The Beach Cabin: A Short Story. Fern Britton

expression on her face. It wasn’t a look he recognised or that he felt particularly comfortable with, if he was honest.

      ‘What’s wrong, Charlotte?’

      Charlotte tugged at her long fringe, something he’d noticed she did when she was nervous or anxious.

      ‘Something’s happened.’

      When he thought about it later, Ed realised what she said next was literally the last thing he’d have thought she was going to say. He’d have been less surprised if she’d told him she’d been born with a penis and had undergone a sex change.

      ‘I’m pregnant.’

      That she uttered these words and not some others was his justification for his response, though he knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it was completely the wrong thing to say in the circumstances.

      ‘Oh, shit!’

      Charlotte immediately stiffened, eyed him with a look that seemed to communicate both disappointment and distress, and snatched her hand away from his.

      ‘Oh, shit!’ he said again, unable to absorb what those two words could mean for both of them. Registering the look in her eyes, he panicked. ‘I didn’t mean oh, shit, I meant oh, no. I mean, it’s the timing, isn’t it, for both of us.’ Unable to stop himself, he blathered on: ‘Your job, mine…I always thought we’d get together properly one day – you know, married, kids and all that – but just not now…’

      This was all coming out wrong. He looked at Charlotte, his secret girlfriend…beautiful, clever Charlotte…the mother of his children…

      At this thought, a little spark seemed to ignite somewhere inside him and for a moment he saw them, his future family, and words and feelings that he’d never recognised in himself flickered within him: father, husband, protector…

      But Charlotte was getting up off the step, moving towards the door. She reached for the handle, then paused to look back at him. ‘The traditional response when someone announces they’re expecting a baby is “Congratulations!” Look, we’ll talk about it later, Ed. You’re right, my timing is shit.’

      ‘Wait, Charlotte!’ He leapt up and reached for her, but she brushed his hand away.

      ‘Look, Ed, it’s fine. We’ll talk later. Right now I need to go home.’

      As Ed watched her retreating back and scrabbled to his feet to catch her, he knew he’d screwed it up big time. If this was a test, then he had failed miserably.

      He only hoped it wasn’t too late and she’d give him a chance to make things right.

       1

       Pendruggan, Cornwall, 2015

      Penny Leighton was sitting in the kitchen of the Old Vicarage with her feet up on the kitchen table – it was her table, after all – enjoying a freshly poured cup of tea. For once the house was quiet: her husband had gone over to the church hall, where he was hosting the Pendruggan Mother and Toddlers’ Group as part of his vicarly duties. Across the table, Ed Appleby hunched over a laptop, wrinkling his brow as he perused stately homes on his web browser.

      ‘That list Cassie sent over of possible locations for Lady Arundell’s family pile – I’ve worked my way through and eliminated the ones that wouldn’t be suitable. Lanhydrock would be ideal, but I also like the sound of Prideaux Place, smaller but gorgeous. It’s not far from here and apparently it has amazing grounds overlooking Padstow. As we’ve got a break in filming, maybe I should arrange a meeting with the owners, do a recce – what do you think, Pen?’

      When his question went unanswered, Ed looked over the top of his laptop. The producer of The Mr Tibbs Mysteries seemed oblivious to his presence. She had just dunked a HobNob in her tea before popping it into her mouth and was currently savouring the soft, sugary crunch. A look of sheer bliss on her face, she let out a long ‘mmmm’.

      Ed took off his thick-rimmed Michael Caine glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. ‘Did you hear any of that, Pen?’

      ‘You know, without your glasses on you look about seventeen.’ Penny dunked another corner of her biscuit into her tea.

      ‘Don’t change the subject.’

      ‘Why not? Why do we have to talk about work? We’ve four weeks’ enforced break while our leading lady goes off and does her one-woman thing at the Old Vic. What’s wrong with spending a morning eating HobNobs and taking it easy for once?’ She cast a longing gaze at the copy of Grazia lying unopened by her side.

      Mr Tibbs, based on the novels of Mavis Carew and filmed on location in the picturesque Cornish seaside village where Penny had made her home, had proved to be such a runaway success that they were now halfway through filming the fourth series. The invasion of the cast and crew, and the transformation of Pendruggan into something straight out of the 1930s, had become an annual fixture in the village calendar. Some of the locals had been resistant, but most welcomed the film crew, especially now that the series had put Pendruggan on the tourist map. Queenie’s shop had become a must-see destination for the holidaymakers who flooded the village each summer.

      Ed sighed and shut his laptop.

      ‘Besides,’ Penny added, ‘it’s not your job to sort out locations. Cassie’s already done half the work. Let her go and see them. She’s more than capable. You can make your decision once she’s written up her recommendations.’

      ‘I’m the location manager. It’s my job.’

      ‘Cassie’s the assistant location manager, and that makes it her job. It’s called delegating, Ed. Anyway, you look exhausted.’

      ‘I am exhausted.’

      ‘Then go home and try to put your feet up for a while. Spend some time with Charlotte and those gorgeous children of yours. You all look like something out of a Boden advert.’

      Ed let out a humourless laugh. ‘Looks can be deceptive, Pen.’

      Penny put down her cuppa and leaned closer.

      ‘What’s the matter, Ed? You and I have worked on umpteen productions together over the years. I’ve seen you go from junior runner on Blue Peter to location manager on a Woody Allen movie, and, no matter how demanding the job, you’ve shown up for work full of enthusiasm and energy. I’ve never seen you out of sorts – until now. You’re usually so cheerful – too bloody cheerful, in fact!’

      ‘But it hasn’t affected my work?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Has anyone said anything?’

      ‘No of course not. Don’t be silly.’ She batted away his anxiety with a wave of her hand. ‘No one’s noticed a thing. Except me, and that’s only because we’ve known each other such a long time.’

      Ed wiped his glasses clean on the corner of his SuperDry T-shirt and let out a sigh.

      ‘Oh, I don’t know…’ He hesitated, wondering how to articulate what he was feeling without making it sound melodramatic? ‘Alex has been a bit difficult lately. She’s not been herself and Charlotte’s worried something’s up at school.’

      ‘She’s fifteen,’ Penny reasoned. ‘They’re unknowable at that age. You and Charlotte are there for her, though. You’re solid, right?’

      Solid, thought Ed. Before all this had happened he wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. They both adored the kids and put their needs first. For Ed that involved taking on work that meant they could leave London and buy a large house on the seafront in Worthing, and cover school fees so that both kids got the best education possible, plus a bit left over for long summer holidays in the South of France so they could spend time as a family. For Charlotte it had meant giving up work until the kids started school.