LATE SEPTEMBER
Hugh
Well, that was a nice thing to find – a welcome present from the previous occupant. And a nod to Hollywood, because that was the place that had brought Martha, who had run back to the UK from Hollywood, into his life. Hugh turned the little blue glass bird over and over in his hand. Martha would love it because it had been she who had started the tradition of leaving something for the next occupant of the chalet back in May, and Hugh knew she would be pleased to see it was still being carried on. Not any longer though, not now he’d bought 23 The Strand. A bolthole for him and Martha, or Serena Ross as the world of acting knew her. Since bailing out of a Hollywood film back in May, Martha had taken a handful of stage roles to rave reviews. She’d also been approached by a small British film company and was seriously considering one of their suggestions. And she was toying with the idea of taking a degree that would enable her to teach drama. So many options, she’d told Hugh, now she was in control of her life and wasn’t being pushed into things because her agent thought she should do them.
Hugh had been to every play Martha had been in, taking an aisle seat so he had room to stretch his leg – still not healed properly although it was much better than it had been back in May – during the performance. He had plenty of time now for going to plays, seeing as he too was rethinking his life – a life he hoped with all his heart would have Martha in it. He’d pitched an idea to three different television companies about making a series about runs along beaches in far-flung countries, taking a different celebrity with him each time, with whom he would discuss various topics as they ran. All three companies had liked the idea and now – happily for Hugh – there was a bidding war going on. He hoped, when he’d come to a decision about which company to go with, that Martha would be the first celebrity, although he’d quite understand if she didn’t want to be.
Hugh had no intention of renting out 23 The Strand, and he felt a bit mean about that. Obviously it had been a happy stay here for Margy and Ed with their secret wedding. Margy sounded so upbeat in the note she’d left. And he had a feeling the other occupants in between Martha’s first visit and Margy’s last had found their own versions of happiness too for the tradition to have carried on.
‘Okay, little bird,’ he said to the little glass bird. ‘I could have used Mum and Dad’s chalet but I wanted my own. We wanted our own. Martha and me. And you are going to join us.’
Hugh’s parents rented out their chalet when they wouldn’t be using it, but such was Hugh and Martha’s busy, and often unpredictable, lifestyle that they needed somewhere they could go at a moment’s notice.
‘And now I’m going to tell Martha about you.’ He put down the bird and reached in his shirt pocket for his phone.
Martha answered on the second ring.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi, yourself. All done and dusted. Number 23 The Strand is mine. Well, ours. Just my name on the deeds at the moment, but…’
‘Hugh, stop it. You know we agreed to just go with the flow for the moment. It’s all been so perfect – the stage plays I’ve done and the beach runs we’ve got in, in between those – I don’t want anything to scupper it. Okay.’
‘Okay,’ Hugh said, although he didn’t know how marriage could scupper what they had, him and Martha. Any more than whatever life threw at his parents – and there’d been a fair bit of bad stuff in there with the good for them – had scuppered their marriage. ‘Oh yes, we’ve got a squatter already.’
‘A squatter?’
‘Indeterminate sex. Blue. A bird. No idea what variety.’
‘Well, let it out again,’ Martha said, sounding alarmed. ‘It could die of shock being trapped.’
‘I will so not. And it’s not going to die. It’s made of glass. Left by the last occupant. Margy something, and her new husband, Ed – although I don’t think either was new to the other if you get my drift.’
‘Are we back to weddings?’ Martha laughed.
‘Could be,’ Hugh said. ‘It’s nice the tradition you started lasted the whole summer, don’t you think?’
‘Lovely,’ Martha said. ‘Really lovely.’
‘When do you think you can get here?’ Hugh asked, ‘Only it’s really lonely without you.’
‘About five minutes. Step out onto the deck and you can probably see me.’
‘Eh?’ That couldn’t be right. Martha had said it would be a few days before she could join him because she had a casting to go to, and a photoshoot, and a few other things Hugh had forgotten in the excitement of now owning 23 The Strand and still having Martha in his life. ‘But you said…’
‘I know. I lied. But I needed thinking time and now I’ve had it I realise how lonely life would be without you.’
There was a choke in Martha’s voice, and just for a second Hugh didn’t trust his own to reply either.
‘The deck, Hugh,’ Martha laughed.
Hugh did as he was told. And yes, there was Martha, her phone rammed against her ear and her arms full of bags as they had been the first time he’d seen her. His heart flipped, did bunny hops, and his insides seemed to have turned to the consistency of a well-made panna cotta.
‘I’ve brought supper,’ Martha said.
Supper? Supper could wait!
Hugh switched off his phone. He ran down the steps of the chalet to the promenade, relieved to find he was without pain for the first time since breaking his leg. He ran towards Martha who was increasing her pace now too. They met somewhere in the middle in a mish-mash of bags and bumping noses and laughter and not a few tears.
‘Supper, my darling,’ Hugh said as he released Martha from at least their fifth kiss, ‘can definitely wait.’ And then he scooped her up, parcels and all, and carried her back to Number 23 The Strand, and over the threshold.