Chapter 11
The following morning, Beth crept onto the balcony only to find it empty, much to her relief. She had been frantically googling building terms since the early hours, determined that if the objectionable green-eyed man started quizzing her, she would be able to tell him airily exactly what a stud wall was and the best mix of sharp sand and cement to make a good quality screed.
‘Here we go,’ said a cheerful Lavinia, putting a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Beth, who discovered much to her surprise that her appetite had returned with a vengeance.
‘No Jake this morning,’ Lavinia told her as she added a rack of toast to the table. ‘You've got the balcony all to yourself.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Beth suspiciously, peering behind Lavinia as though it might all be a trick and he would come leaping out shouting ‘surprise’.
‘He had an early start,’ Lavinia answered, pouring Beth a cup of tea. ‘Or did he say he had to pop home? Not sure but he’ll be back later if you need to talk to him.’
Beth couldn't imagine the circumstances that would mean she wanted to talk to Jake Balfour, but deciding that his absence was a clear sign that today was going to be a good day, she tucked into her breakfast and sighed in contentment at the peace his absence brought.
Eventually, arming herself with a small bag of supplies, mainly biscuits and lemonade, and a burning determination to prove Jake wrong in every possible way, Beth made her way to Number 4. It was still early but the sun was already high in the sky and the day already was under way with crowds in every direction. Happy couples sat on the harbour wall planning their day as they soaked in the view whilst others roamed the cobbles, peering down every alley and around every corner as they explored Welby.
Beth arrived at the beach to find Jemima’s terrace unoccupied, another sign of a good day ahead she decided happily. Everything was going well so far. Leaping over the holes in the deck, she gave the door a firm push to persuade it to open, only to find herself falling into the hut at speed as it obliged, narrowly missing the seagull feasting on a chip on top of Lizzie’s kitchen table.
‘Ow!’
Ducking to avoid the surprisingly large wing span, Beth flapped her arms. ‘Out with you, go on.’
She tried to steer it in the direction of the door. ‘Sorry, but you’ll have to find a new home now,’ she told it, waving her arms even harder as it stared defiantly back with small beady eyes, refusing to take the hint.
‘Shoo! Go on.’
Chip finished, it hopped out of the doorway at a leisurely pace before stopping and turning round to watch Beth, totally unconcerned by her presence.
‘Once they find somewhere they like they don’t move on easily,’ a voice told her, and Beth looked up to see an elderly man watching her and the seagull in amusement. ‘Pesky creatures,’ he continued. ‘And, of course, there are so many titbits around in tourist season they become bold.’
He was leaning on his walking stick, a Panama hat covering his head and most of his face but he was smiling in a friendly fashion. ‘Make sure you shut the door and windows tonight or he’ll be back.’
Beth glanced at the interested seagull who seemed content to sit on the deck and listen to the conversation.
‘Easier said than done,’ sighed Beth looking at the broken window. ‘But I’ll see what I can manage,’ and with a smile of her own, she went back inside, carefully stepping around the sagging floorboards.
It was even worse than she remembered and her heart sank as she sat gingerly on a chair. They had been painted sky blue at one time and she and Lizzie would sit on either side of the daffodil yellow table, a large map spread between them as Lizzie pointed to all the places she had been and recounted the adventures she’d had. Now the table seemed to have somehow lost a leg and was leaning at a dangerous angle, the yellow faded and scratched.
Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, Beth took a few deep breaths. She would start by clearing the debris and flotsam that seemed to have taken over, months of grime left by the elements and the seagulls, to see exactly how much she needed to do. And imagining Jake’s mocking voice if she returned to Welcome and admitted defeat, she rolled up her sleeves and set to work.
Sometime later, she heard Jemima arrive next door and open the doors to her elegant and sparkling hut. She probably spent half an hour fluffing the cushions every morning, thought Beth crossly as she pulled down Aunt Lizzie’s old curtains and sneezed at the dust they produced. That ridiculously inappropriate white kitchen would be a magnet for sand, she decided, pulling seaweed from what was left of Aunt Lizzie’s bench seats. As for…
‘Hello! Hello!’
Beth jumped guiltily as Jemima’s high-pitched voice drifted over the terrace.
‘I say...hello!’
Rolling her eyes Beth sighed, and stepping over the hole by the door she went out to greet her neighbour.
‘Hello Jemima.’
Jemima’s sun lounger was already out, a bottle of champagne sitting in a cooler, waiting, and Jemima was clad in yet another floaty kaftan, designer flip-flops and oversized sunglasses which she tipped down so she could peer at Beth.
‘I want to know when the work will start,’ she demanded.
‘The work has started,’ said Beth, wriggling her aching shoulders which were the proof.
‘I meant the real work. When will the builders be here? I don’t want them making too much noise. I come here to relax, for some peace and quiet.’
‘Unfortunate fact of life, Jemima. You can’t build without making noise. I’m sure you found that when you had your own hut renovated,’ Beth said with a smile that was more of a grimace. ‘You wanted the hut repaired straight away.’
Jemima sniffed. ‘My builders were quick, efficient and considerate,’ she said loftily. ‘Who are you using?’
Beth shrugged. ‘You’re looking at them. I will be doing the work.’
There was a long moment of nothing and Beth wondered if the sea breeze and the sound of the waves had snatched away her words.
‘I’m sorry. Did you say you were doing the work?’
Beth glanced at the immaculate red-tipped nails and wondered if Jemima did anything herself. Other than opening a bottle of champagne each morning.
‘Yes. I am.’
‘Why on earth would you do that?’ Jemima asked in amazement, her wide eyes running over the dirt and cobwebs strewn across Beth’s clothes and wincing at the scratches and dust on her legs.
Beth grimaced. ‘Because I enjoy renovating derelict huts. Because I love spending my day knee-deep in dirt.’
As Jemima stared at her blankly, Beth sighed. ‘Because I can’t afford to pay someone to do it for me,’ she admitted reluctantly.
Jemima blinked rapidly, her false eyelashes causing a draught Beth could feel from several feet away. ‘You can’t afford a builder?’ she asked in a shocked tone, shuddering slightly at the very thought before frowning. ‘So, sell it. I’ve told you I can get you a good price.’
‘But I don’t want to sell. This hut means a great deal to me, I want to keep it.’
Jemima’s eyes drifted over the dilapidated beach hut with its faded paint and lopsided roof, her face baffled. ‘Why on earth would you want to keep that?’ she asked, her nose wrinkling delicately. ‘It’s awful! Why not just sell?’
It was a good question, one Beth had been asking herself all morning as she gingerly examined the nests under the floorboard for proof of life and cleared all evidence of the seagull from the table.
‘Because it has such sentimental value,’ she said slowly, thinking that maybe if she could explain her need to hang onto Number 4 to Jemima, she might understand it better herself. ‘It’s not about how it looks now, it’s about what it means to me. What it used to mean to someone I loved very much. It’s about what it used to be and what it can become again.’
She decided that sounded quite good. And it did explain how she felt about Number 4, the memories it held, the feeling that somehow Aunt Lizzie would always be with Beth, preserved forever in the pink beach hut. She gave Jemima a pleased smile but the woman was looking blank.
‘Did it used to look nice then?’ she asked, casting another sceptical eye over the leaning roof. ‘It must have been a long time ago.’
Beth shook her head impatiently. ‘I don’t mean that it ever looked particularly nice…’
‘You just said that you wanted to keep it because of how it used to look.’
‘No!’ Beth bit her lip. Maybe she needed to continue working on her explanation. ‘I didn’t mean what it looked like. It never looked particularly amazing, or beautiful or…anything like that. But it was a special place. For me and my Aunt Lizzie. It’s a place full of memories that I want to hang onto.’
She could see Jemima trying to come to terms with the idea of saving somewhere because it made you feel happy and not because of how it looked, but after a few seconds she gave up, shaking her head.
‘Whatever,’ she declared with a toss of her hair. ‘You’re clearly mad if you think you can make that look any better without any help,’ and clearly at the end of her interest in the subject, she turned away and threw herself back onto her sun lounger.
Beth worked hard for the rest of the afternoon, despite the heat and the dirt and the perplexed looks Jemima cast over the top of her sunglasses when she thought Beth wasn't looking.
She swept and cleaned and gathered the debris covering the hut, then swept and cleaned some more until she had cleared the small mountain of rubbish that had blown in through the broken window and the hole in the roof. Her back ached, she had broken almost every fingernail she possessed and she kept staring in horror at the sink, hanging sideways and attached only by a rusting pipe, and the hole on the roof that let the bright sunlight flood in whilst doing nothing to keep the elements out.
Adding it to her list of essential repairs, which was getting longer by the minute, Beth wondered how much plumbers charged in Welby-on-the-Sea. It was definitely going to be more than Beth actually had and she sighed deeply, stretching her aching back.
Sitting on the once blue chair, Beth cast her eyes around. If she could just get the roof fixed and the floor repaired, maybe she would pass the inspection. Oh, and replace the window, sort out the hole in the decking and get the sink back in working order. That was a lot of work she thought dejectedly and she rubbed her forehead, only to notice her hands were black with dirt.
Feeling the chair shift unsteadily beneath her weight, Beth stood up quickly. She couldn’t do any more today, maybe it was time to retreat to her room in the eaves of Welcome . She couldn’t wait to climb into the shower, however small, and wash the day away. Tomorrow she would have to decide how to approach the rotten boards that were undoubtedly a safety hazard, and she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight thinking of the roof but for now, she was done.
Taking heed of the elderly man’s warnings, Beth looked around for something to put against the windows to stop any further intrusion by the seagull. Finding a cabinet door that was no longer attached to a cabinet, she wedged it against the broken pane before pulling the door as firmly shut behind her as she could. She had a feeling it wouldn’t make any difference; the seagull would still be able to use the gaping hole in the roof and she could imagine an army of mice walking through the rotten door unhindered later that evening, outraged to find their nests gone.
Peeping sideways, she could see the door to Jemima’s hut remained open but she was missing from her usual position on the deck and saying a silent thank you, Beth hopped over the broken boards and set off walking briskly along the beach.
Maybe Jemima was right and it was madness to think she could repair the hut herself, thought Beth, making her way down the cobbled lane in the direction of Welcome. She had no idea what she was doing, and very little time to do it in. Why didn’t she just do what everybody expected of her and sell Number 4? It would certainly be the easier option. And a lot less painful.
‘Well,’ drawled a voice as she slipped in through the front door of Welcome and she closed her eyes, almost groaning out loud in both annoyance and frustration.
‘You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were going to do the work yourself.’
Swinging around to face him, Beth found herself looking into a pair of green eyes that for once weren’t hidden behind sunglasses. Refusing to be put off by the startling colour, or the dark line around the iris that looked as though it had been painted for effect, Beth glared back.
‘I’m perfectly capable,’ she snapped. She tossed her hair over her shoulder in defiance, only to catch her reflection in the mirror hanging behind the reception desk and noticing the strand of seaweed caught in the tangled curls. She pulled it free, trying to look haughty despite Jake’s small chuckle. ‘I don’t know why you think I can't do this.’
Jake shrugged, a look of amusement curling his lips and Beth briefly wondered if he was this unpleasant to every woman he met, or was it just Beth he seemed to take pleasure in taunting.
‘You just don’t seem the sort,’ he said, his eyes running over her filthy t-shirt and the scratches that covered her arms and legs and his lips twitched even more. ‘Although you certainly don’t mind getting dirty.’
Putting her hands on her hips, Beth let out a huff of anger. Perhaps he should swap notes with Jemima, they could have a lovely long discussion about Beth’s lack of abilities in the building department.
‘Not the sort?’ she demanded. ‘And what sort do I look like?’
Immediately, Beth regretted her words. How she wished she had just ignored him and gone straight to her tiny bathroom to stand beneath the shower, until the trauma of the day and any thoughts of Jake Balfour were washed clean away. But he was standing between her and the narrow stairs and Beth felt he was unlikely to step out of the way, not when she had just provided him with a golden opportunity to tell her exactly what he thought of her.
‘Oh, you know. Someone used to the work being done for her, I suppose.’
Her mouth dropped open in outrage. ‘How dare you. I can do things for myself!’
The look he sent her was blatantly doubtful.
‘What makes you so sure I can’t do this?’ she growled. ‘Aunt Lizzie looked after that beach hut for years on her own.’
‘I know. I helped her more than once.’
The voice had drifted from mocking to disapproving and Beth’s anger fizzled into guilt. He had helped her because Beth hadn’t been around.
‘Lizzie was a woman more than capable of doing anything she put her mind to.’ He gave her a look that clearly said Beth was not that sort of person. Not in Jake Balfour’s opinion. ‘But even she needed a little help towards the end.’
‘I would have come to help in a shot if I’d know how bad the hut was. She never said, she never let me know…’
‘Lizzie was far too proud to ask,’ he announced.
They both knew he meant that Lizzie shouldn’t have needed to ask for help. If Beth had continued to visit Welby-on-the-Sea and her Aunt Lizzie, she would have known how much help was needed.
‘You’re quite right,’ she said in a small dignified voice, letting the hands fall from her hips. ‘Aunt Lizzie was a very special person and despite anything you may think you know to the contrary, I loved her. And I will do everything I can to restore her hut into something she would be proud of. Now if you’ll excuse me,’ and stepping forward she met his eyes unflinchingly until silently, he stepped to one side and let her walk past him and up the narrow staircase.