THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS. Erin Kaye

she had acknowledged to herself. The question was – was she at fault in some way? Was she bossy and controlling, like Louise and Sian said she was? Did that make her hard to live with? And, more importantly, what could be done to put things right between them?

      It hadn’t always been like this. Once they’d worked together as a team, curled up together on the sofa at night with a glass of wine each, talking about their day, making plans together. She’d been warm and loving towards him, he’d been gentle and kind. But somewhere, in the hubbub of family life, that easy intimacy had been lost. If only he would spend more time at home, if they both made the effort, maybe they could find a way to reconnect.

      Heidi licked the top of her foot making Joanne laugh – with no one about to observe the breaking of house rules, she tossed the dog a slice of ham. Heidi gobbled it up and slobbered over Joanne’s foot some more by way of thanks.

      Holly shuffled sleepily into the room just then with her pink dressing gown hanging open and huge furry slippers in the shape of bunny rabbits on her feet. ‘What’re you doing, Mum?’

      ‘Making sandwiches for our picnic.’

      ‘Picnic?’ said Holly sleepily.

      ‘Yeah. Don’t you remember? We’re going to the beach today with Auntie Louise and Oli.’

      ‘Oh yeah. I forgot!’ said Holly, her eyes lighting up and a big smile spreading across the broad face she had inherited from her father. ‘Can I help?’

      Joanne smiled. Holly was such a good-natured child – in marked contrast to her resentful little sister who walked around as though a black cloud hung over her. ‘I’m okay here. But I’ll tell you what you could do for me.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Go and get dressed and tell Abbey to get dressed too. And while you’re upstairs tell Maddy it’s time to get up. In fact, go in and open her curtains. That should do the trick.’

      Holly dashed out of the room. ‘Abbey,’ she shouted, ‘we’re going to the beach!’

      Minutes later Abbey was in the room, her face contorted with rage. ‘I can’t go to the beach,’ she said. ‘Me and Katie-May are going to make a shop today.’

      Joanne rolled her eyes, put a round of sandwiches in a sandwich bag and sealed it shut. ‘Look,’ she said, taking a bunch of grapes out of the fridge and rinsing them under the cold tap. ‘You can play shops with Katie-May any day of the week. We’ve never been to the beach before with Auntie Louise and Oli. Won’t it be fun? You can show Oli where the crabs hide.’

      ‘I don’t want to.’

      Joanne turned off the tap, set the grapes on the draining board and turned to face Abbey. If her youngest daughter thought there was any mileage in putting up a fight, Joanne was determined to deal that misconception a fast and decisive blow. ‘You are going to the beach,’ she said with dark menace, enunciating each word like a child in the early stages of learning to read. ‘You are going to enjoy it,’ she said, her pace picking up to a canter, ‘and you will not spoil today for me or Auntie Louise. Now go upstairs, get dressed and pack your things.’

      She turned back to the sink and, when she looked a minute later, the child was gone. She hoped Abbey wasn’t going to be this difficult all summer long. Joanne enjoyed fantastic school holiday arrangements from her job at the pharmacy – her employers were exceptionally generous in permitting her to take eight weeks off and she was grateful. But, still, she missed the work and her colleagues. She would be ready to go back when the holidays were over. But not yet – the prospect of a day at the beach filled her with excitement.

      Louise had taken some persuading – she was apparently still annoyed with Joanne for not correcting the stories their mother and father had circulated about her. But the fact that she had agreed to come in the end was a sign that she was prepared to forgive – albeit probably for Oli’s sake.

      An hour and a half later, dressed in a knee-length denim skirt, lace-up red plimsolls and a blue and white striped T-shirt, Joanne herded everyone, including Heidi, into her silver Volkswagen Touran. Naturally an argument ensued between Holly and Abbey about who would get to sit in the third-row seat. This was a coveted position because the fold-down seats in the boot were rarely used and therefore somewhat of a novelty. Abbey, the loser, after the argument was settled with the toss of a coin, sat fuming in the middle seat of the second row, her arms folded across her chest and a look on her face that said she would happily throttle anyone who came within a foot of her. She ignored Oli, strapped in beside her, who seemed to be the only one as excited as Joanne. Poor Heidi was curled up uncomfortably on the floor of the middle row along with an assortment of beach bags, buckets and spades.

      Louise sat beside Joanne in the passenger seat dressed in khaki knee-length shorts and a bright multi-coloured stripy T-shirt with large red buttons on the shoulder. Joanne knew it was from Boden – she’d seen it in the catalogue. She couldn’t afford to buy from there – her top came from George at Asda. Joanne gave her head a little shake, resolving to banish such destructive, jealous thoughts from her mind.

      She reversed the car out of the drive singing the first few lines of ‘Summer Holiday’. She glanced in the rear-view mirror – Maddy grimaced and put her head in her hands. Joanne smiled and carried on singing even louder than before and after a while, her reserve cracking, so did Louise. No one, Joanne decided, was going to put a dampener on this day.

      There were beaches close to Ballyfergus – the rather un attractively named Drains Bay and Ballygally to the north and, to the south, Brown’s Bay on Islandmagee. These were well-known to Joanne and Louise but today they were going farther afield – to Whitepark Bay, which lay between picturesque Ballintoy harbour and the tiny fishing village of Portbraddon on the north-east coast of Antrim. The drive took an hour and a half and it was almost lunchtime when they finally pulled into the car park. Outside the Youth Hostel, two female cyclists wearing full-face helmets fiddled with luggage on the back of their bikes. A couple of backpackers ate sandwiches at a picnic bench, huge rucksacks leaning against the end of the table.

      Everyone tumbled out of the car, stretched and looked down at the swathe of golden sand below, great waves breaking white and frothy on the beach. Heidi barked at the sea then belted off down the long path towards the beach. Joanne perched her sunglasses on top of her head and squinted down at the breathtaking view, equalled perhaps, but not surpassed in the whole of Ireland.

      ‘Heidi! Heidi!’ called Louise frantically.

      Joanne put her hands on her hips and smiled at the now-distant streak of black as the dog disappeared into the sand dunes. The sun was high in the sky, hot and fierce – the light north-easterly breeze a welcome, cool caress.

      ‘It’s okay, leave her be. She’ll not go far.’ Heidi was a terrible scavenger – all she seemed to think about was food – but not, thank goodness, a wanderer.

      Even Abbey who had resolutely maintained a stubborn silence throughout most of the car journey, suddenly came to life, energised by the sight of the ocean.

      ‘I’m going swimming,’ she cried, her mood entirely shifted.

      ‘I forgot how beautiful it was,’ said Joanne. ‘And how empty.’ The wide sands, lapped by wave after wave of frothing sea, were virtually deserted. A few surfers in wetsuits, black and leggy like spiders, rode the waves. On the beach, a flock of grey-white sheep wandered from the dunes onto the sand.

      ‘Mum would love this,’ said Louise, conjuring up memories of happy days spent on this beach as a child.

      ‘I know, she used to love coming here,’ said Joanne, a little sadly. She pointed at the long flight of steep steps that led down to the strand. ‘But she couldn’t have managed those steps or stayed very long. We’ll take her to Portstewart next week. She’ll be able to manage the promenade there much better.’

      ‘Yes, that’d be nice,’ agreed Louise and then added doubtfully, ‘You know, I forgot how long the walk was from the car park.’ She cast a worried glance at Oli who was examining