The Beach Cabin: A Short Story. Fern Britton

sceptically, turning to leave.

      Charlotte was on the verge of letting her go, but then decided it was time to bite the bullet and confront her daughter. ‘Alex, I called Poppy’s mum when you were late home. She said—’

      Alex’s explosive response took Charlotte by surprise, even though she’d been exposed to enough teen anger that she ought to be used to it by now. ‘How dare you! You’re always snooping around and following me. Why can’t you let me live my own life?’

      ‘Alex, darling, I don’t want to interfere, but you’re only fifteen and we worry about your safety, that’s all.’

      ‘Rubbish! You just want to control me.’

      Charlotte struggled to keep her voice even. ‘Alex, I understand how—’

      ‘No, you don’t! You can never know how it feels to be me!’ And, with this, Alex raced out of the room and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

      Charlotte looked at Molly, who was cowering under the pine kitchen table. ‘Well, that went as well as can be expected,’ she muttered, and Molly crept out and sat on her foot again, giving her hand a consoling lick. ‘Thanks, Molly. I can always rely on you to be here for me.’

      If only she could say the same of her husband. Charlotte silently cursed Ed for never being home when he was needed. Instead, he was hundreds of miles away as usual while she held the fort at home, though it felt very much like a battle she was fast losing.

      He was so much better with Alex than she was; he always knew how to bring her round. Part of the problem was that she and Alex were too much alike: spiky, emotional rather than rational, prone to keeping secrets…But the old Alex had hated confrontation. On the rare occasions when she did get in an argument, she was always the one who would try to make up. The familiar gnawing guilt fluttered in her belly, berating her. This is your fault. If you weren’t spending so much time at the theatre…All that time with Henry when you should be at home…

      As if on cue, her phone rang. It was Ed. Hello, stranger, she thought.

      ‘Hi, Ed. How’s it going?’

      ‘Yeah, good. We’re finished now for four weeks – Dahlia’s gone off to do her one-woman show in London.’

      ‘Oh, God, that! What’s it about again?’

      ‘Um, not sure – something to do with older people having a lot of sex?’

      ‘Crikey.’

      ‘Kids OK?’

      ‘You probably know better than I do.’

      Whenever he was away, Ed kept in daily contact with them by text and FaceTime.

      There was a pause at the other end of the line. She could picture him floundering over what to say next without putting his foot in it.

      ‘I was wondering,’ he said eventually, ‘how would it be if you all came down to Pendruggan for a few days? There’s a great place we can stay – it’s right by the beach. We haven’t seen much of each other over the last few weeks—’

      ‘Months, more like. And whose fault is that?’ Charlotte couldn’t stop the words slipping out.

      ‘I know, I know.’ Ed’s voice sounded pained. ‘But I think it would be good for the kids – and for us.’

      ‘I’m not sure, Ed.’ Charlotte knew from experience what a holiday could be like when Ed was in work mode. ‘You couldn’t find time to join us in France last month. Apart from one long weekend when you deigned to make an appearance, I had to hold the fort with my mum and dad. And those few days you were there you spent on your laptop or iPad, working. And when you weren’t working you were sleeping – or drinking too much.’

      There was silence from the other end of the line. Charlotte was already regretting her outburst and was on the verge of apologising and explaining why she’d felt the need to vent when Ed suddenly blurted, ‘Please, Charlotte, I promise I’ll be totally “there”. No phones, no laptop, no iPad. Just us. We need this.’

      Charlotte breathed in deeply. ‘Let me think about it and call you back. Alex is being tricky at the moment, and, even at the best of times, getting the kids to do anything outside their comfort zone is practically impossible. Besides, Pendruggan is a good five-hour drive, and—’

      ‘It’ll be worth it,’ Ed pleaded. ‘I promise you – come on, let’s do it.’

      Still Charlotte wouldn’t cave in. Promising that she’d call him back once she’d spoken to the kids, she hung up the phone and eyed the contents of the saucepan. It hadn’t looked like this in the Observer