Summer at Shell Cottage (26 page)

Sickened by his own weakness, he shoved his telltale phone into his pocket and staggered to his feet.
Then he slipped out of the house, wondering how long he had left before everyone knew what
he’d done.

Down on the beach, for the first time in his life, Robert considered just walking into the sea and giving himself up to the tumultuous waves, letting them drag his body into the undertow and
thrash it against the rocks.
It would be a way out, at least.
An apology.

‘Here we are,’ said Gloria, parking the car.
‘South Devon’s best-kept secret.
I bet you never even knew this was here, did you?’

It was the following day and Olivia, none the wiser as to her son’s disintegrating marriage, had come out with Gloria again following the morning’s cleaning session.
As she clambered
out of the passenger seat, legs like jelly, she gulped in the briny air, thoroughly relieved to have survived another white-knuckle driving experience with her new friend.
The woman turned a simple
car journey into a bone-shaking rollercoaster ride where your life flashed before your eyes with each blind bend.
Mercifully – miraculously – they had arrived in one piece this
time.

‘The perfect hidden cove,’ Gloria had suggested earlier as she scrubbed the cooker to within an inch of its life.
Olivia, who had taken to cleaning alongside her in a companionable
sort of way (and why not?
Lounging around was too boring for words), wiped the toast crumbs and spilled cereal flakes off the kitchen table, replying, ‘Sounds good to me.’

The words came back to haunt her as they duly bounced down a bumpy single-track road for what felt like miles.
Just as Olivia was about to query Gloria’s inner satnav – was this
really
the right way?
– they rounded a corner and the land dropped away before them, with the sea a sparkling carpet of blue laid out for their admiration.
‘Oh my,’
Olivia breathed, and then, before she could brace herself, they had stopped and Gloria was yanking on the handbrake, the little car quite alone on this deserted stretch of grassy headland.
It was
as if the rest of the world had simply vanished and left them to it.

Olivia gazed apprehensively at the vertiginous cliff-drop before them.
‘Goodness me,’ she said.
‘All these years I’ve been holidaying in Silver Sands, and no, I had
absolutely no idea this was here.’

Gloria gave a pleased-sounding cackle as she got out of the car then rummaged in the boot for a faded canvas bag and slung it over her shoulder.
‘Not many people do,’ she said.
‘Me and Bill found it quite by accident one day.
He was lost, of course, even though he said he knew where he was going.
It’s a bit of a scramble down, mind, but once you get there .
.
.
heaven!’

‘A bit of a scramble’ was a generous way of phrasing it.
Olivia felt as if she was taking her life in her hands for the second time that morning, as she clambered down the rocky
slope, her sandals feeling perilously flimsy against the limpet-encrusted boulders.
There was no path as such, just a tumble of stones with the occasional grassy clump to hang on to.
I’m
too old for this
, she thought, heart thudding in panic, when her foot slipped and she had to clutch at the nearest rock to stop herself falling.
Below her, Gloria yelled out ‘Hey!’
in surprise as a scatter of stones was dislodged and went pattering down past her.
Olivia dimly registered the pain of the rock’s rough edge scraping her skin and how she seemed to be
clinging on by her fingertips.
She was still there, though, hanging on.
Today was not the day she plummeted to her death, apparently.
She hoped.

‘You all right up there?’
Gloria called out, seeing her frozen in position.
‘Trying to knock me out or something?’

Olivia gave a shaky laugh.
‘Whose stupid idea was this again?’
she called back, tentatively lowering her foot to the next rock.
She was braced for another slithering slip, another
shower of falling stones, but to her great relief the boulder felt firm and solid beneath her weight.

Gloria let rip another cackle.
‘Gets a bit easier further down, don’t worry,’ she said.
Olivia heard her land on the sand below with a soft thud.
‘There.
Keep going.
You’ve almost made it now.’

Olivia could feel sweat breaking out along her hairline as the sun’s hot midday rays beat against her with unflinching intensity.
If Freya or Robert could see her now, they’d be up
in arms, she thought with a sudden urge to giggle.
Freya would be calling the coastguard to send round a helicopter, Robert would be shinning down in some doomed rescue attempt, yelling at her not
to move, don’t look down, Mum, just keep still!

Not such an old biddy after all, she thought with a rush of pride as she felt Gloria’s hand on her waist, helping her take the last steps down.
There!
And now that she was here on the
sandy floor of the hidden cove, she was so glad she’d done it, even if her legs had gone to jelly all over again.
What a place.
What a find!
Sheltered by high curving cliffs, there was no
wind at all in the crescent-shaped inlet, just a stretch of pale yellow sand and the sea, foaming up the beach towards them.
High above a kittiwake soared, its wings silhouetted against the
blue.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she breathed.
‘It’s perfect.’

Gloria looked pleased.
‘Good, isn’t it?’
she said.
‘And best of all, I’ve never seen another person here, in all the times me and Bill came down.
It’s like
having your own private beach.’

Olivia took off her sandals and let her bare feet sink luxuriously into the warm, powdery sand.
It was so quiet.
So remote.
You could just about see the bonnet of Gloria’s Mini up on the
headland if you stretched your head back but there was no other sign of civilization in sight.

Then a thought struck her.
An image of the straw beach bag containing her swimming costume and towel, still neatly tucked in the passenger footwell of Gloria’s car where she’d left
it.
‘Oh dear,’ she said.
‘Slight problem.’

Gloria merely shrugged when she heard the news.
‘Not to worry.
Nobody will see us here anyway,’ she said, heaving a large bamboo mat from her bag and unrolling it
on the sand.
‘Go crazy and skinny-dip if you want to swim.
Me and Bill used to do it all the time.’

Olivia tried to hide her embarrassment at the suggestion, feeling as prim and proper as a Victorian nun.
‘Oh.
Well.
I’m not sure,’ she said, feeling her face flame.
Honestly.
Gloria might be able to throw her clothes off and swim about naked but Olivia .
.
.
No.
She couldn’t.
Nobody had seen her body since Alec and it would feel horribly exposing to reveal all so
brazenly in public.
Every time she showered or bathed, she was aware of how pale and wrinkled she had become, of how she sagged and pouched in all the wrong places nowadays.
When one was
approaching sixty nudity was simply not the done thing.

Gloria gave a hoot of laughter.
‘Well, if you’re not going to, I am,’ she declared, and pulled her sleeveless cyan shirtdress over her head.
Olivia averted her eyes but not
before she saw Gloria’s magenta bra and black lacy knickers go flying off onto the bamboo mat.
‘Last one in’s a rotten egg!’
called Gloria, and then she was pelting away
down the sand, bottom wobbling like twin caramel blancmanges, shrieking for joy.

SPLASH.
In she went, launching herself at the waves, arms outstretched as if embracing a watery friend.
Up went another squeal.
‘Jesus, it is
cold.
Makes you feel alive, though.
Come on in!’

I couldn’t
, thought Olivia as Gloria waved from the sea, then surface-dived like a frisky bum-baring dolphin.
I absolutely couldn’t.
Turning away, she wiped each
foot free of sand before gingerly stepping onto the bamboo mat and sitting down.
Gloria, meanwhile, was windmilling her arms through the water, sending up fountains of spray that glittered like
crystals against the blue sky.
From the lack of tan lines on Gloria’s body, Olivia suspected she was a frequent nude sunbather and swimmer.
Oh, to be so carefree and liberated!

‘Come on.
Seriously!
It’s lovely when you get used to it.
Refreshing.
Blissful!’

Olivia shook her head, smiling and wishing she could be so bold.
It did look lovely, to be honest.
A memory came to her – one she hadn’t thought of for years.
She and her sisters
when they were in their teens, swimming naked in the millpond of the farm along the road, while all the farmhands were getting in the corn.
She remembered the paleness of their bodies in the cool
green water, the dreamy, weightless sensation of swimming without a single stitch to cover you.
They’d splashed one another and laughed at each other’s lolling breasts and floating
pubic hair as they lay on their backs.
It had been a glorious day.
Birdsong and duckweed and the prickly sensation of the dried grass when you came out, dripping.
She could almost hear the peals of
girlish laughter now.

The sun felt hotter than ever all of a sudden and Olivia slipped off her cardigan, folding it carefully on the sand.
She had on a fawn-coloured shell top underneath which was light and cool.
Gloria cheered approval as she saw Olivia remove the cardigan, clearly thinking she was about to join her in the water.
‘I knew you’d do it,’ she crowed.
‘Come on, get
’em off.’

Olivia was about to shake her head again – no, Gloria had misunderstood – but there was something about the way her friend had cheered that made her think twice.
I knew
you’d do it!
Like she had faith in her.
As if she didn’t think Olivia was a fuddy-duddy Victorian nun at all, as if she knew about the day at the millpond.
Gloria was fully
expecting her to strip off and wade in.
So .
.
.
what was stopping her?

She glanced up at the cliff behind her.
Nobody there.
Back as a teenager, she hadn’t hesitated for a moment, stepping out of her slip and knickers before pinching her nose and jumping
straight into the delicious cool water.
Had she even been the first one in, the most daring of the sisters?

She smiled.
Yes.
She was pretty sure she had been.
She could even dimly remember urging her sisters to join her, just like Gloria was now.

The sun was casting sparkles on the water.
So enticing.
So refreshing.
And before she knew it, Olivia was standing up, unzipping her skirt and undressing.
Doubts skittered across her mind when
she was down to her bra and pants: Freya’s voice,
Mum, what on earth are you doing?
, the notion of hikers up on the cliff path peering down through binoculars, a yachtsman tacking
round from the next bay .
.
.

Oh, who cared?
Flesh was flesh.
Life was short.
And besides, the sea looked absolutely marvellous.
She unhooked her bra, dropped her knickers and stretched her arms up to the sky.
‘Here I
come!’

Unbeknown to Olivia, she wasn’t the first to leave Shell Cottage that morning.
Harriet was already long gone.

After a night of tossing and turning, punctuated by angry dreams, she had left Molly sleeping peacefully in the double bed and tiptoed out before anyone could stop her.
She hadn’t seen
Robert since the catastrophic phone discovery the evening before – and frankly nor did she want to.
Following her meltdown in the car, loudly shouting and crying like a maniac, she had
eventually returned to Shell Cottage with takeaway fish and chips, scooping up Molly en route, and driving them both out to Pemberley Point for a carbohydrate bender.
When in doubt, eat.
That
particular mantra had got her through her first divorce, anyway.
It seemed as good a time as any to wheel it out once more.

‘By the way, you’re sleeping in with me tonight,’ she had announced, much to Molly’s surprise.
They were sitting out on the headland, the sea bashing against the cliff
face below.
It felt a suitably dramatic place to come, given her state of mind.
‘Robert’s going up in the attic.’

Molly lay back, faintly green around the gills, having monstered a huge battered haddock and chips.
‘How come?
What’s going on?’

Harriet licked her salty fingers.
She was completely stuffed already but couldn’t bring herself to stop eating.
‘What’s going on is that Robert is a .
.
.’
she began and
then somehow managed to shut her mouth before she came right out and uttered the words ‘complete knobhead’.
She wiped her fingers on the grass, uncertain how much to confide.
‘He’s .
.
.
got a headache,’ she said in the end.
Molly didn’t need to know the contents of their row, she decided.
Not yet anyway.

Molly didn’t seem suspicious, thankfully.
‘Okay.
Cool,’ she said, shrugging.
‘As long as you’re not snoring and farting all night anyway.’

Harriet thought of this charming daughterly reply now as she got into the car, and smiled briefly despite her lack of sleep and the black cloud she was under.
Gone out for a few hours.
Ring me if any problems, love Mum
, she texted Molly quickly, before starting the engine and heading out towards the coast road.
Molly would probably sleep in till midday anyway, given half
a chance, and Harriet would no doubt be back before she even stirred.
In the meantime, it was a relief to leave everything else behind.
She didn’t have a clue where she was going, but she
knew for certain that she wanted to get away from her husband for the time being.
And good sodding riddance, too!

Quite honestly, she had felt like a puppet with cut strings since finding out his dirty little secret, she thought, accelerating away.
She wasn’t sure what to do with herself or how she
would ever pick herself back up again.
All she knew was that she was hurting, very badly, winded with shock and burning with humiliation.
It wasn’t just the fact that he had lied about his
so-called publisher, it was all those other lies he’d told too.
The glamorous party to which she had been mysteriously uninvited, the envy-inducing lunches and meetings.
Hadn’t she
known there was something dodgy about the Marylebone Tavern mix-up?
She should have trusted her instincts all along.

After their takeaway last night, Harriet had been sorely tempted to bundle her and Molly’s things into the car and flounce off back to London like a raging adolescent.
When this sort of
disaster struck, she wanted all her mates around her with a crate of wine and a lorryload of Dairy Milk, so that they could get stuck into a proper cathartic They’re Such Bastards
bitchfest.

The adult in her was just about able to resist this temptation though, recognizing wearily that oh, bloody
hell
, she and Robert were going to have to sit down, she supposed, to talk the
whole dreadful situation through, like proper grown-ups.
It would be hideous, she could tell already.
He, no doubt, would try and cobble together more excuses and lies to explain his shameful
behaviour while she scowled and sat on her hands to avoid punching him in the nose.
Bloody Robert!
Why did husbands, however nice they initially seemed, always end up being such utter cocks?

Bollocks.
And she’d thought he was the one, too.
The key that fitted her lock, the perfect match, two halves of a whole.
She’d even used the word ‘soulmate’ about him in
her wedding speech.
‘Arsehole mate, more like,’ she sneered to herself, hunching over the steering wheel as she put her foot down and nipped past a trundling milk lorry.
‘Without
the “mate”, that is.’

Realizing she was way over the speed limit, she slowed down and tried to calm herself by dwelling on the beautiful, serene landscape around her.
It was a staggeringly gorgeous morning; even she,
in her toweringly crap mood, could appreciate that.
Not yet eight o’clock, and the sky was still faintly pink around the edges from the sunrise, with just a few rose-tinged wispy clouds like
puffs of icing sugar.
Mind you, if there was any justice, there’d be a massive thunderstorm now instead, with booming crashes and bangs and a biblical downpour.
And Robert would be struck by
a bolt of jagged lightning and .
.
.

She wrinkled her nose and let out an exasperated sigh.
No.
That was the problem.
Even after what he’d done, even after all those lies, she didn’t want him struck by a bolt of
lightning, or any other means of death.
She just wanted the situation to miraculously unhappen, to rewind nine months and talk him out of this whole stupid book-writing idea in the first place.
Oh,
sure, he wanted to live up to his dad, he wanted to make everyone proud – she got that, loud and clear.
But couldn’t he have just helped old ladies across the road, like normal people
did?
Remembered his mum’s birthday on time, done some voluntary work at the local animal shelter, cleared snow off their neighbours’ stretch of pavement .
.
.
the sort of nice,
thoughtful thing he already did, in fact, for crying out loud.
Why wasn’t that enough for him?
Why had he felt so compelled to stick his neck out in the hope of impressing the world?

Honestly.
Parents and children, expectations and hang-ups.
It was always so flaming complicated, so fraught.
Thank God she didn’t have that kind of relationship with Molly.
Thank goodness
they
could always be straight with one another.

The thought cheered her a little.
She still had Molly.
Whatever happened, whichever prat of a bloke messed her about, she had her daughter and that was enough for Harriet.
If it came to the
crunch, they could go it alone again, even if it meant the two of them moving back to a smaller, cheaper flat, even if they had to put up with mouldering walls and mice under the floorboards like
last time.

They would manage.
They didn’t need one crap ex-husband or the other.
They didn’t need anyone or anything at all!

Mind you, saying that, she couldn’t half do with a kick-ass coffee right now.
And a bacon sandwich would definitely hit the spot too.
She also quite fancied phoning her friend Gabbi and
having a good, long whinge to her.
Every broken-hearted, angry woman should have sustenance and friends in her hour of need.
She drove on in search of where she might find them.