A Wedding at the Beach Hut: The escapist and feel-good read of 2020 from the bestselling author of THE BEACH HUT

by Veronica Henry

  Once he knew the truth she was sure Jonathan would come to their rescue. Her heart melted at the thought of Robyn in her daddy’s arms, him looking down at his daughter proudly. He was bound to fall in love with her like Emily had. She would be more important to him than his music.

  She began to plan. She didn’t have long. She needed to get away before they all closed in on her. Her parents had become more watchful, no doubt under instruction from a higher power. Emily began to eat, both to fool them and to give herself some strength. She was going to need all the strength she could get. She only slept when she was certain they were sleeping; when the floorboards in the room next door had stopped creaking. They didn’t know she knew their plan. Didn’t know she’d seen through their fake concern and cloying attentiveness. That her sharp ears, tuned to detect the slightest change in pitch, had picked up their every whisper, every murmured conversation, every muffled phone call. There was a conspiracy, she was sure of it.

  She feigned slumber, limbs splayed out, concentrating on making her breathing heavy. It fooled them and it gave her the chance to eavesdrop and to prepare, for they dropped their guard while they thought she was sleeping. They never left her alone in the house, though, so she couldn’t use the phone. So there was always a high level of risk.

  They left the house one afternoon, when Robyn was sleeping soundly and Emily pretended she was going to have a lie-down too. Vivian thought they were safely slumbering, and shut her own eyes on the sofa, so it was easy to slip out of the back door. They didn’t have much with them. The baby’s changing bag, of course, with nappies, wipes, bottles and the little cartons of milk Emily had trained her to drink cold. No need for boiling kettles and mixing up formula. And another bag with babygros and cardigans for Robyn and leggings, pants and jumpers for Emily. And wash stuff. And a few toys.

  Emily was exhausted from carrying the baby by the time they got to the B & B. She’d passed it often enough on her way to school, and it was perfect. It was tucked away behind a monkey puzzle tree so no one could see inside from the road, and running alongside it was a footpath that led to a cluster of shops – a mini-market, a chemist, a video store and a charity shop. Emily would be able to access them and get what she needed without too much fear of being seen, for it was a part of town her parents wouldn’t frequent. There were always rooms available. It was only in the height of summer that she had seen the red NO sign slipped in front of VACANCIES in the bottom left-hand window.

  The room they were given was in the basement, the walls running wet with damp, even in early summer. What else could they expect for twelve pounds a night? The only good thing about it was Emily knew the landlady wouldn’t care who they were or why they were there. That was the whole point of places like 11 Mowbray Walk. Emily thought it was clever, to go to ground nearby at first, as no one would think they would stay around Worcester. They would be looking further afield. They were hidden in plain sight.

  Nevertheless, she knew once they got there they had to move on as quickly as they could, or she would drown in the freezing damp that bit at her lungs as she drew breath. At night she slept with Robyn pulled right into her. She wasn’t going to let a single sliver of cold touch her skin. They stayed there for two nights, only half a mile from the place that pretended to be their home. Emily wanted her parents to lose hope. To imagine them on a ferry or a plane. She pictured their frustration and annoyance and it gave her strength.

  On the third day, they left the B & B at lunchtime and walked the half mile to the station. She’d bought a buggy from the second-hand shop, and scrubbed it down with bleach in the B & B bedroom, removing any traces of mould and dirt and the encrusted rusks from someone else’s baby. It was filthy, but she needed it and she had no choice. She didn’t have the strength to carry Robyn everywhere.

  It was funny, walking up the road she’d walked along so many times to school, singing and swapping jokes and chewing gum with her friends, admiring each other’s shoes and haircuts, bemoaning homework and deifying the boys from the grammar school who were out of their reach, with their rugby shoulders and sailing tans. Never in her wildest dreams would Emily have imagined herself pushing a baby along that road. She hadn’t spoken to any of her friends since they’d dropped round. She didn’t trust anyone. It was Emily and Robyn against everyone else and she didn’t want any chink in her armour.

  She slid the buggy across the train platform. There was a light mizzle, which meant she could huddle up inside her raincoat to hide her face – the only upside, because she felt as if she would never get warm again. It might be June, but the damp and the rain seemed to have got inside her bones, and she couldn’t stop shivering. That could have been nerves as well. She was twitchy about being recognised. This was the most dangerous part of their escape.

  The station announcer woke the baby up, his voice crackling and echoing along the empty platform. Robyn lay wide-eyed as he announced the next train, so alert, as if she was listening out for their station to be mentioned.

  The train is now approaching Platform 2 …

  Robyn decided to stand in the corridor for the journey to Birmingham New Street. It seemed easier than folding up the buggy and getting settled, only to unfold it all again. She couldn’t believe they were on their way to York, but she wouldn’t relax until they had changed trains and were properly on their way, though they were still going to have to change again at Nottingham. Her coat was wet through, and she was starting to shiver, but it wasn’t long before they got to Birmingham. Here, she felt completely anonymous. The station was swarming with people who had no interest in a young girl with a baby.

  She found the right platform and when the train arrived they climbed on board and found a spare seat. Somehow she managed to fold up the buggy with Robyn under her arm before sitting down. The woman opposite offered to help, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ She pushed their bags into the overhead rack and took off her wet raincoat. She wished she had a spare jumper or coat. Robyn was nice and warm, all snuggled up in her all-in-one with feet and a yellow cardigan.

  ‘How old?’ smiled the woman as she got out a bottle and began to feed the baby.

  ‘Three months,’ she lied, thinking if there had been anything on the news about them running away that would fox her.

  ‘She’s lovely. What’s her name?’

  ‘Actually, he’s a boy. He’s called William.’

  ‘Oh.’ The woman blushed. ‘Sorry.’

  She didn’t ask any more questions. Robyn finished her bottle and began to get a bit grumbly, which she sometimes did after feeding. Emily stood up and pulled her cassette player out of the bag. It was the one thing she was worried about bringing as it was heavy, but it was important to her. She pressed down on the play button and the cassette started to whir, groaning a little as it always did, before the tune began.

  The Liebestraum. The Love Dream. She could feel Jonathan in every note as they drifted up to her. She shut her eyes. The carriage was warm now and it was going to be all right. Her baby was pressed against her, making her feel very hot and sweaty, but she didn’t want to move her. They were as one. But soon, they would be three. She thought about Jonathan’s face when he saw Robyn, how his eyes would light up, how he would see himself in her and fall in love in an instant and they would be safe.

  They both fell asleep. Emily started awake as the train stopped and the doors banged. She huddled herself around the baby so she wouldn’t wake. Leicester, she saw out of the window. They were at Leicester. She racked her brain, wishing she had paid more attention in geography, but she couldn’t place it on a map. They must be halfway, she thought.

  And then she saw them. In the next carriage. One behind the other, stony-faced and determined, in their uniforms. The woman opposite couldn’t meet her eye. Emily realised she was her betrayer. What had she seen that gave them away? She had been
so careful to look matter of fact and capable; not fearful.

  Emily got up, casual, because the woman couldn’t see the police yet. ‘Would you keep an eye on my stuff for a minute?’ she asked her, and she nodded with a weak smile. Emily wanted to roll her eyes at her terrible acting, but instead she smiled her appreciation. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

  She left their things so as not to arouse suspicion. She walked to the end of the carriage, slid the door open, slipped through. There was no one in the corridor. Anyone who was going to get off already had. She turned to the left as if she was going into the toilet. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of turning right onto the platform, in full view of everyone. Instead, she opened the door on the other side and looked down. It wasn’t too far to jump onto the track, and there was no one on the opposite platform to see their escape and raise the alarm.

  She hadn’t time to deliberate. She held Robyn tightly and jumped. The ground jarred her and she fell, holding the baby still. She scrambled to her feet but it was hard without the aid of her hands to push herself up. She was going to run the length of the train to the back end, because it wouldn’t leave the station while those men were still looking for her. She hugged the side so the passengers by the window wouldn’t see her. She didn’t want any of them raising an alarm.

  She hadn’t been able to shut the door of the train, so she’d only got a short time until somebody noticed, or her betrayer said something. She was almost at the rear, where the platform sloped down onto the track. She was about to cross behind the train and then get into the undergrowth.

  Then she heard a shout. One of the men had jumped out of the door she’d left open. He was pounding down the track after her.

  ‘Emily!’ she heard him shout. ‘It’s all right. We just want to make you safe.’

  It was the same story. The same story her parents had told her over and over. The story she wasn’t stupid enough to swallow. They didn’t want to make them safe. They wanted to take the baby away. For her own good. She’d overheard every single argument.

  ‘She can’t look after a baby.’

  ‘She’s not well.’

  ‘It’s not fair on her.’

  ‘The baby could have a proper family. A good start. A better life.’

  ‘What is she going to live on?’

  ‘How is she going to manage?’

  ‘We know it seems harsh. But it’s for the best.’

  How could separating them be for the best? They belonged together. Emily put her head down and carried on running.

  The policeman didn’t grab her. He enfolded her. He pulled her into his arms, and for a moment Emily leaned against him, relishing the warmth, wanting so badly to be able to trust him.

  ‘It’s all right, love.’ His voice was gruff and gravelly. And so kind it brought the pinprick of tears to her eyes. ‘You’ll be all right.’

  She wouldn’t be, of course. But she hoped Robyn would be. Oh God, please let them look after you, she thought. None of this is your fault. You with your sixpence eyes and your prawn fingers and your hot little tummy. I am not good enough for you, that much I know, so perhaps this really is for the best.

  The other policeman arrived, out of breath.

  ‘Emily Silver?’ he puffed, and for a moment Emily wondered about denying it. Telling them they’d got the wrong person. But she felt her legs going from underneath her, and she didn’t have the strength to lie.

  31

  On Saturday morning, Boyd was just coming in through the front door when Gwen went down to see if she had any post. He was in a big cuddly grey hoodie and shorts and trainers. Good legs, she thought.

  ‘Morning!’ She saw he had a paper under his arm – it was rare to see someone with a real newspaper these days – and a fresh pint of milk. ‘Have you settled in nicely?’

  He looked at her with a Jack Nicholson eyebrow. She laughed, realising how patronising the question sounded.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Since you ask. I haven’t settled at all.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was a little taken aback by his candour.

  He sighed. ‘I’ve done my best. But it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like home.’

  ‘I guess that comes with time.’

  ‘No. I felt at home in your flat straight away. Mine feels all wrong.’ He seemed very puzzled and put out. ‘Maybe you could come and have a look? Give me some advice?’

  He flashed her a look of such charm, she blushed. She couldn’t resist.

  ‘Of course,’ she found herself saying.

  She followed him inside his flat. It was the same footprint as hers, only the kitchen had been knocked through so it was all open plan. She could see what he meant immediately. Everything had been painted bright white and looked magazine perfect. It was the archetypal bachelor pad – architectural prints and movie posters on the walls, the leather sofa at a jaunty angle, the trendy desk by the window, a sleek television. But it was too cool to be welcoming. It felt a bit stiff and staged, and the down-lighters bleached everything out.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked, anxious. ‘Do you see what I mean? It doesn’t feel lived in. I mean, I know it hasn’t been. But I don’t want to be here. It makes me feel … homesick.’ He looked around the walls. ‘I thought, you know, a new beginning. But I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.’

  ‘It’s early days. It’s bound to feel strange. And you’ve been through a lot. You can’t just flip into a new mindset because you’ve moved house.’

  He sighed. ‘I don’t want to be here, though.’

  Gwen walked around the room, getting a feel for his personality and taste. She tapped a finger to her lips, thoughtful. ‘It needs some homely touches. I’m going to the home store on the industrial estate to get some things for the wedding I’m organising. Why don’t you come with me? I could do with a hand, and you could pick up some bits and pieces.’

  He gave a wary grin. ‘That sounds expensive.’

  ‘It needn’t be.’

  ‘Famous last words. I’ve got two daughters, remember. I’ve been tricked more times than I like to think.’ But he was laughing.

  ‘We can take my car. We won’t get all the stuff in yours.’

  ‘Do you mean now?’ He was astonished by her spontaneity.

  ‘Yes! Why not? I don’t like to think of you feeling miserable. The sooner we fluff it up, the sooner you can feel at home.’

  He looked a bit taken aback that she should care.

  ‘OK. Let me go and get some proper clothes on.’

  Ten minutes later they were heading for the big industrial park in Bamford fifteen miles away.

  As they drove, Gwen made a mental shopping list. She knew exactly what he needed to breathe life into his surroundings. She felt excited. This was the kind of challenge she loved. There was something vulnerable about Boyd, despite his prickliness. He needed looking after.

  She pulled up outside her favourite cut-price homeware store. Between them, she would get everything they needed. None of it would be top quality, but he could replace the items with more considered purchases in time. He needed a quick fix.

  She was pretty sure she could work her magic and make him feel more settled. A house move was always daunting, but even more so if you were on your own. Especially if you were still struggling with bereavement. She could feel the unresolved grief rolling off him. The love that had nowhere to go.

  It was his wife that was missing. The sound of her footsteps, her laugh. The scent of her hair. Her indentation in the sofa; the warmth of her side of the bed. Her heart ached for him. She couldn’t bring Ellen back for him, but she could bring some life into the flat.

  ‘Come on,’ she instructed him.

  He followed her around in something of a daze. Occasionally she would ask him to make a choice about a size or a colour.

  ‘R
ight,’ she said when his trolley was full. ‘Go and pay for that lot and I’ll get the wedding stuff.’

  She’d made a comprehensive list so she knew exactly what she was looking for. Fringed picnic rugs, lanterns, trays, wooden boxes, cushions, colourful serving plates – she had a shrewd eye and kept adding in things that appealed because everything was such a bargain. She was probably going to go wildly over the budget Robyn had given her, but it didn’t matter. She would underwrite it. All that mattered to her is that it was perfect.

  By the time they left, the car boot was bulging, as well as the back seat. They lugged everything back to their respective flats. Then Gwen came down to Boyd’s.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I want you to go out for an hour. I don’t care what you do. But don’t come back until six o’clock.’

  ‘I know exactly what I’m going to do,’ he said. ‘I’m going to the supermarket. I’m going to cook dinner for you. To say thank you.’

  ‘Deal,’ she said, delighted that he already seemed a little more purposeful.

  ‘Any likes or dislikes?’

  ‘I’m not keen on offal or goat’s cheese.’

  ‘Damn,’ he said with a straight face. ‘That’s my liver and goat’s cheese soufflé off the menu.’

  Gwen laughed. ‘Off you go.’ She shooed him out of the door.

  As soon as he’d gone, she nipped up to her flat for a hammer and nails and a paintbrush and set to work. She was completely absorbed in what she was doing and was just standing back to admire her handiwork when she realised he was standing in the doorway, his mouth open, a carrier bag in each hand.