Read The Beach Hut for Free Online Page A

gaily at Jane.
    ‘Darling, hello! I’m Barbara. Grumpy Guts is in the kitchen. Have a glass of champagne . . .’
    She jumped up and went to pour Jane a glass.
    ‘No, thank you. I’m fine—’
    ‘Come on. You deserve a medal, putting up with him all this time. Have you had to type the whole thing out? You are clever. His writing is appalling. I couldn’t do it.’
    ‘No. I need to get back. Thank you . . .’
    She backed out of the living room and up the stairs. Tears blinded her as she gathered up her things. What a little ninny she’d been. Of course he had a girlfriend. Or wife - perhaps this was his wife? How could she possibly have thought she was the centre of Terence Shaw’s universe? In those few terrible moments all her dreams gathered together and floated out of the window, laughing at her as they drifted off across the ocean.
    She patted the neatly typed manuscript into shape. She collected up all the handwritten pages and put them into order - she had kept them in case he had ever wanted to refer to them. She opened the door. Terence had gone back into the living room. She could hear their voices clearly - Barbara’s languid, husky drawl, Terence’s rich, low rumble.
    ‘You haven’t been making love to that creature, have you? She looks miserable as sin.’
    ‘Christ, no.’ Terence’s response was lazy, laconic. ‘Mousy little thing. I like something with a bit of spirit.’
    Barbara’s chuckle indicated that she had just that. And the ensuing silence indicated that the conversation was over and they were indulging in more important things.
    Jane stood in her office, fists clenched, heart thumping, her cheeks red.
    Something with a bit more spirit?
    Before she had a chance to have a second thought, she swept up all the papers off the desk and grabbed her handbag. She marched down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she lifted the lid of the wood-burner that heated the water. The handwritten pages went in first. The flames inside made short work of the paper, and she watched in satisfaction as every last scrap was devoured and turned to ash.
    Then it was the turn of the manuscript.
    As she held the pages of her labour in her hand, she felt tears well up. At that moment she was swept away by fury, by the injustice, but she knew that once the anger had subsided, the real pain would kick in. This revenge would do nothing to anaesthetise her. There would be no respite . . .
    Before she went, she left the title page on the lid of the wood-burner, just to make sure he understood what she had done.
     
    He came to find her a few days later, of course. She saw him hovering further down the beach, his hands in his pockets. She wasn’t afraid of confrontation. She went to meet him, and they walked down the beach together, out of earshot of anyone in the huts.
    She couldn’t read his expression. It was neither cold, nor angry. His voice was calm.
    ‘You’ve destroyed a year’s work.’
    She tilted her chin and met his eye, shrugging.
    ‘You’ve ruined my life.’
    ‘Is this about Barbara?’
    ‘You never told me about her.’
    ‘I never made you any promises.’
    Her mouth twisted. She wanted to cry, but she was determined to smile. Of course he hadn’t made her any promises. She’d made it all up for herself, the fairy-tale ending.
    ‘I suppose I just assumed I meant something. How idiotic of me.’
    He hesitated for a moment. He looked pained, as if he was about to say something momentous. Then he sighed.
    ‘I’m sorry.’ He didn’t clarify quite what for. Breaking her heart? Using her? Being caught out? Losing his work? He held her by the shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Janey.’
    He let his hands drop, then turned and walked away, back towards that steep path she had taken so many times over the past few weeks, her heart thudding with the excitement of seeing him. His steps were taut with tension. She looked up towards the house, and saw Barbara waving at him