He flopped down on the steel grey velvet sofa that took up most of the lounge area. His son was so wise, he thought fondly. He shouldn’t worry about his ex-wife, or let it cloud the day. He shouldn’t worry about how he would feel if she turned up with someone. There was absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t attend the wedding with a partner, if she had one. Though Jake seemed to think not. Funny, how they were both still single after all that time. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising, after all the acrimony?
But he was tired of being on his own. It had been great to have dinner with Jake tonight, but he wasn’t going to be around to hang out with much longer, especially once the baby was here, and it was a bit sad, to rely on your sons for entertainment. He had mates, loads of them, but that took organising and what he wanted was to not have to organise. To potter about and open a bottle of wine and throw something together in the kitchen and chat and then loll on the sofa in front of the telly with someone.
He looked around the cottage. He had it just as he wanted: rough oak flooring, bare stone walls, inglenook fireplace with a wood-burner, industrial lighting, hidden speakers. Cosy but high tech. All that was missing was a human presence. He had Lara for company, but although they worshipped each other, she couldn’t speak back when he talked to her.
He thought back to his disastrous date with Melissa and her follow up. Could he see her here? He thought he could imagine her on the sofa with her legs tucked up underneath her and a glass of red in her hand. Maybe he should text her. Give her another chance. He’d been enjoying her company until she bolted.
He picked up his phone and called up their thread on WhatsApp.
Just wondered if you fancied getting together next weekend? Maybe a walk and something to eat at the pub?
He pressed send before he could think twice. And he felt better for being proactive. There was nothing worse than sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. His dream woman wasn’t going to come knocking on his door on the off chance, after all.
Five minutes later he had a reply.
Sounds good. I’ll get my walking boots ready!
He felt pleased. He thought about where to go. Heddon’s Mouth was a spectacular beauty spot further along the coast, and the Hunter’s Inn was perfect for lunch. Maybe it would be the most middle-aged date he’d ever been on but – he was middle-aged!
Great, he texted back. See you Saturday. How about Heddon’s Mouth followed by the Hunter’s Inn?
Perfect, came the reply. Then an xx a moment later. People scattered kisses everywhere in their texts these days, but nevertheless, it made him feel warm.
For an idle moment, he wondered about asking her to the wedding, if their date went well. But that would be crass. What was he even thinking? He didn’t have to prove himself to Tina. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being single.
‘Come on, Lara.’ Lara jumped up to follow him up the stairs. He had got into the bad habit of letting her sleep on the bed. He probably should train her to sleep downstairs in her basket. Just in case.
Steady on, he laughed at himself. You’re moving a bit fast. One thing at a time.
34
Robyn went over to check the post at the Linhay every day after her email exchange with Emily. She wanted to be on her own when the letter arrived, so she dropped in after lunch, once the postman had been. It was starting to look like a home. Sunlight flooded in through the windows and lit up the empty rooms. It was a glorious, light-filled space, and the view was spectacular: the sea ever-changing in the distance, morphing from teal to petrol to darkest black when night fell. Another six weeks and it would be finished, Jake reckoned. She could hardly wait.
She imagined them waking up together as the sun came up, husband and wife. Making coffee and wandering outside to the little patio they were going to lay outside the kitchen, and looking out over the sea while the gulls wheeled overhead. They would have to make the most of that freedom this summer, for eventually they would be woken not by the sun, but a little voice coming from the room next door. She imagined jumping out of bed and going into the nursery to see a warm bundle gazing up at her. It was still hard to imagine, especially when they didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. She didn’t mind either way.
Every day she checked the tin box they had left for the postman. It was always stuffed with catalogues. Robyn had become slightly obsessed with sending off for samples and brochures for sofas and lights and carpets. Swatches of velvet and linen were taped to the windows; there were daubs of paint everywhere as she examined each colour in different lights. Jake teased her, but she loved this part of the process and didn’t want to miss out on anything.
Today, she sifted through several bulky packages to find a thick white square envelope with a smudged postmark and careful handwriting addressed to Robyn Moss. Her heart thumping, she opened it up. Inside was a William Morris card: the Strawberry Thief, with its tangle of berries and birds and flowers. And inside that was tucked a sheaf of lined paper, several pages of A4, neatly folded.
She opened the card. The writing was small, the words dense, covering both sides on the inside and the back.
My dear,
I can’t tell you what it means to be writing this to you. I have dreamed of this moment for so long. Thank you, for being brave. I know it must have taken a lot of courage, and I’m so grateful.
I wrote down our story some years ago, both for me and for you, on the advice of someone very wise, because I didn’t want to forget a single detail if ever you were to ask. And it has helped me to put everything down in black and white, because it made me realise that it wasn’t black and white. That there were no victims and no villains, just a lot of people who were very afraid. And that what is right for one person is wrong for another, and how do you decide whose future is the most important?
Of course yours was the most important. I have spent the whole of my life praying that what happened in the end was the best thing for you, and now I know my prayers were answered.
Please read this with forgiveness in your heart and know that I have never forgotten, or stopped loving, you.
Emily
Robyn gulped, tears stinging her eyes. Her lungs felt tight as she reread every word, imagining the turmoil and distress Emily must have been through. There was something very elegant and considered about the way she wrote, which somehow made it more touching.
She picked up the notepaper. There were pages and pages of precise black ink, very neat. Had she written it all in one go, or done a page at a time, or had she done a rough copy and then copied it out for best?
Robyn knew it was going to make painful reading. She wasn’t sure if she had the courage to read it on her own. But she didn’t want to take it home. She didn’t want Sheila to find her a sobbing mess. Or worse, Clover. And she certainly didn’t want to take it to work and cry in front of Jake. He would only be anxious about her well-being, and she didn’t want him worrying.
She was supposed to be doing a quote for a client this morning. Breaking down the prices for a massive garden makeover including an outdoor kitchen space. There was no way she could concentrate on that while she had the letter in her hand. But she didn’t feel strong enough to read it on her own, out here.
She picked up her phone and called Gwen.
‘I’ve had a letter,’ she said. ‘From my mother. With our story in it. I don’t know what to do.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m scared.’
Gwen caught her breath. ‘Oh darling. Of course you are. I totally understand. Would you like to come here?’
‘Would you mind?’ Robyn longed to have someone with her who knew the situation, and Gwen would be perfect. She wouldn’t interfere, or judge, or ask too many questions. And she wouldn’t mind if Robyn cried. The card alone had been an emotional punch to the gut. She was surprised how daunted she felt by the prospect of finding out her past and discovering more about Emily.
Would the revelations be painful? Giving up a baby must be unbearable, even if it was the right thing to do.
‘Of course I don’t mind. I’ll stand by with tissues.’
‘Can I come over now?’
‘I’m right here. I’ll be waiting.’
A sudden squall came in from the sea as she drove to Tawcombe, and it was gloomy when she arrived. The damp air from the harbour curled itself around her and she shivered. It added to her apprehension, for she was fearful of what she might discover in the pages. Just looking at them made her heart twist.
As she approached Gwen’s flat she saw a light on in the ground-floor flat.
‘Someone’s moved in?’ she said as Gwen came down to answer the front door.
‘Shhh.’ Gwen twinkled and put her finger to her lips. ‘Yes. He’s interesting. To put it mildly. A widower. Little bit younger than me. Boyd.’
‘Boyd?’ Robyn looked at her friend, intrigued. Gwen seemed to sparkle a bit when she mentioned him.
‘I’ll introduce you next time, but not now.’ Gwen ushered her into the flat. ‘Let’s have a look?’
Robyn showed her the card, and the accompanying letter. Gwen’s face softened as she read Emily’s introductory words. She couldn’t speak for a moment when she’d finished.
‘Can you imagine,’ she said. ‘How it must feel? You getting in touch, after all this time? She must be over the moon.’ She was blinking away tears, moved by Emily’s words. ‘You snuggle up on the sofa and I’ll bring you a cup of tea. I’ll just potter about – I’m here if you need me.’
Robyn was grateful for her kindness. She loved Gwen for her understanding and the way she automatically knew what you needed. She made her way over to the sofa by the window and sank into the comfort of its duck-feather cushions. She opened the papers and smoothed out the first page. So many words, so many thoughts, so many emotions. She took in a breath and began to read.
She read about a funny little girl who didn’t quite fit in, who loved Tolkien and playing the cello and had hair she could nearly sit on.
She read of a summer filled with music and passion for a boy with wild curls and kind eyes and a gift that took your breath away. And then heartbreak, and hurt, and shock.
And then … a realisation.
Her heart buckled as she read on. Emily’s descriptions were unflinchingly honest and raw but never mawkish as she described her discovery, her parents’ reaction, their agonising decision, the birth, her illness, her escape, her bid for freedom on the train to York. Her capture.
And finally, the day she gave up her baby.
Tears were pouring down Robyn’s cheeks as she read the final words.
It turned out I was very ill. The woman on the train had been worried about me. I’d been shivering, feverish, slightly delirious and she had gone to the guard, who had called the transport police. I was rushed to hospital, where I was treated for pneumonia, exhaustion and diagnosed with severe post-natal depression.
By the time I came home, I didn’t believe in myself any more. Running away had proved I was a danger to myself and to you. Even I could see how you would be better off without me. I had no fight left in me. I was broken. I was not good enough for you. You deserved better. A proper mum and dad. A farmhouse. A pony.
The social worker was almost unbearably kind. I sometimes feel it would have been easier if they’d not given me a choice, and just taken you away from me. But everything was explained. Nothing was arranged until I understood what everything meant. You were going to be fostered while the adoption process went through. I could still change my mind up until the last minute. But I knew I wouldn’t. I wanted the best for you. Two loving parents with the means to give you a wonderful life. Not a strange, scared little girl who didn’t have a clue.
Those last few days we had together were extraordinary. I was in a complex tangle of joy and fear, committing every little bit of you to memory so I would never forget so much as an eyelash; a fingernail. My love – our love – was so pure and fierce, but it was tangled up with terror and anxiety. I had tried to rescue us, find a place of safety, but I hadn’t succeeded. I was still in pain – a lot of pain – and I was too afraid to sleep. Although you weren’t. You were good at sleeping right from the start, content and oblivious. If my love for you helped us in any way, it was to make you feel that you would always be safe.
You held my finger throughout that last night. I don’t know how I managed to sleep, but you didn’t let it go.
I can’t write much about the day I said goodbye to you. I handed over the box I had prepared, with your favourite cuddly piglet, and the tape, and a photograph we’d taken of you. No one knew what to do or say to me. My mother was pale and red-eyed; my father mute with distress. Despite everything, it was a huge loss to them too. Who couldn’t love you? But they firmly believed it was the best thing for both of us.
I stayed in my room when the social worker took you. The doctor gave me something that took me down into velvety blackness. I emerged, several days later, into a bleak, empty world, not knowing how I would be able to live without you.
But I did. Though not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought about you, and imagined you running through those green fields, arms outstretched and a wide smile on your face. And if you are reading this, it’s because my prayers have been answered.
This is our story. Now we have the chance to write a better ending, and I can give you all the love I’ve been keeping in my heart.
Emily
So there it was. In black and white. The story of how Robyn had come into the world. The revelation of a host of new people who were connected to her, who she hadn’t known about until this afternoon. Her mother, just a young girl. Her father Jonathan, just as young. Her grandparents, Vivian and Neal … she had never really given much thought to them until now, but they were an integral part of how she had come to be on this planet.
And what of them all now?
She wiped away her tears as she thought about the boy who had fathered her, with his beautiful hands and his musical soul and his kind eyes, who didn’t know of her existence. Where was he now?
And her grandparents. Were they still alive?
Did she have brothers and sisters? Half-brothers and sisters? Or nieces and nephews? How far did her family tree reach? And did it even matter? After all, she had a family. Did she need another? Did she need to go raking about in the fragile cobweb of her past?
She was finding it hard to think. Opening the letter answered some questions, but asked many others. Was she selfish for being curious? Did other people’s feelings matter more than hers? Mick and Sheila’s? Did they even need to know she was looking? Could she keep all of this a secret, or should she share it? If so, when?
Maybe it was time to tell Jake, she thought. But she didn’t feel ready quite yet. She needed to figure out how to manage what happened next. It felt very private, a pact between her and Emily. Reading her words made her feel closer to her. They needed some time alone, to forge a new relationship, and decide how they fitted into each other’s lives, without any influence from other people. For other people would feel strongly about what to do, she was sure of that. Jake would be protective, perhaps overprotective. He would only care about her.
And she was determined to respect Emily’s role in all of this. Relinquishing her baby had probably affected her whole life. She deserved to have control over what happened next, and decide who was drawn into the next chapter. Robyn wanted to handle it with a gentle touch. But she felt daunted, nevertheless.
Robyn had been the lucky one. She had been placed in the arms of two loving people who had dedicated their lives to keeping her safe and happy. But had Emily ever got over her heartbreak? She desperately hoped the rest of her story had ended happily.
She looked over at Gwen, furiously tapping away on her iPad, engrossed. Gwen would give her
good advice.
‘I need you to read this,’ said Robyn. ‘And tell me what you think I should do.’
Gwen looked at her over the top of her glasses.
‘Are you sure?’ Gwen came over and sat next to her. Robyn handed her the letter. Gwen held it for a moment.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked her.
‘Yeah,’ said Robyn, wiping the last of her tears away with the heel of her hand. ‘I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll be back in a bit.’
She went and sat on the harbour wall. In the water, the boats rose and fell with the swell of the incoming tide. Like the rocking motion of a crib, thought Robyn, pulling her coat more tightly around her, going back over everything she had read, the words flittering around her head. She had been part of that story, yet she had no memory of it. Her heart felt bruised. She could actually feel it aching.
She thought of Emily at the same age as Clover was now. And the pressure she had been under. She turned it all over in her mind. If Clover came home and announced she was expecting a baby, things would be very different. People were much more accepting of single mothers and unplanned pregnancies nowadays. There was no stigma. Everyone would pull together. Mick and Sheila would just get on with it. Plans would be made, compromises, sacrifices. Never in a million years would Clover be expected to give up her baby if she didn’t want to.
But the times had been different then, even though it was only thirty years ago. There might not have been the shame of days gone by, when an illegitimate child was seen as a disgrace, but it would still have been tough for a young girl on her own.
And although it must have been heartbreaking, Robyn couldn’t picture a different outcome. She couldn’t begin to imagine a life without Sheila and Mick. And she would never have met Jake, her rock, her partner-in-crime, her soulmate.
A Wedding at the Beach Hut: The escapist and feel-good read of 2020 from the bestselling author of THE BEACH HUT Page 21
