huts with peeling paint and broken windows. Pieces of roofing-felt flapped in the wind, hanging down like depressed bunting, where stormy winds had ripped them from their fixings.
Donovan explained that the beach huts were disused and in the pipeline to be demolished. ‘More picture-postcard blue and yellow ones will follow in their place,’ he said.
‘So where exactly are we now?’ asked Ellen.
‘This is called Old Point,’ said Donovan. ‘No one comes down here much as it’s a bit isolated. You can only access the shoreline from one road that, back in the 1930’s, used to service a small holiday camp. You know, Hi-De-Hi sort of thing. It finally closed down about twenty years ago.’
‘Why hasn’t anyone developed it in all that time?’ said Ellen, looking beyond the battered wooden huts to where boarded-up rows of chalets stood, alongside larger buildings, which she assumed were once the dining hall, ballroom and entertainment lounge. ‘It’s a shame to let something that was once so full of life fall into such a neglected and dead state.’
‘There’s been so many different plans put forward for developing the whole site. It’s been the topic of heated public debates. Finally, though, last year plans and funding were agreed and they intend to start work on it next spring. These old beach huts don’t really fit in, as you can imagine.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Let’s go down onto the beach,’ said Donovan, steering her in the direction of the pebbles.
The tide was on its way out. Crunching over the stones and shingle, holding on to Donovan’s arm for support, Ellen allowed herself to be guided onto the gritty dark-brown sand. Donovan picked up a pebble and skimmed it across the water, the stone bouncing twice before disappearing below the surface. ‘Only twice?’ remarked Ellen, giving her best unimpressed look.
‘I would like to see you do better,’ said Donovan, tossing another stone in the palm of his hand. He threw it to her.
Ellen caught it and mirrored his actions, making out she was weighing the stone up, before rubbing it against her sleeve and pretending to spit on it. ‘More than two bounces? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.’
Donovan laughed out loud. ‘You sound like Izzy. Again.’
‘You won’t be laughing in a minute,’ said Ellen. She pulled her arm back and, crouching slightly, she flicked the stone out across the water. ‘One, two, three! Oh, yes!’ Ellen jumped up and clapped her hands together. ‘Beat that.’ She bent down picked up another pebble and chucked it in Donovan’s direction.
Donovan caught the pebble and turned it over in his hand a couple of times, before throwing it underarm into the sea. Ellen could tell by the look on his face the game was over. What had she done wrong? Was he really that bad a loser? Without turning his gaze from the English Channel, he spoke.
‘You made me think about Izzy’s mother and how different you are. Amanda, my estranged wife, has never been particularly light-hearted or maternal.’ He dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket. ‘Swap the “n” of maternal for an “I” and that’s more like her.’
Ellen did the alphabetical gymnastics. ‘Material.’
‘Exactly. Much more material. Especially if it comes in the form of alcohol, handbags, shoes or clothes, in that order.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Ellen, fully aware of the angst in his voice. ‘How long has Amanda been in France?’
‘Three years but she’s moving back to the UK.’
‘Is that not a good thing, though? Won’t Izzy be able to see her mother more?’
She watched Donovan’s face as he continued to stare at a fixed spot on the horizon. ‘No, it’s not a good thing. She wants custody of Izzy.’ Now he turned to face Ellen. ‘And that is going to happen over my dead body.’
Ellen had no doubt that he meant exactly what he said. That it was no idle threat or cliché. She watched as he stomped his way back up the shingle incline, every footstep planting into the stones with purpose.
Sighing to herself that the good mood of the day was broken, Ellen followed him back up to the promenade. She took the hand he extended to hoick her up from the stones and, offering a murmur of gratitude in return, was gifted a small smile. The grouchiness was apparently over. She liked this about him. It didn’t seem he sulked for long. Unlike Toby. This turn of thought made her shudder involuntarily. She blinked her eyes slowly and swallowed, to regain her equilibrium. She mustn’t think about him. She needed to stay calm and exorcise him and his actions from her mind. She had managed this quite well when she had been abroad, so she could continue it now.
‘You all right?’ Donovan’s concerned voice pierced her thoughts. ‘You look very pale. It must be the cold getting to you. You really should invest in a warmer coat.’
Ellen managed a nod. ‘Yes, I must.’ She was quite happy for him to believe it was the cold sending a shiver down her spine and taking the colour from her face. She realised she was rubbing her right forearm agitatedly, and quickly stuffed her hands in her pockets. Looking out the corner of her eye, she was met by Donovan’s gaze. He looked down at her arm and then back at her again without saying a word. His eyes looked right into her own, as if they could read the memories unwillingly forming in her mind. When he stopped walking and turned to face her, Ellen knew what was coming next.
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