The Beach Cabin Read online

  Mr Tibbs, based on the novels of Mavis Carew and filmed on location in the picturesque Cornish seaside village where Penny had made her home, had proved to be such a runaway success that they were now halfway through filming the fourth series. The invasion of the cast and crew, and the transformation of Pendruggan into something straight out of the 1930s, had become an annual fixture in the village calendar. Some of the locals had been resistant, but most welcomed the film crew, especially now that the series had put Pendruggan on the tourist map. Queenie’s shop had become a must-see destination for the holidaymakers who flooded the village each summer.

  Ed sighed and shut his laptop.

  ‘Besides,’ Penny added, ‘it’s not your job to sort out locations. Cassie’s already done half the work. Let her go and see them. She’s more than capable. You can make your decision once she’s written up her recommendations.’

  ‘I’m the location manager. It’s my job.’

  ‘Cassie’s the assistant location manager, and that makes it her job. It’s called delegating, Ed. Anyway, you look exhausted.’

  ‘I am exhausted.’

  ‘Then go home and try to put your feet up for a while. Spend some time with Charlotte and those gorgeous children of yours. You all look like something out of a Boden advert.’

  Ed let out a humourless laugh. ‘Looks can be deceptive, Pen.’

  Penny put down her cuppa and leaned closer.

  ‘What’s the matter, Ed? You and I have worked on umpteen productions together over the years. I’ve seen you go from junior runner on Blue Peter to location manager on a Woody Allen movie, and, no matter how demanding the job, you’ve shown up for work full of enthusiasm and energy. I’ve never seen you out of sorts – until now. You’re usually so cheerful – too bloody cheerful, in fact!’

  ‘But it hasn’t affected my work?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Has anyone said anything?’

  ‘No of course not. Don’t be silly.’ She batted away his anxiety with a wave of her hand. ‘No one’s noticed a thing. Except me, and that’s only because we’ve known each other such a long time.’

  Ed wiped his glasses clean on the corner of his SuperDry T-shirt and let out a sigh.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know…’ He hesitated, wondering how to articulate what he was feeling without making it sound melodramatic? ‘Alex has been a bit difficult lately. She’s not been herself and Charlotte’s worried something’s up at school.’

  ‘She’s fifteen,’ Penny reasoned. ‘They’re unknowable at that age. You and Charlotte are there for her, though. You’re solid, right?’

  Solid, thought Ed. Before all this had happened he wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. They both adored the kids and put their needs first. For Ed that involved taking on work that meant they could leave London and buy a large house on the seafront in Worthing, and cover school fees so that both kids got the best education possible, plus a bit left over for long summer holidays in the South of France so they could spend time as a family. For Charlotte it had meant giving up work until the kids started school. Then she had become involved with a local theatre group, helping out with set design – always fitting it around the children’s needs, because Ed wasn’t around to help as much as he would like. In order to command the big salary he had to spend large chunks of time away on location. The last couple of years, he seemed to have spent most of his time at the opposite end of the country to Charlotte and the kids.

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, trying hard to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. ‘Charlotte says I’m away too much.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Perhaps, but only the last year or so. You know how it is in this business, Pen. Projects are tied up years ahead, you sign your life away.’

  ‘You’re one of the best in the business, Ed. You can pick and choose your projects now.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. People have short memories.’

  ‘Only for people they want to forget.’

  Ed laughed at this. ‘Point taken.’

  But the thing that was really worrying him was the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to tell Penny. Over the past year the distance between him and Charlotte had been growing, and it was a distance that had nothing to do with being at opposite ends of the country. They always used to make the most of the weeks when he was at home, but now Charlotte seemed to spend every minute she could at the theatre. Worse still, she’d taken to sleeping in the spare room, citing his fidgeting in bed as the reason. ‘I’ve got used to sleeping without you, Ed,’ she’d told him bluntly.

  Ed felt sure there was more to it. Whatever their ups and downs over the years, the two of them had always been physically close. It made this new distance between them all the more painful. Then four weeks ago, during his last stay at home, he’d waited until Charlotte had gone to take a bath before sneaking into the spare bedroom and picking up her phone. Though he hated himself for it, he clicked on her inbox and scrolled through the messages. Among them he found one that made his heart stop. It was a text message from Henry, the director at the theatre. He could hardly bear to think about the words he’d seen: I love you …can’t live without you …

  The thought that his wife was in love with someone else tore at his insides. He pushed it away.

  ‘Look,’ said Penny, pulling him back to the present, ‘what you need is a break. Why don’t you bring them all down here for the weekend? One of the cottages in the village is for rent. It’s recently been bought by some second-homers who’re letting it out when they aren’t here. It would be perfect for you and the family, and the best thing about it is that it’s got this amazing beach cabin on Shellsand Bay that comes as part of the package.’

  ‘How do you know it’s available?’

  ‘Queenie told me. The owners have engaged her as their key holder. I can easily get their number off her.’ Penny picked up her phone and started to call Queenie.

  ‘Hang on, I’m not sure. I’d need to check with Charlotte – they might have plans.’

  ‘Ed, stop procrastinating. You need to spend some time with your family and that’s that.’

  Ed did as he was told. Now that the idea was in his head he ached to see his kids. The last four weeks he’d avoided going home, citing complications with the production. Anything rather than confront the situation and risk Charlotte telling him that she no longer loved him, their marriage was over.

  Maybe Penny was right. They hadn’t been seeing enough of each other, that was all. He’d been letting his imagination run riot. Yes, they could sort this all out – a little holiday was exactly what they needed.

  ‘Please can you get off my foot, Molly?’ Charlotte looked down into the soft adoring eyes of their bearded collie. Molly was a shaggy-coated four-year-old, absolutely enormous and intent on getting as close as she could to Charlotte, which meant that crushed toes were part and parcel of being a dog owner in the Appleby household.

  Charlotte eyed the ingredients in front of her. Prawns in their shells. Coconut milk. Now what else was it that Nigel Slater had said should go in? The recipe had been in the Observer at the weekend, but she’d forgotten to tear it out before chucking the paper into the recycling box. She’d decided to give it a go anyway, hoping that she could rely on her memory. A green curry – would that be Indian? Or Sri Lankan? She rummaged in the cupboard and fished out some curry powder. What else? There’d been a green herb of some sort…And was it a lemon or a lime he used? She went to the fridge: there was no lime, so it would have to be lemon, and the only green herb she could see was a slightly withered stalk of parsley. That’d do. Maybe chuck in a carrot or two? And mangetout – she had plenty of mangetout and it was definitely one of Nigel’s ingredients.

  Any other evening Charlotte would have abandoned all thought of making the dish as soon as she discovered the recipe was lost, but tonight she was glad of the challenge. She needed something to distract her from the worries racing through her mind. Alex should have been home an hour ago. They’d agreed t
hat she could go to her best friend Poppy’s house for the afternoon, provided she was home by seven. When seven thirty rolled around with no sign of her daughter and no word of explanation, Charlotte had tried to ring her, but an automated announcement informed her that the person she was calling was not available. So she rang Poppy’s mum to ask her to send Alex on her way – only to discover that Alex hadn’t been there in days. Fighting the urge to panic and ring all three emergency services and run up and down the street in hysteria, she’d focused on remaining calm and waiting it out. It wasn’t the first time Alex had disappeared for a few hours with no explanation. It had been less obvious during term time, though Charlotte had managed to catch her out a few times, but now the holidays were here it was clear that Alex was going somewhere she didn’t want anyone else to know about.

  There had been none of the usual telltale signs of a boyfriend. No dreamy looks over the breakfast table, or furtive late-night phone calls. Charlotte wasn’t much of a snoop, so she could be wrong, but in her experience boy trouble usually came with bells on, shouting its presence loud and clear. No, this felt like something else. Perhaps if she’d been around a bit more, then Alex would have opened up to her. But she’d been preoccupied with everything that was happening with Henry – she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit taking her eye off the ball.

  Charlotte proceeded to chop up all the ingredients with more confidence than she felt. The resulting mix looked nowhere near as lovely as the photos of Nigel’s efforts…

  She lit the flame under the deep sauté pan and threw in the vegetables. Behind her she heard the front door shut quietly in the hallway and turned with great relief to see her daughter Alex slipping past the kitchen door in the direction of the stairs.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ she called out.

  Alex’s foot stopped on the stairs. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Got a minute?’

  Silence, but then, a moment later, the slow plod of reluctant footsteps back down the hall. Alex’s hair had been purple when she’d first dyed it, but it had now faded to a lilacy-blue and was scraped back in a ponytail. Charlotte missed her daughter’s natural copper-blonde hair but hoped it would stage a return one day. Chewing the toggle of her hoodie, Alex hovered by the door.

  ‘Been somewhere nice?’ Charlotte asked casually. Must avoid an argument, she told herself. Tread carefully.

  ‘I was at Poppy’s, I told you.’

  Damn. Why do you have to lie, Alex? Why can’t you tell me where you’ve been?

  ‘I’m making dinner. Are you hungry?’ she asked, a touch too brightly.

  ‘No, thanks. We had KFC.’

  We? Who’s ‘we’?

  ‘What is it?’

  Good question. ‘It’s a prawn curry. Nigel Slater.’

  Alex rolled her eyes. ‘Why don’t you just stick to ready meals, Mum?’

  ‘I like cooking.’ It was true.

  ‘But you’re not very good at it.’

  ‘I shall ignore your implied insult. I’ve been complimented on my cooking, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Only by Granny Alice, who lost her taste buds when a bomb fell on her house during the war.’

  ‘Not only Granny Alice, actually: many people.’

  ‘Yeah, right, Mum,’ Alex replied sceptically, turning to leave.

  Charlotte was on the verge of letting her go, but then decided it was time to bite the bullet and confront her daughter. ‘Alex, I called Poppy’s mum when you were late home. She said—’

  Alex’s explosive response took Charlotte by surprise, even though she’d been exposed to enough teen anger that she ought to be used to it by now. ‘How dare you! You’re always snooping around and following me. Why can’t you let me live my own life?’

  ‘Alex, darling, I don’t want to interfere, but you’re only fifteen and we worry about your safety, that’s all.’

  ‘Rubbish! You just want to control me.’

  Charlotte struggled to keep her voice even. ‘Alex, I understand how—’

  ‘No, you don’t! You can never know how it feels to be me!’ And, with this, Alex raced out of the room and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  Charlotte looked at Molly, who was cowering under the pine kitchen table. ‘Well, that went as well as can be expected,’ she muttered, and Molly crept out and sat on her foot again, giving her hand a consoling lick. ‘Thanks, Molly. I can always rely on you to be here for me.’

  If only she could say the same of her husband. Charlotte silently cursed Ed for never being home when he was needed. Instead, he was hundreds of miles away as usual while she held the fort at home, though it felt very much like a battle she was fast losing.

  He was so much better with Alex than she was; he always knew how to bring her round. Part of the problem was that she and Alex were too much alike: spiky, emotional rather than rational, prone to keeping secrets…But the old Alex had hated confrontation. On the rare occasions when she did get in an argument, she was always the one who would try to make up. The familiar gnawing guilt fluttered in her belly, berating her. This is your fault. If you weren’t spending so much time at the theatre…All that time with Henry when you should be at home…

  As if on cue, her phone rang. It was Ed. Hello, stranger, she thought.

  ‘Hi, Ed. How’s it going?’

  ‘Yeah, good. We’re finished now for four weeks – Dahlia’s gone off to do her one-woman show in London.’

  ‘Oh, God, that! What’s it about again?’

  ‘Um, not sure – something to do with older people having a lot of sex?’

  ‘Crikey.’

  ‘Kids OK?’

  ‘You probably know better than I do.’

  Whenever he was away, Ed kept in daily contact with them by text and FaceTime.

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. She could picture him floundering over what to say next without putting his foot in it.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he said eventually, ‘how would it be if you all came down to Pendruggan for a few days? There’s a great place we can stay – it’s right by the beach. We haven’t seen much of each other over the last few weeks—’

  ‘Months, more like. And whose fault is that?’ Charlotte couldn’t stop the words slipping out.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Ed’s voice sounded pained. ‘But I think it would be good for the kids – and for us.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Ed.’ Charlotte knew from experience what a holiday could be like when Ed was in work mode. ‘You couldn’t find time to join us in France last month. Apart from one long weekend when you deigned to make an appearance, I had to hold the fort with my mum and dad. And those few days you were there you spent on your laptop or iPad, working. And when you weren’t working you were sleeping – or drinking too much.’

  There was silence from the other end of the line. Charlotte was already regretting her outburst and was on the verge of apologising and explaining why she’d felt the need to vent when Ed suddenly blurted, ‘Please, Charlotte, I promise I’ll be totally “there”. No phones, no laptop, no iPad. Just us. We need this.’

  Charlotte breathed in deeply. ‘Let me think about it and call you back. Alex is being tricky at the moment, and, even at the best of times, getting the kids to do anything outside their comfort zone is practically impossible. Besides, Pendruggan is a good five-hour drive, and—’

  ‘It’ll be worth it,’ Ed pleaded. ‘I promise you – come on, let’s do it.’

  Still Charlotte wouldn’t cave in. Promising that she’d call him back once she’d spoken to the kids, she hung up the phone and eyed the contents of the saucepan. It hadn’t looked like this in the Observer. She pulled the ring on the tin of coconut milk and hoped for the best.

  Charlotte knocked on Sam’s door and popped her head in. Her eleven-year-old was sprawled across his bed watching a YouTube video on his iPad.

  ‘Dinnertime.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, without looking up.

 
Charlotte looked down at the gloopy rice-and-sauce concoction on the tray she had brought up. ‘Prawn surprise.’

  Sam raised his head and frowned at her. ‘Is a prawn something you want to be surprised by?’

  ‘That’s a very good question, Sam. Perhaps we’re about to find out the answer.’

  She sat next to him on the bed and he scrutinised the contents of the tray. Taking the beaker of milk, he took a long slurp and said, ‘Can I have a burger in a bun?’

  Charlotte looked down sadly at the prawn surprise. ‘Would Birds Eye be an acceptable option for you, sir?’

  ‘Perfectly splendid, m’dear.’ And Sam finished off the milk and replaced the beaker on the tray with a flourish.

  ‘What’s that you’re watching?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘This is the most amazing thing ever, Mum. It’s Spike Turner, the skateboard pro. He’s doing this totally awesome bitchslap.’

  ‘Sam!’

  ‘Don’t be lame, Mum – it’s skate lingo.’ For the next five minutes Sam gave her an incomprehensible commentary that consisted of terms like nollie, lipslide and mongo. She tried to keep up but most of it went over her head.

  ‘Sam,’ she ventured when at last there was a brief lull in his analysis, ‘how would you feel about a little trip?’

  ‘Where to?’

  A voice behind them said, ‘Cornwall. To see Dad.’

  They both turned to see Alex standing in Sam’s doorway holding her phone. ‘I talked to him already – he called to tell me about it.’

  That was crafty, thought Charlotte. As always, he’d managed to get Alex on side. The mood she was in earlier, it must have taken a major charm offensive to win her over.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘I want to go. I haven’t seen Dad for ages.’

  Charlotte look at Sam. ‘What about you?’

  Sam barely glanced away from Spike’s latest heelflip. ‘Dunno. Have they got wi-fi?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘I checked that with Dad.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Sam. ‘Then I can show Dad Spike’s video.’

  Feeling that she was losing control of the decision-making process, Charlotte chimed in: ‘Hang on a minute. There’s no way I’m going to drive all the way to Cornwall for the weekend so that the pair of you can sit watching YouTube or texting your friends the whole time. I want us to do things as a family, otherwise we might as well stay here.’