Chapter 13
Trying to channel confidence rather than anxiety, Beth made her way to the hut, a floppy hat provided by Lavinia shielding her from the sun. Unbidden, she found her feet slowing down as she approached the last house on the row, pausing to admire the view out to sea as she drew level. Squinting sideways she tried to examine it without appearing to be staring.
It looked much as it always had, which for some reason made Beth feel unaccountably pleased. She imagined old Tom sitting outside the front door in his rocker, staring out to sea and his memories. The front door was new, or at least painted a sparkling blue that seemed to reflect the sky and Beth had an almost irresistible urge to open the door and peer inside. The ancient stone walls looked untouched although the windows looked new and the whole thing had been given a fresh coat of white paint. It reminded Beth of holidays and happiness.
Looking up she noticed a tiny balcony, much like the one at Welcome, jutting out and taking advantage of uninterrupted views. Wondering if it had always been there, she imagined Jake and the badly behaved Portia sitting with a cup of coffee each morning, letting the beauty of the sweeping bay seep into them before starting their day.
Sighing, she turned away from the cottage and continued towards the row of huts stretching along the beach. Her heart sank as she approached number 4 to find Jemima already on her decking, and Beth wondered if she spent every day perched there, kimono wafting, champagne on ice, designer flip flops ready, quite alone.
Her lips with their coating of Dior Poppy Red pursed as she saw Beth approach.
‘What did you mean when you said you want your cabana to look how it used to? It’s looked awful for as long as I can remember. You are going to make it look nice, aren’t you?’
Beth sighed deeply. ‘Yes Jemima,’ she said dutifully. ‘Of course I will.’
‘Right. Because it’s bad enough that I have to sit here day after day looking at that wreck but it makes Dominic very upset. He comes here to relax and…and…restore his sense of wellbeing.’
‘Okay,’ Beth said politely. ‘Well, I must get on…’
‘And Dominic gets so cross when he sees Number 4. It ruins his weekend!’
Beth wondered who the angry Dominic was. With his unfulfilled sense of wellbeing and ruined weekend.
‘Er, Dominic, is he your…?’
Jemima stared at Beth as though she had sprouted two heads. ‘My husband. Dominic Carrington-Smythe!’
‘Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know…’
Jemima sniffed in disbelief. ‘Well, I suppose you’ve not been in Welby very long but everyone knows Dominic. We have the house on Craggy Heights.’
Not very helpful, thought Beth. There were lots of houses on Craggy Heights.
‘ The house on Craggy Heights!’ said Jemima, waiting for a reaction.
‘Ah.’ Still none the wiser, Beth smiled, ‘How lovely. Well, must get on…’
‘And he works hard. Very hard.’
Much like Beth wanted to do today, if only Jemima would stop talking.
‘So, you see, it’s very important that he can relax when he comes home. He needs a view that will calm his soul, restore his…’
‘His wellbeing. Yes, I get it. So, I’d better get on,’ said Beth. ‘Wouldn't want Dominic spending the weekend with his chakras out of balance!’
‘And that’s why it’s so important that you bring Number 4 up to the same standards as the other cabanas,’ Jemima continued, even as Beth walked away. ‘To calm Dominic after a hard week of work.’
‘I’m trying,’ grumbled Beth, ‘If you can just let me get on with it.’
‘And you only have two weeks,’ Jemima shouted after her. ‘How are you going to do all that work yourself in just two weeks?’
Beth had no idea. At the moment she was concentrating on one day at a time. If she thought about everything she needed to do, her breathing became shallow and her heart pounded so much it was hard to hear anything above the blood rushing through her veins.
‘I’ll manage,’ she shouted back, trying to quell the panic building in her chest.
‘We do have exacting standards you know. The purpose of The Cabana Club is to make sure that we all maintain a certain quality.’
Grabbing the door handle which immediately came off in her hand, Beth grimaced. For goodness sake, these were beach huts not Mayfair apartments. Aunt Lizzie had owned hers for over 20 years. Long before Jemima and her Fallow & Ball paint swatches had arrived in Welby. With the handle gone, her only option was to kick the door open which she did only to watch in horror as it fell away from the one lacklustre hinge that remained and toppled slowly like a felled tree into the hut, landing with a thud onto one of the faded blue chairs and smashing it into several pieces.
Inside the hut, the seagull was back, munching on another chip and he watched as Beth struggled to pick up the door from amidst the shattered remnants of the chair.
‘The Cabana Club will be keeping a close eye on what you’re doing,’ trilled Jemima, her voice following Beth inside. ‘I need Dominic to be happy. And he is the founding member of the Cabana Club, you know.’
Stubbing her toe on the door as she tried to pick it up, Beth dropped it back onto the floor with a yelp and staggered back onto the decking where she could see Jemima, peering over her gilded railings.
‘It’s a beach hut, not a cabana,’ shouted Beth, hopping around in pain and scowling. ‘It’s a beach hut in Welby-on-the-Sea, at least call it a Beach Hut Club!’ and she went back inside, wishing she had a door to slam behind her.
Taking a deep breath, Beth decided her first job would be to rip up the rotten floorboards, which turned out to be surprisingly hard bearing in mind they were practically falling apart. At least once the floor was repaired, Beth would be able to cross the small room without playing a dangerous game of twister as she avoided the holes, and tying up her hair, she set to work.
Half an hour later, Beth decided maybe she needed to invest in some proper tools as she tugged hopelessly at a length of wood. She had used an old knife found in the sink to gouge at the dirt and debris between the planks, but it was far from successful. Searching for something more useful, she’d found an old screwdriver in a drawer and was using it to pry ineffectually at the gap between the boards so she could flip out the rotten one and pull it free.
It still wasn’t the right tool but red-faced and sweating, Beth persevered until eventually she managed to free one corner, lifting the board slightly so she had something to grab onto. Heaving and grunting with no visible result, she was just about to declare the board sound and not in need of replacing when it gave way with a loud crack, and Beth went flying backwards through the open door to land on her bottom on the deck.
Laying there for a moment to catch her breath, she gazed up at the few puffy white clouds in the sky. They had an easy life, she decided enviously. Just floating around, no expectations, no disappointment. Just drifting along.
‘Are you okay?’
Jemima was standing at the edge of her decking, her eyebrows raised and watching Beth in fascination. Beth was willing to bet Jemima had never so much as lifted a paintbrush let alone pulled up a rotten floorboard.
‘I’m fine,’ said Beth, not entirely truthfully as she lay there, ignoring the pain in her right leg where she had hit the edge of the table, and trying not to care about her dignity which seemed to have disappeared completely.
‘Are you sure you know what you're doing?’ asked Jemima, her tone doubtful. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to get a builder? Or sell?’ she added hopefully.
‘I’m not selling,’ said Beth between gritted teeth.
Jemima looked as though she was about to say something, but instead shook her head, popping her earbuds back in. Beth noticed that she had moved her lounger so she now faced Number 4, watching Beth in fascination. She wondered if Jemima would recount the day’s strange events to Dominic Carrington-Smythe when he next arrived in Welby. The story of the woman who was carrying out her own repairs because she couldn’t afford a builder! Or maybe that would be too much for Dominic’s sense of wellbeing.
Rubbing her bottom, Beth sat up. Well, that was one rotten floorboard removed, only another dozen or so to go, she thought wearily. Then she would have the happy job of working out how to slot in some new ones. Actually, before that, she would have to work out where on earth you bought new floorboards.
Sitting on the edge of the decking with a bottle of Lavinia’s iced tea in her hand she researched new planks, doors and windows, blanching at the cost. Even if she bought the very basic amounts she needed and did all the work herself, and she still wasn’t at all sure how on earth she was going to fix the roof, it would need far more money than she had. Throwing her phone down in frustration, she took a drink before tipping her head back and closing her eyes, deep in thought as the warmth of the sun spread across her face and legs.
There was no other option. She either admitted defeat and let the council take the hut now or she did something she had promised herself wouldn’t happen, and she used Granny Mabel’s fund.
Granny Mabel had been her father’s mother and when she had died several years earlier, she’d left Beth ￡5000 in her will. Being a sensible young woman, Beth had immediately put the money to one side, affectionately thinking of it as Granny Mabel’s fund. It was going to be the beginning of her savings she had decided, although several years later it remained her only savings. There had never been the opportunity to add to it but Beth had remained steadfast in her determination not to use it, despite several temptations.
She had fondly imagined that one day she and Matthew would be standing in front of a rose-covered cottage, their hands entwined as they decided it was the house for them.
‘If only we had a little more deposit,’ Matthew would groan. ‘Then we could buy it. And move in, straight away.’
And Beth would smile beatifically and say, ‘Would another ￡5000 do the job, darling?’
At which point he would gaze into her eyes in adoration and kiss her for being so clever.
She sighed. It wasn’t going to happen now, either the rose-covered cottage, the twining of hands or the loving look. She may as well use the money on her beach hut.
‘It looks like hard work,’ said a voice nearby, shaking Beth from her reverie and opening her eyes, she found the elderly gentleman from the previous day standing in front of her, leaning on his stick as he watched her think.
‘Oh, hello. Yes, it certainly is,’ she said, climbing to her feet and sighing.
‘Are you doing this on your own?’
Beth nodded. Entirely on her own.
She saw Jemima’s head pop up, peering over her sunglasses, only to decide that the old man wasn't interesting enough to claim her attention.
‘I’m not sure I know what I’m doing,’ admitted Beth in a low voice so as not to draw Jemima into the conversation. ‘And I only have two weeks.’
‘Two weeks? May I ask why?’
His Panama hat was tipped back and Beth could see his eyes, which were kind, set in a face which was interested.
‘Because it’s dangerous and the council will take it away if I don’t make it habitable.’ She kicked at a plank that was sticking up. ‘And I want to rescue it for my aunt. She was the one who left the hut to me you see.’
He nodded, as though understanding entirely her predicament. ‘And would that be Lizzie? Lizzie Brandon?’
‘Yes! You knew Lizzie.’
Was it Beth’s imagination or was there a moment of extreme pain reflected in the pale blue eyes?
‘I did. I knew her very well actually. I grew up in Welby although it’s a long time since I’ve been back.’ He looked over Beth’s shoulder and along the beach to the small town nestled at the foot of the cliffs, its cobbled streets shining in the sun, the harbour wall stretching along its length like a protective arm. Lost in thought, he appeared to forget about Beth momentarily and she watched the emotions chase across his face.
‘I thought it was the most boring place in the world when I was a young man,’ he finally admitted, a catch in his voice. ‘It took a lifetime of living everywhere but here before I understood its charm.’
‘Lizzie loved to travel too,’ said Beth softly. ‘But she always came back to Welby. She loved it here, almost as much as she loved gliding up the Amazon or trekking through Borneo.’
‘Your aunt was always so sure about what she wanted from life,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d had a fraction of her self-belief.’ He dragged his thoughts back to the present and returning his gaze to Beth he took off his hat and gave her a small bow. ‘How rude of me. My name is Sam Westmoreland.’
‘Beth Carter.
‘Well, I am truly delighted to meet you, Beth. I was devastated to return to Welby and hear that Lizzie had passed. I find it hard to think of this place without her being present. But how wonderful to find that you’re doing up her beloved beach hut.’
Beth grimaced. ‘Well, trying.’
‘That’s all any of us can do, my dear. Now, what on earth has happened to the door, may I ask?’
Looking over her shoulder, Beth had to giggle. She had propped the door against the doorway where it was leaning at a jaunty angle that made it look as though it was drunk.
‘It fell off,’ she confessed. ‘I need to get it back in place tonight, although it’s not doing a very good job of keeping things out.’
Not only had the seagull returned but several more nests had sprung up overnight.
‘I see. Well, it looks like a two-handed job to me. Would you like some help?’
He was taking off his jacket and failing to find somewhere to hang it, he rolled it up carefully and popped it on the end of the decking. His hat was removed, showing a balding head with a smattering of snow-white hair. And even as Beth was politely trying to find the words to say no, he was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
‘Oh, but I don’t think… I mean…’
She put out a hasty hand to help him step onto the decking, grimacing as he hopped over the hole to land next to her, already slightly out of breath.
‘You don’t think a decrepit old man such as myself would be much help?’ he asked with a twinkle.
‘Of course not! I just mean, well….’
‘Don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look. And I would like to help. Both you and also Lizzie. I know how much this hut meant to her. It can be my parting gift to a dear friend.’
He smiled, such a warm smile that Beth had no choice but to smile back.
‘It’s dirty work,’ she warned, looking at the crisp linen trousers and immaculate shirt. ‘And a lot of this wood is rotten so please be careful where you stand.’
‘I know all about planks and rotten wood. I spent more years than I care to remember in the merchant navy.’
‘Is that where you went, when you left Welby-on-the-Sea?’
He nodded, regret plain in his faded eyes. ‘I literally ran away to sea. I thought I was so grown up, so clever. I came back several years later, ready to admit my mistakes but it was too late.’
Too late for what Beth wondered, hearing the catch in his voice.
‘So, I left again.’ The sadness disappeared and the twinkle returned. ‘And ships may not be made of wood anymore but I still learned my trade at sea. So, how about we use my experience and your enthusiasm and get this beach hut looking ship shape again? What do you think?’
Beth wondered if he would be very shocked if she hugged him. Because right now she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around his neck and kiss that wrinkled and rather pink cheek. He may need more looking after than the hut itself but quite frankly she didn’t care. Just having someone on her side made all the difference. And especially someone connected to Aunt Lizzie.
‘I think that would be wonderful,’ she said, blinking rapidly so the tears didn’t escape down her cheek. ‘Absolutely wonderful.’