Page 25 of The Beach Cottage
Betsy dipped her head in acknowledgement. “It was a difficult time for the entire island, but much worse for you and your family. If only she hadn’t…” She inhaled a slow breath.
Bea could’ve finished the sentence for her. If only she hadn’t done what she did. She’d had the thought herself a million times. Along with the question, why had she done it? Dad had explained to her years earlier that her mother was unwell and didn’t see the world the same way the rest of the family did. But Bea had thought, in her young mind, that surely if they used the right words, they could convince her mother to see it all differently.
“I wish I’d said something,” she whispered.
Betsy glanced her way. “You couldn’t have changed the outcome. I’ve been alive long enough now to have learned a few things, and one of them is this—no one is able to change another person. We can encourage and love those around us, but we can’t change them.”
Bea’s eyes watered. She tightened her grip on the fishing pole. “If I’d talked to her more, maybe she would’ve told me what was going on.”
“And you wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. You were a kid, don’t forget.”
“But at least I might’ve understood.”
Betsy shook her head. “You bear none of the fault. I could’ve done more.” Her jaw clenched, and long grey curls danced in front of her sunglasses. “I saw what was happening, but I did nothing.”
“What?” Bea turned her head and stared at Betsy. The older woman’s profile was illuminated by brilliant, blinding sunshine.
“Nothing. Just the rantings of an old woman who wishes things had turned out differently. Don’t mind me.”
“What did you see?”
“Who knows? Now, let’s hush or these fish will never bite.”
There was clearly more than Betsy was willing to say, but Bea didn’t want to push. The older woman had brought her here for a reason — perhaps that reason was to reveal something from the past. Or maybe she simply wanted to build some kind of relationship with Bea due to her own connection to Bea’s father. It might be one of those things, both or none. But pushing her wouldn’t do any good. Bea could see that in the stubborn tilt of Betsy’s head. She’d wait patiently, and Betsy would open up.
“Some things you understand better when you get a little older. I look back over my life, and there are things I’d have done differently if I understood the world the way I do now.” Betsy wound in her line and cast it out again. “But there’s no going back to fix anything. We have to live with our mistakes, move on and try not to make them again. It’s all we can do.”
“You’re right about that,” Bea admitted, thinking about her marriage and all the red flags she’d ignored while she and Preston were dating.
The time he’d yelled at her over a spilled glass of soda that’d ruined his shoes. Or the time he’d seen her walking home from the shops, both arms laden with shopping bags, and waved at her from across the street. They’d been engaged then, and he hadn’t even stopped polishing his car to cross the road. She shook her head at the memory.
She should’ve known then he was selfish and wouldn’t be the husband she needed him to be. But she was smitten — he was handsome, charismatic, fun and seemed to adore her. It’d taken her years to get over the immediate pain of losing her mother and then the loss of her relationship with Aidan. Preston had been a knight in shining armour, leading her back to a life of lighthearted, youthful fun again. And she’d relished those years as everything she’d needed and wanted in that moment.
“There were rumours going around the island back then, of course. Always were. But no one paid any mind to them. Your mother—she had things to say. People resented her saying what she did and wouldn’t believe her. She was called crazy, unhinged, obsessed. They even talked about her needing help. But that was before it all went sour, of course.”
“I didn’t know that.” Bea’s brow furrowed. “People called her names?” Her heart ached. Poor Mum. She’d been through so much. Bea had no idea that people on the island had treated her that way. She hadn’t seen her mother in that light — to her, Mum had been a bright sun around which all the planets revolved. She was their centre, the place they all went when they needed a hug, a kiss on the cheek, someone to give them a word of encouragement.
There’d been the deep sadness at times that sunk her light into a black well. She’d go to bed and not come out of her room for days on end. But when she did emerge, the darkness lifted and the light returned. Bea learned to appreciate those days — when all was right with the world. The entire family’s moods shifted and swayed around her mother’s highs and lows. Looking back, she could see how unhealthy it had been for them all, but at the time, it’d been normal to her. Wasn’t everyone’s mother like that? Now she knew better.
They fished in silence for another half an hour. The water lapped peacefully around Bea’s legs. A light breeze picked up as the morning wore on. Then a bright splash of colour at the top of the cliffs caught Bea’s attention. She looked up, one hand over her eyes to cut the glare, and saw a teenaged girl carefully climbing down a crooked path.
“Who is that?” Betsy glanced up even as a fish leapt from the water on the end of her line. “Oh, look out — I caught one. A nice-sized parrotfish. Looks like I’ll be eating well tonight.”
While Betsy was preoccupied with reeling in her fish and taking the hook from its mouth, Bea watched the girl make her way down the side of the cliff. When she drew closer to the beach, she recognised her as Aidan’s daughter. Grace Allen wore ripped denim shorts and a loose aqua crop top that showed off her flat, tanned stomach. Long, golden hair partially obscured her face. She hadn’t seen Bea or Betsy yet. And when she disappeared behind a rocky outcropping, Bea didn’t see her again. She must’ve settled down behind the rocks somewhere.
“I’ll be right back,” Bea said, pulling in her line and setting her rod in the sand.
She trudged along the beach and then climbed the black rocks, cutting one toe on an exposed oyster shell. She grimaced with the pain. She’d have to apply antiseptic cream when she got back home or it could get infected. She used to run across rocks like these when she was a kid, never getting hurt, but she was out of practice.
At the top of the rock, puffing lightly, she glanced over to find a small cavern-like space with sand at the bottom and an overhang. Jutting out from beneath the overhang was a pair of long brown legs and bare feet. It was Grace, and she’d clearly found a hideaway for herself — somewhere to go where no one would find her.
With a smile, Bea backed down the rock and walked along the beach away from the girl. She wouldn’t be the one to spoil her secret or impinge on her quiet. She returned to Betsy, and they fished a while longer. They talked about her father, about Bradford and his girlfriend. Betsy seemed to know far more about Bea’s own family members than she did. They discussed life on the island and what it was like for Betsy to move there from the United States so many years ago.
“Your accent is still fairly strong,” Bea said as they packed away their fishing gear. They’d each caught two fish and had them gutted in a small esky to take home with them for dinner.
Betsy laughed. “Not nearly as strong as it was. I’m told it gets worse when I call home. But most of the time, I have a mixture. Half American, half Australian.”
“Would you ever move back there?”
