Summer at Lavender Bay

Summer at Lavender Bay

SARAH BENNETT

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Sarah Bennett 2018

Sarah Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008281335

Version: 2018-06-25

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by

Coming Soon

About the Publisher

It’s not the first love that counts – it’s the last. This one’s for M, my last and truest love

Chapter One

Welcome to Heathrow. Eliza’s stomach churned at the words emblazoned on the large silver sign dominating the roundabout. They were really going through with it. After weeks of debate, of ever-more outlandish promises from Martin about how relocating to the Middle East would be a fresh start for both of them, they’d finally reached the point of no return. She placed her hand on her uneasy middle, assuring herself it was merely butterflies of excitement rather than a sense of impending dread that had made it impossible to choke down more than a couple of mouthfuls of tea.

Once they’d checked in, they’d find somewhere for breakfast. Martin wanted a blowout—a full English with all the works—to say goodbye to the UK in style. The thought of all that grease did nothing to help her queasiness, but he was excited about their new adventure and she owed it to him to be supportive. She’d manage a plate of scrambled eggs on toast and hopefully something to eat would settle her down.

‘Here you go, mate.’ The taxi driver’s cheerful voice scattered her wayward thoughts. Blinking, she realised the car had drawn to a halt outside a huge glass and concrete building. ‘That’ll be twenty quid. Do you need a hand with your bags?’ The taxi driver half-turned to complete the transaction with Martin who began to fumble with his wallet.

From Eliza’s vantage point in the back seat, the contrast between the two men was marked. The driver was an older man, closer to her dad’s age than theirs. His tanned skin crinkled around his eyes, giving her the impression he laughed a lot. He’d been chatty during the journey and seemed genuinely interested to hear about their relocation to Abu Dhabi. She’d left it to Martin to carry the majority of the conversation, although she’d managed a smile and a few words of agreement whenever either of them had aimed a question or remark in her direction.

Eliza’s stomach started doing that unpleasant swirling thing again—like she was filled with water and someone had yanked out the plug, sending it spinning as the water drained away. It was the same feeling she had every time she thought, heard or saw the name of the country where they’d be living for at least the next three years.

‘I’d like a receipt please,’ Martin said as he handed over a crisp note fresh from the cashpoint machine. He looked pale, almost wan, next to the older man. The sallowness of his skin owed more to the hours he spent locked inside staring at his laptop rather than genetics. He’d catch the sun soon enough; he always did whenever they returned to their home town of Lavender Bay to visit their families. Not that she could persuade him to go there much these days. He was always too busy—although it was never clear to Eliza exactly what it was on his computer that took up so much of his spare time.

With the driver paid, there was no excuse for her to linger in the cab any longer, so she took a deep breath and forced her shaking hand to open the door. It was nerves, nothing more. Anyone taking such a big leap into the unknown was bound to be a little apprehensive, right?

The hem of the long, flowing skirt she was wearing caught on the low heel of her patent red shoes, and she had to pause to extricate it. She’d chosen muted colours, floaty layers over dark leggings and a thin, long-sleeved T-shirt, with a scarf around her neck which could be pulled up to cover her hair if needs be. Martin’s employer had provided them with suggestions of acceptable attire, and although it had been stressed to her the authorities were entirely reasonable in their approach to Western visitors, it was important to her to be respectful towards the culture of the country. The fact her milk-pale, freckled complexion could burn at the first hint of strong sunlight meant she was used to covering up. Her Dorothyesque red shoes had been the only indulgence when selecting her outfit, a splash of the rich colours she favoured; a touch of courage.

Feeling a bit useless, Eliza hovered out of the way whilst Martin and the driver wrestled their luggage out of the boot. With a smile, the driver placed a large and small suitcase in front of her then tugged the handles up and locked them in place. ‘Chin up, sweetheart, it might never happen.’

She laughed at the well-worn phrase and the kindly wink, ignoring the whirlpool inside her. He was sort of right. It had already happened, so she might as well stop sulking about it. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘My pleasure. Have a good flight.’ With a cheery wave, he was gone.

‘All set?’ Martin’s question turned her head towards him, and she nodded. His laptop bag dangled precariously from one shoulder, his hands already filled with the handles of his two cases.

Stepping forward, she lifted the bag up so she could lengthen the strap and hook it over his body cross-wise. ‘It might be easier like this.’ Her own personal items were secured in a small rucksack already strapped to her back.

‘Thanks.’ She lifted up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but he was already turning away from her. Like he had been for months. Like they both had been—she corrected herself. It wasn’t all Martin’s fault if things between them were flat. They’d been drifting apart for ages, a slow slide of conflicting work schedules and a lack of shared interests. It hadn’t seemed important when they were kids, flush with the excitement of young love and too naïve to understand how the little things they found easy to shrug off would slowly grow into rocks of resentment neither of them seemed willing to clamber over. Instead of addressing those problems, their answer had been to divert themselves from the rocky path of their marriage by veering off in an entirely new direction. A fresh start, a new life in a new country with new opportunities. Not ready to give up on nearly a decade of commitment, Eliza had let herself become swept away with it.

‘Come on, Eliza. Stop daydreaming.’ Eliza—short for Elizabeth. A name she’d chosen for herself on the same day her two best friends had chosen their own nicknames. The quirk of fate that saw certain names become popular each year, had seen the three of them all christened Elizabeth within a handful of months of each other. That might not have been a problem in a big city, but in the tiny seaside town of Lavender Bay where there were only enough children to fill one class each year, it had been a problem. Fed up of the confusion, they’d sat on Eliza’s bed one evening during their first year at secondary school and decided to become Beth, Eliza and Libby. And so they’d remained for the next fifteen years.

Shaking off the old memory, Eliza noted Martin had already trundled away with his share of the luggage, forcing her to grab hers and hurry after him. The cases were mismatched in both size and weight and had seen better days. They’d invested in a new set for Martin because he’d need his suits and shirts to be halfway presentable on arrival as he would be heading to the office the next morning. Eliza only had to stay in the hotel the firm had allocated them for the first few days—the keys to their new apartment not being available until the end of the week—so it didn’t matter much if her things were a bit crumpled. There would be plenty of time to sort and iron everything, it wasn’t as though she’d have anything else to do once they moved into the new place.

She finally caught up to him at the barriers just before check in, and only because he’d stopped to rummage in the front pocket of his bag for their paperwork. Withdrawing the pre-printed boarding passes and their passports, he split them and handed hers over. ‘There you go. Just join the back of that queue and I’ll wait for you here once you’re finished.’

‘Wait for me? What are you talking about. We can just check in together.’

A dull blush added spots of red to Martin’s pallid skin. ‘I…umm…I’m going business class.’

All those times he’d brushed off her enquiries about their flight details, insisting he had everything in hand, suddenly made horrible sense. ‘We’re not sitting together? We’re not even in the same section of the bloody plane?’ she hissed, not wanting to make a scene in the crowded hall.

He adjusted the bag over his shoulder, glancing away, but not quick enough for her to miss seeing him roll his eyes. ‘Why do you always have to get like this?’ he sighed, as though he were the most put-upon husband in the history of the known world. He looked back, but his gaze didn’t meet hers. ‘Look, the company were generous enough to pay for us both, but their policy doesn’t cover business travel for family members. I didn’t think it was worth wasting money from our savings on an upgrade for you. It’s a big day for me tomorrow. I’ll be working for most of the flight so I need to be able to focus on that. Besides, economy on these big planes isn’t exactly a hardship and I thought you’d understand…’ His voice trailed off, the tone a perfect blend of confusion and disappointment.

He’d thought she’d understand. Which was why he’d deliberately avoided discussing it with her until now. How very like him to put off anything that might involve a difficult conversation. He’d clearly practised his list of excuses and settled on her being a distraction. Like she was some five-year-old child incapable of sitting still for a few hours. It was a bloody night flight, for God’s sake, and she’d intended to spend it catching up on a few movies she hadn’t seen, and sleeping.

Staring up at him, Eliza wondered, not for the first time, who the hell he was. This was supposed to be a new start for them, the next step in their life together; it wasn’t unreasonable of her to expect they’d be taking it side by side. The twisting tension inside her made her snap at him. ‘And what happens after check in, I suppose you’re going to use the business class lounge rather than sit with me and the rest of the plebs in the departures area?’

He folded his arms, the corners of his eyes narrowing the way they did when he got angry. Martin wasn’t a great one for losing his temper, but she knew the look. If avoidance and cajoling wouldn’t work to talk her around, he used it as a last resort. If he thought he could intimidate her into backing down though, he was in for a shock. ‘What is it about this that is so difficult for you to understand? When we get to Abu Dhabi tomorrow, I have to work. You can go to the hotel and sleep, or laze by the pool, or whatever the hell you want to do with yourself. Why are you making this difficult?’ Oh God, that tone in his voice! It took all her self-control not to slap him for it.

Conscious they were blocking the entrance to the check in lanes, Eliza towed her cases a few feet away, then waited for Martin to join her. He rolled his eyes again, and her fists clenched over the handles as the swirl in her belly turned into a vortex that threatened to suck the life out of her. ‘I thought we were in this together,’ she said, pitching her voice low. ‘You knew about my reservations about leaving my family and friends so far behind, about having nothing to do but stay at home and keep house for you. We talked about this and yet now you’re treating me as some kind of hanger-on. This is supposed to be you and me, and baby makes three, remember? The Wilkinsons vs the World.’

Martin shoved a hand through his hair. ‘You can do whatever you want for the next three years. I’m making enough money to set us up for life. Most women would jump at the chance to do nothing but “keep house”. It’s not exactly an onerous task, is it? You’ll be free to spend time on your projects. Christ, we don’t even have to have a kid if you don’t want one, I just thought it would make you happy.’

His words struck her like a blow. All those hours spent talking about this move, when she’d thought they were finally making a proper connection again, and he’d been humouring her? ‘Make me happy? Nothing about this makes me happy, Martin, but you went ahead and did it anyway! Applied for the job without telling me, then accepted it before we’d finished discussing the pros and cons.’

Another flash of understanding sent her reeling. ‘Do you even want to have a baby?’ She’d had her own doubts, not about having children—she’d always dreamed of a brood of chubby little babies growing into gorgeous, happy children surrounded by the same love she’d always known growing up—but about the timing of it all.

He shrugged. ‘I’m not bothered either way. I just thought it made sense given how much time you’ll have on your hands.’

Like bringing a child into the world was on a par with one of her ‘little projects’. ‘We’re talking about creating a new life together, not knitting a bloody jumper!’ She was shouting now, but it was that or start crying.

The vortex shifted into a hurricane, and it was all she could do to cling on as her reality shredded into a thousand tiny fragments and blew away. ‘Who are you?’

Martin tutted loudly. ‘Lower your voice, for God’s sake and don’t be such a drama queen. I’m your bloody husband, that’s who I am. We can talk about this later. Let’s just get checked in, okay?’

No. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, and it hadn’t been for a long time.

Eliza took a step backwards. ‘I’m not doing this.’

‘Not doing what?’ Even now, he didn’t get it. He wasn’t her husband. He was nothing like the shy, idealistic boy she’d fallen in love with. And she was nothing like the naïve girl he’d sworn to love forever. They’d been children, playing at love. Things might have been different if they’d found some common ground along the way, a fertile plot to plant the seeds of that first love so it could flourish and grow. They’d grown up, but not together, and all that bound them were words they’d said without understanding the importance behind them. ‘I’m not going with you.’

Furious now, if the muscle twitching in his jaw was anything to go by, he snatched for her arm. When she twisted to evade his grip, he circled around until she was trapped between his body and their luggage. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid. You’re going to stop this nonsense, right now. Get your bags and come on.’

Her hands shook at the harshness in his voice, but she knotted them in the folds of her skirt, refusing to back down. ‘I’ll go with you, on one condition. Tell me why you love me.’

‘Christ, Eliza. I don’t have time for these games. I love you because you’re my wife.’ He glanced away, and she could see his chest rise and fall as he sucked in a deep breath. When he looked back at her, the anger appeared to have gone, but where? No one could switch moods that quickly, so why was he trying to hide it from her? She was derailing his well-laid plans and he had every right to be mad at her. And what else had he been hiding? How much more resentment had he swallowed down hoping for an easy life? Probably as much, if not more, than she had.

Feeling like she didn’t know him at all, Eliza raised her hands in a placatory gesture as she edge out from where he’d crowded her against their bags. ‘That’s not enough, don’t you see? And it shouldn’t be enough for you, either.’

Martin put his hands on his hips. The muscle in his jaw had started twitching again, but his voice carried that same weary, patronising tone. ‘Couples have their ups and downs. Life can’t be all hearts and flowers.’

‘Trotting out a couple of trite old sayings isn’t going to fix this.’ With every second that passed, the certainty grew within her—it was over between them.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Just what do you expect me to do about it then?’

Eliza shook her head. ‘Nothing. This is a good opportunity for you, you should make the most of it. It’s not good for me, though, and I hope in time you’ll come to see that. You’ll be so busy getting to grips with everything, you won’t even notice I’m not there.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ He reached for her again, and she tucked her arm behind her back away from him. ‘The bloody house is leased out; they’re moving in next week! Where the hell will you go?’

That he even needed to ask told her how little he knew and understood her. The fact she hadn’t even considered returning to the little starter home they’d shared for the past five years only served to reinforce to her she was doing the right thing. Seizing the handles of her suitcases, she turned away. ‘I’m going back to Lavender Bay.’

‘I won’t run after you.’ Good, she didn’t want him to. ‘Eliza? Jesus Christ!’ His frustrated shout faded beneath the rapid beat of her shoes striking on the tiled floor of the airport. Refusing to look back, Eliza kept walking until she’d cleared the automatic doors and joined the end of the queue of travellers waiting for a taxi.

Staring at her shoes, she watched as a tear splashed on the shiny red patent and rolled off. With a sniffle, she fought back the tears and clicked her heels together three times as she whispered. ‘There’s no place like home.’

Chapter Two

The screaming had become so much a part of Jack’s life over the past month that he was out of bed and halfway across the landing before he was even properly awake. He’d just flipped on the light when the door to his mum’s room opened, and she appeared next to him with one arm hooked in the sleeve of her dressing gown, the rest of it trailing behind her. A section of her short grey hair was flattened against her scalp, the other side standing up in a lopsided wave, showing how she’d tossed and turned in her sleep. The circles beneath her eyes stood out like bruises against her pale skin. She looked terrible—at least ten years older than the fifty-seven she was due to turn in a couple of weeks. She was a ghostly shadow of the vibrant, robust woman who’d filled his life with laughter since the day he was born.

When was the last time he’d heard her laugh? The stray thought was shattered by another gut-wrenching scream. Jack shuddered, then braced his shoulders. ‘I’ll see to him, Mum. Go back to bed.’

Tears filled her eyes. ‘Poor little lamb, I wish there was something we could do.’

‘Me too, we just have to give him time. We have to give all of us time.’ Jack turned the handle and slipped into his nephew’s room. The night-light Jack’s brother Jason had purchased for his son when Noah had been tiny cast soft blue stars and moons onto the wall and ceiling. Having been declared ‘too-babyish’ just six months previously, it had been retrieved from the cupboard when the nightmares had started the night Jason died.

Ducking down next to the figure huddled beneath a Star Wars duvet, Jack touched a gentle hand to the rigid shoulder. ‘Noah? Shh, now. Uncle Jack’s here, everything will be okay.’ The lie curdled on his tongue. Nothing could ever be right for the poor kid, not since that terrible early-April morning when all their lives had been turned upside down and shattered by the terrible car accident. One bitter twist of fate had robbed Jack of his elder brother and made him into a surrogate father overnight. The fact that Jason had entrusted his son to his keeping was a weight he didn’t know if he could carry—and an honour he would spend the rest of his days trying to be worthy of.

It feels daft to be writing this, Jack, but the solicitor told me I needed to make my wishes clear should the worst happen, so here goes. In the event of my death, I want you to be the one responsible for Noah’s well-being and upbringing. You’re the only person I can trust to give him the life he deserves, to raise him how I would. A normal life. Give him the choices we never had, Jack…

The words of Jason’s letter to him, left with the solicitor for safekeeping together with his will, were etched into Jack’s memory in indelible ink. He knew they’d hurt their mum with their not-so-implied criticism of the way she and their dad had raised them. Jack had been not much older than Noah when his parents had decided to escape from the rat-race and start a new life in the country. It had been one big adventure to his ten-year-old self. At fourteen, Jason had been devastated to leave his friends and life in London behind to move to an old farm in the back of beyond, and he’d never quite recovered from that initial resentment, though it’d been almost twenty years ago. And now he’d never be able to heal the rift with their mother.

Growing up on the farm it had been the Gilberts against the world, an isolated existence thanks to his parents home-schooling their sons. Jack had loved the cosy security and been perfectly content with it just being the four of them most days. Jason had chafed against it, especially when his plans to escape off to a job in the city after finishing at university had been thwarted by their father’s early passing. Jason had given up a promising position with a trading house to help manage the farm. Though he’d never said so, it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else and every free moment he could manage, Jason disappeared somewhere. He’d never talked about what he got up to, and never invited Jack along either which had hurt more than he’d ever admitted.