Christmas at the Beach Hut

by Veronica Henry

  The thing was, Amanda didn’t do simple pleasures. She only did expensive, self-indulgent ones, and he should have realised the implications of that before he married her.

  He’d asked Nina out for a drink one night when she’d stayed late to print some urgent mailshots for him. A casual invitation; not a date, but a thank you. They’d gone up the road to a new gastropub and a drink had turned into Nina saying she was hungry and Simon suggesting pizza as he was too. Four Seasons, she had ordered. He could still remember how it was exactly divided into four: ham, olives, mushrooms and artichokes.

  ‘I don’t want to go home,’ Simon said to Nina when he asked for the bill.

  She looked at him, unable to deny the easy, relaxed atmosphere between them that begged to be taken further.

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ she said, looking upset as she pulled her jacket off the back of her chair.

  ‘Shit, I didn’t mean to offend you—’

  ‘You haven’t. Not at all.’ She locked her eyes on his, and he saw something in them: confusion and fear and sorrow. But also a warning. ‘It’s just … wrong.’

  Simon pushed the receipt into his jacket pocket as he led her to the door and they said goodbye. Nina walked off very quickly, not looking back, and he wondered what she really thought – if she’d been tempted, if she wished, like him, they’d met under different circumstances. Regret followed him home, taunting him. For a moment he had dreamed of something better, something equal. A kinder, gentler relationship would make him a better husband and father, he was sure of it.

  Amanda had found the dinner receipt. When Simon had started standing up for himself, Amanda had become suspicious. She was on high alert. It was only two pizzas and a bottle of Chianti from the pub down the road from the office, but it was all the evidence she needed.

  Now, Simon wondered if he had wanted Amanda to find the receipt all along. He felt bad for Nina, who was horrified to have triggered the end of his marriage, even if it was making him unhappy. By then, she was seeing someone else, a trainee lawyer who made her eyes sparkle. Simon knew Nina would never have wanted a relationship with him; that she would always have felt tainted by his broken marriage.

  But then, a miracle had happened. He had met the person who he was meant to be with. His darling Lizzy: comfy, funny, kind – from the moment she’d rescued him at Amanda’s wedding, had dealt with the fountain of vomit without turning a hair, he had known she was the one.

  He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment. They felt gritty from lack of proper sleep. He drifted off slightly and the clamour in the carriage faded into the background. If he could wish for anything, it would be that Lizzy would be at home when he got back, making sausage rolls ready for when they got back from the crib service in Astley on Christmas Eve. It was one of their traditions, even though they weren’t religious. It was always a social event and they often asked people back for drinks afterwards.

  He sighed and looked at his phone. His heart leapt when he saw a text, but he realised it was from Lexi, on her way to the airport. He pressed call.

  ‘Hey, dad!’ said his eldest daughter. ‘We’re just about to go through departures.’

  ‘I just wanted to say have a good trip. Everything ok?’

  ‘It’s all cool. Mo went out with work last night so he’s hanging, but that’s his problem.’

  Simon chuckled. ‘Him and me both. He can sleep on the plane. Is your mum ok?’

  It was funny. He still worried about whether Amanda was happy, even though he was no longer responsible for her. And even though she was partly responsible for Lizzy’s disappearance because of her selfishness.

  ‘Oh, you know Mum. She’ll be as happy as a clam once she’s in duty free.’

  Amanda would be hoovering up as much merchandise as she could carry.

  Simon wondered whether to mention Lizzy going AWOL, but decided there was no point in drawing his older children into the drama. Not yet. He didn’t want Amanda knowing, speculating, gloating …

  He sighed. Maybe he shouldn’t vilify his ex-wife at every opportunity. It was toxic.

  ‘Have a good time. I’ll call you on Christmas Day.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Dad. Got to run.’ Lexi gave a squeaky kissing noise and hung up.

  For a moment, he wondered what life would have been like if he and Amanda had stayed together. Would they all be making their way to the departure gate together? It didn’t bear thinking about. No Lizzy. No Hattie and Luke.

  Where was she? Me time. Had she gone to some spa? Had she got on a plane to go somewhere?

  ‘The next stop is Birmingham Snow Hill,’ intoned the passenger announcement and suddenly everyone jumped to their feet and started gathering together their belongings. Simon felt rooted to his seat. Now they were here, he longed to stay on the train and let it take him where it would. Except he knew the final destination was Stourbridge, and that wouldn’t help anybody. So he got up and manoeuvred his way to the exit, ready to bolt up the platform.

  ‘All right, mate. Let the dog see the rabbit.’ Someone elbowed him out of the way. He didn’t care if he was being pushy. Time was of the essence.

  It took him ten minutes at a fast pace to get to the Georgian building that housed his office. He clicked the fob on his key ring that let him through the security gate, hoping to get away without being seen. There shouldn’t be anyone here today – the office had officially closed for Christmas the day before.

  ‘You look rough.’ Colin came bowling out of the back entrance, beaming, in his usual uniform of black polo shirt, tweed jacket and baggy chinos. Of course he was here. He would probably be here tomorrow as well, right up to the wire. He came into the office six days a week, but that’s why the company did as well as it did. He paid well and was generous about time off, because although he himself had a shocking work–life balance he knew you got the best out of people if they could see there was a point to it all. He might live for his work, but that didn’t mean everyone else had to.

  Simon was fairly sure Colin was grooming him to take over when he retired.

  ‘Someone had to look after the troops,’ he responded cheerily.

  ‘Well, much better you do it than me.’ Colin might be a multimillionaire, but he was down to earth. No swanky cocktails for him. ‘I’d have taken them all down the Bricklayers’ Arms for a pint and a pickled egg.’ He chortled, and Simon couldn’t help smiling despite his hangover and his worry. He admired Colin. Colin could spot the cracks in a building and the dodgy fine print in a contract from fifty paces. And he had nerves of steel. He could play the long game. Simon admired him for it and wished it came as easily to him.

  ‘Well, have a good one, mate, ’ Colin said, patting Simon on the back.

  ‘I hope so …’ Simon paused for a moment. He would trust Colin with his life. Should he confide in him? ‘Only I’ve got a bit of a problem at home.’

  Colin raised his thick, unmanaged eyebrows. Once dark and his best feature, they were running wild now they were turning white. ‘One of the kids?’

  Simon sighed. ‘No. Lizzy.’

  ‘Is she unwell?’

  ‘No. It’s a bit more complicated than that. She’s … gone missing.’

  Colin did a double-take.

  ‘What?’

  ‘None of us have seen her since yesterday.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Colin sounded shocked. ‘Lizzy? But she’s … sound as a pound, Lizzy.’

  Once or twice a year Colin took Lizzy and Simon out for a slap-up dinner with his wife. He believed firmly in family. And he and Lizzy had always got on famously.

  ‘I know. Which is why it’s so worrying. I came down this morning and there was a note. Basically saying sort yourselves out, I’m off.’

  Colin turned the information over in his mind. He was a thoughtful man; instinctive but never impulsive. �
�It could be her age.’

  Simon frowned.

  ‘Kid gloves, Simon. You have to treat her with kid gloves. As if she’s a piece of precious china. And generally speaking my advice to you is keep your mouth shut. You can’t ever say the right thing.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Be on your guard,’ Colin warned him. ‘Even the most mild-mannered and sweet-natured woman can turn into a monster at this time of life.’

  Simon looked at him warily. He knew Colin wasn’t a ‘new man’. That he would probably still refer to ‘the wrong time of the month’, which Simon knew you just couldn’t do these days. But he understood life and how it worked. This was, Simon knew, the voice of experience.

  ‘We were supposed to help her decorate the tree last night,’ he admitted. ‘We forgot. All three of us.’

  Colin winced. ‘Oof. Well, in that case you’re best off going and buying her something to make up for it. Something she’s got her heart set on.’

  ‘Lizzy’s not like that.’ Amanda had been. An offence like that would have needed a whopping great present.

  ‘A holiday,’ said Colin. ‘Book her a holiday. Venice or Santorini would be my advice.’

  ‘There’s no point in booking anything until we find her,’ pointed out Simon.

  Colin nodded. ‘Sit tight. She’ll be back. It’s ruddy Christmas, isn’t it? Too much pressure. That’s why I take my lot to the Lygon Arms in Broadway for lunch and let someone else have the stress.’

  Simon could imagine Colin, cheery and red-faced at the head of the table, with his various offspring and their children ranged down each side, while waiters rushed around pouring vintage wine that Colin wouldn’t want to drink (he’d have a pint of bitter) but would happily foot the bill for.

  He opened his car door and slid into the driver’s seat as Colin patted his roof in farewell. His hands were shaking as he put them on the steering wheel.

  Oh Lizzy, he thought. You silly sausage. Where on earth are you? We need you.

  17

  Harley pulled back the curtains to let in the morning light. It slid past him, tentative and pale, pushing aside the shadows. He touched the end of his nose: it was icy cold. The air inside the hut had a brisk edge to it, so he loaded up the wood-burner again.

  He was surprised not to have woken earlier – the seagulls usually provided him with an alarm call so he was used to getting up early. He’d seen that last night’s unexpected visitor had gone. She wasn’t on the mezzanine and her coat had vanished, though she had left her toothbrush in the bathroom so perhaps she’d gone for milk.

  He reached out for his jacket, slung over the arm of the sofa, and pulled the crumpled card from his pocket. It was cheap and flimsy and most of the glitter had already fallen off, which made him feel a bit sad. He supposed there wasn’t much choice in prison. He tried to picture his dad writing it. Had he been in his cell, chewing on the end of a splintered biro? Or siting at a table with a load of other prisoners, choosing his words while everyone bantered around him? He had no idea what life was like for his father, he realised.

  He read the card for the hundredth time since it had arrived with the advent calendar. Luckily he had found the parcel before his mum. She wouldn’t have taken it off him but it would have upset her. Any reminder of Richie always did.

  Dear H,

  This is a really silly present and I know you are way too old, but the truth is you are never too old for Star Wars. Anyway, I hope you have a great Christmas. I think about you and River all the time. And there’s something else I want to say. Now you’re eighteen, you can come and see me whenever you like. The thing is, H, I totally understand why your mum doesn’t want anything to do with me. I let her down. I let you all down. But I would really value the chance to explain everything to you. How easy it is to make the wrong choices for what you think are the right reasons. I’m your dad, so it’s up to me to teach you what’s right and wrong. And I know I did wrong. I’m enclosing my prisoner number and the number you need to call to arrange a visit. It would mean the world to me. You and River are the things I am proudest of in the world and I don’t want to lose you. But there’s no pressure. It has to be your decision. Anyway, have a great Christmas and hug your brother from me.

  I love you, H.

  Dad xxxxx

  Harley let out a heavy sigh. Every time he read the card he got more confused. He’d hoped that by leaving the house things would be clearer in his mind. He put the card back down on the thick glass of the coffee table then fell back onto the cushions of the sofa with a groan.

  Never mind worrying about his dad. He needed to talk to his mum first, about what he had done, before he made any decisions about visiting prison. He picked up his phone, his thumbs hovering over the keys, not sure how to articulate how he was feeling.

  The door opened and he saw Lizzy, red-faced and struggling with a variety of bags and a small suitcase.

  ‘Hi!’ she said. ‘You were fast asleep when I left.’

  He jumped up. ‘You should have woken me. I’d have helped.’

  He took the case from her and carried it in. She followed, breathing hard.

  ‘I’ve got provisions,’ she said. ‘Tea and coffee and milk, and bacon and eggs. Do you fancy a cooked breakfast? It’s all I can think about. I’m ravenous.’

  ‘Sounds awesome,’ said Harley, smiling at this micro-whirlwind of a woman, and surprised to find how pleased he was she hadn’t disappeared. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘Definitely!’ Lizzy humped two bulging carriers onto the kitchen work surface. She started unpacking the food she had bought and set to making breakfast.

  She was impressed with the new kitchen. She could remember her and Caroline struggling to cook with a two-ring gas burner and a very small microwave: endless baked beans and spaghetti hoops; hard-boiled eggs and bags of ready-salted crisps. And sausage sandwiches with rivers of tomato sauce. They hadn’t worried about carbs in those days.

  Now there was a sleek induction hob and a shiny four-slice toaster in gleaming copper that matched the kettle. It was all pretty impressive, but Lizzy thought that she preferred the old hut, with its flaws and foibles. They’d used enamel plates and plastic beakers and mismatched glasses that Caroline’s mum had brought down; things that would ordinarily have been thrown out but had a second lease of life.

  ‘This is better than my kitchen at home,’ she told Harley, cracking a brace of eggs into the frying pan next to the bacon. ‘Can you make some toast?’

  This hut might be luxurious and slick, but it didn’t have as much character. Not that she was complaining – beggars, she thought, can’t be choosers. She admired the chunky hand-thrown mugs and the matching crockery in pale turquoise, and the different-sized glasses depending on what wine you were drinking.

  The two of them sat at the table in companionable silence to eat their breakfast, the sun outside growing more confident as it shone in through the window, like a new arrival at a party, who’s had a glass of wine.

  ‘The thing with here,’ said Harley eventually, ‘is you can forget all your worries. It feels as if nothing bad could ever happen.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lizzy. ‘I haven’t been here for years, but that’s how I always used to feel when I came here with Caroline.’ She looked sideways at him, thoughtfully. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  He wiped a crumb from the side of his mouth. ‘I can’t go back home for Christmas. Well, I can’t call it home. It’s not home. It’s my mum’s boyfriend’s house.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I want it to be like when we first moved down here. Just me and Mum and River, my little brother. We only had a small flat but it felt like ours.’

  He swirled the last of his tea around and looked down into it as if there might be a solution there.

  ‘The trouble is,’ said Lizzy,
‘things don’t stay the same. Ever.’

  Harley looked up. ‘I know. But I hate him. Mum’s … boyfriend. Whatever you want to call him. Tony.’ He spoke the name with distaste. ‘I’ve tried really hard to see his good side. And figure out what Mum sees in him. But …’

  He slumped, defeated, unable to find the words.

  Lizzy put her hand on his arm. ‘It is difficult, you know. Being a step-parent. I’ve done it. My husband has two children from his first marriage and I found it really hard. I still do. The family stuff.’

  Harley looked at her. His eyes were rock-pool green, glassy with trouble. ‘He scares me.’

  He said it so matter-of-factly it made Lizzy’s tummy turn over.

  ‘Do you mean he’s violent?’

  Harley considered his words carefully.

  ‘Not exactly …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Yesterday, I felt as if he …’ Harley struggled to articulate what he was feeling. ‘It’s as if he’s goading me. As if he wants me to have a go at him. He was taunting me. He was looking in my room. Making sure I hadn’t got a big stash of weed in there or something. Like, just because my dad’s black I must be a drug dealer. And he knows it winds me up.’

  ‘It sounds like his problem, not yours.’

  ‘I can’t stay in the same house as him.’ Harley looked defiant, his eyes flashing with the injustice of it all. He looked as if he might be on the verge of tears. ‘I nearly lost it with him. He was right in my face, giving it …’ He did a yapping motion with his hand. ‘He wanted me to touch him. I know he did.’ He put his head in his hands, then looked up. ‘Then he could prove to Mum I’m a waste of space, like my dad.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, really.’

  Lizzy looked out over the sea, thinking carefully. It was a tricky situation and she didn’t want to advise him badly.

  ‘Maybe a little bit of time out is what you need,’ she said. ‘It’s just a shame it’s happened at Christmas.’

  ‘Mum will be gutted. She desperately wants everyone to get on and for us to be like a family. And it’s not me. It really isn’t. She doesn’t see what he’s like.’