‘And how old are you, Nat?’ she asked. ‘I’d say …’
She looked at him thoughtfully.
‘Free,’ said Nat.
‘Three. Just as I thought,’ said Lizzy. ‘That’s a grand age.’
She stood and gave a wry shrug. ‘We must all be mad. It’s not really the time of year to come to the British seaside. But it certainly blows the cobwebs away.’
‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘That’s just what I need. All those Christmas deadlines.’
‘Is this your hut?’
‘A client lent it to me,’ Jack told her, then swallowed. ‘This is our second Christmas on our own.’
Lizzy nodded. She didn’t probe any further. ‘I’m on my own too,’ she said. ‘Well, there’s two of us in the hut next door, but we’re not together together. It’s a long story.’
‘Snap,’ said Jack.
The two of them exchanged a complicit look.
Maybe, over the course of the next few days, he’d be inclined to share his story. To tell this person, with her smiley blue eyes, what had happened, without breaking down or closing up. Not now, though.
‘I better go and fetch our things,’ he said instead.
Lizzy nodded, then looked at Nat again. ‘If you want me to keep an eye on him while you get the rest of your stuff, I’m happy to?’
‘Actually …’ said Jack, assessing her rapidly. It would take him five minutes if he was unencumbered. And Lizzy looked like a kind and responsible person. He trusted her on instinct. ‘That would be really helpful. It’d take twice as long with him.’
Just then Clouseau came lolloping down the steps.
‘And there’s this beast as well. But I can shut him in the hut. This is Clouseau.’
‘Oh my goodness, he is gorgeous.’ Lizzy fell to her knees and fondled Clouseau’s ears. ‘Nat, why don’t you and I walk Clouseau down to the sea while Daddy gets the rest of your stuff?’
Nat turned to look at her, assessing her with the uninhibited gaze of a three-year-old. He didn’t find anything to protest against.
‘OK,’ he agreed.
‘You’re very kind,’ said Jack.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve been there. I’ve got twins. I used to need eyes in the back of my head,’ she laughed.
There was a momentary tussle, when Jack tried to get Nat to put a hat on to protect him from the cold wind, but Nat didn’t want to. Lizzy remembered similar struggles with Luke, who hated hats and scarves and gloves and would deliberately lose them, until she’d finally given up the battle. Now he never seemed to be without a hat.
Jack clipped on Clouseau’s lead and handed it to her. The little dog looked up at her, his shiny eyes bulging with trust and expectation. Lizzy held out her hand to Nat.
‘Come on, then. Let’s see how many steps it takes us to get to the sea. How is your counting?’
It was funny, thought Lizzy, as they clomped over the wet sand, their footprints slurping behind them, how the nurturing instinct didn’t leave you just because you’d run away from your family. Surely this moonlit flit had been about her and finding out what she wanted and needed, not taking on board another batch of dependents? Already she felt invested in Harley, and Jack and Nat had piqued her interest. A man on his own with a small boy at Christmas was an unusual thing. The need to look after them was almost primeval.
She wondered fleetingly what was going on at Pepperpot Cottage. The Ocado delivery was scheduled for this afternoon. Oh well, she thought, her heart hardening at what she’d had to go through to get that precious slot. At least they won’t go hungry.
Clouseau had sat down on the sand and was looking out across the ocean, unblinking. Lizzy laughed and bent down to pat his head, and her heart melted a bit as he pushed against her hand and looked up at her in appreciation. A dog, she thought, with a sudden flash of inspiration. That’s what I want.
‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’ she said to Nat, who put his arms round Clouseau’s neck. The dog shut his eyes in bliss.
She’d always longed for a dog but it had never fitted into their lifestyle, not with her working flat out at Craven Court. But maybe now was the time. If she worked part-time, or worked from home, she could have one. She felt a little flip of excitement; the first positive feeling she’d had for a while. The possibility was a revelation: perhaps she needed to come at life from a completely different angle. Work out what she wanted for her and then put the practicalities in place.
In the distance, she could see Jack making his way back to the huts, laden with bags.
‘Come on, Nat. Your daddy’s on his way back. Come on, Clouseau.’ She tugged on the little dog’s lead and he followed her, endlessly eager to please.
Lizzy walked back towards the huts, laughing to herself. Here she was, on a windswept beach, with a mismatched trio of fellow refugees, none of whom belonged to her, and the meaning of life had just presented itself. She felt as free as the seagulls swooping above her. No responsibility, no timetable, no guilt, no pressure, no being made to feel as if you were slightly mad, no one to raise an eyebrow if you weren’t wearing make-up or had odd socks on, no having to nag or chivvy.
Why was it so liberating? So … exhilarating?
And then she realised: for the first time in a long while, she was able to be herself. She didn’t need antidepressants, she needed space. Time and space.
‘Look at Nat’s cheeks,’ laughed Jack as they approached the hut.
Nat’s eyes were bright and his cheeks were pink and his blond hair was standing on end. He looked up at the sky.
‘I love the beeeeeeach!’ he shouted, and Jack and Lizzy smiled at each other over his head.
‘Listen,’ said Lizzy said to Jack. ‘I’m doing lobster mac and cheese tonight. There’s going to be plenty if you want to join us. But I won’t be at all offended if you say no!’
Jack hesitated for a moment.
‘That’s really kind,’ he said. ‘But I think we’ll probably just get an early night. It’s been a long journey.’
‘Of course,’ said Lizzy. ‘I understand. But if you change your mind, just come over. I always make far too much of everything.’
‘Thank you.’ Jack smiled and scooped up Nat. ‘Come on, mate. Let’s get the kettle on.’
The little trio disappeared inside their hut. Lizzy watched after them, wondering. He was such a big, gentle giant, Jack, and the tiny quicksilver sprite that was Nat made him seem even bigger and gentler. Who was the missing person in their life?
29
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ demanded Simon, talking to Cynthia in the passenger seat as he drove her back to Pepperpot. ‘It’s the one thing Dad drummed into me. Never get in the car if you think you’re over the limit. Get a taxi, or stay the night, or call someone.’
‘I know,’ said Cynthia, her eyes shut.
‘I mean, I got a cab last night. And stopped drinking in good time so I wouldn’t be over the limit today.’
‘He’d never have forgiven me. I know that.’
‘And that’s why you got rid of his car? Because you wrote it off?’
Cynthia nodded miserably. ‘I was thinking of getting rid of it anyway. It was far too big.’
Simon shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say, Mum. I’m shocked.’ He sighed. ‘Although at least it explains some of Lizzy’s behaviour. Why she was so funny about Christmas Day.’
‘It’s been a strain for her,’ said Cynthia. ‘Trying to pretend to be nice to me, all this time. And she promised me not to tell you. I don’t deserve her loyalty.’
‘No,’ agreed Simon. ‘You don’t.’
Cynthia flinched. ‘You should take me back home. I can’t face the twins.’
Simon didn’t answer for a moment.
‘It was terrible, what you did,’ said Simon. ‘I’m never goin
g to think otherwise. But we’ve got a bigger problem right now. And I think we need to pull together. Get everything out in the open.’
‘I’m sorry about Lizzy. I feel as if it’s my fault.’
‘Yes. Partly. But I think there’s other things going on with her.’
‘This age,’ said Cynthia. ‘It’s very difficult for women. You would think the difficult bit was when the children were small; when you were run ragged trying to keep all the balls in the air. But when they’re about to leave home, and you look in the mirror and you can barely recognise the woman you once were, and your body is doing strange things and you just feel like a useless lump … I can’t describe to you how empty it makes you feel.’
‘But she hasn’t said a thing,’ said Simon.
‘That’s the trouble. It sneaks up on you gradually. So you don’t say anything to anyone, but you feel as if you’re silently going mad …’
‘That’s terrible. Poor Lizzy.’ He looked at his mum, grateful for her wisdom, and he softened a little towards her. ‘I know things are tough for you too, Mum.’
‘Don’t try and find excuses for me. I need to pull myself together. I’ve known it for a long time.’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself.’
‘Nor you,’ she said to her son. ‘You’re a good husband, Simon. Don’t start blaming yourself for anything.’
‘Oh, there’s things I should have done differently. Stood up to Amanda, for a start.’
‘We should all have done that. Instead of pussyfooting around her. There’s only one person in Amanda’s life and that’s Amanda.’
Simon was surprised at his mother’s harsh tone. He had always seen her as Amanda’s ally; had always felt his mother had blamed him for their marriage break-up. It seemed the dynamics of his family were a lot more complicated than he realised. There were more secrets than he’d realised as well. He hoped there weren’t too many more nasty surprises lurking.
Back at Pepperpot, there was still no news of Lizzy. The twins seemed happy to see their grandmother, which cheered him a little. They had no need to know of her misdemeanour, but it would be good to have her back in the heart of the family.
Simon flipped on the kettle and sat down at the kitchen table, exhausted. The worry, the emotion, the late night. He supposed he should get supper on the go, but he didn’t have the energy to do it himself or even dictate to the twins.
‘Why don’t we get an Indian?’ he said. They loved the local takeaway. It would probably be heaving tonight – people treating themselves before the holiday began in earnest the next day. It was Christmas Eve tomorrow. The house should be filled with jollity and celebration and excitement. What a mess.
‘I’ll get the menu,’ said Hattie.
‘Chicken and spinach balti for me,’ said Simon, hoping that some food would give him strength.
‘Dad!’ Hattie turned from the noticeboard, a slip of green paper in her hand. ‘Look at this.’
Simon snatched it off her. It was a prescription made out to Lizzy, dated just the day before. ‘Citalopram.’ He frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t know.’
Luke craned his neck to look, typing the word into his internet browser, waiting for the answer to come up. He frowned.
‘Citalopram. It’s an SSRI.’ He looked up at the others. ‘An antidepressant.’
‘I was offered them,’ said Cynthia. ‘After Neville died.’
‘Oh my God,’ wailed Hattie. ‘What if she’s done something awful? What if she’s taken them all?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Luke. ‘She hasn’t got them, has she? The prescription hasn’t been filled.’
‘But what if she’s been on them for ages? And we didn’t realise?’
‘We’d know. I’d know.’ Simon’s tone was adamant. But how would he know? He felt a rush of panic. Lizzy could have had infinite bottles of antidepressants stuffed into her handbag and he would have had no idea, because she wasn’t the sort of person you’d expect to be on them, and you wouldn’t go looking for them.
Events were unravelling too fast for him. He felt as if he was in one of those nine o’clock dramas Lizzy loved watching: some tense domestic thriller where it turned out that the person you loved best in the world wasn’t who you thought they were after all.
‘Let’s phone the doctor,’ said Hattie.
‘They won’t tell us anything,’ said Simon. ‘Hippocratic oath. Patient confidentiality.’
He knew this much from the telly.
‘But if she’s in danger …’ said Hattie.
‘This isn’t like her,’ said Luke. ‘It’s so not Mum. How can she be depressed? What’s she got to be depressed about?’
He looked distressed and terribly young. A boy who needed his mother.
‘Lots of people take them. To get them over blips.’ Cynthia tried to be reassuring. ‘Like losing your job.’
Simon felt unease claw at him. The kettle whistled to a crescendo, as if sounding an alarm. As it came to the boil, it switched itself off and the sound subsided. They all looked at each other.
‘I think,’ said Simon, ‘we should go to the police.’
30
The police station in Astley had miraculously managed to survive ruthless cutbacks and was tucked away just off the high street, away from curious eyes.
Outside the red-brick Victorian building, Simon hesitated, flanked by Hattie and Luke. Luke was in the depths of an oversized Paddington duffle coat; Hattie was in a tiny kilt with her long legs in red woolly tights. Their clothes hadn’t really changed since he used to take them to the park when they were small. They just wore them ironically now. Hattie was even wearing a tam-o’-shanter like one Lizzy’s gran, now long gone, had once knitted for her.
Did it make them feel safe, dressing like their toddler selves? Did they know they were doing it? Or was it him being fanciful, wishing them back again as the helpless, dependent creatures they’d once been, not two independent beings about to flee the nest?
He knew their impending departure was distressing for Lizzy. Was that what lay behind the ominous green slip of paper? In true Lizzy style she hadn’t even hidden it. There it had been, in plain view, tucked beside the menu from the Bay of Bengal. It was dated yesterday. She’d said nothing about going to the GP, though.
‘Let’s go in,’ he said in a low voice, and the three of them looked at each other, unable to believe that they were here, about to report Lizzy missing.
Simon had been in the station twice before: once when he’d lost his mobile phone, in the days when mobile phones were rare and valuable things; and once to report an incident of road rage, when someone had cut him up by the level crossing. Generally speaking, crime in Astley wasn’t high – it was far enough out of the city not to be targeted and was stuffed with people who were naturally vigilant and inclined to spot anything suspicious. Simon and Lizzy took it in turns to attend Neighbourhood Watch meetings, as they liked to think of themselves as responsible citizens. Third time lucky, he thought hopefully as he pushed open the door.
Inside, a small fake Christmas tree gently beamed out a rotation of luminous colours and the station clock was wrapped in gold tinsel. PCSO Melinda Cope was mentally urging the day to finish. It was her first Christmas since her divorce and she couldn’t bloody wait to be able to close the station door and head home. Only half an hour to go.
‘How can I help?’ Melinda liked to try and second-guess what people were coming in for. The three of them looked anxious and subdued, so she hazarded a guess that perhaps the girl had been mugged; maybe on the train. And they were probably trying to keep it quiet from the mum.
‘We’d like to report a missing person.’
Ah. An addled pensioner, perhaps? Who’d wandered off from their sheltered accommodation? Melinda drew a notepad towards her and pulled the l
id off her rollerball.
‘OK. Do you want to give me a few details? Who’s missing?’
‘My wife. Elizabeth Kingham. Lizzy.’
‘And how long has she been missing?’
Simon cleared his throat.
‘We don’t know exactly.’
‘A day? A week?’ Melinda prompted.
‘We woke up this morning and she was gone.’
‘OK. So … when did you last actually see her?’
The three of them looked at each other. Melinda looked at them and nodded encouragement.
‘I came home late last night and slept in the spare room,’ said Simon. ‘Because of my snoring. I didn’t want to disturb her.’
‘I got home about two but I didn’t want to disturb anyone either,’ said Hattie.
‘And I got back this morning. I stayed at my mate’s,’ added Luke.
‘Basically I got up at half seven this morning and she was gone,’ finished Simon.
‘We were supposed to decorate the tree with her last night,’ blurted Hattie. ‘But we all forgot.’
Melinda considered what they were saying.
‘So you were all out last night but you don’t know if she was there or not when you got home?’ She paused. ‘No one bothered to check on her?’
They all looked uncomfortable. ‘No,’ said Simon. ‘But only because we didn’t want to disturb her. Not because we don’t care.’
Melinda nodded, but her eyebrows were heading upwards, her scepticism evident.
‘So when was the last time someone actually saw her?’
‘I left for work at eight yesterday,’ said Simon. ‘And she seemed perfectly happy.’
‘I left the house about eleven,’ said Hattie. ‘She was fine.’
Melinda frowned and her eyes flickered up to the clock. She opened her mouth to speak but Luke elbowed his father. ‘Show her the note, Dad.’
Melinda looked at Simon. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘She left this.’
‘OK.’ Melinda scanned the few words with interest, then looked up at the three of them.
Christmas at the Beach Hut Page 19