Chapter 6
B eth walked slowly back to Welcome , heartbroken not only to see the deterioration in the beach hut but to think of her aunt sitting in the tumbledown shack, watching it falling down around her ears.
Lavinia had prepared a room at the very top of the house, its small eaves window flung open wide to let in the early evening air and the sound of the waves crashing against the harbour wall like a soothing mantra. It was decorated with old-fashioned faded chintz wallpaper, bright yellow curtains at the window, a pale green throw over the bed and an old cream jug full of flowers on the chipped chest of drawers. As Beth stared out at the view, the door creaked open and a small tabby cat peeped inside, stared at her for a moment and then walked calmly over to the bed, jumping up and nestling in the centre where a lingering patch of sunlight mingled with fresh air drifting in from the window.
‘Are you hungry, Beth?’ asked a voice. ‘Oh Muddles, how naughty. I’ll take her away but you may have to keep your door shut, this is her favourite room,’ apologised Lavinia, a glass of homemade lemonade in her hand. ‘Would you like to join me for something to eat?’
Deciding that she would probably leave the door open for Muddles, Beth followed Lavinia down to the kitchen where she slumped into a chair, suddenly feeling very tired.
‘Nothing fancy,’ said Lavinia, bustling around the kitchen. ‘But I think you should eat something, you look quite pale.’
Beth felt pale.
‘I went to see the hut,’ she explained, nibbling on a cheese straw taken from an old jam jar on the table. Lavinia’s kitchen was always packed to the gills with freshly baked bread or biscuits, her lavender cookies were a work of art and her rosemary-infused bread was nothing short of a miracle. The cheese straw was good and she reached for another. ‘I hadn't realised just what disrepair it had fallen into.’
Lavinia nodded as she prepared a salad. ‘Lizzie said it needed some work,’ she admitted. ‘She just wasn’t up to doing much the last year or so. It didn't bother her, she never held with all this fancy upgrading that was going on. Said it was a beach hut, not a second home.’
Even a beach hut needed a roof that wasn’t tied on with rope, thought Beth. And a front door that opened properly.
‘She still went there every single day,’ Lavinia continued fondly. ‘Rain or shine, she used to love to sit in the doorway, looking out to sea with her memories. She never regretted the years she spent travelling, she had so many wonderful recollections to keep her company, so many places to think about and adventures to look back on.’
During Beth’s last summer in Welby-on-the-Sea, in acknowledgement of her niece’s advancing years, the beach hut had been reimagined as a tiki bar on the edges of the Indian Ocean. A large potted palm tree had appeared and Beth would sit beneath the fronds, drinking cloudy lemonade from an old martini glass as Lizzie recounted the days she had spent in the Seychelles, trekking through the rainforests, rescuing fairy terns and tending to giant tortoises before spending a well-deserved evening on a pristine white beach watching the waves crashing in.
Beth hadn't wanted the visit to end, promising herself that one day she would follow in Aunt Lizzie’s footsteps, visiting the same places and maybe even sending a postcard back to her aunt. Strange that several years later, spending two weeks with Matthew in a sterile villa in Lanzarote had seemed much more important than following her heart in search of a fairy tern.
‘It must have deteriorated quite a bit since Aunt Lizzie died,’ suggested Beth diplomatically. ‘It really does need a lot of work to make it safe, let alone somewhere you would want to sit.’
‘It probably does need a few bits and pieces sorting out,’ agreed Lavinia, ‘But nothing you can’t handle.’
Clearly, Lavinia hadn't walked along the cobbled lane to visit the beach huts for some time. It needed more than a few bits and pieces to make it habitable.
‘It actually looks like quite a major job’ said Beth honestly.
An awful thought suddenly arrived on top of the many other awful thoughts jostling in Beth’s mind for attention. If Matthew moved out of their flat, which Beth imagined he would be doing having just declared his love for another woman, it would be a huge struggle for Beth to continue with the rent single-handed. This was undoubtedly not the time to contemplate renovating a beach hut that was about to slide into the sea.
Lavinia had stopped her bustling and was sending Beth a look of alarm. ‘But you’ll want to keep it? It meant so much to you and Lizzie.’
‘It still does but…’
Perhaps she needed to concentrate on what she would do post-Matthew before she worried about a beach hut. There again, if she didn’t do something about it soon it would simply fall down.
‘I don’t know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Of course I don't want to get rid of it, I don't think Aunt Lizzie would ever forgive me. I would like to keep it, but I don’t think I can afford to pay for the renovations.’
Bringing two plates to the table, Lavinia settled down next to Beth.
‘You’ll find a way,’ she said confidently. ‘Things happen for a reason, you know. I'm a great believer in that. Lizzie's passing was a tragedy. Finding out Matthew was cheating on you was another disaster. Nothing will bring Lizzie back but she was adamant that you should have the hut, she believed it would give you something you needed.’
‘What?’ asked a wide-eyed Beth.
‘Oh, freedom, independence, choices.’
It was no secret that Lizzie had been disappointed when Beth chose a steady career in an office. She’d congratulated Beth warmly on her job, was happy when Beth told her about Matthew, had said all the right things when she found out they had moved in together, but deep down, Beth felt that somehow, she had let her aunt down.
‘She always hoped you would follow in her footsteps and follow your heart,’ admitted Lavinia, watching the emotions race across Beth’s face. ‘She wanted you to have some adventures of your own.’
Matthew was meant to be her adventure. She had followed her heart by falling in love with him. Raising children together was the best way Beth could imagine spending the rest of her life and it could have been just as romantic as trekking through the rainforest, although, in truth, Matthew’s sense of adventure had always been a disappointment to Beth.
When she once suggested they take a month off and travel across India, he had nearly fallen out of his chair. People like them didn’t wear sandals and go backpacking, he had told her in amazement. They worked hard and prepared for the future. Beth had swallowed her disappointment, after all, she was the future he was preparing for and agreed to a long weekend in Monaco instead.
Lavinia was watching her from across the table. ‘Perhaps this is your time,’ she suggested softly. ‘Time for you to decide what you want, not what somebody else thinks you should have. Lizzie left you the hut to give you a start, have somewhere of your own.’
Salad eaten, Beth pulled a cardigan over her shoulders and took a walk. It was still light but the air was fresher, the salt settling on her lips as she walked along the lane next to the harbour wall, across the slipway and along the cobbles which led up into the town. It was buzzing with people and all around her were couples walking hand in hand, pausing to gaze into a window, read a menu, look out to sea. Cafes were pleasantly full, everybody wanting to sit on the pavement and watch the world go by and the shops remained open, the bright lights inside tempting all who passed with their mix of arts and tourist memorabilia. There was an air of subdued happiness that filled the cobbled streets and in the distance, Beth could still hear the sound of the waves gently rolling onto the beach. Despite everything she still found Welby a panacea for her battered soul.
Stopping to have a coffee, she sipped at her latte. The light had faded almost completely now and the beach was a narrow strip of dark sand. Behind her, the café was already starting to empty, yawning visitors being called by the thought of a comfortable bed and a good night’s sleep.
Sally: How’s it going? Forgetting all about he who shall not be named and letting your hair down?
Beth: Welby isn't the sort of place you let your hair down. It’s more of an in bed by 10 sort of a place
Sally: But the local talent must hang out somewhere? Are you telling me there’s no club? No late-night hangout where they exchange stories of their day out on the high seas?
Beth chuckled to herself. The only place in Welby where there was likely to be a gathering of men was the marina where the local fisherman would haul in their catch and haggle over the price of fresh crab. And unless things had changed a lot since Beth was last in Welby, there wasn't one of them under 50 and without a set of whiskers that would give Captain Birdseye a run for his money. And after 10 o’clock, the only excitement to be found was the dulcet tones of the shipping forecast drifting out from the small cafés on the seafront.
Beth: Not really. People come to Welby to leave all that behind them and just chill
Sally: Really? People actually do that?
Beth: They do in Welby
Sally: Shame. I thought you might meet someone to take your mind off him
Beth: lol- not a chance!
Sally: Seen your hut yet?
Beth: Yes, but more bad news. It’s practically falling down! Not exactly how I remembered it
Sally: Oh No! what will you do?
That was a very good question, thought Beth. What would she do?
Beth: Don't really know. I think I should probably sell it
Sally: Do people buy derelict old huts? Even if they are on the beach
Beth: Dunno. Let’s hope so. I don't want to let it go, it meant so much to Aunt Lizzie
Sally: Well try and enjoy your stay. At least you can relax for a few days
Paying for her coffee, Beth wandered down to the slipway, breathing in the salty air and listening to the soft jingle of the boats moored in the marina. At the other end of the bay, the beach huts would still have several metres of beach stretching before them. Lizzie would have sat in her hut until the light failed completely and there was nothing to see but stars in the sky and the soft sound of waves rolling along the sand.
She thought about the beach hut and groaned. It needed so much work, at the very least a new roof. And a new window, or two. And definitely a new door. All of which Beth was certain would be beyond the limits of her rather inadequate savings. Would she be letting her aunt down if she sold Number 4? Would Lizzie understand that Beth simply wasn’t up to the task of restoring the dilapidated hut to its former glory?
But the very thought of it being occupied by someone who would rip out not just the rotten planks but her aunt’s memories, brought a shiver to Beth’s spine and with a sigh, she pulled her cardigan tightly around her and walked in the direction of the soft light in the window of Welcome.