A Cottage by the Sea

  ‘Can you make it upstairs, sweetheart?’ I say to Ella.

  She nods at me.

  Unbelievably, instead of helping, Art makes a beeline for the whisky bottle that’s on the dresser.

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ I snap. ‘It’s all the booze sloshing about that caused this accident in the first place.’

  ‘I’m in shock too,’ he says weakly. ‘It was just a little medicinal snifter.’

  ‘Have a bloody cup of tea.’

  His hands fall to his sides.

  ‘Put your arms round my neck,’ Noah tells Ella and, with a sharp intake of breath, she does so.

  Noah lifts her from the chair as if she’s a feather and carries her up the stairs. I follow him up, close on his heels. At the top, I open her bedroom door and he lays her down on the bed.

  ‘You don’t think we should take you to the nearest hospital and get you looked at?’ Noah asks.

  ‘It’s miles away,’ Ella says. ‘I think the journey would make me feel even worse. I’m sure I’ll be all right if I just rest.’

  ‘I’ll go and get a cloth and some antiseptic to tend to that cut.’

  ‘Thanks, Grace.’

  Noah follows me into the bathroom and sits on the side of the bath while I rummage in the cabinet, looking for some cream to put on Ella’s wound. At least it’s not big enough to need stitches, just a nasty graze. I think the hedge must have caught her or perhaps part of the bike.

  ‘Here.’ Noah hands me a towel. ‘Dry your hair. We don’t want you catching a cold.’

  I take the towel and give my hair a cursory rub. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is she going to be OK?’ Noah asks. ‘I’m happy to drive to the hospital.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’

  He pauses, weighing up his words. ‘Is there something else going on with Ella?’

  Hesitantly, I nod. ‘I can’t tell you, Noah. It’s a secret.’

  He shrugs. ‘I can hazard a good guess.’

  ‘You can’t say anything. Not to anyone.’ Most of all Art, I want to add. But I bite my lip. ‘Not anyone.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘The situation is… difficult.’ Then I sigh. ‘I’m so sorry, Noah. I bet you thought you were going to be coming on a lovely, relaxing and romantic holiday with Flick. I’m sorry that it’s not turning out like that.’

  Noah purses his lips. ‘Grace…’

  Before he can say any more, Flick sticks her head round the bathroom door. ‘I’ve brought Ella’s tea up. Shall I take it in to her?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’ve found some cotton wool and antiseptic cream.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Noah says. ‘Just let me know if Ella needs anything else.’ He hesitates. ‘Or if you do. Anything.’

  ‘Thank you.’ His kindness nearly moves me to tears.

  I trail after Flick into the bedroom. Gingerly, we both help Ella out of her clothes and into her pyjamas. Tucking her up in bed, I pull the duvet around her.

  ‘You’ll make someone a lovely mum,’ she teases.

  ‘And so will you.’ I wipe her wound and put some cream on it.

  ‘Ouch,’ she says pitifully.

  ‘You’re probably going to have a nice egg-shaped lump there tomorrow.’

  She touches it tentatively. Let’s hope that’s all that’s wrong. Then we will have had a lucky escape.

  ‘You’ve got to look after yourself now, Ella,’ I tell her. ‘Lie as still as you can and try to get some sleep. If you have any pain – a twinge or anything – then let me know straight away. Just shout out. Don’t be brave. Noah says that he’ll drive you to the hospital.’

  Flick shoots me a look, but I ignore it. If she thinks I’m spending too much time with her boyfriend, then hard bloody lines. Noah has been a rock. I don’t know what I would have done without him. Besides, where had she and Harry sloped off to when we needed them?

  Chapter Forty

  Flick leaves and I stay for a few more minutes just to make sure that my friend is comfortable. I stroke Ella’s hair and kiss her cheek.

  ‘Sleep tight, sweetheart.’

  It’s a terrible night outside now and the rain lashes against the window. I go and close it, but already the windowsill is wet. The sea is raging against the shore.

  The benign scenery has changed to a frothing, angry monster, as if echoing the mood of the cottage.

  ‘Thanks, Grace.’ Ella rests her pale cheek on the pillow.

  ‘Do you want Art to come up?’

  ‘Not really,’ she says. ‘I think I’d like to be on my own for a while.’

  Can’t say that I blame her. ‘I’ll take him a duvet downstairs and he can kip on the sofa as his punishment.’

  ‘There’s a spare one in the airing cupboard on the landing. Will he be comfortable down there?’

  ‘He’ll have to be,’ I tell her. ‘Don’t you dare worry about him.’

  Ella smiles wanly. ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘Remember, all you have to do is call out if you want me. I’ll come straight away.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Love you,’ I say.

  ‘Love you too.’ She blows a kiss at me.

  Reluctantly, I leave her alone. Ideally, I’d like to sit and watch her all night, but I know that she wouldn’t let me.

  As soon as I’m outside the bedroom door, Flick pounces on me and whispers, ‘She looks like shit.’

  ‘Is that a medical opinion?’ I ask crisply.

  Flick looks chastened. ‘I’m just saying —’

  ‘Then don’t. It’s not helping anyone. Least of all Ella.’

  ‘It was just a silly accident.’

  ‘She could have lost the baby,’ I remind her. Opening the cupboard door, I get out a duvet and pillow for Ella’s stupid, selfish boyfriend. ‘It was a ridiculous thing to make her do. I’m just sorry, as one of the few sober people present, that I didn’t prevent it.’ I puff out an angry breath.

  ‘Art doesn’t know that she’s up the duff,’ Flick hisses.

  ‘Would it have mattered? From where I was standing, he was too far gone to care. She didn’t want to do it, that should have been clear enough to everyone.’ I resist the urge to bang the door. ‘All this drinking has to stop. I don’t know what’s going on. Why does everyone feel as if they need to get pissed to have a good time?’

  Flick fidgets uncomfortably, but says nothing. So I give up with my lecture and stomp downstairs.

  Art is sitting at the table, having the prescribed cup of tea, head in hands. He looks up, bleary-eyed, as we come into the kitchen. ‘Is she going to be all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ No thanks to you. ‘She just needs to rest.’

  ‘Can I go and see her?’

  ‘No. Leave her alone. I don’t want her upset.’ I throw down the duvet and pillow. ‘You can sleep off your excesses on the sofa. It will all look better in the morning.’

  I sink into a chair. This is one of my few weeks off a year. At this rate, I’m going to go back to work more exhausted than when I left. ‘A quick cup of tea and then I’m going straight to bed.’ I can hardly keep my eyes open. Then I look around. ‘Where’s Harry? Has he gone up already?’

  Now everyone scans the room. I see a look of panic flit across Flick’s features.

  ‘What?’

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘He’s not in the sitting room, is he?’ Knowing Harry, he could quite easily have sloped off and fallen asleep on the sofa.

  Flick jumps up and puts her head round the door. ‘No,’ she says. ‘He’s not there.’

  I didn’t see him go upstairs while we were putting Ella to bed, but I suppose it’s worth checking. I haul myself out of my chair and tiptoe up the stairs, trying not to disturb Ella, and peep into our bedroom. No Harry. And the bathroom’s empty too.

  Back in the kitchen, I say to the others, ‘He’s not in the cottage at all. That’s weird.’

  ‘Perha
ps he’s gone out for some fresh air,’ Art suggests helpfully.

  ‘In this weather? What would possess anyone to venture out on a night like this?’

  The wind is whipping round the cottage; the rain and spray pound at the windows.

  Flick’s expression is very cagey.

  ‘Any ideas, Flick?’ I look levelly at her. They seemed to be having some sort of altercation when we came in earlier. Wonder what that was all about…

  ‘Maybe we should just have a quick look outside for him.’ She nibbles at a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Just in case he’s wandered off by accident.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ I ask her. ‘Is there something I should know?’

  She glances shiftily at Noah. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘It’s a filthy night out there,’ I point out. ‘Why would he go out in this from choice?’

  ‘Flick’s right,’ Noah intervenes. ‘If he’s not in the cottage where else can he be? We should go out and have a hunt for him. We’ll check the outhouses first. He might just be brushing up on his table-tennis skills.’

  I know that Noah’s trying to make light of the situation and we all attempt a laugh, but it doesn’t entirely take away my feeling of foreboding. What can Harry be playing at?

  ‘OK.’ I can’t hold back my weary sigh. Tonight has been far too traumatic already without this. ‘Let’s go and find Harry. Flick, are you coming?’

  She looks as reluctant as I feel. ‘Perhaps I should stay here and listen out for Ella.’

  ‘Art could do that.’

  I don’t want Art lurching about outside drunk. He’d be more of a liability. I think it’s the lesser of two evils that he’s here for Ella. I’m hoping that she’s sound asleep by now. Flick is definitely the more sober of the two, but that’s not saying much.

  Art nods his agreement. ‘There are some waterproof jackets on the coat rack, if you dig deep. Best to wrap up.’

  He’s not kidding. You can hear the rain pelting against the cottage. The wind is whistling round the eaves.

  I’m taking it as given that Noah will put himself out for Harry and, sure enough, he’s first to the door to search out coats for us all. When he locates them, he hands the waterproofs to me and Flick, then slips one on himself.

  ‘Before we all get wet through, let me go out first,’ he says. ‘I’ll check the outhouses. Hopefully, he’ll be there.’

  ‘If I remember rightly, there should be one of those great big torches hanging up too,’ Art adds.

  Noah rummages around some more under the coats before he eventually finds it nestling on top of the bucket of golf balls. It has a reflector the size of a dinner plate, which hopefully will throw out a lot of light, as I don’t much fancy scrambling about on the beach in the pitch darkness in a storm.

  Noah checks the battery and then, with a grimace, goes out into the night alone. Time seems to pass interminably slowly. I pace the floor in the kitchen. Flick, unusually for her, looks on the verge of tears. Eventually, he comes back. Still alone. It’s all I can do not to rush to his side.

  He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

  Both Flick and I realise that it means we’ll all have to go out and so, without speaking, we don our waterproofs.

  ‘We’ll take an extra one for Harry,’ I say, ‘in case he’s gone out without one.’

  I really hope that he hasn’t, as Noah has been out for just a few minutes and he’s soaked through.

  ‘I’ll carry it,’ Flick says and she tucks it under her arm.

  ‘Ready?’ Noah asks.

  We nod in unison.

  As soon as we open the door, the wind tries to batter us back in. The pleasant sun-soaked day is but a distant memory, replaced by a black, malevolent night. This is going to be tough. We push outside and the wind hurls needles of rain and sea spray in our faces. Now I’m worried. If Harry is out in this, I have no idea what he was thinking. What if he did just want a bit of fresh air and he slipped somewhere and hurt himself? We would never have heard him shouting.

  ‘Watch your step,’ Noah warns, shining the torch ahead of us. ‘These rocks are lethal.’

  Was it only this morning when we were all sitting out here with a cup of tea, basking in the sunshine? It feels like a different time and place entirely. On this outing there’ll be no singing’ and dancin’ in the rain on the sand.

  Slithering and slipping over the rocks, we carefully make our way towards the beach. The tide is high, the waves crashing angrily against the shore.

  ‘Harry!’ Noah shouts out. ‘Harry!’ His voice is whipped away by the noise of the wind and sea.

  Huddled together, we make our way along the top of the beach, keeping well clear of the treacherous sea. My mouth goes dry. What if Harry has been swept away? It would be so easy. What if he’d walked out on the rocks, perhaps slipped and banged his head? If he’d fallen into the sea, he’d be dragged under and we might never find him. Oh God. My heart starts to thump in panic. I’ve had such unkind thoughts about him recently. I thought, I was so sure, that I didn’t love him any more. But now I’d give anything just to see him again, to have the chance to hold him in my arms.

  Tears stream down my cheeks, mixing with the rain.

  ‘Harry! Harry!’ We all call out in unison, trying to make ourselves heard.

  Noah scans the rocks with the torch, but the beam scarcely penetrates the rain. We could cover more ground if we searched for him separately, but it’s so dangerous out here that any one of us could slip and fall. I think it’s best if we stay together. I have no desire to go wandering off on my own on this filthy night and, again, I wonder why Harry would.

  We’re clambering across the rocks now, further away from the safety of Cwtch Cottage. Surely he can only have gone this way? If you go in the other direction, there’s quite a steep climb behind the cottage and I don’t think Harry, even in his inebriated state, would have tried that. He could possibly have headed down the road, but why would he do that when it would take him nowhere?

  The clouds are dark, shouldering into each other just above our heads, weeping. If we didn’t have this big, fuck-off torch, we’d never see anything. We trudge further and further, facing into the rain.

  Then, just as I’m beginning to abandon all hope of finding him, Noah says, ‘There!’

  I look up and, sure enough, Harry is sitting on a lone rock, staring out to sea. My heart races and I hear myself whisper, ‘Thank God.’

  Together, we pick up our pace and hurry forwards. He’s not wearing a jacket and his shirt is soaked, stuck to his skin. The waves are swirling just below his feet and we have to wade in the water up to our knees to reach him. The tide is coming in fast.

  ‘Harry!’ Noah shouts out. But he doesn’t hear us.

  We’re right upon him, splashing heavily through the waves, when he turns and finally notices us. We climb on to the rock and I kneel down next to him. He looks as if he’s in a trance and I’d say that he’s been crying, but it’s hard to tell with the rain. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen Harry cry and I wonder what on earth can be wrong.

  ‘Come on, love,’ I say. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold out here. Come back to the cottage with us. I’ll get some hot chocolate on the go.’

  He doesn’t move, and Noah and I exchange a worried look. Flick is hanging back. When Noah moves to the other side of him and we lift him together, Harry doesn’t resist.

  ‘Let’s get you into this nice warm jacket.’ I try to sound jovial, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to find my husband out in the blackness, being lashed by the fierce rain. If we don’t get him off here quickly, then we’ll soon be up to our thighs in water. ‘Come on, love.’

  Flick steps forward and helps me to feed his arms into the waterproof.

  For the first time, Harry looks up. ‘You came,’ he says, sounding choked.

  ‘Of course we did,’ I answer.

  ‘I knew you still cared.’ He seems to have a
ged ten years in the last few hours and I feel frightened for him. With Noah’s help I lead him gingerly, slowly, down the rocks. We support him as we wade back through the ever-encroaching waves. Any longer and we’d have been cut off from Cwtch Cottage, I’m sure. We might never have found Harry at all.

  Flick thrusts her hands deep into her pockets and marches along beside us, head down. She doesn’t deal very well with overt displays of emotion and I think, at this moment, she’d rather be anywhere else. My friend falls into step next to me.