Beth stared at the file extension name on the document in front of her. Shit. She would be better off starting from scratch, because there was no way she could do anything with the incoherent crap they’d cobbled together. ‘Okay, thanks. Just remind me when this needs to go up to the director.’ Crossing her fingers, she prayed she had at least another full day to fix the mess.
‘It went up to Bruce earlier today. Like I said, it only needs a bit of tarting up.’
Beth swallowed a laugh at the way Marco dropped the name of the director of key accounts. As if he’d call him anything other than Mr Turner to his face, pompous git. The implication of his words sank in. The nonsense on her screen had been submitted to the director…she choked at the very idea.
Undeterred by her coughing, Marco continued to speak. ‘Darren was well impressed with the amount of work I’ve put into it, so I used a bit of initiative.’ Good God, he actually sounded pleased with himself. Wondering if it was worth putting a call into the director’s office to try and intercept the email, she almost missed Marco’s next boastful words. ‘Between us, the boss has given me the head’s up that the supervisor’s job is as good as mine.’
Her vision narrowed as a strange roaring filled her ears. All that work she’d put in, all the late nights and weekends and for what? To be usurped by some useless idiot who knew how to suck up? Knowing she’d been silent too long, she forced herself to speak. ‘Well, I guess I should offer you my congratulations.’
‘Cheers, Beth. Don’t worry, I won’t make you call me Mr Travelli when you’re reporting to me.’ The nasty edge to his laugh made her stomach flutter, but thankfully he hung up before she had to respond further.
She replaced the receiver, picked it up again and dialled the first three digits of the extension for Nadia, Mr Turner’s PA, before stopping. Why was she even bothering? She could make some excuse about the wrong file being sent, spend the rest of the afternoon trying to turn the rubbish in front of her into something halfway decent and get exactly zero bloody credit for it. Anger bubbled in her gut. After everything she’d done, this was how Darren repaid her loyalty? She stood so quickly her chair rolled back, causing the wheels to bang against the filing cabinet behind her desk.
‘Everything all right, Beth?’
Turning to meet Ravi’s concerned gaze, she shook her head. ‘Not really, Rav. I need some fresh air.’ Beth hurried over to retrieve her coat from the rack before he could press her for more details.
‘Come on, come on…’ Tapping her foot, she waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. Needing to keep moving, she was on the verge of abandoning her wait in favour of the fire escape beside it when the indicator bell dinged. The doors slid open, enveloping her in a waft of beer fumes and ribald laughter.
A man stepped backwards through the doors, intent on his conversation with the rest of the lift occupants and Beth was forced to side-step to avoid being banged into. She recognised the slicked-back hair, the dark suit with gangster-wide white stripes and her stomach lurched. ‘Yeah, yeah, mate, I’m sure she said that.’ His sarcastic drawl was greeted by another howl of laughter.
Beth reached for the handle for the stairwell door, and had it halfway open when he spotted her. ‘Hey, Beth. You finally decided to grace us with your presence then?’
Shoving a hand in her pocket, her fingers brushed against the crisp rectangle of the envelope containing Eleanor’s letter. ‘I need some fresh air.’ She threw the comment back over her shoulder and took a step into the stairwell.
Darren barged his way through the door, his voice echoing loudly off the concrete walls. ‘You must be joking, you can’t have been at your desk more than five minutes. Bruce wants a copy of the response document ready for him to review tonight.’
Grabbing the handrail with her free hand, Beth backed down another couple of risers wanting to put some distance between herself and the whole bloody mess. ‘But Marco’s already sent him a copy of the draft…’
Her team leader’s face drained to an unpleasant shade she could only equate to the colour of lard. ‘He did what?’
Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but I’m sure that’s what he just told me.’
‘Christ!’ Darren spun on his heel, holding the door wide as he did so. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get this sorted out.’
A strange sense of calm settled over her as Beth stood her ground. ‘Did you promise Marco the supervisor’s position?’
Her boss glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t got time for that now, we need to get this cock-up sorted out before Bruce sees that draft.’ His lack of denial told her everything she needed to know. Stroking the edge of the envelope in her pocket, Beth took a deep breath as the full significance of her conversation with Mr Symonds sank into her exhausted brain. She had choices; options.
Freedom.
Releasing the handrail, she trotted back up the stairs to a visible smile of relief from Darren. ‘Good girl. Go and grab your laptop and meet me in my office. I’ll try and head Bruce off at the pass.’
Beth watched him jog towards the tiny walled-off space in the corner before returning to her desk. She undocked the laptop, flicked off the monitor and tugged open her top drawer. A jumble of Cup-a-Soups, pens and sticky notes stared back at her and she slid it closed again then bent to collect her handbag. She’d come straight from the station, so her suitcase stood next to the window. Bag over her shoulder, laptop under her arm and the handle of her case in the opposite hand, she smiled across the partition at Ravi. ‘I’ll call you later.’
‘Ooo-kay. You sure you’re all right, mate?’
‘Never better, I promise.’
Conscious of the stares following her, Beth marched towards Darren’s office. Leaving her case outside, she approached his desk to dump her laptop on a pile of folders. She unhooked the id card from around her neck and let the lanyard slither through her fingers.
‘I’ve managed to intercept Marco’s email, though I owe Janice a large G&T.’ He glanced up from his screen. ‘Well, pull up a chair then.’
‘No.’
It took a few seconds for her refusal to register, and Beth could actually see the moment it dawned upon him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said no. Nope. Pass. Uh-uh. Forget it. Not happening.’ She couldn’t stop the flush of heat surging over her skin, but she held her head high.
Darren rocked back in his chair, a flinty hardness settling in his eyes. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Working my arse off for an idiot like you for the past two years in the futile hope I’d one day earn a fraction of the respect you dish out to your drinking buddies and sycophants? Oh yes, it’s a huge joke. A bloody laugh riot, and all at my expense. Well, no more. I quit.’
There was burning bridges, and there was dumping a gallon of petrol and aiming a flamethrower at it. Throwing up on his desk would only spoil the dramatic effect of her announcement so she gulped hard against the wave of panicked nausea.
His shiny face turned so red, she wondered for a moment if his head might pop under the pressure building beneath the skin. ‘You can’t fucking quit. If you take one step towards that door, I’ll sack you.’
The panic melted away and, smiling, she took a deliberate pace backwards. ‘Perfect. At least now I won’t have to serve my notice. See ya.’
She made it across the office, the echoes of Darren’s ineffectual bellowing ringing in her ears, down in the lift, across the lobby and halfway down the street before the first tear dripped hot upon her cheek.
Chapter Four
1st January
My dearest Beth,
I’m sitting in the window seat as I write this, listening to the waves on the shingle below. Thankfully, the Lavender Bay fireworks display was much less impressive than that malarkey on the telly, so it’s silent as the grave now. Funny how we use phrases like that without a second’s thought to their true meaning, isn’t it?
I know what you’
re thinking, and yes, I’m properly wrapped-up, Miss Fusspot. I’ve got that beautiful, soft throw you sent me for Christmas tucked around me and I’m snug as a bug. You shouldn’t have bothered, you know, but I’m glad you did none the less. You should be saving your pennies, not wasting them on me. And it will be a waste because I’ll not get much use from it…but enough of that for now.
It won’t be midnight yet where you are, will it? Here am I shivering in my slippers and I bet you’ve been cooking yourself on the beach all day. I hope you’re having a lovely time in Florida with your mum. Whatever her faults, she always tried to do right by you so I’m trying not to resent her too much for stealing you away from me this once.
Our lovely Libby popped around to see me earlier. She’s such a darling girl, even with that mad hair of hers. Honestly, Beth, you should see her—it’s as scarlet as Santa’s suit. Poor Mick, she does drive him to distraction with her appearance. I wonder if he understands it’s all a front and beneath that hard shell she’s more soft and vulnerable than either you or Eliza. I know you see it too, so you must promise to take good care of her when I’m gone.
And so I find myself coming back to the point again, no matter how hard I try to avoid it, because if you’re reading this then it means my time is up. Hopefully, you won’t be reading this letter any time soon, and I’ve just got a silly case of the new year blues, but there are things I want you to know, things I should have explained to you, but have never quite got around to.
Dr Walsh keeps telling me to slow down, but what’s the point in that? We’ve been managing my angina for the past couple of years, and though the pills don’t work like they used to, there’s life in this old dog yet! He wants to me have surgery, but I can’t abide the idea of being cut open like that, and there are lots of people more deserving of the over-stretched resources of our lovely NHS than an old biddy like me.
It’s all right though, I’m quite ready. Oh, I shall miss you like the devil, and this place I’ve been lucky enough to call home for the past eighty-odd years, but I think I’m just about done.
I know you’ll be sad, my darling, and I wish more than anything I could be there with you now to give you a hug. You’ve brought so much joy to my life, I bless God every day for bringing you into this world. I’ve missed you, and I don’t say that to make you feel guilty, but it’s the truth. I can’t help but worry about you, Beth, because I know something’s happened and I wish you would talk to me about it.
Libby let slip about Charlie, but I don’t want to force you to talk about it, so we keep having those silly conversations when you tell me everything is fine, and I pretend to believe you. It’s like you’ve lost your sunshine, and I know how that feels. Perhaps you think I’m too old to understand a heartbreak, but of all the things I’ve forgotten over my life, that pain is the one thing which never seems to fade.
And that’s why I want to warn you, darling, not to let it take you over the way I once did until being on your own becomes a habit you cannot break. I loved him so much you see, so I never let myself get over it—and that’s a regret I’ll live with for whatever days and weeks remain to me. It might seem impossible now, but you must let the disappointment go. Promise me!
I’m going to be awful and make a dying request to you. I know it’s self-indulgent and I’ll play on your guilt if I have to, because this is important. Look for love, Beth. Keep your heart and your mind open, and don’t let your fear of being hurt hold you back. Life’s hard, it hurts so much sometimes it can be tempting to hide from it. Be as bold and vibrant as I know you can be, dearest, and know I’m looking down and cheering you on.
And so we come to the emporium. So many happy memories, I hope for you as well as me, but it’s okay to let it go. I’m leaving it to you with no strings attached. Keep it if you wish, but don’t you dare hang onto it just because you think that’s what I’d want you to do. I’ll come back and haunt the bloody place if you do!
If you are happy in London, then sell up with my blessing and use the money to give yourself a safety net. If you’re not, then maybe consider giving the bay a second chance. There’s so much to love about the place, so please think about coming home and letting it give you the comfort you need, even for a little while.
Right, enough rambling from me. I’m going to make myself a cup of cocoa, with as many marshmallows as I can cram into my mug. The best thing about this aging lark is I don’t have to worry about my waistline anymore!
With all my very fondest love, now and always.
Eleanor xxx
Chapter Five
It was a crisp, cold morning, the type Sam knew from experience would draw walkers to the beach to watch the white-tops crashing over the rocks at the end of the bay. With any luck, the fresh salt air would encourage a few appetites. He made a mental note to stop in and see Pete at the butcher’s to add some extras to the meat order. He could already smell the rich scent of gravy oozing from the steak and kidney puddings his mum could knock together in her sleep. If he wanted one of those puddings, he needed to get on with his morning run. After adjusting the thin wool gloves on his hands, he tugged a knit cap down over his curls and began to jog along the promenade.
Come rain or shine, he never missed his run. It helped to clear the cobwebs away and set him up for the day. His route took him along one half of the prom, past the wide windows of Baycrest’s breakfast room where he turned up into the streets behind the seafront, around past the station and back down to the other end of the prom. The loop was a couple of miles in total and he loved the quiet solitude of the town before it woke for the day.
Slowing his pace as he approached Baycrest, he turned his head to check who was up and about. Pops was an early riser and this morning he was settled at one the small tables next to the window, sharing a pot of tea with Mrs Taylor. Sam had a theory about the pair of them, but he kept his face straight as he returned their waves of greeting and kept moving. Much as he’d adored his Nan, she’d passed a long time ago and if Pops could find some comfort in his twilight years, then good on him as far as Sam was concerned.
Halfway down Church Street, the hat and gloves were off, tucked inside the neck of his tracksuit top. Although it was too early for opening, the lights were on inside the butcher’s shop and he knocked on the window to get Pete’s attention. Bending at the waist whilst he waited for the older man to unlock the door, he stretched out his hamstrings with a few toe touches. The bell above the door rattled, and he straightened up with a smile. ‘Morning, Pete.’
The butcher grinned. ‘Morning, Sam lad. Bit of a brisk one this morning.’
Sam nodded. ‘But clear as far as the eye can see so I’m hoping for a few extra drop-ins. Can you do me about three kilos of braising steak and a dozen lamb kidneys?’
Pete’s eyes lit up. ‘You going to talk your mum into making puddings for lunch?’ When Sam nodded, the butcher grinned. ‘Make sure you save us a plate, I’ll be in around half one.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll join you if you don’t mind and we can maybe run through the menus for the next couple of weeks?’
Pete stuck out his hand. ‘Sounds good. Billy should be in within the next half hour, I’ll get your order together and he can drop it in to you, if that works?’ They still did things the old-fashioned way in Lavender Bay, and the butcher’s young assistant could often be seen peddling around the streets on a bike with a huge basket mounted on the front of it packed with paper-wrapped parcels of meat.
‘That would be a great help, thanks. We’ve got a new guest beer in, I’ll stand you a pint.’ With a wave, Sam picked up his pace once again.
By the time he turned the corner and began making his way back along the prom, he’d bumped into half a dozen local traders and sold them all on the promise of his mum’s steak and kidney pudding. It was a tightrope sometimes balancing the needs of the locals with the influx of tourists, but his parents had always stressed the importance of maintaining a good network of contacts. They shopped
local whenever possible, and that loyalty was returned in kind. Each encounter also drove home to him how much resistance he’d be facing when it came to any changes he wanted to make at the pub. Folks around here were plain and hearty, and liked their food the same way. So for now it would be steak and kidney pud, rather than the cassoulet of venison he might prefer to make.
Jogging over to the railing which separated the edge of the promenade from the short drop down to the beach, Sam propped his foot on the lower rail and bent over his knee to stretch out his calf. A few dog-walkers dotted the dark sand, but other than that it was quiet.
Switching his leg stretches to torso twists, Sam froze mid-movement when he spotted a light shining in the window of the emporium. The fate of the place had been the subject of much gossip and speculation, and he, along with the rest of the town, had been expecting a ‘for sale’ sign to appear soon. Curious, he crossed the promenade to peer through the dirty glass. The dust covers had been removed from a couple of the display cabinets, the cloth pooled on the floor. He cupped his hands to his eyes, but there was no sign of life inside beyond the light and the signs of disturbance. He knocked on the window, and waited.
The lack of response worried him—the bay had its fair share of drifters and troublemakers, what if one of them was looking to take advantage of the empty shop? He tested the handle, pausing when it turned easily in his palm to glance upwards. The old-fashioned brass bell still hung over the door and opening it would provide warning for whoever might be inside. Hopefully it would be enough to scare them away. Sam checked his pocket, found the reassuring shape of his phone and sucked in a deep breath. Using his shoulder, he shoved open the door sending the bell clanging wildly.
A loud thump, followed by a ripe curse in a familiar female voice, came from beneath the large wooden counter across the room. ‘Ow, bollocks and shite!’
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