Page 8 of Suddenly Beck

‘Go and get changed,’ Beatrice tells her flatly. ‘I don’t mind you going into Newquay with the girls, and I don’t even mind you meeting up with Quinn, but you aren’t doing it dressed like that.’

‘Ah, Mum,’ she whines again.

‘Don’t “ah mum” me, Lila… changed… now…’ she replies firmly.

Lila lets loose a growl and turns abruptly on her heel as we continue up the next flight of stairs. I follow along behind Beatrice, leaning over the bannister to see the girl hovering innocently, but as soon as Beatrice is out of sight, she shoots me a cheeky wink and holds her finger to her lips before heading downstairs, clearly having no intention of changing her clothes.

Shaking my head in amusement, I hurry to catch up with Beatrice, who is once again muttering to herself.

‘Sometimes I swear this place is like a mad house,’ she sighs as we reach the top floor.

I was right, it has a loft conversion which created a fourth floor. Beatrice leads me to a door and slots the key card in.

‘Don’t worry about Mother though,’ Beatrice informs me as we enter the room, and she flips on the light. Even though it’s still daylight outside, the rain is making the room dim and gloomy. ‘Mother is harmless.’ She hands me the key card.

It didn’t feel harmless when she had her fingers on my arse cheek I muse and idly wonder if they should think about offering complimentary chastity belts along with the coffee and biscuits.

‘Bathroom’s through there, and there are plenty of towels in the cupboard.’ Beatrice smiles. ‘Don’t be afraid to come down and ask if there’s anything you need.’

‘Thank you, Beatrice.’ I stifle a yawn, suddenly feeling absolutely exhausted.

‘Call me Bea.’ She nods. ‘Dinner’s at seven if you’re brave enough to face my mother again.’

I chuckle lightly and shake my head. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Why don’t I bring you up a sandwich?’ she offers kindly.

‘That would be amazing, thank you,’ I reply gratefully.

‘Is there anything you don’t like?’

I shake my head. ‘Anything’s good.’

‘Well, alright then.’ She crosses the room and lets herself out, leaving me to study my new surroundings.

I’m pleased to find she’s right, the room locks from the inside making me feel a little more comfortable. There’s a decent iron framed double bed, a light oak chest of drawers and matching wardrobe. A small floral armchair sits beneath the window and being right at the top of the house gives an incredible view of the bay.

In the corner, there’s a small table with a kettle, a couple of cups, a jar of coffee and a small basket of assorted teabags and sugar. Beside it is a small fridge, and a closer inspection reveals a pint of milk and a couple of complimentary bottles of water.

I duck my head into the en suite bathroom to find a freestanding white porcelain sink splits the room. A large, framed mirror sits above it, to the right is the toilet and to the left is a sweet little Victorian claw foot bath with a shower pole and white shower curtain with ducks on it. I stare at the shower suspended over the bathtub speculatively. It might be a little cramped for a man of my height, but it’ll wash all the important parts I suppose.

Stepping back into the bedroom, I peel off my soaked jacket and hang it over the bathroom door to dry. Kicking off my shoes, I wonder if they’re at all salvageable. The once pristine black canvas now stained and covered in a grainy film of wet sand. I tuck them neatly into a corner, deciding to wait until their dry to see if I can get the worst of the sand off. Thankfully, I bought a second pair in grey.

Hauling my enormous backpack onto the chair, I start unpacking, but after placing my toiletry bag on the sink in the bathroom and stacking the neatly folded spare clothes in the chest of drawers, which are barely enough to fill half a drawer, I’m left with nothing to do. Folding the backpack as neatly as I can, I wedge it in the bottom of the wardrobe along with my spare shoes. Placing my paperback novel on the bedside table and my wallet on top of the dresser, I find myself wandering a bit aimlessly. I’m too tired to read, and yet, too wired to sleep. I blame the hideous rail service coffee for that.

Stripping off my filthy jeans, along with the rest of my clothes, I retrieve a pair of sleeping shorts and a T-shirt. I’m not in the mood to wrestle with the tiny shower just yet, but it feels good to at least be in clean dry clothes. After a short while, Beatrice returns with a freshly made ploughman's roll and an extra bottle of water, and seeing my wet clothes in a crumpled heap, she whisks them away to wash against my objections, insisting that it’s no trouble.

I slide down into the armchair watching the sea from my window as I chew my sandwich slowly. My stomach growls loudly in appreciation, and with the worst of the hunger pangs sated, my mind drifts back to the gorgeous mystery man on the beach. It was all a bit of a disorienting blur at the time, my adrenalin pumping from almost drowning, the lack of sleep, the emotional stress of the past twenty-four hours, but now I’ve finally stopped, it all comes crashing in on me with distressing clarity.

Why on earth had I told him my name was Nat? No one calls me Nat. It’s always been Nathan. Well… actually, no, that’s not exactly true, I ponder. My sister, Sophia, used to call me Nat when we were children… back when we were happy.

I chew over that startling thought and realise it’s true, that had been the last time I’d been really happy. Partly because I’d been too young to understand what truly crappy people our parents are, but mostly because Sophia and I had each other.

Sophia’s a couple of years older than me. Growing up, she’d been largely ignored by our father because she wasn’t a boy, and barely noticed by our mother, who’s the least maternal woman I’ve ever known. In fact, I’m pretty certain our mother only reproduced because my father insisted on having a son, and seeing as he was her meal ticket, she grudgingly agreed, only to be disappointed she’d had a girl and would have to do it again. After giving birth to me, she pretty much shut up shop. Not that my father cared much, he had his son and his trophy wife, while trying his best to ignore the fact my sister existed at all.

But I’d loved Sophia more than anything. I’d followed her around like a puppy, and by some miracle, instead of resenting me, she’d loved me right back. We were a little covert team of two. She secretly called me Nat, and I called her Pia, never in front of our parents though. In front of them we behaved as was expected, but with each other, it had been real.

I can’t remember when things began to change, maybe when they sent her away to boarding school, or maybe when they’d married her off to an acquaintance of our father’s, someone older than her who ran in the same social circles.