The Beach House

by Jane Green

  When Daff and Richard were married, she never worried about money. She did the odd job here and there – she was a professional organizer for a while, painted Christmas cards and had house sales – and what little money she earned was bonus money, a little extra to enable her to buy a cute pair of boots she saw, stay in a better class of hotel when they went away, buy Jess the latest pair of Uggs that she absolutely had to have because everyone in her class had them.

  If she had a quiet period while she was married, it was just a quiet period. It didn’t hold the weight it holds now. For while Richard pays both alimony and child support, she has been left with the mortgage and the bills, and the little that Richard pays isn’t nearly enough to assuage her fears about her future.

  Her dream is to have enough money to put some away every month, build up a nest egg so she knows she can relax, knows that she will always be okay.

  She dreads being in a position where she may have to sell her house. This is the house Jess was born in, and where else would she go? To some extent she understands Nan, why she won’t leave Windermere, and yet it is worth millions. Nan may worry on a day-to-day basis, but she has a choice, and selling this house would make her a very wealthy woman.

  Not to mention what it would do to Daff. Millions for Nan, and maybe a couple of hundred thousand for Daff, enough to set up the nest egg, enough to feel that she could breathe.

  What if she talked to Nan, showed her perhaps just a different way of looking at things? Daff couldn’t, obviously, make Nan do something she doesn’t want to do, but she could perhaps steer Nan in a different direction, and would it really be so terrible to make Nan a wealthy woman?

  She wouldn’t have to deal with draughty windows and disappearing shingles any more. She could have a beautiful cottage on the beach, with more than enough money so she would never have to worry about anything ever again.

  Daff continues to sip her tea, trying to convince herself that persuading Nan to sell the house would not be so awful after all.

  Nan wakes up, cold and shivery. She pads out of bed and goes to the closet, dropping her wet nightgown in a puddle around her feet and pulling on a fresh, dry gown, instantly feeling warm.

  She pushes the covers back on the other side of the bed, the side she still thinks of as Everett’s side, and as she climbs in her dream suddenly comes back to her.

  How strange, she realizes. She had dreamed of Everett. When he died, she had dreamed of him often at first, the dreams so vivid, so real, she remained convinced he was somehow watching her from above, able to visit her only when she was asleep, to reassure her that both of them would be okay.

  She hasn’t dreamed of him in years, but now she remembers the dream she had of him tonight. She had been visiting the Nantucket Lightship, curious to see it since it had been turned into, first, a luxury home, and now a luxury hotel.

  In truth, Nan has read magazine articles about the lightship, has seen how beautifully it has been decorated, the wood panelling, the understated elegance of the formal living and dining rooms, but in her dream it was garish, with loud colours, nothing matching, bright oranges and greens, colours designed to agitate.

  She wound her way through the bedrooms in her dream, knowing she was about to find something, just not sure what it would be, when she came across a smiling man, lying on a top bunk.

  ‘Hello, Everett,’ she said, feeling at once calm, safe, and not the slightest bit surprised to see him, even though this Everett looked nothing like her Everett. Despite that, she knew it was him.

  ‘Hello, Nan,’ he said, and he threw back the covers, inviting her to join him in the bunk, except it wasn’t lascivious, it wasn’t sexual, it was inviting her home, and she climbed in, surprised only that the sheets were not warm and dry, but grateful to have found Everett again. And then she woke up, in a cold sweat.

  Now she finds she cannot go back to sleep. The dream has unsettled her and Jordana’s appearance has unsettled her, not because she knows anything about Jordana, but because she saw Michael out on the terrace, and senses that something big has happened, that changes are afoot and they are not necessarily good.

  Isn’t it ironic, she thinks, just when you think your life is smooth and everything is exactly as you want it, a spanner is thrown in the works and everything changes again. Bee will be back with her father soon, those delicious little girls will be leaving, and in their place Daff’s daughter will be here.

  And this Jordana, who is so clearly in love with Michael, is so clearly wrong for him. What is she doing here, and why is she here just as Daff and Michael seem to be getting so close?

  It feels as if an ill wind has suddenly started to blow through the house. Try as she might, Nan can’t still herself enough to go back to sleep.

  She lies in bed, thinking, until the sky starts to lighten outside her window, then she gets up, makes herself some tea, and walks down to the beach, breathing in the salty air and, finally, down here, starting to feel a sense of peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Daniel checks his piece of paper to make sure he has the number right, then pulls up into the narrow driveway next to the house. There are people here already – his is the third car there, and as he approaches the front door he can see into the living room where people are congregating, glasses of champagne in hand.

  ‘Daniel! You made it!’ Matt opens the door and ushers him in. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here. Come and meet everyone.’ Daniel walks awkwardly into the living room, suddenly feeling apprehensive for there are only men in here, and, unlike when he went to the Maple Bar, this is the first time Daniel has ever been in an environment where everyone, including himself, is openly gay.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Jack’s party,’ Daniel says. ‘I heard it was good.’

  ‘I’m sorry you didn’t make it too. It was fine. For me it was more about chatting up clients and making sure I stayed sober and didn’t say anything to upset anyone,’ Matt says. ‘Champagne?’

  ‘I’d love some.’

  ‘Daniel, this is Keith.’ A small man with trendy glasses smiles warmly and shakes Daniel’s hand.

  ‘You must be new to the island,’ he says.

  ‘Relatively. I’m just here for part of the summer. I’m renting a room out in Sconset.’

  ‘He’s in Nan Powell’s place.’ Matt places a hand on Daniel’s back as he talks, and Daniel is surprised at how natural it feels, how nice. ‘Remember?’

  ‘Oh God!’ Keith’s eyes light up. ‘You have to meet my partner, Stephen. He’s been in love with that house for years.’

  ‘Which house?’ A much older man, with twinkling eyes and almost laughably preppy in pink chinos, a green polo and a blue cashmere cable sweater over his shoulders, strolls over.

  ‘Nan Powell’s,’ Keith says. ‘Daniel’s renting there for a few weeks.’ He turns back to Daniel. ‘Stephen’s an architect and every time he’s been interviewed he says that the Powell house is the one he’d most like to get his hands on.’

  ‘It’s a wonderful house,’ Daniel says. ‘Is all your architecture residential?’

  ‘Stephen specializes in authentic historic renovations,’ Keith says, his chest visibly puffing up with pride. ‘Although he’s done some commercial work in town.’

  ‘And Keith, as you see, specializes in being Stephen’s partner, spokesman and chief PR,’ Matt explains, and the others laugh.

  ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Keith and Stephen exchange a look filled with fondness as Keith laughingly apologizes. ‘I’m just so proud of him. I’m going off to get a refill. Anyone else?’ They shake their heads.

  ‘Have you been inside the house?’ Daniel asks. ‘Do you know Nan?’

  ‘No and no,’ Stephen says. ‘I’ve heard she’s a character.’

  Matt interjects. ‘She is, but in the best possible way. I don’t think she’s nearly as eccentric as people believe. I think she’s cultivated this persona so she can get away with things.’

  ‘I a
gree entirely.’ Daniel nods. ‘She’s actually frighteningly normal.’

  ‘Frightening being the operative word?’

  ‘No.’ Daniel laughs. ‘You should come over sometime and meet her. She adores visitors. Come and see the house.’

  ‘I really would love that,’ Stephen says, before Matt steers Daniel over to meet the rest of the people in the room.

  ‘I apologize for Keith,’ Matt whispers, as they walk. ‘They’ve been together forever and Keith still treats Stephen like a child sometimes, even though Keith’s twenty years younger.’

  ‘How long have they been together?’

  ‘I think this year is their eighteenth anniversary.’

  This year would have been his sixth anniversary with Bee. How odd to think that he could have been Keith, could have been happily with someone for all those years, not having to pretend to be someone, or something, he is not.

  Michael walks through the Wauwinet, smiling at the understated elegance, the quietness and luxury that he remembers from when he was a child.

  He walks through to the porch at the rear, seeing Jordana immediately, trying not to stare at the people sitting around having drinks, people he recognizes from the papers, celebrities, politicians, business moguls, all of them in shorts and T-shirts, all of them looking like regular Joes.

  He approaches Jordana nervously, apprehensive about what he has to say, uncertain of how he can convince her that having a baby won’t be a good idea.

  She is sitting facing the ocean, shaded by a large straw hat and huge Gucci wrap-around sunglasses. She is in a sparkly white beaded sarong, an embroidered gold Buddha on the back offset with gold sequins, and flat, strappy sandals. She would look perfect in the Hamptons, but here in Nantucket, where everyone else is in cycling shorts after long bike rides, baseball caps, faded T-shirts and not a scrap of make-up, she looks like a fish out of water.

  Again he wonders what on earth he was thinking, those moments when he allowed himself to believe, to truly believe, that he and Jordana might have a future together. His whole affair was so completely out of character, it was almost as if he were playing a role in a movie – nothing about it was real.

  And how unfair, he thinks, fear settling onto his chest as he approaches her table, that the consequences are this real.

  Jordana looks up, sees him, and takes her sunglasses off. Her eyes are red, puffy. It is clear she has been crying for many hours. For a second Michael feels a twinge of irritation – her sunglasses came off so quickly, was she trying to make him feel guilty at hurting her so badly, trying to manipulate him in some way?

  ‘How are you?’ He doesn’t know what else to say as he sits down and orders a coffee from the waiter, who appears obscenely cheerful given the circumstances.

  Jordana shrugs. ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘How many weeks are you?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I missed my last period, so probably seven, maybe eight.’

  ‘What does your doctor say?’

  ‘I haven’t been to the doctor yet.’

  His heart jumps. ‘So maybe you’re not pregnant? Maybe this is all a mistake.’

  Jordana looks at him witheringly. ‘I’ve missed my period, my breasts are enormous and I’m throwing up every day. What do you think that is? A phase?’

  ‘It could be anything.’ Michael grabs on to false hopes, desperate for things to be different.

  ‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m pregnant. I know.’

  ‘But how do you know?’

  ‘Because I’m a woman and I just know.’

  ‘And you’re definitely keeping it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jordana’s voice is cold.

  ‘I mean, have you thought, seriously, about what this means? Jordana, of course I’ll do the right thing. I can’t make you give the baby up or get rid of the baby, but you and I aren’t going to be together, this isn’t going to be the cement that holds our relationship together. I’m so sorry for everything, for splitting you and Jackson up, for… for everything.’

  For getting involved with you is what he was about to say, but he held back.

  ‘I am so sorry that this is happening,’ he continues, ‘and if you go ahead and have this baby, of course I will do the right thing for the baby. I would be involved in the child’s life, I wouldn’t just walk away and have nothing to do with it, but you and I are not going to be together, and Jordana, have you thought, have you really thought about what it’s like to be a single mother?’

  ‘I know plenty of single mothers,’ Jordana says archly. ‘I know exactly what’s involved.’ But her voice is shaky.

  Michael ploughs on, certain she’s not convinced, certain he can change her mind. ‘I know women who spent their entire lives wanting to be mothers, who found themselves pregnant, without partners, and went ahead,’ he urges. ‘My friend Suzy got pregnant after a short fling, had always wanted a baby and now has an eight-year-old daughter, and hasn’t been out in eight years. And when the little one was a baby, Suzy was exhausted all the time. There was no one to relieve the burden, no one to support her when she was at the end of her tether, couldn’t cope. And you know what Suzy says now? She says that although she wouldn’t change anything, although she loves her daughter more than anything, if she could have done things differently she would have done. She won’t say her daughter is a mistake, but she does say the circumstances were a mistake, and that she has had no life for eight years.’ Michael pauses, letting the words speak for themselves.

  ‘Is that what you want, Jordana? Is that really what you want? Because this isn’t about a cute baby in designer clothing, who you can treat as an accessory. This is hard work. Exhausting. Much, much harder as a single parent.’

  ‘Don’t patronize me,’ Jordana says bitterly, when Michael has quite finished. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing, and however hard it might be, I am not going to have an abortion. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I had destroyed the life of our baby, and I’m disgusted you would even seriously suggest that to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to patronize you. I just think these are the worst circumstances in which to bring a baby into the world. This isn’t an unexpected gift, this is just wrong.’

  ‘So is that it?’ Jordana stands up, pushing her chair back so hard it almost falls over.

  Michael sighs again. ‘I don’t know what else to say,’ he says quietly.

  ‘How about goodbye?’ And she storms off inside, leaving Michael to walk miserably to his car.

  The dinner has been served, and quiet conversations are occurring around the table, replacing the raucous laughter that erupted throughout the meal.

  Roasted leg of lamb stuffed with figs and feta, Israeli couscous, a sumptuous raspberry pavlova for dessert. Never has Daniel eaten so well, nor felt so comfortable.

  This is what he has been missing, he realizes; this is what he was looking for during those years of driving past gay bars, yearning. Ironically, this is why he was so reluctant to leave Bee all those years – because he didn’t know there was anything else out there, didn’t know it could be like this.

  Three couples, all men, two of them married, and he and Matt. None of them having to prove anything, or hide anything, or feel anything other than completely relaxed in their skin.

  Daniel looks around the table until his eyes finally come to rest on Matt, who is smiling at him.

  ‘What?’ Daniel cannot help a smile in return.

  ‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Being out of the closet. Being with others like you.’

  Daniel nods, swallowing a lump in his throat as Matt reaches over and gives his arm a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘It feels like I’m home,’ he says finally, tears in his eyes. ‘I just never thought it would feel this normal.’

  ‘I know,’ Matt says. ‘But it is normal. Just not the normal you were used to. Speaking of which, how are things with you and your wif
e now?’

  ‘Soon-to-be-ex wife,’ Daniel corrects. ‘Not great. She didn’t take it well, obviously, but there seems to be a détente for now. I’m trying very hard to remind her constantly that whatever we feel about each other, it isn’t about us, it’s about the girls.’

  ‘And by that I suppose you don’t mean us?’ Matt gestures around the table and Daniel laughs.

  ‘No. These girls are much shorter and they’re related to me.’

  ‘You’re such a big girl. I can’t believe you’re flying all by yourself.’ Richard had wiped tears from his eyes as he stood hugging Jess goodbye at security.

  Jess had squeezed him tightly, not wanting to leave, not wanting anything to change, but Carrie had sat at the computer with her yesterday, and they’d looked at pictures of Nantucket, read about the beaches, the museums, the boat trips, and she couldn’t help but feel a shiver of excitement at going somewhere new.

  ‘Tons of celebrities go to Nantucket,’ Carrie had said, and they’d looked up a list on the computer. Jess had gone to bed and dreamed of being discovered by someone famous; maybe Tom Hanks would spot her and decide she’d be perfect to play his daughter in his next movie.

  In the departure lounge, she had looked up and she had actually seen someone famous! For a minute she thought it was someone she knew, a friend of her dad’s, but then she realized it was the actor who played the dad in her favourite sitcom. It was Walter Driscoll. She watched as everyone gradually became aware of his presence, a dull murmur that went around the room as people pointed and whispered, eventually coming over to bashfully ask for an autograph or a photograph.

  She was desperate for an autograph, had never been this close to a celebrity before, but she was embarrassed, didn’t know what to say. She sat there, pretending to be buried in Harry Potter, pretending not to be interested in Walter Driscoll.

  ‘Is anyone sitting here?’ His familiar baritone was directly in front of her, and Jess looked up and immediately blushed as she shook her head.

  ‘I see you’re enjoying it.’ He gestured to her book with a smile. ‘I finished it a couple of weeks ago and loved it. I bet you were at the bookstore at midnight for that.’ He raised an eyebrow and Jess smiled and nodded.