The angrier Harry gets, the more extreme his play. The more extreme his play, the more Noah ups his game and returns every ball. Harry is getting redder and redder in the face. I fear he might have a coronary. He couldn’t be more aggressive with a table-tennis paddle if he tried.
‘Harry,’ I say, ‘this is ridiculous.’
Flick is watching them both with narrowed eyes and a half-smirk at her lips. Surely she can’t be enjoying this? Or is it just me who’s embarrassed by Harry’s behaviour?
Inevitably, being sober and so much better, Noah beats him with ease. Harry is fuming.
‘Great game,’ Noah says, staring levelly at Harry. ‘Another one?’
Harry throws the ping-pong ball to the floor and stamps on it.
‘I guess not,’ Noah says affably.
‘Oh, Harry!’ I pick up the squashed ping-pong ball. ‘For goodness’ sake.’ I remember him upending the Monopoly board one Christmas when we were playing the boys and he was losing. This takes me right back.
‘Shut up, Grace,’ Harry mutters, throwing down the paddle and retreating to top up his glass again. Clearly he’s had enough of a pasting for one day. It’s ridiculous, he doesn’t need to compete with Noah. What does he suddenly feel he’s got to prove? If he wants to impress me, he just needs to stay sober for once.
‘I think we’ll call it a day, anyway,’ Ella says. ‘Before someone loses an eye.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper to her.
‘There’s far too much testosterone flying around for me,’ she says. ‘Come with me, Grace. I want to show you something.’ She links her arm in mine. ‘We’ll be back in a minute,’ she calls over her shoulder as we head to the door. ‘Someone be a love and put the kettle on for coffee.’
Goodness only knows they need it.
So, as the others troop back towards the house, with Harry hanging back miserably, Ella and I head in the other direction.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We negotiate the rocky path in the dark as my friend leads me down to one of the other outhouses. The moon is high in the sky and the stars are shining brightly. It’s a fantastic night and it makes me realise how much light pollution there is in London as I hardly ever seem to see the stars any more. Perhaps later I’ll get my jacket and come out to sit and stargaze on the beach. Perhaps Harry, if he’s got over himself, can be cajoled into coming with me too.
Apart from the rush of the waves, the silence is overwhelming. It’s like being cut off from the rest of the world, being here. I could quite easily believe that my accountancy practice has simply ceased to exist. If only.
‘Ta-dah!’ Ella says as we reach the door and she flicks on the light. ‘Welcome to my humble studio.’
‘Oh, wow!’
This outhouse is smaller than the games room but, in contrast, it has been thoroughly cleaned and newly painted. It’s now a very smart home to some of Ella’s paintings. There’s a big workbench in the middle, stacked with her paints and jars of brushes. Her current work in progress is up on an easel.
‘You’ve been busy since you got here.’
‘I couldn’t wait to get started,’ she confides. ‘It just felt like the right thing to do.’
Round the room are ranged various paintings, the like of which I’ve never seen Ella produce before.
‘These are really yours?’
She nods, proudly. ‘What’s your opinion of my new style?’
‘They’re fabulous,’ I tell her honestly.
‘Not an angry slash in sight,’ she says. ‘I’ve found such inspiration down here. All this has come from the landscape.’
The new artworks are very clearly Ella’s in that they’re strong and colourful. But in place of the completely abstract images that she usually specialises in, these are based on patterns from nature. Swirls from seashells, curling waves and rugged rocks feature heavily. It looks as if she’s been very productive. A rack of completed canvases leans up against the walls.
‘I’m doing an exhibition of them in London in three months’ time, so I’ve got a long way to go yet, but I’m brimming over with ideas.’ Her eyes are glittering with excitement. ‘I’ve had great feedback so far. Providing the public like it, this could take me to another level altogether.’
‘I think this is your best work yet, Ella.’ Rather than being angry and striking, like her previous paintings, these are warm, vibrant images. ‘This baby is clearly bringing out the Earth Mother in you.’
‘I think it is,’ she agrees. ‘I’m seeing nature as I’ve never seen it before. If this is a result of my hormones, then bring it on.’ She sighs contentedly. ‘I’ve been churning out the same kind of thing for years – and have been happy to do it. But this is liberating. I had no idea that I was capable of such things. The whole landscape is just so inspiring. Can you see why I want to stay down here?’
Yes. I can very much see.
‘I feel so much closer to my parents when I’m here too. It’s as if they’ve not really gone.’
‘Oh, Ella.’ I hug her again. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter where you are, if Art’s away so much. You have to be happy. That’s all that matters. But it’s very isolated,’ I remind her. I think of the lack of phone signal or landline, the fact that it’s a good drive to the nearest supermarket. Where is the nearest doctor’s surgery? With a new baby she’d need close-to-hand amenities that she currently takes for granted. ‘Would you really be content down here alone?’
‘I won’t be alone, Grace,’ she reminds me as she massages her bump affectionately. ‘It’ll be me and Baby Hawley.’
‘How could I possibly forget?’
We both giggle at that. But I wonder how Ella would manage way out here on her own. It’s remote enough in the summer months, but she could be cut off completely in the winter. I can imagine that it would be really bleak. Still, there’s time enough to talk about that. For the moment I just want to revel in her reawakened creativity.
Then there’s a commotion outside, much shouting and yelling.
Ella and I exchange a weary glance. I sigh. ‘What now?’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Art has found a rusty old tandem. He and Harry are currently riding it up and down the sandy track that runs along the back of Cwtch Cottage and eventually leads to the road. They’re distinctly wobbly, but are clearly enjoying themselves as they’re giggling like schoolboys.
‘Good grief,’ Ella says as we both stand and watch them, open-mouthed. ‘I chucked that old thing out of the outhouse when I cleared it. I’d completely forgotten about it. I don’t think it’s moved in twenty years. I’m surprised it hasn’t rusted away.’
‘Looks like it’s enjoying a new lease of life.’
‘It’s only here because I couldn’t work out how to get it in the car to take it to the nearest tip.’
The chain creaks and the gears or something are clonking alarmingly. Art is at the front, pedalling like crazy, while Harry is at the back. He doesn’t seem to be doing a lot of work, just hanging on with his arms and legs flailing. They zoom up and down like lunatics and we’re all doubled over laughing at them. It’s the first time I’ve seen a smile on Harry’s face in weeks – possibly months – and I get a brief glimpse of the man I used to know and love. It’s nice to see.
‘You’re not getting me near that thing,’ Flick says. She’s still clutching her glass of wine.
‘I wouldn’t mind a go,’ I admit. But not with Art or Harry in control.
Art and Harry skid to a halt in front of us, breathless and tittering.
‘That was fun,’ Harry says, out of puff. ‘I haven’t been on a bike in longer than I care to remember and I’ve never been on a tandem before.’
‘Noah?’ Art indicates that he should hop on the back and Noah does. They go even faster this time as Noah actually does some pedalling. That thing looks lethal.
‘Mind the ditch,’ Ella shouts as they do a juddering turn.
A tall hedge borders the track wit
h a shallow drainage ditch in front of it. Art and Noah narrowly avoid it.
The night is chillier now and a breeze has picked up. But, despite the clouds gathering in the sky, a lot of the earlier tension has ebbed away again. Thank goodness. If only Harry could stay this good-natured, life would be so much simpler.
Art and Noah do a few more runs and then stop sharply in front of their audience, showering our feet with sand. We all clap.
Noah climbs off and pretends to stagger. ‘I wonder how fast we could get that bike going out on the road? It’s brilliant fun.’
‘Come on, Ella,’ Art says. ‘Get on.’
She and I exchange a glance.
‘Not on your life,’ she says, holding up a hand.
‘Don’t be miserable,’ Art says. ‘It’s great fun.’
‘I really don’t fancy it, Art,’ she reiterates. ‘Leave it.’
‘I’ll get on,’ I say, even though it’s probably the last thing on earth that I want to do.
‘No.’ Art’s face has darkened. ‘Get on, Ella. Stop being such a miserable cow. You’re no fun any more.’
Ella looks as if he’s slapped her.
I step forward. ‘Art, let it drop. I’ll have a go with you. What does it matter?’
‘Stay out of this, Grace,’ he says. ‘Everyone else is having a laugh, Ella. Why are you always such a killjoy? You won’t drink, you won’t surf, now you won’t get on a fucking bike. What’s wrong with you, woman?’
I look at Ella. It’s not the right moment, but she has to say it. She has to say that she’s pregnant.
Instead, she says, ‘OK. If it’s so important to you.’
I put my hand on her arm. There’s no way that I want her to do this. ‘Ella…’
‘I’ll be fine, Grace.’
Noah can tell how worried I am and he frowns at me, but what can I say? How can I tell him that every fibre of my being is willing Ella not to allow herself to be bullied by Art? Noah comes and stands next to me and, lowering his voice, says, ‘Is there a problem?’
‘She shouldn’t be doing this,’ I whisper back. ‘Please stop it.’
‘Maybe it’s time to call it a day,’ Noah ventures, glancing up at the sky. It’s black, glowering. ‘The weather’s on the turn. We’ve had the best of the evening. Why don’t we all go in for a coffee instead before the rain comes in? I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Butt out, Noah,’ Art mutters. ‘She’ll do this.’
Noah stands in front of the tandem. ‘Come on, Art. We’ve had our fun. I’ll get on with you again, if you’ve got the energy.’
‘Stand out of my way, Noah,’ Art says tightly. ‘Ella’s going to do it. For me.’
‘It’s fine, Noah,’ Ella assures him. But she knows that it’s not.
With an apologetic glance at me, Noah stands aside. I hope that my returning look says, ‘Thank you for trying.’ What could he do? He couldn’t forcibly stop Art without punching his lights out.
Reluctantly, Ella climbs on to the tandem and my heart goes into my mouth. Her feet can barely reach the pedals.
‘Be careful,’ I warn Art. ‘Take it slow.’
But, of course, he doesn’t listen and Ella is barely settled before he sets off at breakneck speed. The wind whips up and only serves to make them go faster.
They shoot off down the track, Ella clinging to the handlebars. At the end they spin round and whizz back. Ella’s face is white as they come rushing past.
‘Enough now, Art,’ I shout.
‘One more run,’ he insists.
‘Quit while you’re ahead,’ Noah calls. ‘You’ve made your point. It’s going to pour down in a minute.’
The storm clouds are mustering and the wind, out of nowhere, is steadily increasing in speed. But Art pays us no heed and speeds down the track again. At the bottom, we hear the brakes squeal. They overshoot the point where they should be turning and instead head off into the rough grass. While Noah and I are standing with our mouths agape in terror, the wheel of the tandem hits a rock and over it flips.
I gasp out loud.
Art and Ella tumble from it into the ditch, the tandem on top of them.
‘Not good,’ Noah says and simultaneously we sprint down the track to where they’ve crashed.
Art is lying on his back, legs in the air, laughing, laughing. I think the amount of alcohol he’s drunk must be anaesthetising any pain. Ella, on the other hand, isn’t moving. She’s also on her back in the ditch and has landed awkwardly. The bulk of the tandem has fallen on top of her.
Noah, who is first to reach them, jumps into the ditch and, with my help, hauls the tandem off Ella. I climb down and kneel beside her, stroking her hair.
‘Are you hurt?’ There’s a cut on her forehead that’s bleeding profusely. I fish a clean tissue out of my pocket and wipe the blood away. The first fat spots of rain start to hit us. ‘You’ve just got a little cut. Nothing to worry about. Are you in pain anywhere?’
She tries to get up. ‘My back,’ she wheezes.
‘You’ve probably just winded yourself,’ Noah says soothingly. ‘That was a fair weight on you. Take it easy.’ Slowly, he helps her to a sitting position. ‘OK?’
My friend nods uncertainly.
‘Look after her, Grace,’ Noah says tightly, then moves along to see to Art. ‘I should go and dump his skinny arse into the sea,’ he mutters darkly.
Ella looks up at me, her eyes filled with terror.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I say as levelly as I can, even though I too am shaking with shock. ‘You’ll be absolutely fine.’
Her hands go protectively to her stomach.
‘We’ll get you back to the cottage and then you need to go and lie down. I’ll bring you up some tea.’
‘Thanks, Grace.’
‘I shouldn’t have let you go on that bloody thing in the first place.’ I could kick myself. I just knew it was going to end in tears. ‘What kind of a friend am I?’
She grips my hand. ‘A good one.’
‘Shut up with that or you’ll make me cry.’
We both laugh shakily, but I see a few tears squeeze from Ella’s eyes. Bloody Art! I could wring his neck.
Noah moves back towards us. ‘Art’s fine,’ he says. ‘A few cuts and bruises for his trouble. Feeling a bit shamefaced now he’s sobering up, I should think.’
‘Let’s get Ella into the cottage.’
It’s starting to rain more persistently now. This could well set in for the night. So, without hesitation, we lift her between us and half carry her back up the track.
Art limps along behind us, head hanging. I have no sympathy whatsoever. Not so funny now, eh?
‘We could do with another pair of hands to wheel the tandem back,’ Noah notes.
As the rain gets heavier and we struggle towards the door, it suddenly occurs to me that there’s no sign of Flick or Harry. I look around, but I can’t see them at all. I frown in the darkness. Where have those two disappeared to while all this has been happening?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In the kitchen, Flick and Harry are standing by the table. They spring apart guiltily and, if I’m not mistaken, Harry was holding her hand. My husband’s face is thunderous and Flick looks as if she’s been crying, but I don’t have time to ask what’s going on now. Instead, I say, ‘There you are! We wondered where you’d got to.’
‘Look lively, we need a hand here,’ Noah says, shaking the rain from his hair. ‘Pull out a chair for Ella.’
Without question, Flick does as he asks, and Noah and I lower Ella into it gingerly. She’s covered in dirt and there’s sand in her hair.
‘What the hell happened?’ Flick wants to know when Ella’s settled.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I get some kitchen roll and wipe the dirt from her cheeks.
‘Art crashed the bike,’ Noah supplies. ‘It fell on top of Ella.’
On cue, Art follows us through the door. He eyes us all sheepishly, then goes straight to kneel at Ella’
s feet. ‘I’m sorry, babe,’ he says. ‘Are you OK?’
Ella looks to me as if she’s going to be sick. ‘I’ve felt better.’
‘Let’s get you straight up to bed,’ I say. ‘Flick, will you put the kettle on and make her some sweet tea?’
I must have said it in a very authoritative voice as, for the second time tonight, she does as she’s told without argument.