Summer Season on the Seafront

by Katie Ginger

  Sarah desperately wanted to believe him but if that was true then why had he … She still couldn’t bring herself to think about the other thing – the worst thing of all. Her mum’s diagnosis had been such a shock and her decline so rapid, when she tried to remember, it was a blur. She’d forgotten Ben had supported Arthur from the beginning and how angry he’d been when he requested a pay rise and was turned down. It was no excuse for what he’d done, but her brain had wiped out that particular memory focusing instead on everything that had happened after. But he hadn’t had to deal with her mum’s broken heart when he got sent to prison. Or how it had made her sicker when she could have been putting her energy into getting better. A flash of white-hot anger stiffened her.

  Ben pushed his glasses up and continued, his voice wavering. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for not being there at the end, Sarah. Never. I loved your mum so much. And I love you.’ He broke down and tears flowed, tracing the line of his sallow cheeks. The words echoed around her head like a gale force wind, swirling up her emotions. She was angry but she had missed having a father in her life. Just as quickly, the strength of her resentment pushed down any sympathy and her jaw tightened again. How could he say he’d loved her mum? Sarah had been rubbing the soft fabric with her fingertips so fiercely she could have started a fire. She made an effort to still her fingers.

  ‘Why did you do it? We had enough.’ She’d wanted to know for a long time but refused to visit or write to him in prison.

  ‘I wanted us to have more than just enough. I was so angry seeing Arthur drive about in his flash car, and hearing about their expensive holidays when all we could do when you were little was go to Butlins every other year. It just wasn’t fair. I wanted to give you and your mum something special. Just once.’ His cheeks reddened with what Sarah assumed was shame. ‘I knew that if I only took what I’d hoped for as a bonus it would look suspicious, so I took a big round figure. It was easier to hide and I thought we could all have a posh holiday.’

  Sarah stared. ‘A holiday? To where?’ The idea was almost laughable. As a little girl, she’d adored their trips to Butlins. For an only child it was a perfect opportunity to have her parents to herself for a whole weekend. And although they hadn’t had any holidays in years, it hadn’t mattered one bit. She’d never asked for posh holidays away and neither had her mum.

  Ben nodded without speaking, then said, ‘I know it was stupid.’

  ‘It was,’ Sarah added, ‘and selfish.’ He nodded again. Seeing her dad’s eyes so filled with sadness was both heartbreaking and infuriating. A whole lifetime of love and memories had been wiped out, not only by that stupid action and its terrifyingly far-reaching consequences but by the news that had followed his departure. News she’d tried hard to forget but she knew now she couldn’t repress any longer. News of an affair with a co-worker. The ultimate betrayal of her mother and it was this more than anything else she couldn’t forgive. After a long, dreadful silence she said, ‘So …’ but the sentence trailed away as she had no idea what else to add. The hurt was overwhelming her brain, stopping all functions.

  Ben said, ‘I thought about writing to you to let you know I was being released but I didn’t think you’d answer my letter. All the others had been sent back.’ He was right. She wouldn’t have answered. There was no way she’d even have read them. She had nothing to say to him and was surprised that he had anything to say to her. He’d written every week for the first year of his incarceration, but she’d returned each and every letter unopened without a second thought. Her mum had died within a few weeks of his imprisonment and the letters did nothing but remind her of how selfish he’d been. With a heavy sigh he rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m trying to put my life back together.’

  She couldn’t bear to look at him and the preciousness of her mum’s memory forced her to say, ‘No one knows you went to prison. And I want to keep it that way. Arthur agreed to keep things quiet as Mum was sick. It was all dealt with very quietly. I don’t want the town knowing. They think you left to work away.’ He nodded in recognition, keeping his eyes on the carpet, and silence descended. Even when that had come out, they’d still had more than their fair share of sympathetic looks and, worst of all, pity. Remembering it, Sarah had a sudden urge to push him away. ‘I don’t want you in Greenley.’

  Ben’s face registered shock, guilt and hurt all in one go. His eyebrows pulled together and his eyes darted to hers then away again.

  At the hospice, at the end, before her mum had finally drifted into unconsciousness she’d begged Sarah to forgive her dad for the theft – Sarah had kept the rumours of an affair from her – and Sarah had agreed but only for her mother’s sake, to assuage her suffering and the agony it was causing. But when it had been time to ring the prison and tell Ben her beloved mum had died, trying her hardest to get the words out among the sobbing and howling, all he could do was cry and repeat the word, ‘Sorry,’ over and over again. In her fury, Sarah couldn’t bring herself to say the words her mum had wanted from her. Instead, she’d hung up and that had been the last she’d said to him before this week. However much she’d missed having Ben around, she wasn’t ready to forgive him and didn’t know if she ever would be.

  Ben pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. Sarah could hear her own sharp breathing and knew there was nothing more to say. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. She couldn’t forgive. Unsure how to end the meeting she said, ‘Is there anything else?’ and Ben winced. She didn’t sound angry anymore, which would be understandable; no, she sounded cruel and it disgusted her.

  ‘No. Nothing.’ With his shoulders sagging in defeat he handed her a scrap of paper on which he’d written a mobile phone number in a shaky, sprawling hand. ‘If you do decide you want to see me, here’s my number.’ Sarah took it without meeting his eye and hurried to the front door. As she closed the door behind him, he tried to look at her, but it took all her self-control to keep the tears inside, even though her nose was stinging with the effort.

  When Ben had gone, she fastened the chain lock and went back to the kitchen on autopilot. Staring at the mix of half-chopped vegetables Sarah realised she wasn’t in the least bit hungry now. The pulsing in her chest refused to subside and a horrible wail erupted from her mouth. She couldn’t shake the image of her mum in the hospice bed. A pathetic shrunken husk of the strong woman Sarah had always looked up to. Angrily, and with the scrap of paper still in her hand, she swept all the vegetables into the sink and bent double, hanging onto the counter with white knuckles. The emotions she’d kept under control for the last few days burst out but her face remained dry. She was too angry to cry.

  ‘Damn it,’ Sarah shouted to the worktop, hot with anger. It was ironic that she finally had friends but couldn’t go and see them. Lottie and Sid were out. If she couldn’t see them, she normally went to Gregory and Cecil but they had superstar Nathaniel Hardy with them. The weirdness of that statement made her laugh and it was a strange, almost hysterical screech that escaped. The idea of swinging by and catching a glimpse of him was tempting, but she didn’t want to go through all of this with the UK’s hottest, most gorgeous man watching on.

  With no other option she grabbed her bag and car keys from their place on the kitchen counter. Darting into the living room she took her copy of The Tempest from the coffee table and headed to the car. What she needed was her favourite spot on the seafront. The exact spot her mum used to bring her to as a child. Somewhere quiet where she could think of something else, maybe read a little, and the gentle flowing rhythm of the sea might calm the tempest raging inside her.

  Shakespeare would’ve been proud. If she could recite it.

  Chapter 9

  ‘We’re just off out to rehearsals, Nate,’ said Cecil, as he adjusted his hair in the hall mirror.

  Nate loped down the stairs in the old T-shirt and shorts he wore to bed, smoothing down the random tuft of hair that always stuck up. Robin had done quite well with the packing and remembe
red pretty much everything. Anna, Robin’s wife, must have had a hand in it. Though it was already ten o’clock on Sunday morning, he’d only just woken up. Having nothing to do was really playing havoc with his body clock. The only trouble was, no matter how inactive he was at the moment, he didn’t feel rested, he just felt more and more tired, his body drained of energy. Robin had sent a few scripts down and he’d been reading them but the short note that came with it had filled him with dread. ‘Might be worth a try’ was a far cry from the ‘Dead cert’ he’d written previously. Seeing Cecil’s smiling face, he said, ‘How long have you got to go?’

  ‘Just over three weeks.’

  The idea of the theatre and performing again lifted Nate’s spirits for a moment before they plummeted again like an elevator in a horror movie. ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Have you not seen our gorgeous little theatre down on the seafront?’

  Nate shook his head. ‘No. It was so dark when I arrived last week, and I didn’t pay much attention when I nipped out the other day.’ Gregory came out of the kitchen, passing Nate a cup of coffee. Nate smiled in thanks, but Gregory didn’t return it. He tutted instead. ‘You really shouldn’t have done that, you naughty boy. I could have got into all sorts of trouble with Robin if you’d been spotted. Though wouldn’t it be lovely if he popped by rehearsals when this was all over.’ He nodded at Nate. ‘You could give us a masterclass.’

  ‘I’d be delighted.’ Nate felt himself brightening. It was the least he could do to repay Gregory and Cecil’s generosity and he actually enjoyed teaching. He’d gone back to RADA a few times to talk to the students and they always ended up running some scenes together. He felt privileged to be able to come back as a success.

  ‘Gregory, we really must go,’ Cecil said, taking his arm and leading him to the door. ‘We’ve left you out some pains au chocolat and croissants, or there’s eggs and bacon in the fridge.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Nate replied, holding his mug up in acknowledgement, and they headed out of the door with a grin. Nate went in to the sitting room and watched from the window as they hurried away. He might have to take a wander down towards the sea again if he didn’t get out of here soon. Before he could think about anything else, his stomach rumbled. He needed some breakfast.

  After dressing quickly, Nate came back downstairs. Thankfully the French windows had been left open and the kitchen was cool. The breeze was stronger today, ruffling the table cloth and Nate ate in the garden, watching the small fluffy clouds drift across the sky edged forwards by the wind. Aeroplanes left vapour trails in vertical stripes and he wondered where they were headed and if he could go there too. The sweet smell of melting, gooey chocolate hit his nose as he broke apart the pain au chocolat. It wasn’t a bad way to start a Sunday, or a bad place to be starting it in.

  He took his mobile phone from his pocket and checked his emails. Nothing new from Robin but then, it was a Sunday. And absolutely no contact from Emma. There was a rather odd email from Marcus, asking about one of Emma’s first lovers. Nate remembered him well from the hurt it had caused him. Emma had been playing with fire; the guy was married. He’d worked on a show Emma had done – sound or lighting or something technical like that – but the guy hadn’t been particularly thrilled when Emma had moved on. There’d been phone calls to the house trying to make sure his wife wouldn’t find out and even Emma’s dad had got involved through an assistant. Nate was pretty sure the guy had been told he’d never work again if he kept it up because not long after, the calls stopped. Clearly, Marcus was trying to justify Nate’s actions but he couldn’t. Nate knew it was his own fault. He was just grateful for Marcus’ friendship. All his other so-called friends, especially the fair-weather celeb types, had disappeared into the ether not wanting to associate with him. It made him feel even more alone, worthless and stupid.

  Boredom began to settle and a restless impatience made him jiggle in his seat. If only he didn’t have to stay indoors. He quite fancied a little trip down to the beach again and a breath of fresh air. That woman might be there. She’d seemed so worried. So far away. Beautiful too. Like something from a dream, or a film. She’d popped into his head a few times since that day. There’d just been something about her, he didn’t really know what, but her profile had imprinted itself on his brain. Or perhaps it was just that her troubled soul matched his own. Perhaps he was just looking for the dramatic or romantic, missing acting out these types of scenes. Whatever it was, he needed a diversion from it.

  Then the rational side of Nate’s brain took over. No, he couldn’t go out again and risk being found out, no matter how much he wanted to see the sea again. If the press discovered him, Gregory and Cecil would be hounded. A small smile played on his lips because they’d probably enjoy that, for a while at least. He and Emma had in the beginning. The way the press walked backwards in front of them, camera lights flashing in their faces, constantly calling their names, had been exciting at first. They used to play a game, walking at angles, trying to get the reporters to walk into bins. It had been funny. But they soon got tired of it, and so would Gregory and Cecil. Nate gathered up the crumbs from his croissant and scattered them for the birds before heading into the living room.

  Outside on the windowsill he could see Mr Bennett sitting in the sun, hopping down as something drew his attention. Nate picked up a script and studied it but a moment later the sound of tyres screeching to a halt in the road outside tightened his throat. Had Mr Bennett been hit? He’d grown quite fond of the lardy ginger cat who had taken to sleeping on his bed. Rushing outside, Nate checked around. The car had moved on and there was no evidence of anything having happened in the empty street. Mr Bennett toddled out from around a neighbour’s house and relief brought a smile to Nate’s face.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t notice the front door creeping slowly closed until it was too late. He leapt back hoping to catch it, but the strong breeze carried it forward and it closed firmly, leaving him standing outside staring at the house. Nate rested his hands on his hips and let his head fall against the door as a mild panic rose up. He tried his best to stay calm by taking deep breaths. At least he had shoes on and wasn’t standing there barefoot. Checking again that there was no one around, he tried the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. The mild panic turned to annoyance and he rattled the handle violently. ‘Fuck,’ Nate shouted at the door, frightening an old lady walking past with her poodle. The old dear jumped, then tutted at him as she hobbled on. Even the angry puffball of a dog raised its head in disgust before snootily turning away. Nate had never liked poodles, they clearly thought too much of themselves. ‘Shit,’ he muttered again.

  The town was getting busier. He had to find a way back inside and quickly. Focusing his mind with a deep breath he remembered that the French doors were open. If he could just climb the six-foot walls of the courtyard garden, he could hop over the top and be back inside in no time.

  Following the cobbled street, Nate dashed around to the back of the house, counting along until he was standing outside the high stone walls that edged Gregory and Cecil’s backyard. On tiptoe, Nate attempted to peer over the top, trying to find a spot to climb up that wouldn’t end with him trampling the gorgeous flowers or smashing the pots as he landed. More and more people were ambling by now, enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning stroll, and his mild panic was descending into a full-on meltdown. Anxiety rocked his body making his hands tremble and his chest tighten. He needed to get back inside quickly and without frightening anymore old ladies or their miserable looking dogs.

  Nate found a small gap between the overabundant honeysuckle and some kind of huge plant that reached up and over the wall. If he stood on tiptoe, he could reach the top and if he jumped, he might be able to pull himself up. He’d been working out – he had pecs, for goodness’ sake. Surely he could do this.

  Closing his eyes and waiting for a young man to pass who was eyeing him suspiciously, he made a jump for it. His toes scraped the stones as he scrabbled, try
ing to find purchase and help lift him up, his legs moving in a running motion. But after less than a minute he had to admit his upper body strength wasn’t quite what he thought and he fell back to the ground with an ungainly thump, sending a shockwave up his spine. ‘Crap,’ he mouthed.

  Would a run-up help? Nate stood up and surveyed the wall again. Stepping back to the other side of the road, he was just about to sprint forwards when a tubby cyclist in skintight Lycra pulled up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘’Ere, what do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Nate, smoothing down his T-shirt and trying to smile. ‘I’m a friend of the owners and I accidentally locked myself out.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Fat Bradley Wiggins didn’t believe him. ‘So if I ask Gregory who you are, he’ll be able to tell me, will he?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. I’m not a burglar,’ Nate replied with a laugh. The man narrowed his eyes and studied him.

  ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  No! thought Nate. He’d be in so much trouble if he got found out now. Not to mention that he’d look like a complete moron for locking himself out. ‘Umm, I don’t think so,’ he replied quickly. ‘I’ve just got one of those faces. Don’t worry, I’ll go and find Gregory at the theatre.’ Nate pointed the way Gregory and Cecil had set off earlier, hoping they hadn’t taken a detour first. ‘Bye.’ And striding away before the man could stop him, Nate took a deep breath and searched for the little theatre on the seafront.

  The cool sea breeze dried the beads of sweat on his brow. Realising his shoe laces were still undone, Nate bent down and quickly tied them. He crossed the busy main road onto the promenade and gazed around. There, further down the seafront he spied what looked like the theatre. It was a large, grey, majestic building with wonderful old-fashioned revolving doors. Somehow, it fitted in with its surroundings being perfectly situated on the seafront. It must be lovely to come and see a play here, then stroll along the beach afterwards, stopping in at one of the pubs for a quick drink before heading home. Nate found his pace had slowed and his shoulders had relaxed, though there was a small ache in his right arm. He must have strained a muscle. He’d have to cobble together some sort of exercise routine to keep himself in shape; one that he could do in Gregory and Cecil’s garden.