The Beach House

by Jane Green

  Michael was concerned when he first heard Nan was opening up her house to strangers, concerned when she told him about their financial situation, not that he was surprised.

  He is apprehensive about telling her his true thoughts, that he thinks she should sell. He loves Windermere, would hate to leave it, but while renting rooms out for a summer may bring her a sense of security, there’s no way it’s going to save the house.

  While the house does look better than it has done in years, the improvements are so clearly superficial. A coat of paint may temporarily hide the wood rotting away underneath, but it won’t hide it for very long. You can seal the cracks in the windows, oil the hinges, patch things up for a while, but here on Nantucket he’s not sure the house will survive another winter.

  The money isn’t in the house, Michael knows that, but in the land, and the small amount of research he has done leads him to believe the right developer will pay a fortune for their land.

  If it were up to him, he would sell today. Install Nan in a gorgeous cottage, one that is newly built, that needs little money for maintenance, can still give her a garden, an ocean view. He loves this house but he is not sentimental about it, not in the way that Nan is, which is why he hasn’t talked to her about it, not properly.

  She will not leave. Perhaps at some point, perhaps when she realizes there is no other way… Until that time, until she realizes that a few hundred dollars a week will go almost nowhere, Michael will let her believe that everything will be fine, will let her hold on to her fantasy a while longer.

  Look at how happy she is now, with the little girls looking adoringly up at her as she leads them inside to find the sparkly, glittery clothes in the dressing-up trunks she had been saving for… what? Granddaughters?

  Michael sighs. Life isn’t running the course he had expected it to. He thought he was perfectly happy, safe, secure in his job, in his life in New York City, and now here he is, back home, on a hiatus from his life.

  Look at the others living here at Windermere. Daff, who thought her marriage was fine until her husband had an affair, who loves her daughter but doesn’t have her daughter. Daniel, who has spent his entire life living a lie.

  His mother may be living in something of a fantasy world, but at least she is happy. At least she knows what she needs to be happy: her house, her family, being surrounded by people she enjoys.

  It is time, he thinks, that he figures out exactly what he needs to be happy, and exactly where he ought to be going next. Lost in thought, he turns and goes inside to get a pen and piece of paper from the kitchen, and opening the phone book he starts to jot down the addresses of all the jewellery stores on the island.

  It’s time to take the next step.

  Bee lays her head against the back seat of the town car and closes her eyes. She is exhausted in a way she didn’t know possible, emotionally drained, like a rag doll that has lost all its stuffing.

  After all the pain, the anger, the anguish and fear of the last few weeks, all that is left is numbness. She closes her eyes and fantasizes about sleep. About going to bed for weeks, cocooning herself in a soft, dark, warm bed, not waking up at all until things are back to normal. But even she doesn’t know what normal is any more. It’s not as if she can fantasize about Daniel coming home, not now. There isn’t any hope left at all, just a desire to close her eyes and sleep and sleep, and sleep.

  Bee knocks gently on the hospital door then pushes it open when she doesn’t hear anything.

  Her dad is lying in bed, eyes closed, tubes running into his arms. He looks utterly familiar and so different at the same time, the same father she has always known and loved, but old, lying here so frail and weak, helpless as a child.

  ‘Dad?’ She chokes back a tear and leans over him, almost jumping as he opens his eyes.

  ‘Bee!’ He smiles, and raises his arms, and she lies on his chest, squeezing him tightly.

  ‘Ouch!’ he says. ‘Not too tight.’

  ‘Sorry, Dad.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘Oh Dad, I was so worried. I thought you were unconscious.’

  ‘I was, but then I was just sleeping. I’m glad you’re here, Beezy.’

  Bee is relieved that, up close, he still smells like Dad, still smells like home, and in the safety of the crook of his neck she feels the tears well up again. For a moment she fights the desire to curl up in the safety of his embrace, like a little girl whose daddy can rescue her from everything.

  She blinks back the tears and forces a smile. ‘Thanks for dragging me away from the beach.’

  ‘I figured you’d have forgotten about me,’ he says. ‘Throwing myself down the stairs was the only way I could think of to get you to remember your old dad.’

  Bee grins, her first genuine smile in what feels like weeks.

  ‘Well, I’m here now. Happy?’

  ‘Better now that I’m seeing you,’ he says, his eyes softening.

  ‘What happened?’ she asks. ‘Do you remember?’

  ‘No idea,’ he says. ‘I don’t remember a thing, but the pain is excruciating.’

  ‘Do they think you need a hip replacement?’

  ‘I’m having another X-ray this afternoon. I’ve been completely out of it. Maybe you can sit down with the doctors and find out.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bee says. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  ‘It’s me.’ Bee paces in the waiting room as she calls Daniel’s mobile phone. She never knows what to say these days. When they were together she never had to introduce herself, and now saying, ‘It’s Bee,’ sounds too formal, ridiculous when just a few weeks ago no introduction was necessary.

  ‘I know,’ Daniel says. ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘He’s going to be okay,’ she says. ‘We’re waiting for the results of an X-ray, but the worst-case scenario is a hip replacement and then recuperation, but given that he fell down a flight of stairs, it could have been so much worse.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Daniel says, and he is relieved. He likes Evan, has always considered himself lucky to have in-laws he got on with, considered part of his family. One of the hardest things about separating from Bee is, he now realizes, separating from her family, knowing that they will never look at him in the same light again, will never again welcome him into their arms as the son they always wanted but never had.

  ‘So how long do you think you’ll have to stay?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Bee sighs. ‘Hopefully, we’ll know more tomorrow. How are the girls?’

  ‘They’re wonderful.’ Daniel smiles, looking over at Lizzie and Stella, who are standing on stools, cutting out pastry shapes for jam tarts, with Nan.

  ‘Nan is having a field day having them here,’ he says, aiming for a normal conversation, knowing that talking about their children is the only way they are currently able to pretend that everything is okay, to have a conversation that doesn’t end in a shouting match, with accusations hurled.

  ‘We spent the afternoon foraging at the beach for clam shells and sticks to make fairy houses.’

  Bee laughs, despite herself. ‘Fairy houses? It sounds like you’re running a day camp.’

  ‘It feels like it. Nan’s got activities lined up for every hour, it seems. They’re in heaven.’

  ‘Can I talk to them?’

  ‘Of course. Hang on. Girls!’ Bee smiles as she hears Daniel call out to them. ‘Mommy’s on the phone.’

  Bee waits, expecting to hear ‘Mommy!’ but instead she hears Stella saying, ‘I’m busy. I can’t talk now.’

  ‘Lizzie –’ Daniel’s whisper is audible – ‘talk to Mommy.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Lizzie says loudly. ‘I’m cooking.’

  ‘Come on,’ Daniel says firmly, and a second later a distracted Lizzie is on the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ Bee, so excited at the thought of talking to her children, now feels hurt, and empty.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, darling! It’s Mommy!’

  ‘Hi, Mommy.’

  ‘Are you
having fun? What are you doing?’

  ‘We’re cooking.’

  ‘What are you cooking?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nan, what are we cooking?’

  ‘Jam tarts,’ Bee hears Nan say.

  ‘Hello? Lizzie? Are you there?’

  ‘Bee?’ It’s Daniel again. ‘I’m sorry, but they’re distracted. Can we call you back?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bee says. ‘I’ll try again in the morning.’ And putting down the phone, she quietly goes back to see her father, trying not to think about the pain of her children not missing her as much as she’s missing them.

  ‘Ooh look,’ Nan opens the envelope, admiring the handwriting first, then proffers the invitation around the kitchen like a rare gift.

  ‘What is it?’ Michael looks up from the kitchen table where he’s making notes.

  ‘An invitation! Jack at the garden centre’s having a party. On Saturday night, at home, and it says bring houseguests. I think that means all of you.’

  ‘A party?’ Daff says. ‘What kind of party? I’ve brought nothing party-ish. Unless you can wear shorts and a T-shirt.’

  ‘You can borrow something of mine,’ Nan says. ‘We’re about the same size.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Daff says. ‘Although maybe I could buy something in town. It would be nice to treat myself. God knows it feels like I haven’t got dressed up in years.’

  ‘Years?’ Daniel laughs. ‘You’ve only been here a few days!’

  ‘I know, and I’ve been living in ratty old clothes the entire time. You wouldn’t recognize me if you ran into me at home.’

  Michael looks up with a smile. ‘Why? Do you turn into a pumpkin on the New York border?’

  Daff laughs. ‘No, but I’m a bit more glam than this.’

  ‘How much more glam?’ Michael thinks of Jordana, immediately picturing Daff caked in make-up, glittering jewels in her ears, high-heeled boots on her feet, and he shakes his head. The picture doesn’t feel right at all.

  ‘Just more respectable. You know, make-up for work and stuff. Smooth glossy hair instead of this curly mess,’ she says, gesturing at her curls falling out of a loose ponytail.

  ‘I like you like this,’ Michael says. ‘I’m sure you look great the other way, but I think most women look better more natural. I never understand why women plaster themselves with make-up and stuff to hide who they really are. I’ve always preferred the natural look.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Daff says, not meaning for it to come out nearly as flirtatiously as it does, and she quickly turns away, a flush rising, as Daniel raises an eyebrow with a smile, and Michael, embarrassed, suddenly thinks of something he has to do outside.

  Chapter Twenty

  The days are lazily blending into one another, each day sunnier than the last, each person in the house finally feeling relaxed and at peace.

  They have all established something of a routine.

  Daniel is woken up at the crack of dawn each day by a small person’s face centimetres from his own. ‘Daddy? Are you awake?’ Loud stage whispers from Stella that never fail to bring a smile to his face as he climbs out of bed and goes downstairs to make them breakfast.

  Nan is always downstairs first. She had grand plans of being the hostess with the mostest, but she is tired these days and grateful that Daniel is so good in the kitchen, so at home. Breakfast has now become Daniel’s responsibility, and Nan plays with the girls as he whips up pancakes, or waffles, or French toast.

  Michael is usually next, stumbling into the kitchen half asleep, his hair mussed up, the old, faded T-shirt that he slept in crumpled, a pair of cargo pants and flip-flops on as he yawns his way to the coffee machine, barely able to speak until that first cup of coffee.

  Daff comes down last, breezing in clad in shorts and a T-shirt, wide awake and terminally happy.

  They have taken to eating outside on the terrace, the girls and Nan setting the table every morning, thick glasses filled with cornflowers and hydrangeas taking pride of place in the middle of the old scrubbed table.

  After breakfast, Michael has been taking off to run errands, or helping Nan fix something around the house, for there is always something that needs to be done.

  He wishes there was a way to keep Windermere but, as romantic as he is, he is also a realist. He sat up with Daniel one night to discuss it, the two of them nursing large single malts as they sat at the kitchen table while the rest of the house slept.

  ‘It’s a wonderful house.’ Daniel looked around the kitchen as he sipped his whisky. ‘They don’t make houses like this any more, but it hasn’t been maintained, and it needs renovating.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Michael leaned forward. ‘A couple of hundred grand?’

  Daniel was shocked. ‘No! I think half a million would be more like it,’ he said. ‘If not more. Everything needs doing. It’s a gut job, and I’m not sure it’s worth it. Obviously, it’s worth it to you, and I hate saying you have to tear down something so wonderful…’ He sighs. ‘I’m not sure what the alternative is.’

  ‘Really? A gut job? You don’t think we could get away with fixing what needs to be done for far less?’

  ‘I wish I could say yes, but it needs new bathrooms, new wiring, new plumbing. The shingles need replacing, it needs a new roof, the windows are all rotting. And that’s just looking at it now. With these old houses the minute you start working on them, the more you find out what’s wrong.’

  Michael is aghast. ‘How do I tell my mom?’

  ‘You don’t.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘Not until you absolutely have to. I’ve been checking out the real estate here and the good news is that this is worth millions.’

  ‘I know.’ Michael sighed. ‘But where would she go?’

  ‘With that money? You could build her something small and gorgeous, build something for yourself, I imagine, and still have enough left over so that neither of you would have to worry ever again.’

  ‘But money isn’t everything. Mom’s never been motivated by money, and I think she’d be heartbroken at the prospect of leaving.’

  ‘I understand.’ Daniel nodded. ‘But it may not come to that. If my recent experience has taught me anything, it’s that things have a habit of working out in life the way they are supposed to, if you are able to just relax and trust in the workings of the universe.’

  Michael grinned. ‘Funny,’ he said. ‘I believe much the same thing. It’s very New Age of us, apparently.’

  Daniel grinned back. ‘Well, it seems I really am a new man after all.’

  ‘The window’s stuck in my room again.’ Daff wanders into the garden to find Nan, on her hands and knees, weeding the tomatoes. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘I’ll send Michael up to have a look,’ Nan says. ‘He should be back from town any minute.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Daff smiles. ‘I’m having a lazy morning in bed reading and waiting for the fog to clear.’

  ‘It will be gone by lunchtime, then it’ll be a perfect day for the beach. Are you around for lunch?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about me,’ Daff says. ‘I may go to the village and grab something.’

  Nan shrugs. ‘Fine. Oh listen. That’s Michael’s bike on the gravel. Let’s go and ask him about that damned window.’

  A few minutes later Daff perches on the bed as Michael starts to work and, again, she has that feeling she had just the other day. Lust.

  Until the other day, when this first happened, she might have said that she fully expected never to feel this way again, that perhaps it wasn’t possible, once you hit your forties, to feel this, that it was just for kids, for younger people in search of a thrill.

  But no. It is quite clear that this is lust, and Daff is stunned. She has been aware that she likes Michael, that she feels safe with him. She likes the way he places his hand in the small of her back to guide her into a room. She likes that he looks after his mother, that he seems to want to look after her too. She wakes up in the morning and smiles at the thought o
f seeing him stumble around the kitchen to refill his coffee cup; she thinks he looks like a cute little boy with his hair mussed up and his eyes filled with sleep.

  ‘Ah-ha! I’ve got it.’ Michael groans as he reaches up. ‘It’s this bit that’s sticking. Can you pass me that box knife?’

  Daff goes to the toolbox and passes him the knife, feeling another shiver as her fingers accidentally brush his.

  Oh for God’s sake, she tells herself, embarrassed. You’re a grown woman. Stop behaving like a teenager. But still, she has to fight the urge to glance at herself in the mirror on the other side of the room, checking that she looks okay.

  ‘All done,’ Michael says, and for a second they just stand there, looking at each other, the air suddenly charged as Daff fumbles for something to say.

  ‘Are you going to the party?’ Michael asks softly, and Daff nods. The party Jack from the garden centre has invited them to is this evening. Daff is surprised to realize she is excited about tonight in a way she hasn’t been excited for ages.

  Michael reaches out and slowly tucks a strand of hair behind Daff’s ear.

  ‘Wear your hair down,’ he says. ‘You look beautiful.’ Then, turning, he walks out of the room, leaving Daff to sink down on the bed with a hand on her fluttering heart.

  Jess scuffs round Wal-Mart, looking like any other young teenager, not meeting anyone’s eyes, covertly checking for security guards.

  She doesn’t call it stealing. Jess would never steal, and anyway, this isn’t from a person, it’s from a huge conglomerate, therefore it doesn’t count. In the couple of weeks since she started, she has amassed a startling amount of goods. Both drawers in her bedside table are stuffed full, and she has taken to locking her bedroom door just in case her dad or Carrie should walk in and question her.

  She lines up her wares in silence, feeling, in an odd way, safe when she is surrounded by this stuff that is hers and only hers, for only she knows about it.