Page 7 of Love from Pretty Beach

A few days later, it was just after six in the evening and Darby let herself in through the side gate of her friend Penny’s house, careful not to let it slam behind her.

Walking up the block-paved path, she followed it around the side of the house and noted how even in winter, Penny’s garden was glorious and everything was just so.

Lovely thick wicker panels lined the beds, hedges were trimmed, old fruit trees covered in little warm white lights, sat in just the right places, and even the pots and their contents somehow appeared to be happy.

Darby shuddered at the thought of her garden, which, at best, could be described as an exploration in rewilding and, at worst, a shameful mess.

With Penny’s garden laid out in front of her, she very much knew that she needed to up her gardening game.

With a bunch of flowers from the Spar tucked into the crook of her left arm, and a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag in her right, she crossed the terrace and tapped on the kitchen window before taking a few steps to the left and opening the back door to Penny’s kitchen.

Penny, Darby's best friend since her school days, was standing at the hob with a tea towel over one shoulder and a wooden spoon in her hand.

A speaker played easy-listening jazz in the background and the kitchen smelled of onions, garlic, post-Christmas festivities and everything else in between.

'Hiya,' Penny turned and beamed.

Darby smiled. 'Sorry, I couldn’t remember if you said six.'

'I said six for half-six, so you’re just right. How are you? Pour yourself a glass. Everyone’s through there in the conservatory.'

Darby whipped her coat off, took a glass from the shelf and found a bottle already open on the table.

She poured herself half, left it there for a moment, went to the French doors and as Penny chatted and pottered at the hob, Darby looked out at the garden lit with a run of fairy lights stretching along the fence and a long table sporting outdoor candles in jam jars.

‘It looks lovely out there, even in this weather.’

‘I do my best.’

‘That’s an understatement. I really must get a wriggle on with mine.’

There was a sort of underlying understanding that both of them were dubious about if and when that would happen. ‘Yes. What’s been happening with you?’

Darby heard herself telling fat white lies laced with an upbeat tone. ‘This and that. I’ve been so busy!’

‘Really? Doing what?’

‘Oh, you know. Not a lot and loads at the same time.’ Darby knew that Penny knew that Darby was stretching the truth.

Penny picked up her wine glass. ‘It’s been like that here. Honestly, we haven't had a moment’s peace. Sometimes I have to wonder why I do it to myself.’

‘Who’s over?’ Darby pointed to the kitchen door. She could hear a few familiar voices. No doubt it would be Penny’s neighbours, Dan and Lucinda, who would probably both be wearing matching Barbour gilets.

Penny picked up a tray sporting olives and fancy, homemade crisps. She nudged Darby towards the door. ‘The usual suspects. Let’s go. Can you grab another bottle of white from the fridge door?’

As they entered Penny’s large second sitting room, which opened into a gloriously open-plan oversized conservatory, Darby internally sighed a little bit as she took in the room.

A small gathering of people, all in little smug units of two.

Here we go , she thought. Wait for the questions about being single to begin.

Penny turned to Darby. 'You remember Elise?'

Darby nodded. Elise was a dynamic, animated, very pretty, very full of herself friend of Penny’s who had previously owned a successful catering business.

Now she taught cookery classes for foodies and hosted retreats in her renovated oast house.

Her nails were immaculate and she had a scarf tied around her ponytail that looked as if it had been chosen by a stylist somewhere.

Her outfit was curated but also somehow not.

Darby immediately felt shabby, but hoped she didn’t show it. 'Nice to see you again, Elise.'

Elise smiled, picked up an olive, and popped it into her mouth. ‘Hi! So nice to see you, Darby. How are you getting on? Pretty Beach isn’t it now? Goodness, I love it there.’

Darby was surprised Elise had remembered. ‘Same to you. Yes, it is. How are you?’

‘Keeping well, thanks. You’re the one with the grown-up children, aren’t you?

Even though you’re still really young. You had them when you were a teenager, gosh!

The three of them are out and about in the world now, aren’t they?

Penny was telling me the other day. How peaceful it must be. I can only dream.'

Darby did not want to go over the thing where people exclaimed at how young she’d been when she’d had Elly. Young, very stupid and deeply grieving the passing away of her mum. 'Yes, that’s me. It’s quiet, certainly.'

Lucinda, one of Penny’s neighbours who appeared at various gatherings, leaned in from across the sofa. She didn’t bother to say hello, just smiled. 'I can’t wait for mine to leave. You must have so much time to yourself! What do you do with yourself all day long? I’m so jealous!

Darby felt her back teeth lock together. Sometimes she felt as if she had less time. She certainly had less time to listen to other people’s limited views on what she did with her life. ‘Hmm.’

‘You should start a hobby or something.'

That old chestnut , Darby thought to herself. The next thing they’d be suggesting that she start playing golf or bridge. Or join a knitting club.

‘What do you do with all that time on your hands?’

Darby thought about the fact that she had a part-time job that kept her busy, a small but still there mortgage to pay, three offspring to continue to parent into full adulthood and a head full of worries. ‘Oh, you know…’

Lucinda beamed. ‘When I’m in the same boat, I will have hobbies coming out of my earholes. I want to try travel writing and pottery. What about you? Have you got any hobbies?’

Darby wondered if sitting under three layers of quilts in a chilly sitting room, staring at a fire and watching videos online could be considered a hobby.

She decided to sound a lot more interesting, cultured and artisan than she was.

'I like going to exhibitions, reading and making my own bread.' Wincing inside at the little white lie, she decided she didn’t care. The last time she’d been to an event, it had been at a library in London, exhibiting the people who made models for street planners.

She’d got the time wrong, it had been about to close when she’d arrived, and she’d been bored out of her brain.

It had given her something to talk about, though.

Dan, husband of Lucinda, who was standing by the fireplace and on the edge of the conversation, laughed.

'Bread! Blimey, I got obsessed with sourdough during Covid. I was watching videos from all over the planet of people vlogging their bread-making journeys. Who even knew that was a thing, eh? I can’t tell you how many hours I have wasted watching videos online. ’

You and me both, Darby thought. She was fairly certain that no one in the room, least of all Dan, would beat her in viewing hours. She pretended to laugh and dismissed wasting time online as absurd. In actual fact, watching people via her laptop was her lifeline. ‘I don’t think you were alone.’

‘You could do one of those bread vlogs. You know the ones where they score a line down the middle and whisper into a microphone about the properties of ancient starters.'

Elise nodded. 'ASMR. That’s huge, too. You don’t even have to do anything.'

'Yes, that. My niece does one where she eats pickles and whispers about lip gloss. She's got hundreds of followers. Thousands, even, I believe. She’s monetised it, too.'

Lucinda nodded. 'Or one of those TikToks where you show your skincare routine. You’ve got good skin, Darby. You should do a glow-up video.'

How funny I must be to you, and oh, the irony , Darby thought to herself.

Little did the people making jokes know she now had many hours of thought and a lot of pages in a notebook planning precisely what they thought was so hilarious.

She had the beginnings of an online channel without the ASMR but with a lot of her detailed in every way.

She wouldn’t be divulging any of that. Instead, she kept her channel planning ideas to herself.

Penny returned with a tray of baked camembert and popped it down on the coffee table.

The conversation, thankfully, shifted. Someone asked about bin collection changes.

Someone else brought up where they were going on holiday.

As the wine flowed and the little candles on the top of the mantelpiece flickered, Darby listened without speaking much at all.

She couldn’t be bothered, to be frank. Pondering her secret channel, she laughed politely when Elise talked about the cookery classes she gave in her converted oast house and smiled when Dan’s wife rambled on and on about how she was looking at booking a ticket to New York, but only if she could go via Virgin Upper Class and on the QE2 on the way back.

Darby wanted to turn her eyeballs inside out; she had more chance of going to Mars than going on the QE2.

She hadn’t been out of the country in over 6 years, so much so that her passport had expired.