He had done it, Jack thought. He had shared his story for the first time with someone who didn’t know it, and he had survived. One day perhaps he wouldn’t feel the need to tell it, that it would no longer be such a big part of him, that he wouldn’t feel the pressing need to explain his circumstances.
He had made quite a bit of headway recently. He’d been shocked when he looked in the mirror one day a few months ago: shocked at the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, his eyes without light, his mouth slack with despondency. So he’d straightened his shoulders and put on a smile – a real one, not a fake, leering rictus – and just pretending he was OK had made him feel more positive.
Tonight, though, he had felt his shoulders relax and his eyes crinkle with laughter and his mouth turn up at the corners involuntarily. Maybe it had been Lizzy’s mulled wine or Nat’s excitement at the thought that Father Christmas really would be coming to the beach hut, even though they had no proper chimney, or the strange companionableness of a bunch of strangers sharing their troubles, each of them away from home for a different reason. He had felt relaxed, in the womb of the hut next door, in the depths of the sofa, the wood-burning stove throwing out warmth, the murmur of Harley’s husky voice interspersed with Lizzy’s laugh.
Perhaps the newness of strangers helped to heal your scars? While he was with his old friends, the wounds stayed fresh and open, because he thought of other times, times when Fran had been there with them all. He hadn’t felt that with Lizzy and Harley. He’d been wrapped up in their stories and forgotten his own. He’d been eager to find out more about them. He’d been less selfish, less self-centred, a better person.
Sometimes he wondered how and why his old friends put up with him and his misery, though they did. But maybe now it was time to reach out and bring in some new people. Not that he didn’t value his old mates: of course he did, and he could never repay them. But they, as much as anyone, deserved a new Jack. He could see it in their eyes sometimes, pity mixed with – was it boredom? Having to hear his schtick again and again? He tried not to go on, but he didn’t have much else to talk about.
It filled him with resolve, not to try new things, but to try new people. The revelation was, he thought, the best Christmas present he could have had.
CHRISTMAS EVE
32
Simon woke with a start on Christmas Eve. He felt ashamed – how had he fallen asleep? What if Lizzy had phoned in the night or even come back to find them all snoring away as if they didn’t have a care?
Then he sat up, suddenly attentive, alert as a meerkat. He could hear the pipes starting to click and groan. Someone had put the heating on. The timer had been on the blink for months so they had to turn it on and off manually. It was the first thing Lizzy did every morning.
He strained his ears. He thought he could hear the radio – it would be Radio 2, the chuntering burble of whichever DJ had drawn the short straw, introducing jolly festive tunes. Then he breathed in …
Coffee. He could smell coffee.
She’d come back! She had sneaked in without letting them know and was pottering about in the kitchen. She’d be going through her Delia plan, working out what time to put the turkey in tomorrow. There was always a complicated mathematical calculation and she always got up super early, because it took bloody hours. Every year they debated whether to have something else, and every year they had a fifteen-pound bird that took up more time and attention than it surely merited. But it always looked magnificent when she finally pulled it out, all golden and steaming.
He jumped out of bed. Thank God, he thought. They could be normal now. They wouldn’t go into it all, they’d just have a wonderful Christmas, and he would be on the lookout for signs, he would take extra care of her and they could sort things out in due course—
He scrambled down the stairs, nearly hitting his head on the beam in his haste, and burst into the kitchen with a wide smile on his face. She was there, with her back to him. She turned with a smile.
He had never felt disappointment like it. It was crushing. Like being plunged into a pool of icy water that took your breath away. He couldn’t speak. For there, in front of him, in Lizzy’s dressing gown, setting out the mugs on the side as she plunged the cafetière, was his mother.
‘I’ve turned the heating on. I hope that’s OK. Did you sleep? …’ She trailed off as she saw the disappointment on Simon’s face. ‘Oh, darling. You thought I was Lizzy. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s ok.’ He gulped. It really was serious if Lizzy had stayed away for a second night. ‘I’m so worried about her, Mum.’
‘I know you are, but I’m sure she’s ok. She’ll be back when she’s good and ready.’
Cynthia went over to give her son a hug. It was tentative at first, after yesterday and her confession, and they weren’t the most demonstrative of families. But he leant into her and she put her arms round him and it felt good, to be a comfort and a support.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he mumbled. He was still cross with her, but he needed consolation more than retribution.
Hattie woke up on Christmas Eve and grabbed her phone. Just like she did every morning, only this time it had a purpose. She checked her Facebook page to see if there had been any sightings. The post had been shared hundreds of times. It could be anywhere in the world now. She scrolled through all the messages underneath. Messages from people she had never met, wishing her luck, sending her love.
Your mum looks beautiful I hope you find her
Oh my God I can’t imagine waking up without my mom on Christmas. Here’s hoping.
Come home Lizzy!! Everyone loves you.
Sending lots of love and good wishes to your family at this stressful time
Her phone rang. It was Hal.
‘I saw you were on Facebook. Any luck?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘But thanks for asking.’
‘My mum says if you all want to come over here for lunch, you’d be welcome. We always have a big old fish pie on Christmas Eve. It’s pretty tasty.’
‘You told your mum?’
‘Hat, it’s all over Facebook.’
‘I guess so.’ She sighed. ‘Thanks. And thanks to your mum. I don’t know what we’re doing yet.’
‘She will come back, Hattie. Your mum’s … solid.’
Hattie giggled, despite herself. ‘She wouldn’t thank you for that.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Course I do.’ She sighed. ‘It’s so weird, Hal. The house feels dead without her.’
It did. The air on their floor felt cold: the heating took a while to reach this high up.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she told Hal.
‘Go back to sleep, I guess,’ he replied. ‘It’s not even seven. No one’s awake here.’
‘How come you’re up?’
There was a pause. ‘I’m excited,’ he admitted. ‘I love Christmas. I shan’t sleep tonight.’
‘Do you still get a stocking?’ Hattie giggled.
‘Yes. Even though I know my mum’s PA gets all the stuff off the internet.’
‘That’s terrible,’ said Hattie, but she was smiling at the thought of ultra-cool Hal rooting through his Christmas stocking in the semi-darkness. She could hear him chewing something.
‘What are you eating?’
‘I’ve got a massive Toblerone. My nan gives me one every year. Want me to bring it round?’
‘You’re OK,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘Go and make your mum a cup of tea.’
‘God, no, she’d die of shock.’ Hal laughed. ‘Anyway, you’ve got an open invitation to come round. You’re welcome, any of you.’
‘Thanks, Hal,’ said Hattie softly. People were kind, when it came down to it. She hung up and pulled her duvet over her head. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to walk through a house without Lizzy in
it. There wasn’t any point.
Her door opened and Luke stood in the doorway, his hair sticking up on end, the hem of his pyjama bottoms trailing along the floor, his ratty Metallica T-shirt barely covering his midriff. Hattie peered out at him.
‘Hey.’
‘I can’t sleep,’ he said. ‘What if Mum’s run off with someone? I mean, you read about stuff, don’t you?’ He came over and sat on the edge of her bed. ‘Maybe she met some rich dude at the hotel? And she’s driven off with him somewhere? Or what if she’s been kidnapped? By some weirdo?’
‘She left a note, Luke. She’s mega pissed off with us and she’s … chilling somewhere.’
‘How can you be so cool about it?’
‘I’m not. But what can we do?’
They were exactly the same age, but sometimes Hattie felt much older than Luke. Maybe they needed to revert to their childhood habits, for comfort. She shuffled over to give him some room, then grabbed the remote for her telly.
‘Let’s watch Flintstones reruns,’ she said, flicking through the channels. ‘Hal just called. Said we can go round to his if we want.’
‘Nah. Let’s stay here in case Mum comes back.’
The two of them snuggled up together. It was, thought Hattie, like when they were tiny and watched telly together on a Saturday morning. Only Mum wasn’t going to come in any minute and tell them breakfast was ready. She looked at her phone again, just in case.
Nothing.
33
Jack got up early on Christmas Eve and went into Tawcombe with Nat and Clouseau, to the fishmonger on the quay. He’d checked the opening times on the internet, and it was one of the things he was most excited about, going to buy fresh fish and seafood. He and Nat wrapped up as warmly as they could. The wind had a Baltic bite to it; the temperature had dropped overnight and the skies were brooding and dark.
Jack let Nat stand on the harbour wall and they watched the choppy navy-blue water slapping against the stone. He shivered as he thought of the fishermen out there, battling the elements to bring in their catch. They’d come back here in the summer, he decided. Get a boat. Do some fishing. They wandered along the quay, got two bacon rolls from a kiosk, then bought some fat creamy scallops, bright white cod and bubblegum-pink prawns. He was going to make a chowder, he decided, with chunks of potato and dill. The perfect Christmas Eve dish, heart-warmingly satisfying.
As they walked back to the car, picking their way over the wet cobbles, breathing in the gusts of Atlantic air, Jack thought: I feel, if not happy, then content, that I am doing as well in life as I can expect to right now. He loved his little boy, his little mate. He loved this seaside adventure they were having. Simple pleasures. Fresh air. New people. He had definitely done the right thing, coming here.
When they got back to Everdene, Lizzy and Harley were outside the hut with a woman and a young boy who looked like a mini version of Harley. He must be about a year older than Nat, he guessed.
‘Hey, Jack,’ said Harley. ‘Come and meet my mum. Mum, this is Jack. And Nat.’
‘Hi, Jack. I’m Leanne. And this is River.’
For a moment, Jack hesitated. Then he held out his hand and she took it. Leanne was petite, with a classic heart-shaped face and hazel eyes, her hair bleached and tousled. Dressed in a fur-lined combat jacket and ripped jeans, she had a dainty tomboy look going on. The boys both had their mum’s grace and delicacy, he noted. What a beautiful family.
‘Hey,’ was all he could manage, slightly overwhelmed and tongue-tied.
He remembered what Harley had told him the night before. About his dad being inside, and how much he hated his mum’s new boyfriend.
‘We’re going for a big beach walk,’ said Lizzy. ‘Then we’re going to the Ship Aground for carols. Do you want to join us?’
‘I would love to,’ he said, telling himself it would be good for Nat to have someone his age to play with.
‘Oh, a French bulldog,’ said Leanne, falling to her knees in front of Clouseau. ‘What a darling.’
‘That’s Clouseau,’ said Jack.
‘I love dogs,’ she said. ‘But my Tony’s not keen. Maybe I can talk him round.’
Jack felt a tiny flicker in his belly. He examined it, and recognised it as disappointment that she was talking about Tony in such a possessive way. He saw disappointment flitter across Harley’s face too. Last night he had definitely expressed hope that his mum might move on. He caught Harley’s eye for a moment and gave him a smile of reassurance, then turned to Leanne.
‘He’s a very good companion,’ he told her. ‘For me and Nat.’ Then realised what was implicit in those words, as she looked up at him, eyes wide with curiosity.
River and Nat had already found sticks of driftwood and were having a sword fight.
‘I’ll just put this stuff in the fridge,’ said Jack, holding up his bag of fish.
Inside, he looked in the bathroom mirror and ran his fingers through his hair to make it stick up a bit like it was supposed to. His hand hovered over his bottle of Acqua di Parma. No, he decided. There was little point.
It was interesting, though, the fleeting feeling he’d had. A flicker of something that made him feel … what? That potent mix of adrenaline mixed with something more base. He measured his guilt. Was that flicker a betrayal? He didn’t think anyone would say it was. Not even Fran.
He sighed. It was academic, anyway. He couldn’t try himself for something that wasn’t going to happen: not if Leanne was talking about Tony as if they were an item. Maybe all it meant was that he was still a living, breathing human being. Something he had begun to doubt.
The six of them walked to the other end of the beach, where Nat and River scrambled on the rocks, poking in the rock pools, their hair damp from the sea mist that was rolling in across the water. Clouseau scampered about, as animated as he ever was. Leanne collected shells, in different shades of grey and pink and cream, filling her pockets.
Lizzy sat on a big lump of driftwood that had washed up on the beach. She had never spent Christmas Eve in the open air like this. Doing next to nothing. Her head as empty as it could be. The relief of not having to keep up a pretence outweighed her guilt at having left her family.
Although she wondered if the relief was starting to wear off, like an anaesthetic. There was something needling deep inside her. She recognised it from when the children were very young, and she and Simon had gone out for an evening or a rare night away. There was an initial excitement and exhilaration, but gradually that wore away. You missed them. And the feeling grew and grew until you had to rush back early, because you couldn’t bear it any longer.
Was that sense of loss setting in now? Was that what she was feeling? She felt a chill as the air temperature dropped. Without the sun, it was properly chilly. She shivered and jumped off the log, wandering back over to the others.
Leanne was looking at the boys as the mist thickened round them.
‘We should start back,’ she said to Jack. ‘Before they get cold.’
‘We should,’ he agreed. ‘There is nothing less fun than a cold, tired boy.’
Leanne laughed in recognition. ‘You’re right there. River!’ she called. ‘Nat!’
Jack looked at her. He liked hearing her call Nat’s name. He didn’t always like it when other people took over. He was, he realised, very protective of his son. He should learn to let go a bit. Maybe today was a start.
The boys scrambled off the rocks and came running towards them, accompanied by Clouseau, their faces alight with the joy of it all.
‘Pub, I think,’ said Lizzy. ‘I’m in the mood for a good sing-song. And I need a drink.’
The Ship Aground did Christmas Eve in style. They served Little Donkeys, which was their take on a Moscow Mule: a lethal combination of vodka, ginger wine and lime which had a deadly kick. And they were doing Karol-oke. Anyone
who wanted to belt out their favourite Christmas song to a rocking backing track was welcome to take the stage.
People had come from miles to take part in the festiv-ities. Huge plates of sausage rolls and cheese straws were being handed round. There were Christmas jumpers and flashing earrings galore. River and Nat were given bowls of chips, against Jack’s better judgement.
Leanne jumped up to take the stage.
‘Oh no,’ said Harley, grinning and putting his face in his hands. But she was brilliant. She sang ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’, Mariah Carey-style, and she hit every note.
And there was one moment, as she sang the chorus, when she caught Jack’s eye. He felt himself blush, and she just smiled and carried on singing, looking away again. But still smiling.
Harley checked his phone to hide his embarrassment. He scrolled through his various apps, wishing people Merry Christmas and answering messages. As he wound his way idly down his Facebook page, something caught his eye. He stopped and scrolled back up.
It was a picture of Lizzy. With a heartfelt plea from her children: has anyone seen our mum? The post had been shared hundreds of times all over the country. He looked at all the messages underneath and all the replies from Hattie and Luke, thanking people for sharing and commenting and saying how worried they were.
He chewed on the side of his thumb as he thought. Would he be betraying Lizzy if he revealed her whereabouts? He thought about how he would feel if his mum went missing. He’d be beside himself, but Lizzy and Leanne were two very different creatures. Leanne was quite likely to be in trouble, whereas Lizzy – he couldn’t imagine her doing anything reckless. Running away this Christmas was obviously the most impulsive thing she had ever done.
Her family must be missing her terribly. She must light up their lives with her smile and her certainty and her way of making you feel special even if you didn’t think much of yourself. She was drawn to the good in people and didn’t tolerate the bad. She was loyal and dogged, and kind. If she was his mum, he would be frantic.
Christmas at the Beach Hut Page 21