Don't Come Looking AJ Campbell (best biographies to read .TXT) 📖

stunning candy-blue. It’s crowded, as if every family in London decided to visit the beach today. The kids, their eyes alight, their little bodies loaded with buckets and spades and our beach bat set, skip and squeal to an empty spot along the lower promenade. ‘Here, here,’ they shout, plonking their toys on the concrete alongside the beach, where I get us all set up. Once settled, I slosh their bodies with suntan cream, ignoring their strops and screams of protest.

‘Come onto the beach and build us a sandcastle, Mummy,’ Joe says.

‘Please, please,’ Isabella says, jumping up and down.

‘You’ve got your hands full, haven’t you?’ Gill says, as we kneel on the beach filling castle buckets with gravelly sand.

‘And Jim wants another one!’ I shake my head as I swivel the bucket one-eighty.

‘And you?’

‘I’ve always wanted a big family. You know that. The one I never had.’ I sigh as I bash the top of the bucket with a spade. ‘But that was before the accident.’

‘Sometimes, we need to adapt our plans to suit our circumstances.’

‘I don’t want the accident to define us,’ I lower my voice, ‘because then the fuckedupness of it all wins.’

Twenty

After we’ve munched ham sandwiches, crisps, and fruit, Gill drags her cotton, striped bag from under her deckchair. ‘Who fancies ice cream?’ she asks, searching for her purse. ‘Let’s give Mummy and Daddy a rest.’

I smile at her unending generosity, thankful for some peace if only for ten minutes. You wouldn’t think she was in her late sixties, the energy she always has for the kids. Jim is snoozing, so I reposition my towel next to his chair and stretch out. The gentle breeze sweeps through the labyrinth of my mind, clearing a path to allow me to think a little straighter.

I need to suss that Luke out. And Pete. And Annie and Art. Perhaps Pen too. All of them!

Opening my eyes, I check on Gill and the kids. The queue to the kiosk curves past the gift shop next door. I watch for a while as they shuffle along the line. By the look of Gill’s hands flying around, she is telling them a story, and they are listening intently. I rest my eyes, the hum of bathers inviting me to doze, but not for long. The family in front of us leave. Another immediately arrives, cramming a collection of beach bits and bobs into the vacant space. I watch them. The father is battling to get the two five-or-so-year olds into their trunks. They are moaning incessantly about being too hot, stressing their father even more. One runs off. The father swears and races after him. The mother, nursing her fussy newborn – trying to conceal the fact under a sarong – shouts at the remaining boy to do as he’s told. Her raised voice sets the baby off wailing. So much for the peace. How can Jim even consider a third?

My phone rings. I fish it out of my bag. It’s Sasha. ‘I found Jim’s phone this morning,’ she says, her voice brittle.

‘Thanks. We’re at the beach. Can I pop in later to collect it?’

‘I’m driving back from Cambridge. I won’t be home for an hour.’

With everything that happened last night, I’m surprised to hear she still went. That’s what desperation does to you. It leads you headlong to places you shouldn’t visit. ‘How did it go?’

Her voice breaks. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘I’ll text you when I’m about to leave.’

Jim wakes, a lot brighter. Sleep and sunshine have blushed his cheeks and done away with the glassy look in his eyes.

‘You’re looking better,’ I say.

‘That’s what sea air does for you.’

After dropping everyone home, I drive to pick up Jim’s phone. Parking up, I think what a good job everyone did in clearing up out here after Jim and I left last night. You’d never believe a party took place. I glance at my watch. It’s seven o’clock, but the early evening sun is still warm in the unclouded sky. I can hear screams and squeals from children playing in nearby gardens and smell smoke from sausages and burgers charring on barbeques. Hannah answers the door, mumbling a hello. ‘Mum’s upstairs. She said she’ll be down in a minute.’ Usually, Hannah would join me for a chat but today doesn’t even ask after the kids.

Inside is not so tidy. It seems every unwashed glass and item of crockery used last night is stacked by the kitchen sink. How did she walk out on this lot? She’s not thinking straight. I open the dishwasher. A rush of steam and a beeping sound indicate a finished load. Grabbing a pair of Marigolds draped across the washing-up liquid dispenser, I turn on the taps, filling the bowl with hot water while I empty and restack the dishwasher.

‘No way, you’ve done enough,’ Sasha says when she glides in looking like a ghost of the woman I know and love. She places Jim’s phone on the worktop. She is so pale and has clearly lost weight in the past week. The spaghetti straps of her long, tiered, print sundress drop off her shoulders every time she pulls them up.

‘Update me while I make a start.’ I soak dirty items in the filled sink. ‘I can’t stay long. How’re the kids?’

She fakes a smile, her dimples appearing for a split second. ‘I haven’t been able to get Harry out of bed. He should be revising, but I don’t think he’s done a thing. And he was meant to go to a maths revision class this morning at school.’

‘On a Sunday?’

She nods. ‘They’ve had such a committed maths teacher this year. He arranged some extra revision classes because some of the kids were panicking. Luke came over to try and persuade Harry to go, but he had as much success as me. Harry’s so angry with Marc. He reckons he’s having an affair.’

She opens a drawer, whips out a tea towel and starts drying. ‘George and Hannah aren’t as