Summer Season on the Seafront

by Katie Ginger

  ‘Incredible? I don’t know about that. The Incredible Hulk maybe, if Dad turns up again.’

  Lottie laughed. ‘Then for his sake, I hope he doesn’t.’

  ‘Me too,’ replied Sarah, and it hurt her how much she actually meant it.

  Chapter 7

  There was no getting away from it, Nate was bored. Really, really bored. It was Wednesday evening and he’d been here for a few days, inside all the time. He hadn’t been this inactive since breaking his leg trying to leap off a building. He’d landed half on, half off the inflatable stunt bag and it had really, really hurt. At least he wouldn’t be out for as long as that. Hopefully.

  Robin had given strict instructions to stay indoors and out of sight. If the papers found out where he was, they’d be there like a shot. Nate stretched and strode around the living room. The mantelshelf was filled with photos of Gregory and Cecil together, but over on the bookcase he spied pictures of Gregory with famous actors, some of whom had been idols of his own. And they weren’t just fan photos, they were photos of colleagues, smiling and laughing together. Impressive. Picking up his phone he wandered to the kitchen and switched on the kettle for yet another cup of tea.

  His hand reached for his mobile phone, temptation niggling at him. It was taking all Nate’s resolve to not find out what the world was saying about him. It wasn’t the world, of course, he reminded himself. He wasn’t an A-list Hollywood celeb. But still, curiosity was gnawing at him. He sat down at the kitchen table and tapped a rhythm with his index finger. Gregory and Cecil had gone out to their amateur dramatics group and Nate smiled as he remembered his first acting experiences with the local am dram when he was 15. It had started him on this career path, sowing the seeds of his love of theatre. Then onto RADA. His eyes glanced down towards his phone again and he wondered what his old teachers would be thinking about this mess.

  Nate studied the kitchen decor to distract himself. He really quite liked Gregory and Cecil’s cottage. The kitchen units were painted in pale blue or sea green, and a powder-blue range cooker took centre stage. There was even a porcelain butler’s sink. The place was bigger than he’d imagined it would be too, and the period fireplaces and unique seaside touches like rope banisters were stylish. From sitting out in the garden he’d noticed the air smelt different down here too. Not just when the tide was high or the breeze picked up carrying the smell of the sea, but in general the air was clearer and lighter than it was in London. It was just too hot to stay inside the whole time.

  A sudden ringing broke the peacefulness of his thoughts and Nate answered it, glad it was Marcus, his best friend. He hoped Marcus wasn’t blaming himself because it had been at his stagdo he’d met Hannah.

  ‘Nate? Where the hell are you, man?’

  ‘Hey, Marcus—’

  ‘You’ve disappeared off the face of the earth. Are you okay? Unsurprisingly, Emma isn’t accepting any of my calls and when I went round your place there was a pack of reporters outside. I legged it before they saw me and started asking questions. Are you in lockdown? Do you need anything?’ Marcus was always so concerned for everyone else. Nate smiled, glad that the wedding was over and done with and not being tainted by all this mess. Marcus and his new wife didn’t deserve that. ‘Nate?’

  ‘It’s okay, Marcus. I’m not there. I’m …’ He almost gave himself away but pulled back just in time. He could trust Marcus, that wasn’t in question, he just didn’t want to put him in a difficult situation. ‘I’m away somewhere, out of the spotlight, somewhere the press won’t find me. It’s probably best you don’t know.’

  ‘Blimey, it’s that bad?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nate. It’s my fault, I should have stopped you—’

  Nate stood up and began pacing. ‘No way, man. This was one hundred percent my fault. You didn’t force me into getting drunk.’

  ‘No but I know Big Stan can be quite persuasive. I knew I shouldn’t have invited him but—’

  Nate sat again and rested his elbow on the table. ‘Marcus, listen to me. This is my fault, no one else’s. I misjudged the situation with Hannah. I didn’t think she even knew who I was at first.’ He gave a resigned chuckle. ‘I was so drunk I didn’t know who I was.’

  ‘I hope you don’t feel guilty about Emma. Nate, she’s cheated on you for ages.’

  ‘I know, but the ring is still on my finger.’ He decided not to mention that his heart was a jigsaw of broken pieces. ‘I should have stopped myself.’ Nate’s voice croaked as if someone had their hands around his throat, which was just what Hannah Salgado was doing to his career. God, he’d been so stupid. He should have been stronger instead of letting his vanity be flattered and following his urges into bed.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’

  Nate shrugged even though Marcus couldn’t see him. ‘Ride it out. It’s all I can do.’

  ‘There must be something we can do?’

  ‘There’s nothing really. We just have to wait and see. Emma doesn’t want the press digging around in case they find out about her affairs so she’s agreed we just wait for the story to die and then I come back. We’ll announce the divorce later.’

  ‘It sounds pretty unfair to me. You’re already being painted as the bad guy. Don’t you think the world should know the truth?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said emphatically. ‘I made Emma a promise not to expose her affairs. Plus you know her dad could ruin my career permanently if he chose to. This really is the best way.’ Marcus went quiet. ‘Come on, I’ve thought about this enough, believe me. Tell me some good news.’

  They chatted about Marcus’ work and other people they knew while he watched another glorious evening sun paint the sky. Finally, Nate ended the call and tapped the corner of his phone down on the linen table cloth. The French doors were open again and the plants rustled as a few birds hopped and fluttered about. A seagull landed in the garden searching for food and Nate pulled a biscuit from the barrel, broke off a piece and threw it out into the garden. The sky above the tall stone walls of the courtyard garden was turning a crazy mix of orange and pink. He’d never paid that much attention to the sky in London. He was always too busy, head down, thinking about the next job.

  Walking outside, Nate paused at the garden table. His muscles were tense from the constant anxiety and he felt a twitch in his legs. They wanted to move, to run. He hadn’t been out for a run in over a week now and felt like his lungs hadn’t taken a full, deep breath since before that night at the theatre. Bugger it, he was going out. Surely he’d be okay to take a quick walk along the seafront. No one was expecting to see him there, so he probably wouldn’t be noticed. Mr Bennett rubbed his fat ginger tummy against Nate’s legs and Nate reached down and gave him a fuss behind his ears.

  In their meticulously tidy hallway, Nate found his trainers placed neatly in line with Gregory and Cecil’s slippers. An old-fashioned coat stand stood in the corner next to an umbrella stand in the shape of a lighthouse. Neither had been needed in weeks. Though he didn’t have a key, Gregory and Cecil would surely be back before him. They’d been gone a long time already. Nate opened the door, and stepped out into the world, the evening light still bright and the air fresh on his skin. Although it was still warm, goosebumps rose on his forearms where the breeze swept over him, a reaction to his days inside. He turned right, as the road seemed to lead away from the centre of town, and following the winding streets, he admired the beautiful houses. It was like being on the set of a costume drama. By pure chance the lane he walked down opened out onto a busy main road running all the way along the seafront. Nate crossed, hopping over a small concrete wall that must have been to stop the tide when it rose too high, and stepped down onto the pebble beach. As he hastened towards the sea, the shingle crunching under foot, the sound of the road receded to be replaced by the rhythmic hum of the tide.

  Seagulls swooped overhead and Nate stopped with his hands in his pockets. The muscles of his neck and shoulders d
ropped down, the tightness shifting from his chest, and he took a deep steadying breath. For a second, he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of breathing in and out, keeping time with the sea, content in a moment of utter peace and quiet. When he slowly opened his eyes again a strange sight caught his eye. Down the beach, at the very edge of the water, stood a woman gazing out to sea. The skirt of her dress floated gently on the breeze and stray strands of dark brown hair drifted onto her face. She pushed them back, but as the light caught them, a myriad of different tones appeared from deep espresso to hints of pillar box red. Despite the heat of the sun, her skin was pale with only a hint of bronze on her legs. From her stance she seemed incredibly troubled, like him.

  Unable to move closer for fear of disturbing her, Nate sat down where he was and though he tried to keep his eyes on the waves as they rose higher and higher up the beach, he found his head pulling to the side, watching her. At one point he thought she wiped at her face as though she was crying, but her features were hidden behind her hair, so he couldn’t know for sure. Something about her, like a siren in old mariners’ tales, seemed to call to him. He was tempted to go over and speak to her and see if she was all right, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk being recognised anymore than he had already and that made him unutterably sad, so he ignored the tugging at his soul and kept his eyes on the horizon. For half an hour she gazed out, standing all the time, lost in her own world until, at last, she turned and headed back the other way, away from him.

  Nate wondered who she was, and what was troubling her. There’d been something almost ethereal about her as she’d stood there. Something ghostly. From the dipping of the sun it was time to head back to the cottage. He’d left a note but still, he couldn’t be much longer. Gregory and Cecil would be wondering where he was. The last thing he needed was them phoning Robin and getting him into even more trouble. Though it wasn’t as if things could get any worse. With one last look, trying to find a glimpse of the woman again, he got to his feet and brushed down his jeans, all the while wondering what it was about her that had intrigued him so. Probably boredom and his penchant for drama creeping out.

  As he came back to the concrete sea defence he spotted Gregory and Cecil over the other side of the road, looking like a couple of worried mothers. When they spotted him, they waved, clearly relieved. He waited for a car to pass then crossed the road, watching Gregory’s face harden into an expression of disapproval. He was going to have to do the washing-up tonight to make up for his naughtiness. Taking one last look behind him at the brightest of suns setting slowly, and the black shapes of the gulls cawing in the sky, he filled his lungs with fresh air, not knowing when he’d get to do this again. With heavy legs he followed Gregory and Cecil back to the cottage, and back to his solitary confinement.

  Chapter 8

  After a long week at work, Sarah opened the door to her house and headed in. Leaning on the banister she forced off her pretty sandals. Her feet had swollen in the oppressive heat and were criss-crossed with little red lines from the straps. She wiggled her toes and a horrible smell rose up. Oh God, did they stink? Might Finn have smelt them when he approached her desk? Still resting on the balustrade, she picked up her foot, brought it as near to her face as possible, which wasn’t that easy as she wasn’t very flexible, and tried to smell it, causing a muscle to cramp in her side. ‘Aarrgh.’ She let go of her foot, wobbled, and then fell to the right, stopping herself just before she hit the Jane Austen book cover framed on her wall. Pride and Prejudice, her favourite. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ she said to herself. But at least if she hadn’t smelt anything, that probably meant Finn hadn’t either.

  After opening the windows in the living room and kitchen, she filled a glass of water at the sink to quench her thirst. Today had been hotter than Satan’s underpants and she was parched after the drive home.

  Friday had taken a long time coming after a tough and eventful week. And she wasn’t sure, but it felt like Finn was talking to her more. It seemed like they’d spoken more in the last three days than they had in the whole of the last year. A couple of times he’d even touched her arm or her shoulder, and once, when they’d been passing in the corridor his hand had brushed hers, sending a tingle through her fingers and up into her heart.

  Sarah looked around the kitchen and thought about how much she loved being at home. She loved her house and the little estate it sat on. It wasn’t the most expensive part of town and the houses were quite ugly – aesthetics weren’t a priority in Seventies’ architecture apparently – but it was just the right size and she had lovely, if somewhat mad, neighbours.

  On her way home, Sarah had stopped at the corner-shop and bought some ingredients for dinner. After coming across a recipe for moussaka in one of the magazines they kept in the surgery’s reception, she’d had a weird craving that hadn’t shifted all afternoon. She’d found it by accident after one of the horrid old gents had shouted at her because Finn was running late, which was apparently her fault; and then the tiny desk fan she and Mandy shared had broken. Seeing Sarah’s face, Mandy had suggested a few minutes away from her desk might help keep her sane.

  In her perfectly tidy kitchen, Sarah turned on the radio and emptied her carrier bag before grabbing a knife and the chopping board to begin slicing the various vegetables and making the béchamel sauce. Her mum had taught her how to cook. From a young age she’d stand on a chair, mixing, stirring, tasting, and of course, licking the bowl. Sarah’s eyes darted up to the photograph she kept on the kitchen windowsill. Photos of her mum were everywhere, except the bedroom. No one wanted their dearly departed mother watching on while they got down and dirty. Not that Sarah had much chance of that lately, but still, on the rare occasions it did happen she didn’t want to have to spend ten minutes hiding photos like a weirdo. It kind of killed the mood.

  The radio played one of her favourite songs and Sarah found herself singing along when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, she wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to answer it. Lottie and Sid were having a date night so it couldn’t be them. It could conceivably be Mandy come to cheer her up, but she didn’t tend to be spontaneous because she was always super organised with her kids going here, there and everywhere. A bubble of excitement fizzed in her stomach. Was it Finn? Maybe he’d come to see if she was okay after her week from hell and brought a bottle of wine with him. Maybe he’d brought a DVD. Some silly movie to cheer her up. He seemed like that sort of guy. They could order a takeaway or she could cook as she had all the ingredients. Sarah smoothed down her dress, checked she hadn’t splashed anything on herself and flicked her hair back over her shoulder. A smile was just forming on her face as she turned the handle and pulled the door to, when it fell away to be replaced by an angry frown.

  Her heart stopped beating and the fizz of excitement gave way to a heavy dread. A sudden chill washed over her and as she forced the words out, she ensured her tone was flat and bereft of emotion. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sugarplum, please?’ said Ben. He was wearing the same clothes he had the other day at the surgery. He’d been allowed to take a set or two with him, then she’d given away most of his things, apart from a few bags that were stowed in the loft. The sun reflected off the lenses of his glasses.

  ‘I’m not your sugarplum anymore.’ Despite her efforts to control it, her voice was rising already and she tried to bring it back down. ‘What do you want?’ It amazed Sarah that she had this angry, hard side to her personality that had only come out with her dad. But then, he shouldn’t have done what he’d done.

  ‘Sarah, please. I wanted to see you.’ A spike of anger surged through her as he used her name. It was hard to know which was worse, sugarplum or Sarah.

  ‘Just go away, Dad. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Can we talk, please? I’m so sorry. I just want to explain.’ Behind Ben’s head, a curtain twitched in the house opposite and Sarah knew people were watching. If she closed the door on him, woul
d he go away or stand there knocking? As if in answer Ben said, ‘I won’t give up, Sarah. Not until we’ve talked. I’ve waited years for this moment.’ His voice began to crack. ‘Imagined it hundreds of times. Please, I just want to talk.’

  ‘Why?’

  The question threw him and he didn’t answer straight away. ‘Because it’s too late for me to apologise to your mum, but I can apologise to you.’ If his eyes hadn’t misted with tears, she’d have closed the door in his face, but the pain and anguish were evident in the set of his mouth. The coldness that consumed her whenever she thought of her dad thawed a little.

  Hesitantly, Sarah met his gaze and his lips quivered as he bit back his emotions. ‘You’d better come in.’ She left the door open for him and walked into the living room. He followed her in and she perched on the edge of the sofa, rubbing her hands on the soft fabric for comfort. Ben sat down in the seat opposite and her copy of The Tempest that was resting on the arm of the chair fell to the floor. A piece of paper fluttered out and Sarah realised what it was. The save-the-date card for her birthday drinks. Ben picked it up and tucked it back inside. Relieved he hadn’t noticed what it was, Sarah relaxed a little. Her birthday was the last thing she wanted to talk to him about. Ben studied the book, his eyebrows raising almost imperceptibly before he placed it on the coffee table between them. Clasping his hands in his lap he looked like a lost little boy and Sarah found the role reversal unsettling. Her brain began to whirl as they sat in silence. Should she speak first or let him? Ben cleared his throat.

  ‘I know what I did was wrong, sugar – Sarah,’ he corrected, with a small shake of his head. ‘I got greedy. Stupid. When Arthur turned me down for a pay rise, after all the work I’d done helping him set up the business, I just …’ He lowered his head into his hands and stayed there. ‘I’d been with him since the beginning and never asked for anything. I didn’t know then your mum was sick. You have to believe me. We just thought it was indigestion. I had no idea it was stomach cancer. You have to believe that I’d never have let anything take me away from her like that. I loved her.’