Copyright Oggbashan December 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
One of my grandsons once said that my beach hut was my retreat from the world. He was completely wrong. My beach hut is my access to the world.
I bought the beach hut when my children were young. Now it is waiting for my great-grandchildren to be old enough to appreciate it. It is a basic wooden hut eight feet wide and twelve feet long with a small covered veranda in front. Over the years I have improved it. The felt covered roof is replaced by contractors every three years although they claim the roof covering will last five years. They paint the outside every two years.
At the back, behind a screen, is a chemical toilet. A curtain can be pulled across the whole width of the hut when the toilet is being used. Opposite is a stack of plastic chairs for use outside when the weather permits. In front are a small sink and two burner gas cooker with a gas-operated refrigerator. There is a portable gas fire. Immediately inside the folding doors are two bamboo armchairs that can be moved out on to the veranda. I have to bring in water and dispose of any used in the sink by emptying the bucket underneath.
I sit in or outside my hut almost all the daylight hours all year around. I have my breakfast in the retirement block we moved to five years ago when my wife became frail. She died three years ago and the retirement block is boring and lonely. Most of the residents rarely leave their rooms and in the communal lounge, when the television isn't on which is almost never, the residents just sit and moan about their ailments. It is just a place to wait to die.
But many people pass my beach hut every day even in the winter. There are people out strolling along the promenade and twice a day most of the local dogs pass, often stopping for a drink from my dog bowl. Almost everyone says hello and many stop for a chat.
From the start of October until the end of March the toilets in the car park are closed. But my chemical toilet isn't. One or two people a day use it when desperate, and some of the older people are. I can and do provide tea and coffee to anyone who wants it, and dog biscuits too.
Almost every day I have someone sitting in or outside my hut for an hour or so for a chat. I meet more people than all the other residents in the retirement block. If the weather is kind we could be sitting outside, or perhaps under the veranda, but if there is a cold wind or driving rain, we could be inside the hut with the gas fire keeping us warm.
My beach hut is my living room, my window on the world, and where I meet many people.
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My favourite visitor, twice a day all year round, is Maureen. She is a reluctant dog walker and wouldn't do it by choice. Her mother Grace lives in a bungalow about one hundred yards away and is wheelchair bound. Despite Maureen's objections she has four small Scottie dogs that need walking twice a day and Maureen has to do it since her mother cannot.
Maureen is Grace's principal carer and has been for the last twenty years. Maureen gets Grace up in the morning, wheels her to the kitchen table and while Grace has breakfast Maureen walks the four dogs. When she gets back to Grace's bungalow she moves her mother to the living room, transfers her to a chair and leaves her with the television and the remote control. Maureen goes off to work as a teacher at the local Junior school. During the day professional carers come in to take Grace to the toilet, to give her lunch and to do the cleaning, washing etc.
One day Maureen admitted what I had suspected for some time.
"Arthur, you and your beach hut are the only things that keep me sane," she said as she was sitting on my lap and kissing me.
"You know I'm always here when you need me, Maureen," I said.
"I know, and I love you for it."
I couldn't answer. Maureen was kissing me again.
Grace's needs have wrecked Maureen's life. The old lady - no I shouldn't call her old - she's slightly younger than me, expects Maureen to look after her and has no idea of the consequences. Grace sees it as her right. Maureen's husband Ian divorced her seventeen years ago because she spent too much time looking after Grace and would not consider having children while Grace still needed her. As a result of the divorce which was reasonably civilised, Maureen had to sell the family home and buy a smaller house near to Grace but she owns that outright.
But ten years ago Maureen had to give up her car. She couldn't afford to run a car because the cost of Grace's carers was more than Grace could afford, so Maureen has to pay as well.
To a certain extent Maureen was content to be Grace's carer. But the dogs are a severe trial to her. She doesn't really like dogs yet has to walk four twice a day. When two of the Scotties died, Maureen had hoped that she might have a hope of a dog-free future but Grace insisted on acquiring two more younger Scotties to keep the number at four.
On the evening of the day that Grace announced she was getting two more Scotties, Maureen really needed a strong cup of coffee from me. Once she had drunk that Maureen was sitting on my lap, her head resting on my shoulder, and crying her eyes out. Yet Grace has no idea what a strain she is putting on Maureen. As my beach hut is my relief from a boring existence, being able to talk to me is about the only thing that keeps Maureen sane.
But I appreciate Maureen too. Not only is she a pleasant conversationalist, when she's not moaning about Grace, that occupies the first five minutes each time while I'm making the coffee, she is an attractive younger woman. She attaches the dogs to the front of my beach hut before giving me a hug and kiss. Two hugs and kisses a day from Maureen brighten my day. She seems to like me too.
I know I shouldn't, but I love the days when Grace has been a real pain. One those days I have an armful of Maureen, hugging me as if I am the only person in the world who cares for her, and frequently kissing me. Sometimes the kissing goes on so long that the Scotties get bored and start yapping.
But Grace is damaging Maureen. Grace's demands are increasing and so is the cost of her professional carers. Grace has gone beyond the point at which she would be better cared for in a residential home but she won't consider it because she couldn't take her four Scotties with her. She just expects Maureen to do more and one Sunday she suggested that Maureen should give up work to be Grace's full-time carer.
The day that Grace suggested that, Maureen's attack on me came close to rape. She wanted me, all of me, even the erection her hand strayed to find. It took all my control to keep my trousers on.
Maureen isn't the only younger woman who gives me a hug and a kiss each week. There are between six and eight others, sometimes dog walkers, others just out for a walk. The two retired Catholic nuns embarrass me. Obviously they don't hug or kiss me, but they have given me a crucifix for my hut and each time they stop for a coffee, they insist on praying for me even though I am a committed Protestant.
During the week after Grace had said she wanted Maureen to be her full time carer, Maureen was distressed every time she came. She had tried to explain to Grace that it was impossible and wouldn't work. If Maureen gave up work, they couldn't afford the professional carers and Maureen couldn't lift Grace on her own. The carers had been trying to tell Grace the same thing. The carers had to bathe Grace daily because she was doubly incontinent and wore sanitary pads all day. Maureen couldn't do that. It was getting harder every month for Maureen just to move Grace from bed to wheelchair, from wheelchair to armchair and finally back into bed. The four Scotties yapping around their feet didn't help.
On the Thursday evening I had to comfort Maureen for much longer than usual. I suspected, but Maureen hadn't said a thing, that Grace had been so annoyed that her suggestion was being rejected that she had been hitting Maureen and possibly the carers as well. Even the current caring arrangements for Grace had reached their limit and something would have to change soon.
While I appreciated having Maureen in my arms I was more sorry for her than aroused by having such an attractive woman in my arms. Yet I couldn't do anything to help except provide someone to talk to, and a shoulder to cry on. That was no longer enough.
But Friday morning was a disaster. The tide was at its highest, one of the highest tides of the year. Fortunately it was calm otherwise I might have had to move everything out of my beach hut as it might have been swamped by the waves. The sea was lapping at the edge of the promenade, not deep, but covering the whole beach.
Maureen was close to my beach hut with the four Scotties when they passed a Great Dane that the Scotties hadn't met before. They rushed to greet the new dog but their leads tangled around Maureen's legs and she fell over, off the edge of the promenade into the sea.
I jumped out of my chair, went down the few steps and pulled Maureen out of the sea. She couldn't stand up and I carried her in my arms to my beach hut and put her down on a chair.
"Arthur!" She protested, "You can't carry me. You're an old man!"
"Too late," I said as I put her on the chair. "Of course I can carry the woman I love."
Two dog walkers rushed to our assistance. One caught the Scotties and secured them to my beach hut. The other used his mobile phone to summon an ambulance. He and I thought Maureen had broken her left leg.
I wanted to get Maureen out of the wet clothes but she was in too much pain. All I could do was to wrap a couple of blankets around her. Maureen was more concerned about Grace than her own injuries. She borrowed the dog walker's mobile phone to ring the carers and ask them to go to Grace earlier. They said they would but they would also contact Social Services. If Maureen was out of action, some emergency arrangements had to be made for Grace.
Even when the ambulance arrived, Maureen was more worried about Grace than her own injuries, which indeed was a broken left leg. Before she agreed to go to hospital, the dog walker had to ring the carers again to check what was happening to Grace. When he passed the message to Maureen that Grace was being admitted to a local nursing home, now, within minutes, only then did Maureen agree to be taken to hospital.
She left. But I now had four homeless Scotties. The dog walker came to the rescue again. He rang the local Dog Trust centre and they agreed to come and collect the Scotties and look after them temporarily until we knew what the long term situation was. To my relief the Dog Trust volunteer arrived within a quarter of an hour. I could then shut my beach hut and drive to the hospital to see how Maureen was.
At home, I rang Maureen's school office. It was still half an hour before the children arrived. I told them about Maureen's accident and that she wouldn't be at school today and possibly not next week either. I gave them my apartment and phone number as a temporary change of address. They asked me to update them when I knew more.
