Christmas by the Lighthouse

by Rebecca Boxall

  Now it was the day before the party, and Summer felt quite frazzled as thoughtless guests rang to back out at the last minute or finally answered their invitations, saying they were coming after all when Summer had counted them out. It was early evening and a beautiful one. Cool, but the sky was dusky pink and she took a beer through to the conservatory where she sat in near darkness and allowed the alcohol and the outside scene to soothe her frayed nerves. She rubbed her knotty shoulders and closed her eyes, then opened them again as she heard Seth pad into the room.

  ‘Summer,’ he said. He sounded strange. Not quite like himself.

  She patted the seat beside her. ‘Come and join me,’ she said. But he didn’t. He remained standing, still dressed in formal clothing despite the time of day. Seth took great pride in looking smart at all times.

  ‘Summer, I need to talk to you . . .’

  ‘Okay,’ Summer smiled. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, the thing is . . . How to say this . . . Summer, I . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘Summer, I want a break.’

  ‘A holiday? We’re going to book Provence next week, aren’t we?’

  ‘No, not a holiday. A break from our marriage. I’m so sorry,’ he said, tears in his eyes, and Summer was amazed. He must be feeling anguished, as she’d never once seen him cry. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Maybe it’s a midlife crisis . . . turning forty . . . I just feel like I’m suffocating. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me,’ he said, and Summer’s first thought was that it was so typically clichéd of him to say that.

  The initial irritation then made way for shock. Admittedly their relationship had been a bit strained over the last year, the intimate side in particular having gone downhill, but Summer hadn’t seen this coming – it was, as Seth would say, a complete bolt from the blue. Tears sprung to her own eyes. She felt hurt and cold and shivery.

  ‘Why a break? If you’re that unhappy with me, why not finish things completely?’ she asked, wiping tears away on her jumper sleeve.

  ‘No, no, no – I don’t want that, not at all . . . I just need some time apart – six months, say . . . a bit of space. At this moment in time I’m not sure I’m worth being around.’

  Summer was utterly confused. ‘But why, Seth? What’s going on? Is it something I’ve done?’

  ‘No! I don’t know. I’m so sorry . . . It’s just a need. A strong urge for some time alone.’

  Seth had never been much of a talker and Summer resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to get a proper explanation out of him. And did it really matter? Whatever the reason, he was quietly adamant.

  Eventually, feeling drained, Summer went to bed. She was slightly surprised when Seth got in beside her. She lay there, her mind whirring as Seth began to grind his teeth in his sleep. As she fidgeted wakefully, dozens of thoughts ran through her head, leaving her feeling sad, rejected, stunned and . . . What was the other feeling, lying just beneath the surface and yet quite keen to be identified? It took Summer a moment to realise it was relief. A six-month break. The shocking request, turned on its head, was perhaps not a wholly unpleasant prospect. Six months of freedom, of opportunity. A break from a life that she knew, in her heart, she’d never been truly suited to living. For a moment, Summer felt guilty about such thoughts, but not for long. After all, none of it was her idea.

  The party the following day was a surprising success, considering Seth’s revelation the night before. Luke and Levi arrived in the morning and helped Summer get everything ready, with the assistance of the highly organised Tilly. The dining hall began to look festive. Seth went off to play golf but, having strict instructions to be home for a birthday lunch, he arrived back by midday and spruced himself up, dressing in his favourite chinos, blazer and penny loafers. He was staggered when he was dragged across to the dining hall and there came upon his extended family and many old and new friends. He looked like he might burst into tears when he saw what Summer had arranged for him. Tears under control, he then looked incredibly guilty – the epitome of shame-faced. Summer actually felt quite sorry for him.

  After lunch, and with everyone rather merry, Summer was approached by Luke. ‘Mum, do you think we should get Dad to do a speech?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’ Summer began, thinking it might be terribly awkward for him in the circumstances, which were only known to him and Summer at this stage. But Tilly had overheard.

  ‘Of course he must give a little speech!’ she said. ‘All these people have come from far and wide. Well, one of you should anyway. Or the boys?’

  Luke instantly blushed. If there was one thing her twins hated it was to be the centre of attention, a sentiment Summer shared. Seth, on the other hand, was used to public speaking as a headmaster, though she wondered what on earth he would say. A small part of her (the rejected part) wanted to put him on the spot, to make him sweat. She found him chatting to an old university pal.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, interrupting. ‘I’m so sorry, Paul, do you mind if I steal Seth away for a moment?’

  ‘Not at all, darling Summer. But come and find me in a minute so we can have a good old catch-up.’

  ‘Will do, I promise,’ she said, and Paul discreetly disappeared.

  ‘Summer, I don’t know what to say,’ Seth began. ‘I feel so bad. I had no idea you were planning all this, or I’d have . . .’

  ‘What? Never suggested a break?’ Summer asked archly.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know. I mean, I just feel bad.’

  Summer softened. ‘I know. Look, Tilly thinks you should make a brief speech, thank everyone for coming. Would you mind?’

  ‘I probably should, she’s right,’ he agreed, though it must have been galling to admit it – Seth and Tilly had never seen eye to eye. ‘Give me five minutes.’

  As promised, five minutes later Seth tapped on his glass with a fork. Gradually, the hum of conversation died down and he began.

  ‘I just wanted to say a few words, if you can bear it,’ he announced, with a slight laugh. ‘Firstly, an enormous thank you to all of you who’ve made the effort today to travel here and celebrate the fact that I am now officially old. Some of you might say I’ve been old since the day I was born and, I’m sorry to admit, you clearly know me far too well.’ There was a titter among the revellers. ‘A little joke, anyway, from serious old me. I must also thank my lovely boys. They’ll be squirming now. Where are they? Ah yes, I can see them trying to hide. And then, of course, there’s Summer. We’re very different people, as you’ll all be aware, but somehow or other we’ve made things work. Summer’s strongest asset is her patience. And right now, I know I’m really testing that. Thank you, Summer. For bearing with me.’

  Summer wiped away a tear.

  ‘What’s all that about?’ asked Tilly, and Summer smiled bravely.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said above the chatter and applause. She shook her head, and the tears receded. ‘Now, come on, let’s do the cake.’

  The party over, the following day there were practicalities to be considered, and these had never been Summer’s forte. Both feeling a little hungover – the party having gone on into the evening – Seth and Summer looked at each other despondently across the kitchen table. They’d woken up the boys so that they could share their sorry news with them first.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Levi, always keen to have mysteries solved as quickly as possible. Summer looked towards Seth.

  ‘I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. It’s just that Mum and I are going to have a little break from each other . . . some time off from our marriage. We wanted to tell you both first, before we set anything practical in motion.’

  Luke looked shocked. ‘A break? A marital holiday?’ he said, almost laughing. ‘I’m not sure marriage is meant to work like that!’

  ‘It’s quite common nowadays,’ Seth persevered, and Summer found herself quite enjoying watching him squirm, though she planned to back him up when the boys ine
vitably asked her about it.

  Levi looked at her. ‘Do you both want this break?’ he asked. ‘Or is this all just Dad’s idea?’ Levi had always been particularly protective of Summer.

  ‘It was Dad’s idea,’ Summer said carefully. ‘But having thought about it, I think it’s a good suggestion. A little breather might be healthy for us!’

  Seth looked at her. He seemed surprised, though relieved.

  ‘If you’re sure?’ Levi asked, frowning.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure – I promise. We’ve been together a long time and every marriage has its ups and downs. Hopefully in six months’ time we can all get back to normal. I’m sorry, though, to spring this on you.’ Summer took a breath. ‘Now, Dad and I have to talk about all the boring practicalities, so you can go back to bed if you want?’

  Luke shrugged. ‘It could be worse,’ he said philosophically. ‘You could be splitting up for good.’ Both boys gave Summer a hug and then sloped off back to their bedrooms.

  ‘I feel awful,’ Seth remarked, and Summer found her patience starting to wane.

  ‘I suppose we should talk about what we’re going to do. How it’s going to work? Do you want to move out, or shall I?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, again, but I have to stay here. It’s part of the deal with the school. The head must be in residence within the grounds.’

  ‘Of course, I’m not thinking straight. So I need to be the one to move out.’

  ‘I feel dreadful.’

  ‘Don’t, Seth, I can’t keep reassuring you. It’s what you want. And now that I’ve got over the shock, I’m okay with the idea. It’s an adventure and my life’s been slim on adventure for a while. There’s just one thing, Seth. If anything major happens to do with the boys, we should contact each other. But aside from that I’d prefer it if we didn’t speak or text or anything. Is that okay?’ Seth nodded, clearly in agreement. ‘Good. Well, I’ll give Tilly a call later to explain. See what she suggests about my living arrangements.’

  Seth frowned, no doubt thinking that Tilly’s place might be a bit too close for comfort. Tilly would almost certainly offer for Summer to move into her huge house with her – her husband was about to undertake some kind of advanced pilot training in America and both children were at boarding school, so she’d probably enjoy the company – but Summer wasn’t sure she wanted to remain nearby herself. If they were to have a break, it needed to be a proper one. And her ‘no contact’ rule would be seriously tested if she were to stay at Tilly’s.

  Later, she found her address book and flicked through it. A, B, C, D . . . De la Haye, Sylvie. Of course! Her Aunt Sylvie. Her mother’s sister. She lived miles away, in Jersey, and always enjoyed company. She would try Sylvie. Summer had last stayed with her about five years ago and she lived in a beautiful cottage right by the beach. Well, it was beautiful on the outside. She recalled it was incredibly dated on the inside – not that this bothered Summer. She was rather a fan of the 1970s kitchen and decor.

  She called Sylvie that day but no answer. She tried again in the evening, and then again the following day. In the end, she tried her mobile number instead. A strange ringtone.

  ‘Sylvie! It’s Summer.’

  ‘Darling, this is crazy! I dreamt about you last night. A premonition, perhaps . . . How are you? And Seth and those handsome boys?’

  ‘All well, but look – I have something to ask you. I don’t suppose I could come and stay for a bit, could I?’ Summer summarised the details, trying not to make Seth sound like a villain, though this was actually quite difficult.

  ‘What a fool that man is. I’ve always liked him but I knew the day I met him there was something about his energy . . . It doesn’t surprise me he’d do something like this. But I’m sorry, darling, I’m away from Jersey at the moment. I’m in India. You know it’s my second home these days. But listen, you can have Mandla. For as long as you like. I rent it out to holidaymakers in the summer but I’ll cancel them.’

  ‘Oh no, Sylvie, you can’t do that. I’ll never be able to match the income you’d get.’

  ‘Nonsense. Family’s more important. Anyway, you know me – thanks to my serial husbands, money is something I very fortunately don’t need to trouble myself about.’

  ‘But what about the poor people who’ve booked it?’

  ‘Not a problem. There are some new holiday lets round the corner – my pal Dennis owns them. He told me before I left for India that they’re ready earlier than expected so he hasn’t set about renting them out this summer. He’ll be glad of the income. Now, Mrs Le Feuvre is in charge of the cottage. Let me give you her number.’ Summer scribbled it down. ‘Phyllis, she’s called, but don’t ring her after eight in the evening. She hits the whisky bottle and makes no sense at all. I’ll give her a quick tinkle so she knows what’s happening. Look, must dash – my beau has just turned up. Enjoy Mandla – take it for six months, longer, whatever. Much love!’

  She was gone, leaving Summer to marvel at her generosity. Six months in a cottage by the sea in Jersey. Suddenly, the marital break was looking a lot more alluring.

  Chapter Five

  JERSEY, SATURDAY

  JUDE

  The weekend. He’d made it and felt as triumphant as a climber reaching the peak of Mount Everest to have waded through five days of client complaints and office politics, arriving tired, wrung out and relieved at the best morning of the week – Saturday. Jude stretched out luxuriously and checked his watch. It was absurdly early – his body clock always seemed to adjust to the early starts on the very day he could lie in. But at least he didn’t have to get up. He pulled the duvet round him and was just dozing off again when it began. The weekly ritual of the neighbours above, who, for some peculiar reason, reached the height of their lust for each other on a Saturday morning, serving to highlight, depressingly, Jude’s own sorry lack of love life. He tried putting a pillow over his head but it was no good. He got up and walked to the kitchen, where he put the radio on and made coffee. He sat on a stool at the counter and blew on his drink. The wall clock told him it was five past seven and he suddenly found himself thinking of the weekend ahead not with his previous muted sense of anticipation but with a slight feeling of panic at the emptiness that lay before him.

  He began pathetically scrolling through the contacts on his phone. Two of his best mates – Lee and Ben – were away this weekend and they were his only fellow singletons, James having recently married Donna, who, while unarguably beautiful, was also unarguably demanding. Eddie, meanwhile, was the first of the gang to have had children with his plucky Portuguese girlfriend, Catarina, and would no doubt jump at the chance of meeting up with Jude, but there was always a risk he’d bring the kids with him and Jude would have to suffer the torture of a pub with a soft-play area. His last experience at a child-friendly pub was not one he was in a hurry to repeat.

  ‘Keep an eye on the kids for me a minute, will you?’ Eddie had asked. ‘Just need the bog.’

  ‘Sure,’ Jude had replied, sipping his beer and observing the caged pit opposite in which small children were careering about, hollering. He’d opened his newspaper but hadn’t been able to concentrate on it with all the din going on.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’

  Jude looked up. Eddie’s elder offspring – a girl aged about six, with pigtails – had turned up beside him, looking panicked.

  ‘It’s okay – he’s just in the loo.’

  ‘You’ve got to help. Jorge’s stuck. Quick!’ she said, grabbing hold of Jude’s hand. He looked around helplessly but there was no sign of Eddie.

  ‘You’ve got to take your shoes off!’ Rosana said as they entered the play area. She looked at Jude incredulously. Her face told him quite clearly that she thought he was very, very stupid indeed.

  Shell-toes disposed of, Jude followed her in, where he found Jorge, who was a little on the portly side, stuck in some hole the kids were meant to wriggle through. Poor boy – he looked just like Winnie the Pooh. His chubby little face po
ked out one end and he looked at Jude imploringly. Jude rolled up his sleeves and pulled until – all at once – Jorge came flying out of the hole, landing on top of Jude and promptly throwing up all over him.

  Eddie looked appalled when he eventually returned from the loo to find Jude covered in vomit and both his children crying.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked. Jude told him and, having calmed the kids down (remarkably, they ran back into the dreaded play area again – the bit that hadn’t been cordoned off for cleaning), Eddie couldn’t stop laughing.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ he said. ‘You get used to this kind of crap when you’re a parent. Do you want a baby wipe?’ he asked, hunting around in his backpack.

  ‘Not sure that’ll cut it,’ Jude replied and, after draining his beer, he returned home for a shower and sank gratefully into his sofa to recuperate in peace.

  No, he was better off spending the weekend in solitary confinement. Perhaps he’d give Daisy a call – his mum thought she’d gone ‘off grid’. He should check she was okay. First, though, he would nip to the market for a cooked breakfast at his favourite café.

  Though still early, the central market was in full swing, the bright-red gates all open, and it smelt like Saturday mornings should – of fresh foliage from the various flower stalls, newly baked bread from the bakeries, and strong, brewing coffee. There were a number of cafés in the market but he was a creature of habit and never deviated from Bisson’s, despite the fact that the owner, Mrs Bisson, was a sour-faced woman who seemed to find the fact that Jude wished to order worthy of a deep sigh on every occasion. Still, the breakfast was good – decent coffee and a plateful of sausages, bacon, eggs over-easy (though he was not to use that expression within earshot of Mrs Bisson, who was not keen on Americanisms) and a grilled tomato or two, which Jude considered ample in terms of vitamins. Mrs Bisson always served two rounds of toast after the fry-up ‘to round off’, which Jude smeared with her home-made marmalade. Delicious, though Jude had learnt not to bother complimenting her on this or anything else. For some reason, Mrs Bisson received praise like most people handle insults.