Christmas at the Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  ‘So there’s been no improvement?’

  Lizzy sat in the plastic bucket chair opposite Dr Redmond, fiddling with the end of her scarf, wondering if she was wasting the doctor’s time. She’d made the appointment last week when she’d found herself in tears in the loo at work over something trivial. Now she felt a bit of a fraud.

  ‘I’m so up and down. Sometimes I can cope no problem, then something happens and I fall apart. It’s so silly …’ She gulped. ‘And sometimes … sometimes I feel as if it wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t here.’

  Dr Redmond, about half her age, slender in black trousers and a navy cardigan, her dark bob smooth and sleek, looked at her with her head tilted to one side, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Have you had suicidal thoughts?’

  Lizzy had to consider her reply. ‘No. But sometimes I think I’d like to go to sleep in a warm, fuzzy place where I can just curl up. And not wake up.’

  This time the doctor looked concerned. The last time she was here Lizzy had thought she looked rather bored; as if she had wanted something juicier to diagnose. Now, though, she sprang into action.

  ‘I think perhaps we should try some antidepressants. Just to get your head over the parapet and help you feel less … overwhelmed?’

  She began typing into her computer. Lizzy’s heart started to beat a little faster. When on earth had she become the sort of person who needed antidepressants? She was one of life’s sunbeams. Nothing got her down. But she realised, as the prescription edged its way out of the printer, that she felt a little green shoot of hope in her heart. She reached out for the slip, hoping this really would be the answer and she might start to feel like herself again, instead of a grey shadow. She half listened while the doctor gave her instructions about how to take them, warning her they wouldn’t work straight away, advising her to avoid alcohol, then stood up, murmuring her thanks.

  She walked out of the consulting room and back through reception, wondering how many people knew what she was holding in her hand. None, of course. They would have no idea and probably cared even less.

  As she stepped outside the prescription fluttered in the breeze and for a moment she was tempted to let it go and watch it fly across the car park. After all, were the tablets really going to make any difference to how she felt? It scared her to think that was what she needed to navigate life.

  She stuffed the prescription into her bag and wrapped her coat round her, determined to pull herself together. Apart from being made redundant and facing an empty nest, she had nothing serious to worry about. And she must make the most of the good things. It was Christmas time. She was looking forward to tonight, to decorating the tree and sitting round the table with a big lasagne and a couple of glasses of wine and laughing with Simon and Hattie and Luke.

  She got in her car and sat there for a moment. For the past few months she had felt like the proverbial swan, gliding down the river with her feet desperately paddling away underneath the surface where no one could see. Now she had asked for help. She had done the right thing, she told herself. She felt better already.

  She decided she was going to ignore the annoying to-do/shopping list that was weighing her down – the fresh flowers that needed buying, the dry-cleaning that needed picking up, the extra few stocking fillers she had to buy – and head straight for Leadenbury. Her farewell present from Craven Court had been an extremely generous voucher for Inglewood’s department store.

  She was going to spoil herself with something new and luxurious to wear on Christmas Day. She imagined something casually glamorous, with a pair of black suede ankle boots (high, but not fall-off-and-break-your-ankle-after-one-glass high). Perhaps she’d even get a makeover at one of the cosmetics counters; contour her face with some of that shimmering highlighter that gave you cheekbones.

  Her spirits lifted. Tablets shmablets – all she needed was some retail therapy.

  5

  Inglewood’s was a family-run department store in Leadenbury, the little market town five miles from Astley-in-Arden. Lizzy preferred shopping in Leadenbury to braving Birmingham, which won hands down in terms of choice but was rather an ordeal and made her feel anxious. She couldn’t cope with the city traffic or the parking or the crowds these days, and she was grateful to Meg for running the gauntlet with the girls.

  Leadenbury was a tad old-fashioned but Lizzy had her secret parking spot and her favourite coffee shop. And Inglewood’s had had a revamp recently – once it had been a bit mumsy and frumpy, full of lambswool jumpers and calf-length skirts, but one of the younger members of the Inglewood family had given it an injection of life. It might not be Selfridges but it was a lot less intimidating.

  Inside, the shop felt very jolly. As part of their new image they had made a big effort with their decorations and it shone and sparkled, with merry Christmas tunes being played at just the right volume and the air filled with the scent of cinnamon and cloves.

  As she rode the escalator up to the second floor, Lizzy felt calmer; a cheering sense of anticipation washed over her. It was important to reward yourself, she thought. She might still have a list of things to do as long as her arm, but it was important to put herself first for once. Self-care, that was what it was called these days – she’d read about it in a magazine and thought the expression sounded slightly dubious, but she was all for it.

  As she plunged herself into the clothes section, she gave herself permission to get exactly what she wanted. Age was just a number, as was your dress size. She might be a bit tubbier round the middle than she had been, but she still had a great cleavage and great ankles.

  It was a real luxury, having the time to look through all the Christmas outfits: emerald green satin, silver sequins, black feathers and white cashmere. She was spoilt for choice, but finally settled on a cranberry red velvet dress with flattering drapery and batwing sleeves. She found her size and took the dress towards the changing room.

  As soon as she walked in, she stopped in her tracks.

  In the middle of the floor was a woman, hands on hips, looking at herself in the mirror with adoration. Lizzy couldn’t ever imagine doing that. She had taken to avoiding any glimpse of her reflection if she could help it of late.

  This woman, however, clearly loved what she saw. She was Amazonian, her hair a striking white blonde crop which showed off her cheekbones. She wasn’t beautiful, but she carried herself with such confidence it made you think she was. She was trying on a white crêpe sleeveless jumpsuit, the sort of outfit that would fill any normal woman with dread.

  Amanda. Simon’s ex-wife and the mother of his two children, Lexi and Mo.

  The last person Lizzy wanted to bump into in a communal changing room.

  The last person Lizzy wanted to bump into – ever.

  Next to Amanda was a pile of clothes that had already been tried on, rejected and thrown on the floor. Lizzy knew full well she wouldn’t waste any time putting them back on the hangers. She’d leave that to the assistant, the one who was standing next to her nodding in admiration.

  ‘We do have a range of hold-you-in underwear,’ the assistant was saying. ‘If you feel the need.’

  Amanda flashed her a glance. ‘I don’t think so. There’s only a slight bump where you can see my Caesarean scar.’ She patted her non-existent stomach.

  Lizzy clapped her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. How could she actually say that?

  ‘Silver heels, I think,’ said Amanda. ‘And silver nails.’

  ‘Oooh, yes,’ said the assistant with relish, then caught sight of Lizzy standing in the doorway. ‘Did you want to try that on?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Lizzy squeaked, backing out of the changing room before Amanda spotted her. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of trying on her outfit next to her. Amanda looked like the Snow Queen in the white jumpsuit; Lizzy would look like the Snowman.

  Amanda dragg
ed herself away from her reflection and gave a cry of recognition.

  ‘Lizzy!’

  Lizzy shut her eyes. She could just run; fling the dress at the assistant and bolt for the exit. But that would be weird, and she didn’t want any instances of erratic behaviour getting back to Simon’s mother. She was already paranoid about the two of them talking about her behind her back.

  Instead, she smoothed her hair down and lifted the corners of her mouth into as big a smile as she could manage.

  ‘Hi, Amanda,’ she managed.

  ‘Come in! No modesty here. All girls together.’

  ‘Actually, no. I’ve changed my mind. I thought I wanted something new but I don’t at all—’

  ‘Come on. Spoil yourself. It’s Christmas! Time for us women to put ourselves first for once.’

  Lizzy raised an eyebrow. Amanda always put herself first. She always had. It was a skill Lizzy secretly admired. She had tried to analyse how she did it: basically by not giving a monkey’s about anything or anyone else, ever. Annoyingly, it didn’t seem to have done Amanda any harm. No one liked her any less, and she always got what she wanted.

  Amanda was looking at the dress over Lizzy’s arm.

  ‘Oh, that dress is gorgeous. It would look amazing on you. It wouldn’t suit me at all. You’ve got boobs whereas I haven’t. Try it. Go on.’

  Lizzy hesitated. Was Amanda being genuine or was she luring Lizzy into a trap so she could humiliate her? She wasn’t going to risk it.

  ‘No. I’ve got nowhere to wear it, even if I did buy it,’ Lizzy managed lamely.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Amanda. ‘You don’t need a special occasion. It’s Christmas!’

  ‘It would suit your colouring,’ said the assistant. ‘And it’s very forgiving. There’s a lot of stretch in it.’

  ‘We all need a bit of stretch at this time of year.’ Amanda patted her non-existent stomach again.

  Amanda never ate anything. In the twenty years she had known her, Lizzy had never seen a cake or a biscuit or a crisp pass her lips. She looked at her watch.

  ‘I haven’t really got time now …’

  Amanda motioned for the assistant to unzip her, then let the jumpsuit fall to the ground and stepped out of it, standing in front of Lizzy in just her lacy high-cut pants and a push-up bra.

  ‘By the way, thank you so much for stepping in and having Cynthia.’ Amanda reached out and started putting her clothes back on.

  ‘What?’ Lizzy was startled.

  ‘It’s not every day you get offered a half-price chalet in Val-d’Isère. I couldn’t possibly have turned it down. Perks of the job.’ She shimmied into a pair of skinny jeans and zipped them up without even having to breathe in.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lizzy. ‘I think I’m missing something.’

  ‘Mo and Lexi are so excited about coming, but there wasn’t room for Cynthia.’ Amanda disappeared for a moment into a black polo-neck jumper, then her head popped out. ‘It’s only a two-bed chalet.’ She ruffled up her hair till every strand was back in place.

  Lizzy took a deep breath, trying to make sense of what Amanda was saying.

  ‘You’re going skiing for Christmas?’ She tried to keep her voice level. ‘But it’s your year.’

  Lizzy and Simon took Christmas in turns with Amanda to have his children and his mum. Lizzy had been glad it wasn’t their turn this Christmas: it was always quite cramped in Pepperpot Cottage and there was twice as much washing-up and noise with the extra guests. She loved Lexi and Mo and the twins got on well with their half-siblings. Now they were all older the age gap had closed, and even though Mo and Lexi were in their early twenties they loved to revert back to being teenagers – there was always music and board games and raucous laughter.

  But Cynthia was another story.

  ‘I spoke to Simon. He said no problem. Surely he told you?’ Amanda’s smile edged a little wider, sensing a spanner in the works – though being Amanda she would just swan off to the Alps regardless.

  Lizzy shook her head. ‘He hasn’t said anything.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, I know how busy he is these days. He must have forgotten. She won’t be any bother for you. She’s no trouble, is she?’

  Lizzy blinked. Not trouble, exactly. But she didn’t want Cynthia at Pepperpot for Christmas.

  She’d always had a slightly uneasy relationship with her mother-in-law. Cynthia thought the world of her son’s first wife and had been gutted when Simon and Amanda split. Lizzy had always felt a pretty poor replacement. Cynthia had never said that she was a disappointment, not in so many words, but Lizzy was aware how successful Cynthia thought Amanda was, with her luxury travel agency, Sand and Snow.

  And she was conscious of all the things Amanda did for Cynthia: the lavish bouquets of flowers on her birthday, the tickets for her to go and see Michael Bublé and Alfie Bose, the holidays. Amanda had once told Lizzy that Cynthia thought of her as ‘the daughter she never had’. Lizzy couldn’t begin to compete with Amanda’s showy generosity, and felt overshadowed by her.

  And then, four years ago, not long after Simon’s father, Neville, had died, Cynthia had done something awful. Something awful that only Lizzy knew. Distraught, Cynthia had sworn Lizzy to secrecy. Lizzy had kept her side of the bargain, but as a result, the less she saw of Cynthia the better. Lizzy didn’t want to sit through Christmas hiding the truth from Simon and the children yet again. She found it exhausting, pretending to make Cynthia welcome when in reality she couldn’t ever forgive her for what she had done. It was sheer luck that it hadn’t ended in tragedy.

  Tempting though it was, she couldn’t say any of this to Amanda. She wondered what Amanda would say if she knew the truth about her ex-mother-in-law? Loyal Lizzy had kept her mouth shut for four years, because she wasn’t a troublemaker, and she didn’t want Simon to be worried about his mother.

  She knew she was going to lie down and roll over, because she couldn’t betray Cynthia. If she protested, there would be an outcry and she would have to tell the truth. So she would keep quiet. Amanda would waft off to Val-d’Isère and Cynthia would come to Pepperpot.

  Everyone would get the Christmas they wanted, except Lizzy. How was that fair?

  Amanda was nodding at the assistant to take the jumpsuit to the till for her, picking up her bag. Lizzy knew she couldn’t carry on this conversation. She would probably end up bursting into tears and making a fool of herself. She knew from experience she would end up looking like the unreasonable one. The unstable one. It happened every time.

  So she turned quietly and walked out of the changing room.

  6

  As Lizzy wove her way back through the dresses that had only a minute ago been so tempting and enticing, her mind raced. She was burning with the injustice.

  Why should she put up with it? They couldn’t spring Cynthia on her, three days before Christmas. She felt angry, because she knew they all thought, ‘Oh, Lizzy won’t mind.’ That she would selflessly set another place at the table and organise everything.

  Well, maybe this time she wouldn’t. No one had had either the nerve or the courtesy to let her know the change of plan, and this year was her Christmas. The one she wanted. She wasn’t going to be manipulated. She was going to behave like Amanda and put herself first.

  She pulled her phone out of her bag and called Simon. She was, for Lizzy, extremely cross. She didn’t even say hello when he answered, just snapped at him.

  ‘When were you going to tell me about your mother?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve just bumped into Amanda in Inglewood’s and she says your mother’s coming to us for Christmas.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ The expletive was heavy with the dread realisation of a man who knows he’s messed up.

  ‘So you knew?’

  ‘Amanda said they might be going skiing and she’d get b
ack to me. But I didn’t hear any more so I thought it was off.’

  ‘Well, as far as Amanda’s concerned she’s hitting Val-d’Isère tomorrow and it’s a done deal.’

  ‘She was supposed to confirm it.’ Simon sounded defensive.

  ‘You should have warned me it might happen.’

  ‘I didn’t want to stress you.’

  ‘Well, I’m bloody stressed now.’ Lizzy could hear her voice rise.

  ‘Lizzy, it’s fine. I’ll sort everything that needs sorting. Not that we need to sort much. It’s only one extra person …’

  ‘It’s Cynthia. That is not only one extra person. That’s a military campaign.’

  ‘Rubbish. It’s one more chair and a few more spuds.’

  Lizzy shut her eyes and stepped onto the escalator.

  ‘I’ll have to get her stuff for a stocking. She can’t just sit there empty-handed while we open ours. I’ll have to get extra food, and a Christmas pudding without cherries in, because she doesn’t like cherries, and we’ll have to rearrange everything in the kitchen to fit an extra place, and our morning will be interrupted because you will have to drive over and get her … And I’ll have to make sure everything is perfect in the spare room and put the best linen on the bed—’

  She paused for breath.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ said Simon.

  Lizzy felt limp with frustration.

  ‘I wanted it to be just us. The last Christmas before the twins leave home.’

  ‘They’re not leaving home. They’ll be back next year.’