Summer at Shell Cottage (19 page)

But in the last few weeks, the plates had come crashing down one after another.
Dad.
Work.
The children.
Her marriage.
Somehow she had become a woman who felt better when there was a bottle of
gin in her handbag; a wife who threw herself recklessly into the sea because she was so drunk she couldn’t control herself; a mother whose children pulled faces because she stank.

Every way you looked at her, she was a failure.
An embarrassment.
A screw-up.

Hands shaking, Freya poured herself a glass of orange juice and pushed some bread into the toaster, stepping closer to Harriet, who was slathering two slices of toast with butter and
marmalade.

Harriet shot her a look.
‘About last night,’ she began tentatively, but Freya was too embarrassed to let her progress even a syllable further.

‘It won’t happen again,’ she interrupted, forcing brightness into her voice.
‘I’m sorry to have bored on at you for so long.
From now on, I’m on the wagon so
there won’t be any more bad behaviour from me.
Brownie’s honour!’

‘Have we
got
any brownies?’
Ted asked with sudden interest.
(What was it with kids and their acute sense of hearing when it came to certain words?
Freya marvelled.)

‘No, dumbo,’ Libby said, kicking him.
‘Brownie’s honour is, like, when you make a big important promise.
Mum, when am I starting Brownies anyway?
You did say I could,
ages ago.’

‘Um .
.
.
I’ll ring the Brownie lady when we’re back home,’ Freya said, wishing it was possible to have a private conversation without young ears tuning in for a change.
She wasn’t sure she could cope with a ‘big important promise’ when it came to drinking either.
The very words ‘on the wagon’ made her feel anxious the moment they fell
from her lips.
No cheeky wine while she made dinner?
No gin and tonics on the terrace?
It was a horrible thought.
A scary thought.
Even at eight thirty in the morning.

Harriet merely turned kind brown eyes on her.
‘Well, I’m here, okay?
Any time you want to talk.
You know that, don’t you?’

‘Sure,’ Freya mumbled.
And then, because she couldn’t bear the sympathetic look on Harriet’s face any longer, she turned away abruptly and addressed her children, who
were all still tousle-haired and in pyjamas.
‘Right, you lot!
Go and get dressed, then brush your teeth and hair.
Now, please!
We’re all going kayaking today, remember.
Chop,
chop!’

Kayaking.
Even thinking about swaying around on a boat made her want to puke.
But her words had the children cheering and leaping up immediately (a miracle in itself) so that was some small
blessing at least.

Freya buttered her toast doggedly.
Today was a new start, she vowed.
A new, sober start where she pulled herself together and made everything all right again.

Libby had been doing her best to cheer up Granny but so far things hadn’t gone very well.
Down at the beach, she’d found the most beautiful shiny pink shell which
she had saved especially to give to her (Granny loved seashells; she had a whole jar of special ones up in the bathroom).
Libby had washed the shell with squirty soap and then dried it gently on
one of the towels, so that it even smelled nice, but before she could give it to Granny, Teddy found it and threw it out the window, trying to hit Dexter on the head.

Libby had punched him, Teddy had squealed, and down in the garden, Dexter was yelling that he was going to kill Teddy Then, amidst all the ruckus, Libby heard Granny say, ‘What on earth is
wrong with those children?
For heaven’s sake!’
in a very peevish, grumpy sort of way, which meant that the shell had actually just made her feel worse.
Libby had gone down and searched
all around the garden, but she never saw that shell again.
Stupid Teddy.
He was really lucky Libby wasn’t the sort of sister who did mean things like throw a person’s
dinosaurs
out of the window, even though she very badly felt like doing it.

Next, she decided to pick Granny some flowers.
She cut a huge bunch of colourful sweet peas, and put them in a pretty vase of water, meaning to leave them by Granny’s bed as a nice
surprise.
The children weren’t usually allowed to go into their grandmother’s bedroom but Libby was sure nobody would mind this one special time, so she crept in on tiptoes, being
super-quiet and careful.
Unfortunately, though, she didn’t notice Granny’s slippers on the floor, tripped over them, and ended up tipping the vase and its contents all over the bed.
She
gave a sob of anguish and tried to dry the bed with Granny’s old hairdryer but of course Mum walked in on her – ‘What on
earth
are you doing?’
– and got
really cross and didn’t seem to understand that she was only trying to be kind.

Libby was starting to feel that everyone was in a bad mood on this holiday.
Mum didn’t even want to listen, she just told her off in a shouty, impatient sort of way and then insisted Libby
help her make up the bed – as if she didn’t have enough to do right now, honestly, it’s just one thing after another with you kids – until Libby’s face felt very hot
and her eyes went swimmy and her throat went all tight and sore.
What was wrong with all the adults?
Even Uncle Robert kept going off and talking on his phone all the time when he thought nobody
was looking.

Then, the next day, they were all set to go kayaking but nobody had mentioned Granny, and Libby felt really sad that they were going without her, because kayaking was so much fun, it would cheer
up anybody, even the saddest little sad granny.
And so she went up to the bedroom and knocked ever so quietly and gently on the door – ‘Granny?
Granny, are you coming with us?’
– and she was only trying to be nice
again
, but then Mum was there, looking all tight-faced and pulling her away, saying, ‘Libby, for the last time, stop badgering your
grandmother, just leave her to sleep, all right?
You can see her later.’

‘She’s not a badger, she’s a girl,’ Teddy said from downstairs and Libby threw her shoe at him, just because she was sick of people telling her she was doing the wrong
thing all the time, and because Teddy was really totally annoying sometimes.

Badgering your grandmother!
She wasn’t completely sure what badgering meant but the way Mum said it was not good.
Like Mum was cross with her again.
Well, Mum was just cross all the time
lately, and Libby was getting fed up with it.
Maybe if Mum tried a bit harder to be nice and cheerful herself, then Granny would feel happier too!

Libby sighed as she and her brothers clambered into the car a few minutes later and began their usual argument about whose turn it was to sit in the middle seat.
She wasn’t about to admit
defeat yet, though.
She would think of a way to make Granny smile again, and that was that.

The Tarrants and Castledines drove in convoy to the kayaking safari centre near Kingsbridge and were soon kitted out in life jackets.
Unfortunately there were only three double
kayaks available as well as one pedalo, and some scrapping ensued about who went with who, and in what.
‘Well, I was kind of hoping to be partners with
you
, Ted,’ Harriet said
quickly.
‘And I know Uncle Rob wanted to go with you, Dex.’

‘We’ll leave these losers behind, right, Dexter?’
said Rob, holding one hand up, and his nephew grinned and high-fived him.
‘Too right,’ he said.

Libby sidled closer to her adored cousin.
‘Can I go with you, Molly?’
she asked shyly, and Harriet replied at once.

‘Perfect!
Yes, of course you can, Libs.
Can’t she, Molly?’

‘Sure,’ said Molly, who didn’t look quite so thrilled at the prospect.

‘Wait – so that means .
.
.’
Freya had lost track of who was going with whom.

‘So that means you’re with Vic,’ Harriet said.
Was Freya imagining it, or was there a glint in her eye?
‘Tell you what.
Why don’t you two take the pedalo for a nice
relaxing cruise around, while Rob and I chaperone these tearaways on the kayaks?
Is that okay with everyone?’

‘Yeah!’
the kids yelled, all grabbing paddles at once, patently glad not to be stuck in the infinitely less cool choice of river craft.

Freya looked at Victor, feeling as if they’d just been played, but Harriet was already bustling the children away.
It would be a job trying to convince any of them to go in the pedalo with
her now.
‘Looks like it’s just me and you, then,’ she said after a moment.

He nodded, his face hard to read.
‘I guess so.’

The next few minutes were spent double-checking everyone’s life jackets were put on correctly and giving Ted strict instructions that started 1) No jumping in, and ended 17) No pushing
anyone else in.
Despite Freya’s best efforts to delay the moment that she and Victor were contained within a small space together, the children were all eager to get in their kayaks and start
paddling, and were soon on the water and shouting competitively at each other that they were so going to beat the others, you just wait.
Seconds later, they were splashing away amid hoots of
laughter.

‘And then there were two,’ Freya said apprehensively, clambering into the pedalo, which swayed beneath her weight.
Just me and my husband, who thinks I’m an alcoholic.
What
fun we’ll have!

She knew why Harriet had done this, of course.
Despite the horrible wine-misted haze that shrouded most of last night’s events, she could distinctly remember Harriet telling her, several
times, that she needed to talk to Vic.
That he’d be devastated if he knew how she’d been feeling.
‘Devastated’ was perhaps taking it a bit far – he’d looked at
her as if she repulsed him just a few hours ago – but she knew deep down that the conversation needed to be had, cards laid on the table.
She had to reveal what a mess she’d been, how
she’d been freefalling for the last few weeks, silently and unnoticed until she’d almost plunged to a watery demise last night.
It didn’t promise to be an easy conversation, that
was for sure.

It was another warm day, with barely a breeze to stir the overhanging willows lining the sides of the river.
The pedals seemed stiff and creaky at first but Freya and Victor soon settled into a
rhythm and began cruising along the creek at a fairly leisurely pace, miles behind the others, who were already vanishing at speed into the distance.
Just as Harriet had envisaged, no doubt.

Freya tried to drink in the beauty of the wide, meandering creek, rumoured to be the home of kingfishers and nesting swans, as well as offering possible sightings of herons and otters, according
to the pamphlet they’d been given.
She couldn’t concentrate, though, not even on soothing thoughts of otters and kingfishers, as she pedalled along, one hand trailing in the cool green
water.
‘Vic, I’ve got something to say,’ she blurted out before she lost her bottle.
‘Last night .
.
.
I know it got kind of out of hand and you’re pissed off with me,
but I need to explain.’
Her nerve failed her and her mouth dried up, then she remembered Harriet’s earnest brown eyes.
You have to tell him
, she’d said.
You have
to!

‘I’m just .
.
.
struggling right now,’ she went on, feeling as if every word was an effort to drag out.
‘I can’t cope.
One of my patients is probably going to sue
me.
I miss Dad.
You getting stabbed totally freaked me out.
I .
.
.
I .
.
.
It’s just too much.
I’m losing the plot.’

Victor stopped pedalling in surprise.
‘What?’
he said.
‘Say all that again?’

Freya’s pulse was racing; she tried to calm herself with a deep, slow breath.
Otters
, she reminded herself.
Kingfishers.
Swans.
‘Everything’s gone wrong this
summer,’ she confessed.
‘Since Dad died, I’ve found it really hard to cope.
I—’

He shook his head as if her words made no sense.
‘But you’ve coped really well,’ he told her.
‘You’ve held it together, you’ve run around looking after your
mum, you’ve got on with everything like you always do.’
He stared at her, baffled.
‘That’s what you do, Freya.
That’s who you are – coping queen
extraordinaire.’

She winced, reminded of her old nickname from the sixth form – the Ice Queen – given to her by Johnny Dodds, when she wouldn’t kiss him at the Christmas disco.
Ice
Queen
.
Back then she’d prided herself on her cool detachment, her need for nobody and nothing, certainly not Johnny Dodds and his red face and slobbery lips.
But maybe she’d taken
things too far.
Maybe the Ice Queen should have let herself thaw a long time ago.

A sob was building in her throat but she forced it back down.
‘No.
Well, yes.
I suppose it looked that way from the outside.’
She hung her head.
‘I didn’t let it show,
that was all.
Inside I’ve been a total mess.
I’ve been frightened.
I’ve been sad – oh, so sad, I can’t even put it into words.
But I just numbed the pain with .
.
.
with booze, I guess, and did my best to keep up appearances.’

He said nothing for a moment and the pedalo drifted into the riverbank with a dull thump, jerking them forward in their seats.
He shoved them away from the edge and they began pedalling again.
‘I didn’t realize,’ he said, so quietly it was hard to hear him over the splashing water.
‘I didn’t know.’

‘I’m going to change,’ she said quickly.
‘I’m not some complete lush or addict.’
She bit her lip, hating the fact that she was even saying these words.
‘I don’t have a problem or anything, I swear.
I’m going to stop drinking from now on anyway.
Knock it on the head.’
Again came that terrible acid fear at the thought of
boring soft drinks every evening, herbal teas and cordials, instead of blurring the day’s troubles away with an enormous kick-arse gin.
God, it was going to be hard.
The thought of having to
be so strong and resistant night after night after night .
.
.
it seemed a Herculean task.

‘Blimey, Freya, I .
.
.’
He sounded bewildered.
‘I didn’t realize things were so bad.
I had no idea you were feeling like this.’

No.
And that was the nub of it, right there: his shock that there might actually be something wrong.
Like Harriet had said, it
was
probably her fault too, of course, for maintaining
this illusion, for letting the world believe that she was perfectly competent and had life under control.
She gazed unseeingly out at the green water.
These days everything seemed to be her fault,
one screw-up after another.
Was there anything she had got right recently?

‘I’ve been pretty good at covering up,’ she said eventually.
‘It was only really coming here that made me realize how much.
I .
.
.
I’ve let everyone down, Vic.
I’ve let myself down.’

She risked a glance sideways; he was staring straight ahead as he guided the pedalo around a curve in the river, but looked absolutely stricken.
‘You haven’t let anyone down, Frey.
Don’t say that.’

‘But it’s true.
I’ve messed up work, my job’s on the line.
You said yourself, the kids have noticed that I’m drinking too much.
How do you think that makes me feel?
An absolute failure, that’s how.’

He was silent for a moment, digesting.
‘What’s actually happened with work?’
he asked eventually.
‘You keep saying you’ve messed up but you haven’t said how.
Why don’t I even know about any of this?’

‘Well .
.
.’
She took a deep breath and haltingly told him about Melanie and Ava, and then, lowering her eyes penitently, about the gin in her handbag (did he still think she
didn’t have a problem now?
she wondered).
‘I haven’t heard anything back from Elizabeth,’ she said shakily at the end, ‘and I can’t help fearing the worst.
I’m scared, Vic.
If Melanie wants to take it further, and I end up going to some kind of tribunal .
.
.
I mean, I don’t think I did anything wrong, but what if they don’t see it
that way?
I could lose my job.’

He had gone very quiet since she launched into her little spiel, she thought in anguish.
She began pedalling again, but the soles of her pumps were wet and slipped off the pedals.
She wished he
would say something.
Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Finally he spoke.
‘I wish you’d told me this before,’ he said.
‘Why did you let me go on thinking everything was fine?’
He gave a hollow laugh.
‘Some
detective I am, when I can’t even spot what’s happening under my own roof.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, her voice wobbling.
She could no longer remember why it had seemed so important to maintain the illusion of control, other than for her own sense
of pride.
Because here was her husband looking at her as if he didn’t recognize her and she felt worse than ever.

They pedalled along in silence for a while and she felt sick with the feeling that she’d let things reach such a crisis point.
Where did they go from here?
she wondered.
She no longer had
the faintest idea.