‘You knew about this too!’ Robyn looked at him accusingly as Boyd revved up the engine and turned the boat around.
Jake grinned. ‘She knew you’d be exhausted. And she knew you wouldn’t leave unless you were forcibly kidnapped.’
The boat sped out towards the horizon, then veered left and headed out past the headland and into the next bay. Minutes later, Boyd pulled up alongside the pontoon outside the Mariscombe Hotel.
‘What are we doing here?’
Jake jumped off onto the pontoon and held out her hand to help her off. Boyd saluted them both, then backed the boat up and turned it round, heading off into the sunset.
‘We can’t go in here. We’re soaking wet. They’ll kick us out.’
‘Shush.’
Jake took her hand and led her through the grounds of the hotel, admiring their handiwork as the guests lolled by the side of the pool.
‘We did a good job there,’ he said, and Robyn agreed. With the sun about to melt into the sea in a puddle of pink gold, they could have been in Ibiza. Though why would you want to be anywhere other than here? she wondered.
Jake led her around the side of the hotel, up a winding path heavy with the scent of evening jasmine and through a set of French windows.
‘Welcome to the honeymoon suite,’ he said with a flourish.
Robyn looked in astonishment at the most beautiful white room, swathes of silk draped over an enormous bed covered in rose petals. At the foot of the bed, on a luggage rack, was an overnight bag with their things in it.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, falling onto the bed and lying on her back, spread out. ‘Oh my goodness.’
‘It’s a present,’ said Jake. ‘From Bruno. To thank us for doing such a great job.’
‘This is heaven,’ said Robyn. ‘I never want to leave.’
She lay for a moment, smiling up at the ceiling. ‘How lucky are we, Jake?’
She realised how many people must have been in on the surprise. Everyone must have known but her. Her heart swelled with love.
‘Very,’ he said. ‘But I have to say, it’s been exhausting trying to keep all these secrets. The singing, the boat, the hotel room.’
‘I thought we said no secrets?’ she said, indignant.
‘Good secrets are allowed.’ He looked down at her. ‘I better go and get out of these wet things. I don’t want to ruin that duvet cover.’
He disappeared into the bathroom. Robyn lay back and closed her eyes, going over the events of the day, all the images of her friends and family floating in and out of her mind in a montage until she was nearly drifting off to sleep.
As Jake came back out of the bathroom, swathed in a plush white towelling robe, Robyn jumped, as if she had been pinched.
‘Oh!’ She put her hand on her stomach.
‘What is it?’ Jake was on high alert, alarmed by any sign of discomfort.
She lay still for a moment.
‘The baby. I think I can feel the baby.’ She waited and then smiled. ‘I can feel it, Jake.’
She grabbed his hand and put it on her tummy. He shook his head.
‘I think it’s probably way too small for me to feel yet.’
She gasped again. ‘It’s like lots of little bubbles.’ She laughed in delight. ‘Hello, little one.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Definitely. It’s our baby, Jake.’ She saw a tear slip from his eye and roll down his cheek, and she reached up to brush it away. He took her in his arms and pulled her in to kiss her.
‘It’s our baby, Jake,’ she whispered, overwhelmed. ‘This is the best wedding present of all.’
‘I love you so much,’ he murmured back, running his fingers through her hair, and she pulled him down towards her, her wonderful husband, the father of their baby, and the last of the sun disappeared into the sea behind them, slipping away discreetly to leave them in peace.
50
It was the first week in July, two months after the wedding, when Jake pulled the keys to the Linhay out of his pocket and opened the door with a flourish.
The door was double width, made of horizontal planks, with glass panels and fishing lamps hung either side. THE LINHAY was etched into the glass in block capitals. Behind him was the slate path he had laid, with millions of pinprick lights set into the stone. Robyn had planted agapanthus into the gravel on either side, their spiky green leaves and brilliant purple heads giving a splash of colour.
‘Ta da!’ he said to Robyn. Today was the day they were officially moving in, and they were celebrating with a special lunch. A special lunch with special guests, for Emily and Jonathan were coming to meet Mick and Sheila.
They had worked tirelessly over the past week to get it all finished, deliveries arriving several times a day: furniture, curtain poles, blinds. And finally, the day before, a delivery from the farm shop to fill the fridge.
They’d called it a day at midnight last night, having washed the dust off all the floors and windows, screwed in all the lightbulbs, hung the curtains and even put loo roll in the bathrooms. Everything was perfect.
The last thing Robyn had done was to lay the silk rose eiderdown from her bedroom at Hawksworthy onto their bed. It was symbolic, bringing a bit of her past into her future. And it suited the room perfectly, the colours of the ageing fabric soft in the sunlight from the window.
Today, they stepped over the threshold, eager to see what it was like in the light of day.
The ground floor was completely open plan, except for a utility area and cloakroom tucked next to the stairs. The open kitchen was at the back, and the rest was a massive living space with double height windows that looked out towards the sea. There were logs stacked up to the ceiling either side of the wood-burner, Tina’s kelim rug covering the stone floor and a long table made from an ancient tree chopped down on the farm was ready to be laid for lunch, with benches either side.
And on one wall, blown up onto a huge long canvas, was a photograph of all of their wedding guests lined up in the sea, trousers rolled up and skirts tucked into knickers, a tribute to the joy of their day, taken not long after they’d cut the cake.
‘Oh, Jake,’ sighed Robyn. ‘It feels as if we’ve lived here for ever. It feels like home already.’
Jake nodded in approval.
‘I think we’ve done all right,’ he said.
‘We’re so lucky,’ whispered Robyn, sliding into his embrace and enjoying the comfort of his arms. Suddenly the chaos and drama of the last few months was starting to settle. She and Jake were married, their little home was finished, and today, her two sets of parents were meeting each other.
She prayed they would like each other; that they would all get on, and could be part of her life. Their life. Their baby’s life.
Sheila and Mick would be champing at the bit to help, now their own life was going to change so dramatically. Robyn knew neither of them would be at a loose end, because they were both do-ers, but it was going to be odd for them not to have the responsibility of Hawksworthy Farm weighing them down. It was going to be even more strange driving up the drive to the Linhay when Hawksworthy belonged to someone else, but Mick had been right. Why have a millstone when the money could be used to help everyone have the life they wanted?
And they would only be two miles away. Rocky estimated their house at Dandelion Court would be finished by October, so they were trying to dovetail the completion with the new owners. In the meantime, there was a lifetime of stuff to sort through and chuck away. And Clover would be off to university: her results were due the next month, but everyone was confident she would get the grades needed. Robyn felt a burst of pride at her little sister. For all her fizz and glitter, she was a hard worker.
New beginnings, thought Robyn. This was the next phase of their life. Taking responsibility not just for themselves but for others. Keeping
the family together, all the disparate and disjointed parts of it. Today was an important part of that.
She looked at the clock. Only two hours before everyone got here.
‘We better get the chicken in,’ said Robyn. ‘And start doing the vegetables. I hope Mum’s remembered she promised a lemon meringue pie.’
‘Has your mother ever forgotten a culinary promise?’ Jake asked.
‘Good point,’ said Robyn, chucking him the potato peeler. ‘You’re on spud duty.’
They worked quietly in their new kitchen, getting to know how it worked. The induction hob took a bit of getting used to, beeping and blinking at them. Jake moved the bin three times before it was in a sensible place. Robyn couldn’t get over the size of the fridge. Four doors and ready-made ice instead of fiddling about with ice trays.
Just before twelve, she began to get nervous. Jonathan and Emily would be here any minute. And then suddenly she saw their car, tootling along the drive. She dropped the knives and forks on the table she was about to lay and ran outside as they pulled up.
Emily got out of the passenger side, a little overwhelmed both by the occasion and the setting.
‘Robyn,’ she said. ‘This is beautiful.’
She was wide-eyed with awe. Robyn hugged her tight and they stood and looked over the grass sweeping down to the cliff’s edge, and the sea beyond.
‘This is where I was brought up,’ Robyn told her mother, pointing over to Hawksworthy. ‘This was all my playground.’
‘I wish I could have imagined this,’ said Emily softly. ‘When I wondered where you were all that time.’
Robyn squeezed her hand as Jonathan came to join them.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I was expecting a view, but nothing this dramatic.’
‘It can be pretty wild, in the depths of winter. We’ve been cut off a few times when it snows.’
Jake ventured out of the front door, holding his hand up in a tentative greeting. ‘Welcome to the Linhay.’
‘Hey!’ Jonathan bore down on him and shook his hand. ‘Robyn’s told us so much about you. I’m Jonathan.’
There were more handshakes and greetings. Robyn saw that Jonathan, despite his bonhomie, was a little overwhelmed, as he stepped to one side and wiped away a surreptitious tear. It must be odd for him, only just getting used to having his daughter’s presence in his life, and she wondered if he felt as protective of her as Mick did; if that paternal need to shield your offspring was present even if you barely knew them. She felt a pang for both Jonathan and Emily, and wondered if a day like today was hard for them. It must bring what they had missed home with acute poignancy. She was more determined than ever to make them feel welcome, and at home. And of course, they were thrilled about the baby.
‘We never want to intrude,’ Emily had told her the last time they had spoken. ‘But we are always here for you.’
Emily rushed to the car and brought out a huge bunch of creamy lilies. She held them out to Robyn. ‘I know this is probably coals to Newcastle, but they smell so gorgeous.’
‘Honestly,’ said Robyn. ‘No one ever buys me flowers because they always think that. Thank you.’ She looked at her. ‘Come on. There’s something I want to show you.’
Emily followed her, up the stairs, Robyn holding firmly on to the thick rope that went up the wall, not just because she didn’t want to lose her footing, but because she was getting bigger by the day. And at the top of the stairs she led Emily to a door and pushed it open.
‘Oh,’ said Emily, putting her hands to her cheeks. ‘Oh Robyn.’
She looked around in delight. The walls were a soothing pale sea green and the floor-length curtains were a similar colour with hand-drawn seagulls printed all over them. There was a brand-new cot, and an antique nursing chair re-upholstered in yellow velvet.
‘Mum saw the cot in the sale and couldn’t help herself,’ laughed Robyn. ‘If she had her way she’d have bought the whole of John Lewis baby department.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Emily walked over to the window and looked out at the view. ‘This is going to be the luckiest baby in the world.’
She turned to Robyn, and the two women held each other, and Emily tried not to cry at the memories, but to be glad. She managed it until she saw the little piglet she had put in Robyn’s box, perched on a little shelf over the cot.
‘I wanted the baby to have it,’ said Robyn, her voice choked with tears. ‘Because it was locked in a box all those years, and it deserves to be loved.’
Emily nodded and held her even tighter. ‘This means the world,’ she managed to say. ‘The absolute world.’
At half past twelve, Mick and Sheila’s car pulled up behind Jonathan and Emily’s. Robyn felt nervous. It was going to be a strange day for them, and the last thing she wanted was for them to feel threatened. She was conscious that Sheila might still feel on her back foot; Mick was more phlegmatic and far less likely to judge or take offence or overreact, but he could be withdrawn if he felt uncomfortable.
‘Mum …’ Robyn rushed forwards to greet Sheila as she came through the door, wielding a lemon meringue pie as big as a cartwheel. ‘Let me take that off you. Mum, this is Emily.’
She watched as Emily and Sheila stared at each other for a moment. Both of them her mother; both in very different ways.
Emily broke the moment. She stepped forward and took Sheila’s hand. ‘I want to say thank you,’ she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘I can’t thank you enough, for looking after Robyn. For making her who she is. For giving her a wonderful life …’
She couldn’t speak any more. Robyn waited, rooted to the spot, for Sheila’s reaction. The woman who had been her mother since she was a tiny dot; who’d seen her through teething and potty training and primary school; who’d taught her to read, but also to plant flowers and bake bread. And to be patient, and kind, and get up in the morning even if you didn’t want to.
‘Thank you,’ Sheila said eventually. ‘For giving us our daughter. She’s brought us joy every single day. Hasn’t she, Mick?’
She turned to Mick, who was nodding in agreement but didn’t want to voice his opinion just yet. He had always been shy next to Sheila. Or at least kept his counsel until he was certain of his position.
‘She’s a good girl,’ he said eventually.
He turned away. For all his farmer’s steadfastness, he was deeply moved. He’d often thought about Robyn’s real parents, in a quiet moment, and now they were here in front of him he felt overcome with emotion. The protectiveness he had felt from the day he first saw her was still there, in full force. But he was generous enough of heart to be able to share her, now, even if it was difficult.
‘I’m Jonathan,’ said Jonathan, stepping forwards to shake Mick’s hand. ‘Thank you for being such a good father to her. I’m incredibly grateful, and in awe of what you’ve done.’
Mick nodded, but the look on his face showed he was touched by Jonathan’s thoughtful words. He took his hand and shook it, holding it for a moment, then stepped away, gesturing that was enough.
There was silence as everyone took in the momentousness of the occasion, no one quite sure what to do or say next. It wasn’t a hostile silence, just a gentle intake of breath while everyone adjusted to their new position and took in the reality of the people they had wondered about all of their lives. Everyone seemed a little overwhelmed by the story that had come full circle. The story that wasn’t at an end, but had a new beginning. A story full of hope.
And then Clover burst in, Mouse at her heels, with a giant New Home balloon, and shattered the silence.
‘Hey, guys,’ she exclaimed. ‘Surely we need a toast? What are you all waiting for? Hi!’ She smiled at Jonathan and Emily. ‘I’m Clover. The super-annoying little sister.’
She insisted on opening a bottle of prosecco and exploding it all over the kitchen, thereby liv
ing up to her description of herself, but no one minded as she’d broken the ice. Jonathan took it off her and filled all the glasses while Sheila mopped the floor, and Mick tied the balloon onto a beam in the middle of the room, and the timer went on the oven to say the chicken was done. Everything just fell into place, with everyone finding their role. It could have been stiff and awkward and uncomfortable, but everyone mucked in and chatted and made each other laugh. Mick carved and Jonathan poured the wine and Sheila made the gravy and Mouse tried to work out whose chair to sit under for the best chance of scraps.
‘What should I call you?’ Clover asked Jonathan, in her blunt, coquettish way. ‘I mean, what are you to me?’
‘Just Jonathan will be fine,’ he replied amiably, not too startled by her.
By the time the chicken had been carved, Rocky and Ethan arrived. It had been agreed they would arrive a little later than everyone else, to give everyone a little bit of space to meet.
‘Do you think the table’s big enough?’ Robyn asked Jake in a panic, wondering if everyone was going to be too squashed.
‘Just wait till Christmas.’
‘Oh,’ said Robyn. ‘Christmas.’
And she imagined a tree in the corner, twinkling with lights, and a flaming pudding being brought to the table. There’d be everyone who was here, and maybe Tina if she came down for Christmas once the baby arrived. Perhaps Melissa too – she and Rocky had been going steady for a month now. And Gwen and Boyd, if they could stay still in one place and weren’t off on one of their endless adventures, drinking their way through Burgundy or getting the night train to Vienna. Her family, old and new, close and extended, and her friends, all pieced together to make a wonderful whole.
She looked at the table. She’d thought it was enormous, but now she was worried it wasn’t going to be big enough for all the people she loved. There would be room for the highchair at the top. Mick had found her old one in the attic and had sanded it down and painted it.
‘I can paint the name on when you know what you’re going to call it,’ he told her.
A Wedding at the Beach Hut: The escapist and feel-good read of 2020 from the bestselling author of THE BEACH HUT Page 30
