The Beach Cabin: A Short Story. Fern Britton

      Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

      Copyright © Fern Britton 2015

      Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

      Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

      Fern Britton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of 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, down-loaded, 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.

      Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780008146412

      Version: 2017-11-21

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Prologue

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Epilogue

       Read on for a Sneak Peak of Fern’s Latest Bestselling Novel

      

       Chapter 1

       Keep Reading _ a Seaside Affair

       Fern Media Ad

       W6 Café Ad

      

       About the Author

      

       Also by Fern Britton:

      

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

       Channel 7 Studios, London, 2000

      The floor manager of Skool’s Out, Channel 7’s hit children’s TV show, watched the action play out in front of him in a state of high anxiety, rather like a budgerigar left in charge of a cattery, never sure from which direction the danger was going to come from. The programme always went out live at 5.15 p.m. on a Friday and the whole operation was a test of nerves, patience, forbearance and arse-licking for the entire crew. Despite the old show-business adage about never working with animals or children, the set was always filled with dozens of hysterical pre-teens, plus that week’s line-up of novelty acts. This typically consisted of an assortment of pet dogs that could whine the National Anthem, a nine-year-old who could fart at the same decibel level as a car horn and some idiot intent on breaking a silly world record, like how many times you can kick your own butt in one minute. On top of this the crew had to contend with the fragile egos and sometimes ridiculous demands of the celebrity guests, combined with the inflated ones of the show’s presenters. Anything could go wrong, and it was a fine balance between giving the show’s trademark anarchy full flight while keeping things under control.

      The set was designed to look like a school where the kids had taken over. Walls were daubed in graffiti, there were ‘detention’ cells that the guests could be placed in if they displeased the ‘kids’ and everything had a slightly sinister quality that was pitched somewhere between St Trinian’s and a Tim Burton movie.

      The floor manager heard the director’s voice from the control room through his earpiece. ‘Dave and cameras move over to the cell area for Robbie’s detention skit.’

      ‘Yep.’ On the set, Robbie Williams had been placed in one of the cells and was being lambasted by the show’s irreverent star, a puppet called Brian the Cat – a mass of tatty black-and-white fur and Denis Healey eyebrows who spoke in the thick Mancunian tones of his puppeteer. Brian was lambasting Robbie from outside his cell accompanied by his sidekick, a young presenter called Kirsty.

      ‘Robbie Williams, the studio audience have unanimously decided to give you detention on account of not only crimes against music…’

      The audience howled with laughter.

      ‘…but also, for eating all the pies!’

      Cue more hysterical screaming.

      Ed Appleby, the studio runner, watched tensely from his position behind the camera crew. He could see Robbie’s PA and his publicity manager watching stony-faced from the wings. If things went too far and Robbie got upset, there would be hell to pay. Ed took his Joe 90 glasses off, gave them a quick wipe before putting them back on and then ran his hand anxiously through his dark curly hair.

      Brian the Cat was egging the audience on. ‘What do you reckon? Shall we let him go home now, kids? Has he done his detention?’

      ‘Splat him!’ the children screamed. Robbie grabbed the cell bars and shook his head vigorously, mouthing something Ed couldn’t hear over the roaring of the audience, but which looked suspiciously like, Bollocks to that.

      ‘Let him have it!’ declared Brian triumphantly, and a bucket that had been hovering above Robbie’s head tipped over and released a yellow goo over his head.

      ‘Camera one, zoom in,’ said the director over talkback.

      The camera zoomed in to see Robbie’s expression as the yellow gunk slicked down his face and chest.

      Robbie wiped the gunk away from his eyes with his fingers and licked