A Sea Change (2 page)

Her landlord hadn’t been at all understanding. He reckoned it wasn’t his fault the house had been burgled, even though everyone said the locks hadn’t been strong enough. He’d
agreed to wait for the rent until Jenna got her next lot of wages, which should have been today.

How was she going to pay now? Her landlord was going to kick up, she knew he was. He wouldn’t be interested in reasons or excuses. She’d promised him the rent she owed in cash by the end of the week, which was today. Friday. Otherwise he was going to boot her out. She knew he would. He knew people who would come and pack up her stuff and throw it out of her room, then drag her out afterwards. She’d seen it happen before.

It didn’t matter where she stood legally. People like her landlord didn’t take any notice of the law. They knew the system wouldn’t look after her. She was a nothing, a nobody, and no one cared.

Jenna trudged into the centre of Tawcombe, past the chip shop and the arcade and back to her house. She’d never call it ‘home’. Home was somewhere you were glad to come back to. Somewhere you felt you belonged. She was yet to feel that about anywhere.

Chapter Three

The last five miles of Craig’s journey were along a winding road lined with hedges. On either side the fields were full of sheep and cows. At last he reached the roundabout that led down the hill to Everdene. After another half a mile and then, around the next corner, was the sight that lifted his heart every time he saw it.

The sea. Endless and blue, yet never quite the same colour. That first glimpse was always a thrill. He could see the pinky brown of the beach, too, which was more than a mile of soft, soft sand. Then when he got closer, he spied the candy colours of the beach huts lined up in a row. The one that he shared with his copper mates was the seventh one along. Pale blue and white and in need of a lick of paint, but they never complained. Who cared about the state of the paintwork when there was fun to be had?

He left his car in the public car park, took his overnight bag and his shopping from the boot and headed off down the slipway next to a
small arcade of shops. They were all just closing for the night but he had time to buy himself a bag of chips from the café. He sat outside and ate them, one by one. Craig usually ate healthily, but he always treated himself every time he came down here. He’d soon burn off the calories.

He kicked off his shoes and made the last part of his journey barefoot. The heat of the day was still in the sand, although as he sank deeper it was cool beneath the surface. It was hard going with everything he had to carry, but at last he reached the seventh beach hut along, with its faded blue door. He pulled out the key and slid it into the padlock, unlocked it and stepped inside.

It always smelled the same, of damp and wood and salt. He breathed in and his stomach did a flip. It was like coming home. This was the place in the world where he felt most happy. It was basic. Some of the huts on the beach had been done up like show-homes, but this one had hardly been touched since it was put up over thirty years ago. It had four wooden bunks, a kitchen area with a couple of cupboards, a tiny sink and a Calor gas stove. There was also a makeshift shower and a toilet. It was furnished with a giant old settee that sagged in
the middle and a rickety table with four wobbly chairs.

The blokes who shared it made no effort to decorate the hut, but sometimes the girls tried to add a feminine touch. One had bought a set of matching spotted mugs, tired of the chipped and stained ones. Another had put up some surfing pictures, and another had strung up some fairy lights. They had an ancient ghetto blaster on which they played old cassettes. They had a competition to see who could dig out the most cheesy tape. Most nights the hut rocked to the sounds of Herb Alpert, Barry Manilow and Boney M.

Tonight, though, it was going to be peaceful. Craig preferred quiet when he was on his own. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, because he knew he was going to have to make a tough decision this weekend. As he looked out across the shore, he felt the worries and tension of the past few weeks gradually start to ease.

It was all very well knowing you were innocent, but that didn’t always count for much, especially when it was your word against someone else’s. And when the video evidence against you looked bad, you didn’t have much of a chance. Craig knew he would never treat a police suspect with unnecessary violence. But
he’d been set up by a gang of blokes with a grudge against him. He’d been responsible for arresting one of their mates who’d been sent down for a long stretch. As a result, they’d stitched him up and had him accused of police brutality. He’d been suspended while there was an investigation. Craig had spent the entire three months leading up to his case convinced he was going to lose his job – or, maybe, even worse.

In the end, justice had been done and he had been found innocent, but the stress had taken its toll. He lived in fear of it happening again and now faced every day with dread. He was fine with his close friends, but felt awkward with other workmates he came into contact with. He could tell they were wary, wondering if he had been guilty. After all, there was no smoke without fire.

The whole episode had made him question what he was doing with his life. He’d been longing to escape back to Everdene, so he could clear his head. Now that he was here, he felt more hopeful. As he sank into a deckchair outside the beach hut and looked at the view with a bottle of beer in his hand, the future didn’t seem quite so bleak.

Jenna finally arrived at the terraced house where she lived. She had a bedsit on the third floor. She shared a bathroom and kitchen with six other people. Six other people who didn’t know how to use a dishcloth or bleach, or even flush the toilet, sometimes. She ended up cleaning up herself, even though they were supposed to take turns. It was either that, or live in squalor.

She’d tried to make her room as nice as she could, but it was difficult. The carpet was green with mould in the corners. The wallpaper was ancient and coming off the wall in clumps. The windows let the cold in through the cracks in winter and turned the place into a sauna in summer. She couldn’t afford proper curtains, so she’d hung a pair of old sheets from the rail. On the walls, she’d stuck photos of her heroines: Marilyn Monroe and Dita von Teese – both glamorous pin-up girls not afraid to show off their curves. She tried to copy their image, but it was hard to look the part when you barely had enough money to keep body and soul together. Still, she always tried to wear a dress, and lipstick, and put her hair up, and this look usually helped to lift her spirits. If things were going badly, and you slobbed about
in jeans and no make-up, you were bound to feel bad about yourself.

No amount of dressing up took away her fear, though. She sat in the middle of her bed. It would only be a matter of time before the landlord came knocking. She didn’t have the money for her rent. Her stomach churned with dread. Where would she go if he kicked her out? She didn’t think she could get any lower. She’d left her mum’s house a year ago when their rows had got out of control. She’d thought she could stand on her own two feet. It was much harder than she thought.

Jenna thought about phoning her mates and meeting them at the pub, then she remembered she wouldn’t be able to afford a drink. She was penniless. Someone would buy her one, of course they would, but she didn’t want to feel like a scrounger. She flopped back down onto the mattress. The room smelled stale. The air was almost too hot to breathe. Everyone was saying what a fantastic weekend it was going to be, with soaring temperatures and fun in the sun.

There wasn’t going to be any fun on the third floor of 21a Boscombe Terrace.

It was after his second beer that Craig began to miss Michelle.

He knew it would happen. The first drink relaxed you. By the second, your defences were down and emotions started to kick in. It would take another two or three beers to blot out the feelings altogether, but Craig didn’t want to get drunk. He was going to have to put up with how he felt.

They’d gone out for five years, Craig and Michelle. It had been a very easy relationship with no drama. They enjoyed each other’s company and liked the same things. Then six months ago she’d been offered the chance to run a hairdressing salon at a big glitzy hotel in Dubai.

The salon she had run in Birmingham city centre was struggling. She’d had to let valued staff go. She’d cut back on the cleaning and the number of towels they used. She hated cutting corners but she had no choice. People just weren’t spending the money any more. They were going three months, even longer, without having their colour done, or doing it themselves at home. She was worried that the shop was going to go under. Then the opportunity of a lifetime had come along. Craig had had no second thoughts.

‘You have to take it,’ he told her. ‘You hate your job at the moment. It’s depressing. Dubai will be an awesome chance for you.’

Michelle and Craig were sensible enough to realise that their relationship wouldn’t survive the separation. Neither of them wanted the pressure or the guilt of trying to maintain it in the long term.

‘I don’t want you to get out there and feel you can’t have fun,’ Craig told her.

‘And I don’t want you to mope around because I’m not there,’ said Michelle.

So they agreed to part, but as friends. He drove her to the airport. She hugged him tight at the departure gate, and cried a bit, but he could tell she was excited about her new life. They’d agreed he would go out there at Christmas if neither of them had found someone else. Neither of them had so far, but Craig didn’t think he would go. Long-distance relationships never worked. He’d seen the pictures she’d posted on Facebook and it felt as if he was looking at a stranger. They went on Skype from time to time too, but he found it upsetting. It just reminded him of what he was missing.

He’d been too caught up with the investigation to find anyone else. His mates egged
him on when they went to the pub in Everdene for a drink. They thought he should find someone new, but he didn’t want to force it. He wasn’t one for one-night stands, not like some of his friends who went out with a different girl every time they came down to Devon. Maybe this weekend he should start to have a look round, he thought.

Not tonight, though. He wanted to wind down and get a decent night’s sleep so that he could make the most of the weekend. Craig watched the waves roll in towards the shore. There would be plenty of time for pulling. He had the whole week, after all.

At half past nine, there was a bang on Jenna’s door. It was so loud that she jumped off the bed, her heart thumping. She realised she had fallen asleep. She did that a lot these days. Being asleep was so much better than being awake. Her mouth went dry with fear. The knock came again, even louder. She thought about pretending that she wasn’t in.

‘Oi!’ There was a shout from the other side of the door. She knew that voice only too well. ‘I know you’re in there. Open up.’

The landlord probably did know she was in
there. He had spies everywhere. She didn’t trust any of the other tenants in the house.

‘OK!’ she called out, and hated how weedy her voice sounded.

She opened the door. The Prof was standing there. They called him The Prof because of his thick, black-rimmed glasses. Not because he was clever, unless you counted ripping desperate people off as clever. He was wearing a grubby white shirt, jeans and scuffed black slip-on shoes. Anyone would think he was on the breadline too.

‘You got something for me?’ He wandered in as if he owned the place. Which – technically – he did, but it was her room. He should respect her privacy.

Jenna swallowed hard.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she stammered. ‘My boss wouldn’t pay me. I haven’t got the rent money. I’ll get it for you by Monday. I promise.’

He made a clicking noise with his tongue behind his teeth.

‘You’re already behind. I’m going to have to start charging you interest.’

‘I can’t afford to pay you interest. I can’t afford the rent as it is.’

He shrugged.

‘It’s not my problem.’

He walked over towards the window and looked around, then nodded.

‘It’s a big room, this. Too big for one. I could probably get a family in here. Not waste it on someone who won’t pay up.’

He was threatening her, Jenna realised. How did he expect her to find the money? There was no point in asking him for sympathy. Men like him didn’t care. How did he sleep at night, she wondered? Better than she did, probably.

She looked at him, and her stomach turned. He must rake in a fortune with all the money he took. What did he spend it on? He certainly didn’t spend it on his clothes, or his hair, which needed a good cut, not to mention a wash. Or his car either – she’d seen him drive round in a battered old Ford Mondeo. She wondered where he lived, and if he had a wife, or any kids. She pitied them if he did.

Sometimes Jenna wondered if there were any decent men in the world.

He was walking towards her wardrobe, opening it up, looking through her stuff with that stupid grin on his face.

‘Get out of my wardrobe,’ Jenna told him.

He looked up. His hands were mauling her clothes, all the vintage dresses she’d bought in charity shops and at jumble sales and from
eBay. ‘Just seeing if there’s anything I could take instead of cash . . .’

She stepped towards him.

‘There isn’t anything. I’ve told you. I’ll get the rent money.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah?’ He looked her up and down. She shuddered as she felt his gaze undress her. She knew what he was thinking. She folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t have to take this unspoken threat. He was a bully.

‘Where do you get off, treating people like this?’

The Prof took a step back, surprised by her outburst.

‘Like what?’

‘Bullying them. Not just me, either. I’ve seen you bully that woman downstairs – the one with the baby. Does it make you feel good?’

He scowled, slamming the wardrobe door shut.

‘All I want is what’s owed to me. Nothing wrong with that.’