Coming Home to Seashell Cottage

by Jessica Redland

  ‘And that’s not how we’d be spending it,’ Ben countered. ‘I’m going to a party at Pete’s house and it’s walking distance from mine so you can crash in your old room.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s New Year’s Eve. I don’t care whether it’s spent in a pub, at a house party or at home in front of the TV. I still hate it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Ben! I suggest you drop the subject. Right now!’

  Desperate for some space away from the questions and judgemental looks, I grabbed my empty wine glass and a part-finished bottle. ‘I’ll be going to freshen up,’ I muttered to nobody in particular. ‘See you later.’

  Without waiting for a response, I stormed across the room, through reception, then took the stairs two at a time until I reached my bedroom.

  Empty wine glass and bottle still in my hands, I pulled open the doors to the Juliet balcony and gulped in the cool night air, waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal and the butterflies in my stomach to settle. Every year. Every single year. They’d done this to me. They’d turned me into this. I hated this time of year, thanks to them. Hated it.

  But I hated them more.

  3

  My twenty-minute time-out – and half a bottle of wine – calmed me down considerably. I returned to the bar feeling a bit childish for having stormed out earlier. It wasn’t Ben’s fault that I hated Christmas and New Year.

  ‘Ah! Here she is,’ Stevie announced, as I joined him, Ben, Elise, Sarah and a few others. ‘Your ears must have been burning, Clare. We were just talking about you.’

  Anger flashed through me again. How dare they discuss me behind my back? ‘Can’t you just accept that some people don’t like this time of year?’ I snapped.

  Ben flung his arm around me. ‘Relax, Irish! That’s not what we were talking about. I was just telling everyone that you can’t resist a dare and how our last challenge nearly got me arrested.’

  I relaxed against him. ‘Will that be the challenge where you did a lap of the Indian with only a rapidly disintegrating poppadom to protect your dignity?’

  ‘That would be the one.’ Ben hung his head in mock shame. ‘The worst part was that I ran outside straight into a passing PCSO.’

  Gasps of horror came from the group. ‘Oh my God! How do I not know about this, Ben?’ Sarah demanded.

  ‘It’s a tad embarrassing.’

  ‘Fortunately, the PCSO was female and clearly a huge Ben fan,’ I said.

  ‘Huge Ben? I didn’t think you’d noticed.’

  I grimaced and elbowed him. ‘Gross! And not something you should be discussing in front of your sister, either!’

  Ben laughed. ‘Fortunately, she let me off as long as I re-dressed immediately and disposed of what was left of the poppadom in the nearest bin.’

  ‘So, what possessed you to strip off and streak in the first place?’ Stevie asked.

  ‘This.’ Ben withdrew the king from his pocket.

  ‘It’s a chess piece,’ Elise said.

  ‘That’s right. The black king.’

  She shrugged. ‘And that made you strip off and streak because…?’

  ‘Have you seen the film The Count of Monte Cristo?’ Ben asked her.

  As Head of English and Drama at a local comprehensive, this was bound to be Elise’s specialist subject. ‘The 1975 version, the 2002 one and I’ve read the book,’ she said. ‘Oh! I get it.’

  ‘The king’s gone back and forth several times,’ I said after quickly explaining the relevance to those not familiar with the story, ‘but Ben’s had him too long this time. I need to win him back.’

  ‘And I know how.’ Ben dangled the king in front of my eyes. ‘It doesn’t involve stripping off, eating anything gross or doing anything embarrassing. I’d say it’s the easiest challenge you’ll ever have to face.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like much of a challenge,’ Stevie said.

  ‘It is, because it’s something she’s already said no to.’

  My heartbeat quickened. I knew where this was going.

  ‘If you want to win the king back, you’ll join me at that New Year’s Eve party at Pete’s and you’ll stay until midnight.’

  I felt all eyes on me.

  ‘Ben! You know I hate New Year.’

  ‘Do you think I liked stripping off and streaking round The Taj Mahal?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Exactly. The point of the challenges is to face your fears or do things you hate. You’ll hate this. It’s therefore a challenge.’

  I planted my hands on my hips. ‘Why are you so keen for me to join you at this stupid party?’

  He shrugged. ‘No reason, other than I hate the thought of you being alone. Besides, it might be fun. And if it isn’t, we can get drunk and pretend we’re somewhere else on a different day of the year, if that makes you happy.’

  ‘Why can’t you take Lebony?’

  ‘Because she’s not coming home for Christmas or New Year. She’s in Vietnam at the moment and cash is tight. Please say you’ll come.’

  I sighed. ‘If I agree to come – and it’s a big if – you promise we can leave at midnight?’

  ‘As soon as the clock’s strikes twelve, I’ll declare you king of the moment and we’re out of there.’

  I sighed again and stared at the king standing on his outstretched palm. Arse! I might have started off thinking of it as a scabby item that belonged in the bin, but my competitive streak had taken over after the chilli challenge and winning had become an obsession. I needed it. I needed to prove that nothing scared me. Well, almost nothing. ‘I might live to regret this, but you’re on. King’s mine, Saint Ben. King’s mine.’

  4

  ‘I can’t believe it’s three days till Christmas and you haven’t bought any presents,’ I said to Ben as I drove into the multi-storey car park in Whitsborough Bay the morning after the wedding. ‘You’ve normally bought and wrapped everything before the summer holidays.’

  Ben laughed. ‘I’m not quite that bad but I honestly don’t know where this year’s gone. I kept thinking I had plenty of time but clearly not. Thanks for agreeing to stay.’

  ‘It’s grand. I’ve nothing to rush back to Leeds for and the promise of lunch in The Chocolate Pot is far too good to turn down.’

  We headed down in the lift and through the town’s small shopping centre.

  ‘I can probably get most of the gifts on Castle Street,’ Ben said as we made our way down the pedestrianised precinct. ‘I promise it won’t take long.’

  Being the last Sunday before Christmas, the town was unsurprisingly busy. A brass band played Christmas carols while fraught-looking shoppers struggled through shop doorways with armfuls of bags. I felt a little sad watching them. What must it be like having stacks of presents to buy, or rather lots of friends and family to buy for? I only ever bought two presents each year – one for Sarah and one for the Secret Santa at work – although I’d also bought Ben something this year to say thanks for his hospitality.

  I was happy to explore the shops in Castle Street. There weren’t any chain stores among them and Ben picked out some really nice gifts. He didn’t take long either. He knew exactly what he wanted and, within an hour, we were pondering over the lunch menu in The Chocolate Pot, shopping complete.

  We’d just placed our orders when his phone rang. ‘It’s Auntie Kay,’ he said, answering it.

  I tuned out of his conversation and gazed round the café. I’d been in there several times with Sarah and loved the food and the décor. None of the tables and chairs matched yet they looked great together. The walls were covered in vintage metal signs depicting seaside images, food and drink. We’d managed to secure a table near the back of the café with two high-backed leather armchairs. Warm white and red fairy lights and a slim tree near the window covered in wooden decorations made the place really festive.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Ben said, hanging up. ‘Would you mind if we do another
detour after lunch? I left my washbag in my room at Sherrington Hall. Auntie Kay’s got it.’

  Ben and Sarah’s Auntie Kay lived in the Old Town, roughly ten minutes’ walk from the town centre. It would probably take longer to drive there than it would to walk so we dumped Ben’s bags in my car and set off on foot.

  ‘I love the Old Town,’ Ben said as we walked along the cobbled lanes between the houses. ‘It’s like stepping back in time. I think the newest house is about one hundred and twenty years old and most were built two or three hundred years ago.’

  Cute cottages nestled among four- and five-storey townhouses. Some were made from brick, some from stone, and others were painted.

  ‘And this is my favourite one,’ he said, stopping in front of a white-washed double-fronted cottage with roses curved round the wooden door – Kay’s house, Seashell Cottage.

  Sarah had stayed at Seashell Cottage when she moved back to Whitsborough Bay about fourteen months ago and I’d visited her loads. There was something about the cottage that had made me feel so welcome – a sensation I’d never experienced before.

  He knocked on the door then pushed it open and stepped inside, calling out, ‘Hello?’

  ‘I’m in the lounge,’ Kay called.

  She was stoking the real fire when Ben pushed the lounge door open and I couldn’t help smiling. I’d spent last New Year’s Eve in this very room with Sarah, stuffing my face, drinking too much and trying to convince her that she should tell Nick how she really felt about him. And yesterday they’d got married.

  Kay offered to make us some drinks but Ben insisted he do it while she finished tending to the fire.

  ‘Does it feel strange being back here?’ Kay asked, once the fire was roaring.

  ‘Yes. But in a good way. I loved staying here with Sarah. Slept like a log every night. You have a lovely home, Kay.’

  Her expression was wistful as she sat down on the armchair. ‘Thank you. I’m going to miss this place.’

  ‘You’re selling up?’

  She bit her lip and glanced towards the lounge door. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. I shouldn’t have said anything. Can you not mention it to Ben or Sarah until I make my decision?’

  I nodded. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ Secrets were always safe with me. I wanted to ask more because Sarah had always said that Kay loved Seashell Cottage and would never move on, but Ben burst through the door balancing three mugs on a tray and the conversation turned to the wedding.

  When we waved goodbye an hour later, I took one last look at the cottage and a surprising thought popped into my head – if Leeds had been commutable from Whitsborough Bay, I’d have been straight in there with an offer to buy Seashell Cottage. Only Leeds wasn’t commutable, so it wasn’t an option. Shame.

  5

  New Year’s Eve

  ‘Oi! Saint Ben! Will you remind me again why I let you drag me here?’ I gulped back the last couple of mouthfuls of cheap, warm Chardonnay out of a paper cup, shuddered, crumpled the cup and tossed it in the direction of the overflowing bin in the corner of Pete’s dining room.

  Ben smiled. ‘Because, Irish, you’re desperate to get your mitts on this, aren’t you?’ He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the king. I tried to snatch it out of his hand, but he was too quick.

  ‘You know it doesn’t work like that. King’s still mine if you don’t make it past midnight.’

  ‘Bollocks. You’re a mean boy.’ I gave him a playful shove as he put the king back in his pocket. ‘By the way, can we put it on record that this is the crappiest house party ever?’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ Ben said.

  We both gazed around the large dining room. The table, pushed against the fireplace, housed empty tubes of Pringles, cremated sausage rolls, some wilted sticks of celery and about thirty or so discarded beer cans. In one corner of the room, a couple were eating each other’s faces. In the opposite corner, another couple were having a domestic about who’d forgotten to renew the Sky subscription. Slumped on the floor between them, snoring loudly, lay a scruffy-looking twenty-something with ‘I’m a twat’ written across his forehead along with a Poirot-style moustache and glasses.

  Ben laughed. ‘I wonder how long it takes to remove permanent marker pen.’

  ‘I think the clue is in the word “permanent”.’

  ‘Okay, it is that bad,’ Ben admitted. ‘Really bad. I’m sorry, Irish.’

  ‘Home time?’ I didn’t want to lose the challenge, but this was torture. A chilli I could cope with; the house party from hell on the worst evening of the year was another matter.

  Ben looked at his watch. ‘It’s only eleven-twenty. Pete will be insulted if we don’t stay to at least see the New Year in.’

  ‘Seriously? Pete’s been throwing up in the bathroom for the last hour. I don’t think he’d know if everyone left before midnight.’

  ‘Five past midnight, Irish. I promise. Please.’ He looked at me with big, sad, puppy-dog eyes.

  ‘You know that stupid expression gets you nowhere.’

  He widened his hazel eyes even more and pushed out his bottom lip.

  ‘Jesus. Stop it. I submit. I’ll stay, but only because I’ve already suffered three hours of this so I may as well do another forty minutes and embrace the stupid midnight thing. And win the king.’

  ‘It’ll be a worthy win.’

  I poked him in the ribs. ‘I hope you realise that the next challenge will be something you’re going to really hate, just to piss you off.’

  Ben grabbed two cans of lager from a box on the table and passed me one. ‘Get one of these down your neck and quit moaning. I’m going to check on Pete. I won’t leave you alone for long.’

  ‘You’d better not.’ I sighed as Ben left the kitchen. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves – well, everyone apart from Pete, the arguing couple and the body on the floor. Why couldn’t I? That was an easy one. New Year’s Eve was the day my life changed forever, thanks to them.

  I sighed again and swigged on the warm lager. I really should have stuck to my guns and ignored Ben’s stupid challenge this time.

  Stomach rumbling, I peered into the tubes of Pringles, but they were all empty.

  ‘Excuse me, but have you got a sticking plaster?’ I turned round to see a tall man with a wild mop of dark hair beside me.

  ‘No. Do I look like the sort of person who carries a first-aid kit in case of emergency?’

  ‘Oh. It’s just that I scraped my knee falling for you.’

  I stared at him for a moment. On any other night, I’d have cringed at the cheesiness but turned on the charm offensive anyway. But this wasn’t any other night. This was New Year’s Eve. ‘Please tell me you didn’t just say that bollocks. You must be very pissed.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not pissed,’ he slurred. ‘Just intoxicated by you. I think you’re the most—’

  I put my hand up in a ‘stop’ gesture. ‘Can I just stop you there?’

  He waited expectantly. ‘You were going to say something?’

  ‘No. I just wanted to stop you there before I join Pete in the bathroom.’

  He looked confused. He wobbled a bit and grabbed the table for support, knocking the empty Pringles tubes over in a domino effect. ‘If I were to ask you out on a date, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?’

  I opened my mouth to hurl another insult, then smiled. I’d give him his due for that one.

  ‘That’s actually quite clever. Not so cheesy. I’m Clare.’

  ‘I’m Taz.’

  ‘What sort of name’s Taz?’

  ‘Short for Tasmanian Devil.’ He gave a little growl.

  I shrugged. ‘Not getting it.’

  ‘Because of the hair.’

  ‘Ah. You’ll be a friend of Pete’s?’

  ‘No. I’ve come with a mate who knows Pete. You?’

  ‘Same. My friend works with him.’

  Taz picked up a burned sausage roll, squinted at it, then
tossed it towards the bin in apparent disgust. Wise decision. It sounded like a stone when it hit the wooden floor.

  ‘I’ve got a serious question for you,’ he said. ‘Was your dad an alien?’

  I bristled at the mention of Da, even though I knew the line.

  ‘Because there’s nothing else like you on this planet,’ he finished.

  I squirmed. If I hadn’t felt stone-cold sober, I’d probably have engaged in a little flirting with Taz and maybe tried to out-cheese him, but not tonight. I was on a countdown to midnight, then I was out of there.

  Giving Taz what I hoped was a polite yet dismissive smile, I said, ‘Will you excuse me? I could do with some fresh air.’ I stepped over the ‘dead body’ and headed into the kitchen then outside, firmly closing the door out to the garden behind me in a clear message that I didn’t want Taz to follow. I’d probably pissed him off by not responding to his lines, but who cared? I didn’t invite him to talk to me; he was the persistent one. Being a lone female didn’t make me fair game.

  In the dim light emitting from the kitchen window, I could just about make out the shape of a swing in the middle of the lawn. With my back towards the house, I sat down on it, keen to shut out the sights and sounds of a hideous evening.

  I shivered as a cool breeze wrapped around me. Granted, it was mild for the time of year, but it certainly wasn’t the weather for sitting on a swing in the dark wearing an LBD and no coat. I only managed about five minutes before having to admit defeat. Shivering, I stood up and took a few steps towards the house, then smacked straight into someone.

  ‘Sorry.’ I stepped backwards and looked up. ‘Taz? How long have you been there?’

  ‘A few minutes.’ He made no attempt to move. He just stood there, staring at me.

  I shivered again… but not from the cold this time. ‘I’m just going in.’ I moved to step round him, but he sidestepped in the same direction. I moved the other way, but he mirrored my move. ‘That’s not funny, Taz. Will you not let me past? I’m freezing. I want to go in.’