The Beach Hut (24 page)

She sighed. Today wasn’t the day to dwell on it. She had to finish things off in here, go and get ready herself, then make sure Kirsty was organised. Which she would be. Nothing ever went wrong for Kirsty. She had, Jenna decided, a charmed life. Everything unfolded in front of her like a fairytale. Like today. It was going to be a dream wedding.

She took a last glance around the beach hut. The bed was low to the floor, a froth of white linen, piled high with lace-edged pillows and scattered with rose petals. An ice bucket sat next to it, flanked by two long-stemmed glasses. Fairy lights were strung from the rafters, scented candles waited to be lit. Jenna would come back later, just as the bride and groom were about to leave the reception, to light the candles, put the champagne on ice, turn on the music . . .

She took the disc she’d burned earlier out of her handbag and slid it into the CD player. It had taken her ages to compile, a labour of love trawling through the internet and her own music collection, but she thought it was the ultimate honeymoon soundtrack. She pressed play to make sure it worked.

Al Green began to sing. ‘Let’s Stay Together’.

Jenna looked around the hut. She’d forgotten nothing. It was the ideal place for the happy couple to begin their life together. Dan and Kirsty. Soon to be Mr and Mrs Harper. She imagined Kirsty, slight and beautiful, being carried over the threshold, then laid gently in the middle of the bed, Dan looking down at her adoringly . . .

A huge bubble of something rose up inside her and grabbed her by the throat. Jealousy? Resentment? Despair? Panic? She felt it choking her. It was completely overwhelming, a tsunami of bitterness. She was powerless in its path. Shit - this wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be good old Jenna, the perfect matron of honour with a smile on her face, even though inside her heart was breaking.

She couldn’t take it any more.

She sank to the floor and began to cry.

 

Dan Harper and his best man Liam were down at the bottom end of the beach, catching the best of the early-morning waves. They were both passionate about surfing, and it seemed the natural thing to do on the morning of Dan’s wedding. It was invigorating, mind-clearing, and the best way to address pre-match nerves. How could they worry about the forthcoming nuptials when they were doing battle with the sea, utilising every muscle in their body, feeling the exhilaration as they rode in towards the shore? They whooped and hollered with the adrenalin.

They were best mates, buddies since the day they’d both arrived at senior school, bonding over their love of sports and Pearl Jam and pretty girls. They’d shared pretty much every rite of passage - first drink, first cigarette, first hangover, first car crash - and discussed every life-changing decision they’d had to make ad infinitum ever since. They shared their darkest secrets and their deepest fears. Today was going to be strange. Today was going to alter the status quo, because someone else would become more important in Dan’s life, but they were cool about it. They’d still be friends. Always.

Finally, after forty-five minutes - they had promised half an hour, but the conditions were so perfect it seemed wrong to stop - they dragged their boards out of the water and walked back up the beach. Just enough time to get back to the hotel, shower, change into their wedding regalia and slip down to the terrace bar for a sneaky sharpener.

Liam slung his arm round his friend’s shoulder.

‘Hey, buddy. No last-minute cold feet?’

‘No way.’ Dan shook his wet blond hair out of his eyes, laughing. ‘This is it, mate. It’s weird - you never think you’re going to be ready to settle down to married life, but suddenly it feels like the right thing to do.’

‘So this time next year the pitter-patter of tiny feet?’

‘Maybe. So get yourself ready. You’ll be godfather.’ Liam grimaced.

‘Can I handle the responsibility?’

‘Course you can.’ Dan nudged his mate in the ribs. ‘And anyway, it’s your turn next. You need to get on with it.’

‘Yep,’ agreed Liam. ‘Only I just haven’t met the right girl yet. How do you know . . . ?’

‘You just do.’ Dan grinned, nodding his head towards three girls in bikinis coming down the beach past them, their arms filled with beach bags and towels and paraphernalia, ready for a day in the sun. ‘How about one of these?’

The girls giggled and nudged each other as they passed Dan and Liam. One turned back just as Liam did, and their eyes locked for a moment.

‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Yet again my responsibilities get in the way of my libido.’

‘Hey, feel free. I can get someone else to hand me the rings. It’s not that hard.’

‘No way.’ Liam slung his arm around his friend’s shoulder again. ‘There’s plenty more where she came from.’

They came out of the slipway at the top of the beach, onto the little road that led through the village and up to the hotel. As they passed the Ship Aground, neither of them commented on Dan’s recent stag night. It was history, one of those nights where stuff happens that doesn’t get mentioned again. What goes on tour, stays on tour, that was the unwritten code, and they both stuck to it rigidly.

They turned into the gate that led to the lawns in front of the hotel.

‘OK, buddy,’ said Liam. ‘Meet you on the terrace in half an hour and I’ll buy you a brandy.’

‘Make that a double,’ grinned Dan as they walked in through the hotel entrance, two mates who’d shared years of friendship, one of them about to embark on the next of life’s adventures.

 

Kirsty Inglis gazed at her reflection in the mirror, searching for any blemish, any tiny imperfection.

Her dress was a simple column of sheer white chiffon, the spaghetti straps showing off her tan. Her blond hair had been curled into long, loose ringlets that fell just past her shoulders. She wore a silver necklace with a shell that nestled in her collarbone. On her feet she wore Havaiana flip-flops encrusted with Swarovski crystals. Her fingers and toes were painted in the palest oyster pink. She looked part mermaid, part beach babe, part fairy-tale bride.

Happy that she was as close to perfect as she could be, she finally allowed herself a smile of approval, then picked up a glass of the champagne that the hotel had sent up to her room and took a sip. She had insisted on getting ready by herself. Kirsty didn’t want a phalanx of hangers-on fussing over her. She’d delegated what she couldn’t do to the professionals - the manicurist and hairdresser had been and gone as quickly as they could first thing - but she’d dressed herself and done her own make-up. And now she was ready, with over an hour to spare. Her chief bridesmaid, Jenna, was supposed to be coming up to share a glass of champagne with her, but Jenna was late. She always was. And in some ways, Kirsty didn’t mind. She wanted a bit of time on her own to prepare. Jenna would only wind her up, make her nervous - she wouldn’t mean to, but Jenna was like an overwound clockwork toy, and it was contagious. Just the thought of her gave Kirsty the jitters . . .

She took in a deep breath to calm the fluttering in her stomach, unable to believe that this afternoon she would be Mrs Daniel Harper. Obviously she would be keeping her maiden name for professional purposes - she hadn’t spent the last ten years building up a reputation as a personal trainer and nutritionist only to throw it all away - but otherwise she wanted to take her husband’s name. She wanted them to be a proper couple, especially when they went on to have a baby. Which they would very soon, she hoped. She was ready. She was thirty-two - not old to be a first-time mother by today’s standards. Ideally they would fit in a boy and a girl before she was thirty-five, the age your body clock started to go into decline. Kirsty always had everything planned. She didn’t leave much to chance.

She breathed in again. She had started the day with a yoga session on the beach, way before anyone else had stirred. As the sun came up she’d laid her mat on the cool sand and worked her way through her poses. She never missed a day, and as a result she was lean and graceful. Afterwards she had gone for a swim, plunging into the ice-blue waves, carving through them with strong, sure strokes. She was back at the hotel by half past seven, relaxed and invigorated, ready for a breakfast of fresh fruit, yoghurt and mint tea. There was no sign of anyone else in the wedding party yet, but it didn’t surprise or bother her. She was used to being the only one who was an early riser, and she was quite content with her own company.

She closed her eyes and wondered if her parents were on schedule - she hadn’t heard from them yet. They were driving down from Hampshire this morning; she had offered to put them up the night before, but they didn’t like to be away from home for too long because of the dogs, and they had decided they would prefer to stay over on the wedding night. Kirsty imagined them getting ready, her mother fussing over her outfit, her father offering repeated reassurance that went unheard. Kirsty smiled to herself. Her parents’ marriage had been strong and predictable. They had, as far as she knew, never wavered. Kirsty hoped her marriage to Dan would be as steadfast - though perhaps not quite so . . . well, dull. She wanted more than gardening and springer spaniels.

She breathed in again, ready to let her mind take her away to a calmer place, when there was a knock at the door. She jumped up and ran across the room to open it, suddenly eager for a distraction. Outside in the corridor stood Jenna. She looked dishevelled, distressed - and she was still in her jeans. Kirsty was puzzled. She should be ready by now.

‘Jenna? What’s the matter?’

Jenna stared at her, her eyes wide. Her face was blotchy. She’d obviously been crying.

‘I can’t do it!’ she declared. ‘I can’t go on living the lie any longer.’

And she burst into noisy sobs.

Kirsty smiled to herself. Jenna loved a bit of drama. She stood to one side to let her friend in.

‘Come on in, then. Spill the beans. What have you done now?’ Her tone was slightly teasing. Anything could have happened-a flirtation with the night porter, a skirmish with the waiter at breakfast.

Jenna pushed her way past Kirsty and sat down on the bed. She put her face in her hands for a moment, then looked up. She spoke in a whisper - Kirsty had to bend down to catch what she was saying.

‘I’ve been going over and over it in my mind, and I can’t not tell you. I can’t let you go down the aisle without you knowing the truth. It’s up to you to decide what to do.’

The semblance of a frown furrowed Kirsty’s smooth brow. Jenna was making this even more convoluted than usual.

‘Jenna - what are you talking about?’

Jenna’s eyes filled up with tears. ‘I slept with Dan on his stag night.’

Kirsty blinked. Once. Twice. She thought perhaps she hadn’t heard right.

‘Sorry?’

‘I don’t know how it happened. One minute we were having a laugh in the Ship Aground. The next minute he was trying to kiss me. And . . . I don’t know . . . it just came to a head . . . I was drunk. We were drunk ...’

Kirsty stood in the middle of the room. She put a hand to her head, trying to take in what Jenna had just told her.

‘Why are you telling me this now?’ she demanded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Or not tell me at all . . . ? It’s the morning of my wedding, Jenna.’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you. But I don’t know - it just seemed wrong, letting you walk down the aisle without you knowing the truth. I didn’t want you marrying a lie ...’ Jenna tried to wipe away her tears, but they kept falling thick and fast.

Kirsty walked over to the window and looked out. In the distance, the sea was glittering in the mid-morning sun, a cloudless sky above. It was the weather she had been praying for; the weather she had gambled everything on.

Her perfect day.

‘What were you doing there on his stag night, anyway? ’ she asked. ‘It was for the boys, surely? You didn’t tell me you’d gone.’

‘Liam asked me to come down. To sort stuff out. He wanted to check out the hotel, make some arrangements.’

Kirsty was staring into the middle distance, as if she wasn’t listening. Then she turned, and looked straight into Jenna’s eyes.

‘To be honest, it doesn’t surprise me. I know what you’re like. Dan got drunk, and you propositioned him.’

‘No—’

‘Admit it, Jenna. You’ve always wanted him for yourself. I’ve seen the texts you send him. He doesn’t bother wiping them off because he hasn’t got a guilty conscience.’

Jenna looked down, miserable, unable to defend herself as Kirsty railed on.

‘You’re pathetic, you know that? The only way you can get the man you want is by getting him so out of his tree he doesn’t have an option.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess it’s what stag nights are all about. Getting your unfinished business out of the way before you start on your new life. That’s all you were to him, Jenna. A bit of unfinished business.’

There was a momentary silence. Kirsty bit her lip to stop herself from breaking down. She couldn’t afford to cry - not at this stage of the game. She had to keep it together.

Jenna stood up with as much dignity as she could gather.

‘He wasn’t
that
drunk, I can assure you,’ she spat back. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. He deserves better than you. He deserves better than some ice maiden who’s got her whole life mapped out in front of her. You’re not capable of emotion. Look at you - even now, you’re in complete control. I don’t think you’ve even got a heart.’

If only she knew, thought Kirsty. If only she knew how much it was taking her to retain her composure, when inside she was petrified.

‘Yes, I have,’ she replied quietly. ‘I’ve been betrayed by the two people closest to me in the world. But shrieking and wailing isn’t going to help. It’s not going to mean it never happened.’

She walked over to the bottle of champagne and poured a glass. Her hands were shaking. She managed to steady them before she handed it to Jenna.