Chapter 14
The next morning, I find myself on the beach surrounded by feral children. Lyssa had earned a lie in, so when her kids woke up at the first hint of light, Rose and I fed them breakfast downstairs and then headed to the bay, meeting up with Katie, Priya and her girls, and Cally, along with Meg and Lilly.
My friends are puzzled by the new arrivals, but understand the situation after a quick explanation. Katie offers to go and find Robert and hit him in the balls with a sledgehammer, and Priya says she’ll send me links to some resources that might help Lyssa’s recovery. My pals, in a snapshot.
Eleanor has quickly become firm friends with the younger children, and the twin boys are mainly enjoying throwing pebbles into the sea, burying each other in the sand, and lobbing sticks at each other’s heads. It’s only a matter of time until they find some worms or seaweed and start chasing the girls around.
Priya and Katie are heading back to their respective homes today, so it’s a good way to say goodbye, and to let children who are going to spend the day crammed into a car run off some steam. The sun is shining, the breeze is mild, and the sea is singing – the perfect day to let young people go wild.
“It’s been fabulous,” says Katie, smiling at Alfie and Hugh’s antics, “but I have to say I’m looking forward to seeing my own boys. I’ve enjoyed experimenting with being an alcoholic loose woman, but it’ll also be a relief to go back to normal. Whatever that is.”
“I’m not sure you’ll recognise it when you see it,” Priya says, dodging a handful of damp sand that Alfie has just scooped up and thrown into the air.
“Stop chucking sand, you hooligans!” Katie yells, and they immediately do as they’re told. She has a very effective “I’m the mum of boys and take no shit” voice.
Cally is with the girls, building sandcastles in a circle, Lilly busily digging a big moat around the edge that she wants to fill with sea water. I see Hugh eyeing it all up with a glint in his eye, and give him a firm shake of my head. There will be tears if he stamps all over their creation.
Rose is sitting with us on the sand, looking a bit distracted. I know that she didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, but I suspect she is also confused by what is happening. She will have questions, and much as I would like to avoid them, I also know that isn’t fair. She is sixteen, and she is mature for her age, and I have to find a way to be honest with her without making it impossible for her to have a relationship with her father, should she choose to do so. Personally, I’d be happy if he wasn’t deeply involved in her life, but I don’t want her to come to that conclusion in a way that scars her. It is unwinnable scenario for me, so I must resign myself to losing.
We chat about when we might next see each other – there is talk of a return to Starshine in summer, this time with Katie’s kids as well – and also of a spa break as our treat for Ella, pre-baby. We promise to exchange dates, and then Katie, who is due to leave first, stands up and wipes sand off her bum.
“One last trip to the magical caves?” she asks us. Priya agrees, and gets up to gather her daughters. The other children all say they want to go as well, and I think the caves might even be interesting enough to keep the twins occupied for a while.
“I’ll stay here with Rose,” I reply, “and to keep an eye on all our bags.”
“Yeah. This place is full of purse-snatchers and muggers,” quips Katie, looking around at the almost completely deserted beach.
As they all disappear off along the shoreline, a gaggle of noise and energy, Rose yawns and holds her hand over her face. She hasn’t even done her eyeliner, so I know she must be exhausted.
“You okay?” I ask, nudging her leg with my foot. “You look knackered.”
“Yep, I am. Took them ages to get to sleep even though they were wiped out, the little sods – it’s like they were having a competition to see who could stay awake the longest. Then I ended up sleeping in between Alfie and Hugh, and there was farting. A lot of farting. Plus, restless elbows, blanket stealing, and more farting. Boys are gross.”
“This is true. Maybe you can catch up on your rest today.”
“Maybe. I’m fine, really. But I am kind of freaked out – I mean, it was all a bit dramatic wasn’t it? Why did she do it – why did she turn up here like that?”
I take a deep breath, and meet her gaze. These are tricky waters to navigate, and I hope I don’t drown.
“I think she needed some help. I think maybe she’s not very happy living with your dad, and she’s decided to try and end the marriage.”
“What do you mean, try?”
“Well, I suppose I mean that things are complicated when you have children. When your lives are entangled. When you have to think about boring stuff like money and having a place to live and being able to support your family. You can’t just think about yourself when you’re a mum.”
“I get that, I do – and I don’t think stuff like having a roof over your head is boring, I think it’s important. But I’m not stupid, and I know there’s more going on here than that. If Lyssa wanted to leave Dad, Lyssa could leave Dad – but what do we have to do with it? Why did she come here, looking for us? I mean – she’s your ex-husband’s current wife, don’t try and tell me that’s normal!”
I can see that she is getting annoyed with me – or with the conversation at least. Her voice isn’t raised, but she is scowling and her eyes are narrowed.
“I said I’d help her if she needed it,” I admit, “when I picked you up. She seemed… down. So, I said I’d help her.”
“Mum, I can tell from your tone of voice that this is hard for you – but what am I missing here? You and Lyssa have never been friends, have you?”
“No, we haven’t. But we have things in common. You. Your Dad. Our lives with him.”
She falls silent, and stares at me for a moment longer. I’m about to speak when she says: “Okay. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s him. I’m not a baby anymore, Mum, and you know I’m not what you’d call close to him.”
No, they’re not close – but there is a big difference between feeling distance from a parent, and finding out that your mother is terrified of him. Was terrified, I remind myself firmly.
“What… is he abusive?” she says, reaching out to touch my hand. “You’ve never said anything, Mum, but I see how you are around him. Even when you try and hide it I can tell you’re nervous. I thought it was just awkward, seeing your ex… but it’s more than that, isn’t it? Looking back, you were always so careful with me as well. The way you kept telling me you were only at Gran’s if I needed you. The phone. The way you used to ask me if I was okay over and over when I’d stayed there, like you expected me to say no.”
I nod, and gaze at our joined hands. This is my wonderful girl, my flesh and blood, the joy of my life. She is my baby, no matter what she thinks – but she is also a young woman, starting out on her own journey. And maybe young women need to know that monsters exist, that sometimes, they look exactly like normal people on the outside. That they can charm and persuade and flatter and make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters to them – until eventually, one day, you look in the mirror and realise that it’s the other way around. That the monster is in charge. That the monster is the only person who matters, because whoever you were has been lost.
I squeeze her hand, and blink away tears I can feel stinging the back of my eyelids.
“Yes,” I say simply. “Yes, he was. He is. He’s not like you’d expect – he didn’t beat me up. He never even raised his voice. He just… found ways to control me. To isolate me. To cut me off from my friends and family. To manipulate me until I was completely dependent on him. That’s the truth of it – some of it anyway – and that’s why I left as soon as I could. And that’s why Lyssa is running too… and that’s why I’m helping her. I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asks, sounding furious. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’ve seen the edges of it, Mum, in the way he talks to you. The way he’s started telling me what I should do with my life. The way he treats Lyssa. I suppose I just thought he was bossy and opinionated. I didn’t imagine this… but it makes sense. The way you are. The way you don’t trust anyone. The way you haven’t dated, or even had a social life. The way you seem so scared a lot of the time, even when you try to hide it.”
I feel part of me die inside as she says those last few words. I genuinely thought I had managed to hide it, because the last thing I ever wanted to do was pass that underlying sense of anxiety on to her. I open my mouth to apologise again, but she interrupts.
“Nope! I’m guessing you’re going to say you’re sorry again, and I’m not having it. There’ll be more for us to talk about I know – I have more questions – but I can see how upset you are right now, so I’ll just say this. It’s not your fault, it’s his. He’s a shithead. He’s a great big poo. He’s a huge massive turd of a man.”
Despite the heaviness of the situation, I have to laugh out loud – she pronounces all of her scathing scatological condemnations with such seriousness that I can’t stop myself.
“Excellent vocabulary there, Rose!” I say, smiling.
“Thanks,” she replies, winking at me. “I’ve been reading a lot of poetry.”
She closes the distance between us, scooting over to give me a hug. A voluntary hug from Rose is a rare and precious thing, and I savour the allotted ten seconds.
“If it’s any consolation,” she says as she moves away, “I never liked him anyway. I kind of felt like I was supposed to, but as I’ve got older I realised it wasn’t going to happen. I always thought he was a bit of a poo-shit-turd, even before I knew this. And thank you for looking after me so well when I was a kid, and thank you for helping Lyssa and the mini-sibs as well. For a neurotic mess, you’re kind of awesome.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling. “I think. This is a closely guarded secret of motherhood, Rose, but inside, we’re all a neurotic mess. Anyway. I’ve got a few errands to run, plus I’ve said my goodbyes to Katie and Priya, and don’t want to risk blowing my awesome image by turning into a blubbering wreck as I wave them goodbye. You okay to get the kids back to the cottage, and I’ll meet you there?”
She nods, and climbs to her feet with the agility of youth. I take slightly longer. She heads off in the direction of the caves, and I watch her go, her hair lifting in the breeze. She seems okay, I tell myself. She seems to be handling it all well. I know it won’t be simple – she’s not going to just forget what she’s been told about her father, and even without some of the more gruesome details, she’s going to find it hard to forgive him.
I wonder, if Lyssa hadn’t turned up like this, whether I would ever have told her? I suppose it would have been one of those things that was easy to put off “until she’s older”. Or maybe if his influence showed any sign of creeping in and damaging her, or if she brought home a boyfriend who set my spider senses tingling? Or maybe I would never have told her, and simply enjoyed watching her navigate her own life without that burden – but here we are, and it can’t be helped. All I can do is tread the eternal tightrope that mothers of teenagers totter along – watching her closely for signs of distress, while at the same time appearing to pay no attention at all.
I wander back along the beach, walking close enough to the shore that the waves skim my trainers, and then to the series of terraced steps that lead up to the café. Each terrace comes with a tub or a trough full of flowers, some still green and growing, many of them in spectacular bloom.
Rose has talked with huge enthusiasm about how cleverly Archie plants around the village, ensuring that at any time of year there is something glorious to look at. Right now there are more kinds of daffodils than I knew existed – from slender and delicate with pale petals that look like frills to brazen bright yellow trumpets; tall blooms are mixed in with tiny purple violas and scatterings of daisies. There are pots of vivid pink hyacinths and lilac primulas, and swathes of tulips in a dazzling rainbow of colours. A few early bees are bumbling around the displays, and I see plantings of lavender building up to blossom. It looks amazing now, and I’m guessing that by full summer, it will be even more glorious.
I stand for a moment at the top of the steps, watching the bees, listening to the waves, feeling the gentle touch of the sun on my face. I let it all soak in, let it flow through my body and my mind – a few moments of calm healing bliss before the rest of the day kicks in.
The atmosphere inside the café is unusually subdued. There is normally a background hum of chatter and laughter against the clatter and hiss of the coffee machine, and beyond that Connie’s music from behind the counter. Today, people are sitting quietly with their drinks, staring into mugs of tea possibly contemplating exactly how good a time they had the night before.
Jolly Ged and one of his farmhands are in here, cans of Coke grasped in their hands, faces grim with fatigue. Ged gives me a half-hearted wave, and then lays his head on the table-top. Even the weight of his own skull seems to be too much for him.
I see the Betties who run the bakery at a table with a petite older woman in huge glasses, and they shout me over. I congratulate them on the magnificent cake they made for the wedding, and Big Betty – who is tiny, as opposed to Little Betty, who is Amazonian – says: “Lucy, did you meet Dr Wong last night?”
“No, I don’t think I did – nice to meet you, Dr Wong,” I say, holding out my hand to shake.
“Dr Wong’s the local vet,” Big Betty adds, “and we know you’re a vet too, so we wondered if you’d ever had any criminals break in late at night, hold you at gunpoint and force you to sew up their wounds?”
Dr Wong stares up at me with interest, and I am momentarily flummoxed by the way all three of them are waiting for me to reply.
“Ummm… well, I didn’t really practice for long, and I can’t say that ever happened to me, no.”
“You see!” says Dr Wong, slapping her fist on the table in triumph, “I told you, this is not a thing that happens in real life – in real life it’s never a good-looking man with a hole in his side, it’s always a snappy poodle with blocked anal glands! It’s just a stupid thing you see in all those action films you watch, Betty!”
I do know where Betty’s coming from – I’ve seen that exact same thing in any number of movies. Some badass hero will survive a gunfight with a gang of evil villains, obviously emerging victorious but with a bullet in his arm or a knife wound to show for it. Then some poor hapless vet gets roped into the whole mess and has to patch them up. Who knows, maybe it actually has happened somewhere, to someone? I leave them to their debate, and head over to the counter.
I find Connie leaning on the surface, staring at a crossword in a still and glassy-eyed way that suggests she hasn’t moved for some time. I thought she was hangover proof, but it seems even she is susceptible.
“Morning,” I say, surprising her. “Just wanted to pop in and say thank you for your help last night. Above and beyond, and much appreciated.”
She shakes it off, and replies: “No problem, happy to help. You can repay me by suggesting a five-letter word that means ‘money in the bakery’ – I feel like I should know it, but my brain seems to have fallen out of my ears overnight.”
I glance at the page and see the crossword is covered in scribbles and scrubbed-out letters. It’s clearly not been an easy solve.
I ponder the question for a moment, and then suggest: “Could it be dough? Or bread? They’re both in a bakery, and they’re both slang for money.”
She slaps her forehead and say “Doh!” in a fine Homer Simpson tribute, before slamming the book closed.
“I give up,” she says, grinning. “I think I’m going to be having a lot of doh! moments today. How are your visitors?”
“Good, I think. The kids have been up for hours, we’ve been trying to wear them out at the beach. Their mum… well, she’s tired, and stressed, and also pregnant. I hope she got some rest last night, and she really did appreciate all the clothes and bits and bobs. Today… well, not sure what today holds – but entirely possibly a journey to the Lake District.”
“You’ll be needing coffee then,” she says, setting to work. “Could you do me a favour and drop one over to Josh on your way?”
I raise my eyebrows at her in suspicion, and she laughs out loud.
“What? It’s perfectly innocent! I’m not match-making or anything… heaven forbid… but I saw him this morning really early, taking his dad to the train station, and he looked like he was about to explode. Can’t say as I blame him – his dad’s a real piece of work, isn’t he? That man told me – and this is a direct quote – that I could be quite attractive if I got a decent haircut and injected a little class into my wardrobe!”
My eyes pop wide in disbelief, and I reply: “Oh my! How rude! What did you say?”
“Well, he’s Josh and Jake’s dad, and Ella’s father-in-law – poor girl – so I didn’t stab him with my un-classy stiletto heel like I wanted to. I just shoved a whole cream horn into my mouth and winked at him while I chewed it with my mouth open. Now he knows what classy is!”
She finishes off the coffees, packages up some pastries in a cardboard box, and passes me a packet of her home-made cookies “for the kids” as well. Then she refuses to take any cash at all, which makes me wonder how she even stays in business.
I say my goodbyes, and stroll around to Josh’s apartment above the bakery. I knock on the door, pondering how different I feel about doing it today than I did the last time I was here. Now, I don’t have a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach – but I do make sure my gaze is averted when he opens the door, staring with keen interest at the glass panels of Archie’s greenhouse behind the bakery. If Josh is going to answer wearing only a towel again, I am well prepared.
I risk a quick glance, and see that he is very respectably clad in jeans and a sweatshirt. His feet are bare, but I think I can cope with that.
“Why are you squinting?” he asks, looking confused.
“Erm… something in my eye. Both of them. Anyway, I have coffee and cake here from Connie.”
“In that case, come on in,” he replies, ushering me through the door. I see a stack of papers on the little dining table, along with a laptop and the dreaded Red Pen of Doom.
“Ooh, you’re doing teacher things!” I exclaim, laying down my packages. “How does it feel to wield that kind of power over young lives?”
“Thrilling when it’s going well, and miserable when it’s not.”
“Ah. Like most things then. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Please don’t,” he says, peering inside one of the boxes and pulling out a pain au chocolat. “I could do with a break, and there are two of these if you’re interested… how are things back at the cottage, anyway?”
I accept the proffered pastry, and answer: “Okay, I think. We’ve had the kids down on the beach all morning so Lyssa could get some rest. She wants to go to her family, but they’re in the Lake District and that’s a long drive. She might feel better this morning, and decide that’s something she can handle, but if not we’ll look at trains instead.”
He leans against the kitchen counter, using his hand as a plate and catching crumbs as he munches. He doesn’t even look ugly while he eats, which seems very unfair. When he’s done, he wipes his hands on his jeans, and nods.
“Well, we could always take her in the village minibus. There are plenty of seats, and it might save them the stress of public transport. She looked… well, she didn’t look great last night. I don’t really know what’s going on, but I do know she seemed to need help – and I’m up for a drive north if you are. Dad’s been safely deposited back to his evil bachelor pad, Jake’s away on his honeymoon… I was planning on heading back to London soon, but I’m happy to linger around here for a while. Do a few good deeds. Rack up my karma points.”
“We? What about your marking, your work? Your life?”
He shrugs, and answers: “The work’s not going anywhere. I have a while before I’m back in college, and yeah, I have marking to do, some planning, some paperwork – but I have the time to get it done. As for my life… well I did have a few things lined up, but nothing that can’t be rearranged.”
I wonder if the few things he had lined up include dates. I mean, the man is gorgeous, and good company, and has a decent job and all his own teeth. He ticks a lot of dating boxes, and I can’t imagine he goes lonely.
I feel a little fizz of something unpleasant in my tummy at the thought, and tell myself it must be all the coffee. I’m not a complete idiot though, and I know that I am unsettled – despite the fact that Josh is not my boyfriend. He’s barely my friend, and I am not in the market for any kind of relationship, no matter how much my body tells me otherwise when I’m around him. I’m really not sure if committing to spending hours on a road trip with him is a sensible idea. It might be better all around if he goes back to London, and secures his place in Tinder’s Top 10 Hall of Fame.
He gives me a little lopsided grin, and I get the inexplicable feeling that he somehow knows what I’m thinking.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “we’ll be chaperoned by three young kids, your daughter and her pregnant stepmother. Strange but true. What do you think?”
“I think,” I reply after a few moments, “that I’ll ask Lyssa what she wants to do.”