it was nobody’s fault but mine.
15
‘Congratulations, son.’ Rocky clapped his hand on Jake’s knee. ‘I’m really pleased. For you and Robyn. And the baby. Not that it matters,’ he added hastily. ‘I would never put you under pressure to get married. But I’m glad you are.’
‘Yeah. Me too. The more I think about it, the happier I am.’ Jake appreciated his dad’s words. They were from the heart.
They were parked up in Rocky’s truck at the top of the dunes. The rain from earlier had stepped aside and the sea looked inviting, the sun shining through the tops of the waves. They were good and clean and pretty irresistible to a pair of seasoned surfers. The two of them tried to get in for a surf together as often as they could. They’d both
assumed that today’s weather meant they wouldn’t have a chance to get in the water but it had cleared up just in time for a late-afternoon dip before they headed up to Hawksworthy Farm to toast the wedding news with Mick and Sheila.
‘Robyn and I wondered if we could use the Shedquarters for the reception.’
‘Course you can.’ Rocky looked at him, pleased. ‘You’re not going for a marquee job, then? Or a hotel?’
‘We want small and simple – no fuss.’
Rocky raised an eyebrow and grinned. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ve phoned Mum and told her, by the way. She was chuffed to bits about the baby. Much more than I thought she would be. Positively gooey, which isn’t like her.’
‘That’s good.’ Maybe, thought Rocky a little uncharitably, Tina would pull it out of the bag on the grandmother front.
‘I told her about the wedding, too. Obviously she needs to sort things out at the salon but I think she’ll be coming.’
‘Of course. She’s your mum.’
‘It’ll be cool, won’t it?’ Jake looked worried.
‘Jake, it’s been a long time, we’re both grown-ups, and it’s your wedding. Of course it will.’ It better be, he added to himself.
‘She can stay at the Mariscombe Hotel. She can get ready there, and go back when she wants.’
‘Good idea. We can arrange cabs so she can do her thing.’ Rocky wasn’t going to let their situation spoil their son’s day. The guilt still gnawed at him. He honestly hadn’t expected things to still be difficult. It was over fifteen years, yet every family event seemed to bring stress and tension. They didn’t bother getting together any more just to pretend they had once been a unit. It was his biggest sadness that they couldn’t be amicable.
The boys always spent Christmas with Tina back in Enfield, because Rocky didn’t feel that strongly about it, and if it made Tina happy, it was worth waking up on his own. He knew the boys felt bad for him, but he assured them it was fine, and they always had a bash on New Year’s Day instead. No matter what the weather was, they did a big barbecue at the beach hut and went swimming in the sea. There was nothing like starting the year with a challenge. They had steak sandwiches with fried onions and a crate of beer and they all discussed their resolutions. Rocky had made a rule: the resolutions had to be positive rather than negative, no giving things up; it had to be about doing things.
A Wedding at the Beach Hut: The escapist and feel-good read of 2020 from the bestselling author of THE BEACH HUT Page 8
