Adrian was panicking. He couldn’t find Serena. She had been rather quiet this afternoon. She didn’t seem to be looking forward to the party, although she had denied it when he questioned her.
He searched through the crowds, in the drinks tent. Went back into the hut to see if she had gone to lie down or something. But she was nowhere to be seen. His heart lurched. Had she decided on some mercy dash back home to see Philip? Had she changed her mind?
He saw Chrissie, and grabbed her.
‘Have you seen Serena?’
Chrissie had been very disapproving, when they had told her. But Adrian had drawn her aside and had a heart-to-heart, explaining how unhappy Serena had been for a long time, how they had started out as friends, and it had grown into something else. Chrissie hadn’t looked convinced, but then she’d always been a bit chippy, thought Adrian.
‘I think she went into the children’s tent with Spike,’ she told him.
He turned to go, but Chrissie stopped him.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I just want to say . . . good luck. I thought you were both selfish idiots looking for a cheap thrill at first. And I was a bit pissed off that you tried to con me into buying The Shack. But . . . I can see it’s something deeper than that.’ She paused. ‘I hope you’ll be happy.’
Stunned, Adrian managed a smile. ‘Thank you. It means a lot.’
Chrissie touched him on the arm and walked away. Adrian watched her go and felt filled with emotion. Shit, he wasn’t going to cry, was he? It had been a rollercoaster of a few days. A new life ahead of him, the old one coming to an end with the last beach party. He needed to pull himself together.
He walked over to the scout tent and pulled back the flap. He felt relief as he saw Serena, sitting next to Spike who was curled up in his sleeping bag with Bart under his arm. She was stroking his hair, sending him off to sleep.
This time, Adrian didn’t try and stop the little tear that rolled down his cheek.
Sarah had sneaked off back to her hut to sit on the step and have a cigarette. She had just finished rolling it and put it in her mouth when the flare from a lighter appeared in front of her.
A Zippo lighter.
‘Shit!’ She dropped the cigarette in alarm. ‘Oliver. What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Well, that’s a nice greeting,’ he replied, leaning down to pick up her roll-up. He put it back between her lips and she felt heat zip through her from head to foot. She pulled the cigarette out angrily.
‘What are you doing here?’ she repeated.
‘I couldn’t live without you a minute longer.’ He looked straight into her eyes.
She swallowed. There was none of his usual teasing tone. He seemed deadly serious.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. We hardly know each other.’
‘I know enough.’ He leaned into her. She could smell his cologne. Him. ‘I think about you every second of every minute of every hour of every day.’
‘Right ...’ She didn’t know how to respond. This was quite a confession. And ironic, though she wasn’t going to admit that.
‘This doesn’t happen to me, Sarah. I don’t do obsession. I do casual, meaningless shags and move on. But this is different.’
‘It’s probably only because I told you no. I don’t imagine you’re a man who likes rejection.’ She tried to keep her voice light, but it was shaking. ‘I’ve told you. I’m married. I can’t deal with it.’
‘Sarah - your husband’s a twat.’ She looked at him, startled. ‘I saw him last night at the Johnsons’.’
‘What?’ This made her sit up. What the hell was Ian doing at the Johnsons’? This was the man who couldn’t face going out in public, who had point-blank refused to come to the beach party.
‘Oh yes. He was letting his hair right down. Drunk as a skunk and twice as obnoxious. They had to kick him out in the end, before he started throwing punches.’
‘He’s very unhappy. He’s going through a tough time.’
‘Why do you defend him when he’s a total knob?’
Sarah felt indignant.
‘Because he’s my husband and I love him and he isn’t always a knob and don’t you remember those words “for better or for worse”? The whole point of marriage is you’re supposed to stick by the one you love—’
He kissed her. And she let him. Oh God.
He drew back.
‘That’s why I love you,’ he said softly.
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded.
‘I want you in my life. I just want to be able to see you. Even if it doesn’t involve sex ...’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Honestly. I think you could make me a better person.’
‘You’re full of shit.’ She stared him out. ‘You just want a shag.’
He shook his head. ‘I think you deserve someone who cares about you. He’s taking the piss, Sarah. I know exactly what’s going on. He’s bullying you and undermining you because he’s unhappy, and you’re running round like a headless chicken trying to keep everything afloat, but no one thinks about you.’ He paused. ‘Do they?’
She looked down. ‘No.’
He put his hands on her shoulders, ran his thumbs up her neck. Oh God . . .
‘I’m not playing your game, Oliver,’ she insisted, though her body was betraying her. Liquid gold was oozing into her stomach.
‘Let me just be with you tonight. You can introduce me as a family friend.’
She hesitated.
‘You can’t stay. I’ve got the girls.’
‘Of course not. I’ve booked a room.’
She looked at him. Was he fibbing?
He was running the back of his fingers along her jaw.
She would have to be superhuman to resist.
‘What about your wife?’ she gasped, remembering the intimidating woman at the Johnsons’ party. The divorce lawyer, for heaven’s sake.
‘I don’t care,’ Oliver told her. ‘I’ve had long enough to think about it to know that. I want to be with you, Sarah.’
‘OK. But no funny stuff. Not here,’ she managed to reply, finding it difficult to breathe.
‘No funny stuff.’
‘Just tonight? Then you’ll leave me alone. I can’t handle it, Oliver ...’
‘Just tonight. I promise.’
She was here. She’d turned up late, but Florence was finally here. Harry sensed her before he even saw her. The hairs on the back of his neck had tingled, then he had spotted her in the crowd, making her way towards him with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.
She was coming over to talk to him. Harry felt his heart hammering. What should he say? Was she still going out with Marky Burns? He wanted to walk off, but he was drawn to her magnetically.
‘Hi,’ he said. Genius.
‘Hey,’ she replied, and lit another cigarette with the end of the one she had just finished. She chucked the stub on the ground carelessly. Harry felt the urge to cover it with sand, but he didn’t want her to think he was making some kind of point.
‘Have you . . . had a good summer?’ God, he was doing a perfect impersonation of Harry Enfield’s Tory Boy. He cringed inside.
‘I’ve been doing the festivals. Totally amazing. But I’m knackered. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper night’s sleep.’
Actually, now he looked closer, it showed. In just four weeks she had changed dramatically. Her face was puffy, and her skin had broken out in spots. Her hair seemed matt and dull, scraped back into a high ponytail. Her nails were chewed. Her clothes were rumpled and grubby. She looked . . . skanky, he decided. He took a step back. The cigarette she was smoking was cheap, harsh, and it mixed in with some rank perfume she had doused herself in. Probably to cover up the fact she hadn’t had a shower.
He couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. Then he fell back on the tried-and-tested boring question of the late summer.
‘How were your results?’
There was a flicker in her eyes, as if she was deciding what to tell him.
‘I . . . um . . . didn’t get in. I didn’t get the grades. Just one grade off, but that’s all it needs to be.’ She looked a bit shamefaced. ‘Going to have to reapply next year.’
‘Shit. Sorry about that.’ Harry didn’t say he’d got straight As. He was never one to gloat.
‘So - are you off to Bristol?’
‘Yeah. Another month yet.’
‘Should be cool.’
‘Definitely. Probably. I don’t know ...’
She took another drag of her cigarette. She looked awkward.
‘Listen . . . Harry . . . I’m sorry I was such a bitch earlier in the summer.’
He shrugged.
‘Hey, it’s fine. No worries.’
‘Seriously. I was out of order. And he was such a jerk.’
Harry grinned.
‘Yeah, well-I could have told you that.’
She thumped him on the shoulder.
‘Shut
- up.
’
He pretended to rub the spot where she’d hit him. ‘That was a bit harsh.’
Then he looked at her and realised she was crying. Real tears, in those eyes he had once found mesmerising.
‘You OK?’
She nodded, then shook her head. ‘Yes. No. No! I’ve screwed up everything. Why am I such a . . . waste of space?’
Because you’re selfish? And you think you’re something you’re not? And you don’t give a toss how anyone else feels? All of these things ran through Harry’s head, but he didn’t say any of them, because he was basically a kind boy. He patted her on the shoulder. This was the cue she needed, and she threw herself against him. He recoiled slightly, amazed. Wasn’t this secretly what he had been dreaming of all summer? Only now he didn’t want her anywhere near him. He felt a slight revulsion.
‘Listen, I’ve got to go and change the music. We don’t want a Beatles medley
all
night.’
He extricated himself from her embrace as politely as he could. She looked at him dully. Her make-up had streaked down her face. Some women could carry that off, Harry knew, but on Florence, it wasn’t a good look.
‘Catch you later,’ he said, and strode off towards the sound system.
Jane stood on the steps of The Shack and looked at the scene around her.
It was magical. The moon threw its light over the sea and the sand, immersing the guests in a silvery glow. Everyone was dancing - men in dinner jackets, women in sparkling, shimmering dresses. Lanterns flickered all around them. As the song that was playing came to an end, everyone stopped for a moment, laughing, chattering, reaching for a much-needed drink. Then the chords of the next song struck up.
It was The Kinks, ‘You Really Got Me’. Everyone leapt back into action, galvanised by the tune that was familiar to all generations.
Jane was immediately transported back in time. Everything was almost the same. There were more people now, and the music was louder, the bass pounding out, but it could have been that same night. She looked over to the house at the top of the dunes and remembered how she had been feeling-a young girl whose life had just been turned upside down, and who had no idea where to go next. And for all of her life she never quite managed to get rid of that feeling, until today. All that had been laid to rest. She felt at one with herself.
She turned, and saw Roy was standing next to her, smiling, holding out his hand.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’
She walked down the steps with a smile. She took Roy’s hand, and put the other on his shoulder.
Tomorrow she would start to clear out a lifetime of belongings from The Shack, in readiness for its new owner. But tonight . . . tonight she would dance on the sands by the light of the moon.
14
THE LOVE SHACK
K
irsty could hear Dan tooting the car horn impatiently in the drive outside. She zipped up her weekend case and picked up her handbag. She really didn’t need this. She would have given anything for a lie-in this morning; she felt so tired. But Dan had insisted. The forecast was great for the weekend, and they always spent her birthday at Everdene. It was a tradition. Liam was coming down the next day with his new girlfriend. Helena-a cardiothoracic consultant, apparently, and quite a bit older than him. They were madly in love, which was great, thought Kirsty, because that’s what Liam needed. Someone constant in his life. It was definitely time he settled down too. They were all growing up at last, she realised.
She ran down the stairs and got into the car.
‘You OK?’ asked Dan, concerned. ‘You look a bit pale.’
‘Haven’t had time to put any make-up on.’ Kirsty settled into the seat and fastened her belt.
Dan switched on the engine.
‘You can have a sleep,’ he said. ‘We’ll be there by lunchtime.’
‘Great,’ said Kirsty, shutting her eyes. She didn’t need any encouragement. By the time they reached the motorway, she was asleep.
She woke up as they pulled into the car park at Everdene just after midday. As was often the case in October, the weather was dazzling: a bright sun, low in the sky, that gave off a gentle warmth. A delicious breeze that was perfect for kite-flying - the skyline was filled with fluttering colours. Seagulls swooped, cawing triumphantly. The occasional cloud skipped across the periwinkle blue.
‘Let’s take a walk on the beach,’ said Dan. ‘Then go to the Ship Aground for some lunch.’
Kirsty nodded. A bit of exercise wouldn’t do her any harm. She hadn’t done as much as usual this week. She pulled her wellies out of the boot and tugged them on.
‘I thought you’d want to get straight in the surf. The waves are great.’
Dan shook his head. ‘I’ll wait till Liam gets here. You and Helena can get to know each other then. Sit and drink hot chocolate.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Kirsty’s mouth was watering at the prospect already. The café on the front did amazing hot chocolate, with whipped cream and marshmallows and a Flake stuck in it . . .
Dan took her hand and they walked down the slipway, turning left to follow the beach past the huts.