Chapter 3: Boxing Day

April Dunlough had actually enjoyed her Christmas Day after her long and calming run along the beach. Her mother was on very good form and cheerfully introduced her to Julian Golding, her lover, a retired jeweller, who had his own house on the other side of the bay. He was a very charming man, a widower, relaxed in the presence of both beautiful women, despite being caught making love to April’s mother by April on Christmas Eve when she dropped in on the family home unexpectedly. April believed he had stayed overnight, but who was she to criticise her mother if she wanted some happiness for herself? After all, her mother had been a widow for over eight years.

Actually, April originally had no intention of staying with her mother this Christmas. Her original plans had been scuppered when the TV studio director, who produce the twice-weekly television soap opera about Home Counties suburban housewives, called “Heatherside Close”, had decided April had shot all the scenes she was required for and was released a day earlier than expected to beat the airport rush and enjoy the festivities.

April was looking forward to seeing her husband of three years, Jacques Bertrand, at their Paris apartment and rang him as she left the studios, leaving a message on the answering machine to say she was on her way home. Her PA managed to secure a late night flight for her and she arrived in Paris very early on the 23rd. The cab dropped her off with a substantial carrier bag of presents and she ran up the stairs as that damn lift in their stylish but ancient apartment block wasn’t working again — forgetful residents or visitors were always leaving the old-fashioned lift doors not quite closed. So she was a little puffed, but joyously excited, when she got to the fifth floor and let herself in, anticipating embracing her loving husband after several weeks’ absence filming her parts in London, while he had been directing an art film down in Bordeaux.

It had been a shock which took whatever breath she had away when she found her better half still tucked up in bed with a young and beautiful oriental, who sat up instantly awake showing off a pair of perfect breasts. It was an even bigger shock when Ms Perfect Breasts jumped out of bed displaying an even more perfect, if extravagantly oversized, morning-wood penis and a rather pendulous shaven ball sack dangling below. Jacques Bertrand almost had a heart attack when he awoke to April’s scream, while at the same time April had a near fainting spell. She recovered sufficiently to throw the bag of presents she was carrying at her husband’s head. He jumped naked out of the bed to embrace her and she kicked him in the nuts with her comfortable airline trainers. That’ll teach him not to ignore his phone messages the next time he spends the evening and night with a casual lover of whatever his gender of choice.

April’s first thought was that she would go to her Mum’s. She couldn’t actually bring herself to disturb her Personal Assistant, who had been released to the bosom of her own loving family the day before.

Her reticence was partly out of embarrassment, although she knew the news of her third marriage’s demise would all come out and she would soon be the butt of the Press’s smutty jokes for a while. So April made her way back to Charles de Gaulle Airport and quietly tried to get herself a flight back. She was not recognised, but then why would she be in France? She was put on standby and eventually managed to squeeze into a spare seat early the next morning. Then she travelled by train into London, followed by another train down to the region and finally a ten-mile cab ride from the nearest station, the Sandmouth Bay railway included in Beechings cuts and sounded the death nell of the Bay as a resort. Hence arriving both unexpectedly and rather late at night at her mother’s.

Christmas Day was just another day to get through and she was glad now that it was over. Now it was a cool early Boxing Day morning and she was once more on her pre-dawn run. This time she thought she would run past the wrecked pier, destroyed nearly forty years ago after being weakened by fire, collapsed by storms and never restored, and continue round the bay as far as the nature reserve at the far end. April smiled at the thought of the exercise. It should be a good workout and she could think about what she was going to say to her lawyers on Wednesday, when she arranged for the swift termination of her third marriage, which had almost lasted three years. One thing she had already determined, as she tramped along the firm wet sand, that was it, no fourth husband for her. Absolutely, no way would she put herself through this again.

Strange what fate can do to you, she wondered, pounding that beach yard by hungry yard. To the public she was a household name, having appeared in a couple of different soap operas in a constant career spanning over a quarter of a century. She had started acting in a school-based weekly drama from the age of 13 to 23 and now twice a week for the last fifteen years she had played one half of the only stable relationship in a suburban soap drama, which was mostly about cheating wives and husbands. April Dunlough had become a household name as the nation’s sweetheart in her role as an actress, yet her private life demonstrably lacked any long-lasting stability.

Her current, soon-to-be-ex, husband was a 66-year-old French director with a reputation for dark, moody, rather arty films, mostly in French with a single American blockbuster five years earlier that had received mixed box office returns. He should have been a safe bet for a stable relationship. That turned out to be a huge mistake.

Her second husband was nothing to do with acting or performing, he was wealthy and owned a string of nightclubs. Unfortunately he had a partiality for scantily-dressed young lap dancers and was caught out and publicised by the gutter press before April even had a clue what was going on, leaving her no choice in throwing him out of her life. Her first husband was an actor, one of the “boy” actors in the long-running school drama in which she first made her name. At the time they were a match made in heaven as far as the press were concerned and April Dunlough and her groom were elevated to being household names. Her husband rapidly developed into a leading role actor and was caught bedding his then co-star, actually two different co-stars on two different movies. His career had since nose-dived.

Damn it, thought April, even my very first long-term boyfriend, my first lover, turned out to be a pedophile and the Studio got her to stop seeing him at the first whiff of scandal! When, she wondered, will a decent girl get an even break?

Boxing Day saw Rebecca rising early. By the time she had showered, dressed and left her room, she found Pete had already built his kit bed and taken the cardboard packaging down to the garage to be recycled when convenient. Rebecca sorted out bedsheets for the mattress, duvet, pillows and covers for them. She already had curtains for this guest bedroom and made herself a mental note to look them out from wherever they were stored and ask Pete to put up the curtain rail for them.

She found Pete in the kitchen with the coffee brewing on the side, while he prepared a saucepan of scrambled eggs and toast for their breakfast. He had heard her moving around. When they sat down at the table, Pete showed her the notes he had made on the kitchen notepad. He had measured up the proposed wall in the sitting room, sorted out what timber could be used from the garage store and listed materials still required, including door, door frame, furniture and plaster wallboards. He also suggested she purchased a heavier duty cordless drill, which he could repay her out of his wages because, thinking about the future, he would like to try and do work for other people once he had completed the necessary work for Rebecca. The DIY store in the nearest large town was open on Sunday hours today and had started their post-Christmas sale, so together they planned on visiting the store mid-morning when it opened.

Annie telephoned her father through Rebecca’s mobile phone while he was having his breakfast and asked if she could come round to visit. Rebecca heard part of the conversation and picked up the gist of it. She suggested they pick Annie up on the way to the depot and added that Annie could stay on for lunch if she wished. The offer for the trip and lunch was open to Tracie too and Annie said she would ask her. Tracie didn’t want to come to the store as she had some housework to do, but would walk round to Rebecca’s in time for lunch; she knew where Porter House was, the old Station Hotel was a local landmark, situated close to the wrecked old pier.

They had an enjoyable trip to the out of town shopping estate. Leaving Pete to fetch the timber, filler, plaster, paint and tools he needed, as well as order delivery of wall panels for later in the week, Annie and Rebecca looked at carpets, curtains and fabrics, considering colour schemes, etc. Annie had a good eye for colour and she wasn’t shy in making suggestions. Rebecca found herself enjoying the bubbly girl’s lively company and practical ideas.