The Perfect Escape: Romantic short stories to relax with

‘That’s Mummy,’ Daisy replied, her baby blue eyes suddenly old beyond their years. ‘She doesn’t live with us anymore. But it’s OK: we have Daddy.’

Jim’s smile at his little girl belied the tears he was biting back.

*

The day of the wedding could almost have been a portent for what was to come, being beset by angry thunderstorms that churned the sea, turning the waves a murderous dark green as they crashed onto the shingle beach. But for the young couple embarking on a new chapter of their lives, it was everything their relationship was: drama, passion and high adventure. Moira laughed when her mother insisted on crossing herself repeatedly whenever another rumble of thunder punctuated the wedding service in the small Roman Catholic chapel of her hometown.

‘Stop being so superstitious, Mother! This is the happiest day of my life.’

It was not – as was blatantly obvious to everyone else at the ceremony and small reception afterwards – the happiest day of Mrs O’Shaughnessy’s life, however: a fact evident in her disgruntled complaints and pursed lips over everything from the order of service and the playing of the church organ, to the flowers, the food and the wedding cake. Her vociferous opinions rose like the growing storm overhead until it appeared she was engaged in a shouting match with nature itself. Jim’s mother, aunts and friends all failed in their attempts to silence her, their intervention only serving to heighten the woman’s disdain.

But Moira and Jim saw nothing but each other: the thunderstorm, raging mother-in-law and everything else in the dining room of the seafront hotel paling in the blaze of their love for each other. The photographs in the album attested to this fact.

‘Daddy looks so handsome,’ Guin breathed, her small fingers tracing the outline of Jim’s figure in the photographs. ‘And everyone looks happy. One day I’m going to marry someone just as handsome as Daddy.’

Jim reached out to ruffle the mess of curls on her head. ‘I’m sure you will, darling.’

‘Let’s put this away, shall we?’ Jim’s mother suggested, gently pulling the photograph album from her granddaughter’s hands.

‘Awww! Just a bit longer, Grandma Flo!’ Guin protested. ‘I love looking at Mummy and Daddy when they were happy.’

Jim looked away, the poignancy of his daughter’s words too intense.

‘I don’t,’ Daisy said, suddenly. ‘Mummy doesn’t love us any more.’

‘Daisy Heartsease! What a thing to say!’

Daisy ignored her grandmother’s rebuke and stood her ground. ‘It’s true! She promised to love Daddy forever, but she lied. Just like she lies about everything.’

Grandma Flo cast a startled glance in the direction of her son who was gazing out at the garden. ‘Sweetheart, sometimes grown-ups have the best intentions but they find they can’t keep promises. It’s nobody’s fault when things go wrong …’

‘Why did Mummy go away?’ Elsie asked suddenly, her small cheeks reddening. ‘Why doesn’t she want us any more?’

Heart shattering at the sound of his youngest daughter’s stark summation, Jim turned back into the room. ‘Oh, baby. Your mum loves you.’

‘She said she loves us, but she isn’t here,’ Daisy agreed, joining her youngest sister in a defiant show of solidarity in the middle of the dining room carpet.

Guin burst into tears and Flo gathered her into a secure embrace. ‘Of course your mummy loves you my darling,’ she said, her eyes searching out a response from her son. Say something to them, James …

Words failed Jim as he stared helplessly back. What could he say that wouldn’t be a lie? His heart still yearned for their mother, but how could he justify what she did? Given the apparent ease with which Moira had discarded him and their girls, what other conclusion could there really be?

*

The signs had been there, of course, but Jim had chosen not to see them. Maybe he thought it was temporary, or could be solved with enough love and time; perhaps he was blinded by his own unwillingness to accept the inevitable. When hindsight illuminated the truth it was as obvious as the sun in the summer sky, but by then it was too late.

Moira’s mood had blackened over several months; she had lost a worrying amount of weight, hiding her body beneath voluminous jumpers; and her eyes, ringed with permanent dark circles, seemed to be sinking inside her. She abandoned her expensive London salon shampoo and scraped her lifeless hair back into a severe ponytail. Her interest in everything waned: even the weekly arrival of her copy of The Stage, which had been a highlight of her week for as long as Jim could remember. Instead of being eagerly pored over, the trade papers lay untouched in a pile by the front door, greying with dust. Jim saw all of this with gnawing concern, but said nothing. In fact, neither of them said anything: to the point where Jim was tempted to provoke arguments simply to break the silence that hung like a shroud between them.

But then, quite unexpectedly, an old RADA friend of Moira’s who had since become an agent, called with a job offer. A production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof would tour local secondary schools – and the part of Maggie was hers if she wanted it. To Jim’s relief, Moira appeared to rally, and the mood in the seaside townhouse lifted. He helped her learn lines, while the girls played contentedly around them. Her appearance improved and her smile made a welcome return. And Jim, seeing a glimpse of the girl he loved, believed the storm had passed.

Three weeks after Elsie’s second birthday, Moira asked Jim to take the girls to Brighton beach to give her time to focus. The start of the tour was less than a fortnight away and nerves were getting the better of her.

‘Two hours, Jim. That’s all I need to sort this.’

So Jim gathered their children and set off for an afternoon of seaside fun. Walking along the promenade, the early summer sun warming his head and the laughter of his daughters warming his heart, he allowed himself to relax. Contentment that had eluded him for so many months now flooded his being and he felt alive again. It was like stepping out of a cold, dark building into brilliant sunlight – and it felt good.

He bought ice creams from a kiosk on Brighton Pier, and they strolled together along its length, watching as green waves moved far below through the gaps in the boardwalk. It was a perfect afternoon, with seagulls wheeling lazily overhead and the tang of sea salt in the air – and life felt good again.

‘Daddy?’ Elsie’s face was one-third human and two-thirds raspberry ripple as she gazed up at Jim.

‘Yes poppet?’

‘Are we going on holiday?’

‘No, honey. But then we don’t need to, do we? It’s like being on holiday right here.’

‘So are we going on holiday when we get home, then?’

Jim suppressed a grin as he looked at his youngest’s seriousness. ‘No, darling.’

‘But we must be going on holiday, Daddy!’

‘Why?’

‘Because Mummy got the big suitcase out.’

‘That’s right,’ Guin agreed. ‘I saw her put it in the downstairs loo when you were making breakfast. Perhaps it’s a surprise for when we get back.’

At that moment it was as if the world froze on its axis. Jim’s ice cream cone dropped to the boards of the pier as he scooped Elsie into his arms and grabbed Guin’s hand. ‘Girls, we have to go.’

‘But we only just got here,’ Daisy protested, following her father as he walked quickly towards the pier exit. Saturday strollers milled aimlessly across their path, causing Jim to swerve around them, but once his feet hit the tarmac of the promenade he broke into a run, dragging Guin alongside him with Daisy struggling to keep up. Terrified, Elsie burst into tears, her pitiful wails loud as a siren in Jim’s ears as he ran.

‘Daddy! Slow down! Where are we going?’ Guin shouted.

‘We’re just … I have to go back … I forgot something …’ he panted, a terrifying image of what he dreaded most hanging stubbornly before his eyes.

‘I don’t want to go home!’ Elsie sobbed.

‘It’s all going to be fine,’ he lied, his heart plummeting as he rounded the corner of their street and saw the waiting taxi.

Reaching the gate, he stopped, lowering Elsie into the arms of her eldest sister. ‘Girls, just wait here, OK? I won’t be a minute.’

Staring at him, Guin took Daisy’s hand and Jim walked into the house.

‘What’s going on?’

Startled, Moira froze in the hallway, the packed suitcase in her hand and folded coat over her arm answering the question before she spoke.

‘I’m – I have to do this. I’m sorry.’