‘It looks like a different place,’ he said.
He walked in and put the two bags of shopping on the kitchen counter, then looked around in admiration.
‘It’s just a few little tweaks,’ said Gwen. ‘But I hope you like it.’
‘It’s incredible. It feels cosy and warm and inviting and like somewhere I want to be.’
Gwen had to admit she had done herself proud. She’d speed-painted the chimney breast in a dark forest green, then when it was touch dry she hung a sunburst mirror over the mantelpiece and lined up a row of orange Penguin classics. Two tall, leafy plants stood like sentries either side of the fireplace. There was a textured rug in front of the sofa, a scattering of squashy cushions and a fleecy throw over one arm. Table lamps spilled pools of warm light into the darker corners. A scented candle filled the air with a citrusy scent spiked with ginger. The radio was tuned to a jazz station.
She had brought the room to life.
She looked at Boyd. He was blinking very hard, and she realised he was trying not to cry.
‘Hey,’ she said softly. ‘This wasn’t supposed to upset you.’
‘You don’t know what this means.’ His voice was gruff.
This time she had the courage to step forward and put her arms around him. She felt him melt into her as he rested his head on her shoulder. He was sobbing quietly.
‘Shhhh,’ she patted him. ‘It’s OK. It’s OK.’
Eventually, he stopped, stepping away from her, wiping his eyes. He strode towards the kitchen area and started unpacking the bags. He pulled out a bottle of Barolo and held it out to her.
‘Corkscrew in the drawer; glasses in the cupboard,’ he said as he carried on unpacking.
She opened the bottle and poured them each a glass and sat on a bar stool while he cooked.
‘We’re having spaghetti cacio e pepe,’ he told her, heating up a cast iron frying pan, then toasting a handful of black peppercorns.
Fifteen minutes later they sat with brimming bowls and a second glass of wine, digging their forks into the pasta coated in creamy pepper and parmesan and pecorino.
‘The trick,’ he said, ‘is adding in a ladle of the cooking water when you add the cheese. It makes it cling to the pasta. It’s taken me years to perfect this.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ said Gwen, twirling her spaghetti round her fork.
I like him, she thought. I like his scratchy outside and his vulnerable inside. I like that he is both capable and helpless. I like how he knows what he wants yet somehow doesn’t. I like how he can make a simple meal taste like a million dollars.
She reached for her glass and took a gulp of wine. She mustn’t fall for him. Not her neighbour. And not a man who was obviously not over the death of his wife. It would be a disaster.
Anyway, she didn’t do falling in love, she reminded herself. It never ended well.
32
Robyn was sitting on the floor of the nursery looking at colour charts. The plaster in the Linhay had nearly all dried and, being impatient, she had fast-forwarded to planning the decorating, even though the skirting still had to be put on, and the lights fitted. She was frustrated as there wasn’t much else she could do. No one would let her lift a finger to do anything. She’d been relegated to choosing things. She was hoping they would get bored with the novelty of her pregnancy and she could start being useful – before she actually did get too big.
Next door in the master bedroom she could hear Rocky and Jake trying to plumb in the Japanese tub. There was a lot of banging and swearing but that was how they always worked.
‘Hey.’ Jake appeared in the doorway, making her jump. ‘What have you decided on? Mermaid’s Buttock? Oyster Vomit?’
He was teasing her. The paint chart she’d been choosing from had taken ridiculous names to the next level, inspired by the ocean.
‘Mermaids don’t have buttocks,’ she told him. ‘I’m thinking Sea Foam. With the woodwork picked out in Clamshell.’
‘Green and white, then.’
‘No. Very, very pale turquoise and a shimmery silvery cream.’
‘Green and white,’ Jake repeated, and she threw her shoe at him, laughing.
‘How’s the tub?’
‘We nearly threw it out of the window, but it’s almost plumbed in.’ He grinned. ‘Fancy giving it a try later? When Dad’s gone, obviously.’
‘Do you think it will take my weight? I’ve put on a few pounds already, I think.’
Jake pretended to look doubtful. ‘We could risk it. I think the floor will take it.’
‘Cheek!’ she said, and he bent down to ruffle her curls with a grin.
She watched after him as he headed back to finish the job. Then she reached for her handbag to check her phone for the millionth time.
After nearly forty-eight hours since she had first made direct contact, she had almost given up hope of her mother replying. She reminded herself that Emily would need time to take in her message and think carefully about what to say. It wasn’t something that invited an immediate response, like a party invitation. Besides, Emily might have had a change of heart, now Robyn had become a reality rather than a fantasy.
In some ways, she was rather relieved not to have had a reply. It did mean she still had lots of unanswered questions, but it would make the run-up to the wedding so much easier, not having the burden of keeping it all to herself any longer, or the worry of when to let people in on her secret. Who to tell first, and when. She felt duplicitous, as if she was lying to those she loved. But, she told herself, it was to protect, rather than deceive them.
So when she saw Emily’s name in her inbox, she felt her heart turn over.
She had a message. A message from her mother. She felt her past whooshing in; a blizzard of thoughts and fears. In a few moments, she would be nearer to knowing the truth.
She leaned her back against the wall, drew her knees in, took a deep breath and opened the email.
Dear Robyn,
Receiving your email meant the world. So hello. It’s wonderful to hear from you.
I understand that this must be as momentous for you as it is for me.
I think it’s important for us to take our time and not rush into anything.
I would like, if I may, to send you a letter. I wrote it a little while ago, but it explains everything that happened leading up to your adoption. I think they call them Life Letters now. They weren’t really a thing when you were born, but I wrote it on the advice of someone very wise and very special. For me and for you, if we should ever be in touch.
Once you have read it, we can decide what to do. Whether to speak on the phone, or to meet. I don’t want you to feel any obligation. Although I understand there must be things you’d like to know.
I’m sorry if this letter sounds formal. It’s taken me a long time to write it. I feel very emotional but I don’t want to overwhelm you. I hope very much that you have been, and still are, very happy.
Please let me know where to send the letter if you would like to read it.
With my warmest wishes,
Emily
Robyn read the words over and over. She couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful reply. It was warm and kind and thoughtful. She could sense from it how much her getting in touch meant to Emily, yet her response hadn’t been overwhelming or gushy. It was just right.
She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes swimming with tears. She wanted to run from the house right now and go and find her. She knew that would be foolish, but the feeling came from deep down inside. The yearning for her mother’s arms.
She needed to think about her reply. She knew Emily would now be in as much agony as she had been over the past two days, waiting for her to get back to her. But she had to think carefully about the consequences of getting involved. She felt anxious again, having almost come
to terms with the thought she wasn’t going to hear anything.
It was such a mixture of longing, fear, joy and uncertainty.
For a moment she was tempted to run next door and tell Jake. But she knew he would be alarmed, and overprotective, and might think she should tell Sheila and Mick. She wasn’t ready for that yet. This was something intensely private: a fragile bond between two women who’d been torn apart for reasons she didn’t know yet. When she knew her better, she would decide what happened next.
Emily was right. It was important not to rush things, or place too much value on their relationship at an early stage. They needed to be gentle with each other. Patient. And mindful. They would each have questions. Hopes. Expectations.
And wounds. Emily in particular would have wounds, she thought. She hoped they’d had a chance to heal over the years, but if Robyn could do anything to reassure her and help her make peace with what had happened, she would.
She shivered. The sun was going down and the temperature was dropping as dusk approached. She started to compose a reply, writing and rewriting, until at last she was ready to send it.
Dear Emily,
Thank you so much for your thoughtful email. You are right that we shouldn’t rush things. I’ve had a very, very happy life and am about to marry a wonderful man, which was my reason for getting in touch. It seemed important before I got married to know more about who I was. So I would love to read your letter – my address is below. And if there is anything you want to ask me in the meantime, please do. I hope this hasn’t come as too much of a shock.
I thought you’d like to know a little bit about me. I’m a landscape gardener, and I love my job. I don’t know if I got my green fingers from you! But they have served me well.
Robyn
She gave her address as the Linhay, wondering for a moment if it was wise to reveal her whereabouts. But she didn’t want the letter to go to Hawksworthy Farm, and Emily’s email didn’t have the feel of a potential stalker. She had read stories of reunions that had backfired, expectations not being lived up to, a newfound love turning sour. She must tread carefully, and not invest too much. She hadn’t mentioned the baby either. It seemed tactless, at this point, and might be too much for Emily to take in, the news that she was to be a grandmother.
She tried to conjure up an image of her in her imagination, but all she could see was a middle-aged version of herself. What are you like, Emily Silver? she wondered, Will we come to love each other, in time? Or is it too late?
‘What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?’ Jake was in the doorway.
‘Sorry – I was daydreaming.’ Robyn started to get to her feet. Jake came over to give her a hand up. She was suddenly starting to feel less agile; a little thicker round the waist, even though the awful tiredness of the first three months was fading.
‘We couldn’t quite get the waste pipe in place. So we’ll have to do the tub another night.’
‘That’s fine. Anyway, it’s going to be pitch-black soon.’
‘The electrician’s coming to fit the rest of the lights later this week. And Dad’s offered to take us to the Ship Aground for something to eat.’
As if he hadn’t done enough, helping with the Linhay and the Shedquarters. Robyn felt a burst of gratitude for her soon-to-be father-in-law. But she wanted to be alone with her thoughts this evening. She didn’t have the energy for the Ship. She felt a little giddy with the shock of it all, but didn’t want anyone suspecting that anything was wrong.
‘Actually, I feel wiped out. I think I’ll get an early night, if your dad doesn’t mind.’
‘Course he won’t. I’ll probably go, though. If you want to be on your own.’
Jake held her arm as they went down the stairs. She felt a bit wobbly. Strange shadows were casting themselves on the walls as the light began to fade. She shivered. She must have been sitting too long on the floor in a draught. Rocky appeared out of the gloom at the bottom of the stairs, making her jump.
She burst into tears. It was all too overwhelming. She had dreamed about this moment for so long. She was thrilled and scared and bewildered, all at once.
‘Robyn! What’s the matter?’ Jake turned her to face him, peering at her, concerned. Rocky rushed over too, hovering behind Jake.
‘It’s nothing. It’s just … everything.’ She gestured around her. ‘All of this. The wedding. The baby. Everyone being so kind.’
She buried her face in Jake’s chest and he put his arms around her. She could sense the two men looking at each other over the top of her head. She started to laugh through her tears.
‘I’m really sorry. It must be my stupid hormones.’
They seemed to accept her explanation. Thank goodness for pregnancy. It seemed to excuse any kind of unusual behaviour. Robyn breathed in Jake’s familiar smell – the salt from the sea that never quite left his skin, the sweat from his exertion. She would tell him when the time was right. When she felt ready. When she knew what she was doing and how she felt and what it all meant. When she had made sense of it all in her head. She was sure he would understand. She was sure he would forgive her.
33
‘Do you know what your mum’s plans are yet? For the wedding, I mean?’
‘No idea.’ Jake put a dollop of tartare sauce next to his scampi then squeezed ketchup all over his chips. ‘I’ve told her I can book her into the Mariscombe for as long as she likes. Bruno will do me a deal.’
The Ship Aground was buzzing. It had been another beautiful spring day and Everdene was starting to fill up, especially in the early evenings when people fancied a walk on the beach and perhaps a bite to eat or a glass of wine. Jake and Rocky had managed to get their favourite table, nevertheless, in a corner by the huge window that overlooked the sea.
‘I was thinking maybe I should go up and see her.’ Rocky inspected his steak with the tip of his knife to make sure it was just as he liked it. Perfect. They served beautiful Ruby Red Devon beef in the Ship – he wouldn’t have steak unless he knew exactly where it was from.
Jake put the ketchup bottle back on the table and frowned. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t want any atmosphere. I mean, we haven’t seen each other for, what, ten years?’
It still seemed odd, to be estranged from someone he had once loved. The mother of his children. But Tina never came to Everdene, and Rocky hadn’t been back to Enfield since his father’s funeral. His close friends came to visit him, and there was a hardcore of them who went on a golfing holiday in Portugal if he wanted to catch up. They were much more fun in the Algarve than on their home turf.
‘Dad, she’ll be fine. She’s pretty chilled these days. She won’t cause any trouble.’
‘I suppose so.’ Rocky chewed thoughtfully. ‘Has she got anyone else?’
Jake shrugged. ‘No one serious as far as I know. Though there’s usually someone in the background sending her flowers. You know Mum.’
‘Yeah.’
Rocky smiled wryly. Tina was the kind of woman Interflora had been invented for. The reason shops like Tiffany existed. She was old-school glamorous. She made men lose their heads. He’d been proud to have her on his arm all those years. In the beginning, he’d questioned what he’d done to deserve her.
Not enough, in the end. Not enough. Flowers had been the giveaway. She had tried to pretend she’d bought them for herself, but he’d found the card in the bin. She hadn’t even pushed it to the bottom. There it was, staring at him, when he went to throw away the tin of dog food. Can’t stop thinking about you … At the time, he had wondered what kind of a man would have the nerve to do that, send flowers to his lover’s house, under her husband’s nose, even though it was no secret they were having difficulties.
He pushed the memory away. It was ancient history now, and he didn’t want to lay any more anxiety at Jake’s door. The last thing he wanted was
to taint the wedding with any hostility, but Jake was right. Tina probably didn’t give him another thought from one day to the next and would be totally laid-back. There would be no accusing glares or icy stares or barbed remarks. It had been so wearing. He had always battled so hard to say or do the right thing, which had invariably turned out to be wrong.
Yet again he wondered how things would have been if he hadn’t been so naïve and dreamed of an idyllic seaside life for them all. He supposed they’d be in a bigger house in a better bit of North London struggling to keep up with everyone else, running to stand still. He’d be richer than he was now, on paper, because property there was worth five times what it was down here.
He knew he would be miserable, though. It had been exhausting, maintaining the lifestyle of the circle they moved in: the affluent self-employed who outdid each other with the cars, the holidays, the possessions you needed to keep your place. And business was cut-throat. You had to schmooze the right people. People whose values Rocky didn’t share. He was continually gazumped. His staff were poached. If your face didn’t fit, you were frozen out. If you didn’t play the game, you lost anyway. At the end of the day, he wasn’t tough enough. He was a grafter, but not a game-player.
Tina was tougher than him. She’d been brought up there, whereas he’d moved there from the countryside when he was sixteen, and had known a gentler way of life, which he came to crave. He’d seen Everdene as an opportunity for a happier existence. Somewhere he could flex his entrepreneurial muscles and take some business risks without being shafted. And it had worked, for him. He’d done some bread-and-butter renovations, building up until he could afford bigger projects, until he was now able to take on challenges like Dandelion Court.
He still loved every day that he woke up here. He was fit, solvent and knew how to enjoy life. He had a soul. What more could he ask?
After dinner, Jake went off to the Shedquarters and Rocky made his way back up the winding hill out of Everdene to his coastguard’s cottage. The lights had come on while he was out, and the windows glowed a warm welcome. He opened the door and slipped inside. The evening was chilly, and the heating had come on too, just to take the edge off. The cottage might look quaint, but it had all the mod cons.
A Wedding at the Beach Hut: The escapist and feel-good read of 2020 from the bestselling author of THE BEACH HUT Page 20
