The Pretty Beach Thing

THE PRETTY BEACH THING POLLY BABBINGTON CONTENTS Polly Babbington Pretty Beach Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 The Pretty Beach Way Read more by Polly Babbington Oh so Polly Author POLLY BABBINGTON PollyBabbington.com Want more from Polly’s world? For sneak peeks into new settings, early chapters, downloadable Pretty Beach and Darling Island freebies and bits and bobs from Polly’s writing days sign up for Babbington Letters. © Copyright 2023 Polly Babbington All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. PRETTY BEACH Welcome to the world of Pretty Beach. A sweeping, sparkly blue inlet town surrounded by water, crisscrossed with sweet old laneways, filled with wonderful characters, and overlooked by a quaint old blue and white lighthouse. 1 Lotta whisked out of the function room of the stately home, her gigantic fascinator wobbling precariously on the left side of her head. At least it looked good, and her dress wasn’t too shabby, either. She couldn’t stand it any longer, sitting at the table with the beautiful people and their successful lives. Successful lives perched all primly together in a circle with her plonked in the middle; her very pregnant second cousin to her left, tall Jim – the scientist who’d invented, or as he referred to it, ‘discovered’ a cure for a deadly disease – to her right, and Jim’s wife – a successful human rights lawyer – to his right. They had been chatting a lot about their three gorgeous and smart children, all in private school. Opposite sat the equally attractive and just as accomplished siblings of her mum’s other brother; Dean and his entrepreneur wife, and Matt, an investment banker with his husband, Dom. Another round table at a family gathering where Lotta was on her own. Another function where she’d turned up and had to sit amongst all the smiley, happy people living their best lives. Shiny, that’s what they all were, indulging in the bling-bling of all the good things. While Lotta’s shine was not quite as bright. There was no denying; Lotta’s bling had faded a little bit, she was a tad dull around the edges. Lotta had always been the spare part from the very beginning. Her mum, the one who’d not quite fitted in, the single mum hippie in a swathe of Home Counties pearls. No private school and trust fund BMW for Lotta, that was for sure. Lotta’s mum didn’t believe in private education or fancy cars. Well, she did for herself, just not quite for Lotta. Lotta, apparently, had to make her own way in life. Lotta had sat at the same version of the table many a time before. A spare part next to the successful people doing their thing. Although Lotta hadn’t always been totally alone, it was just that no one had ever stuck. There had been a few, well, okay then, two real boyfriends or partners along the way. But overall, in the grand scheme of things, she’d been to a lot of these family functions alone. And here she was again, sitting with the smiley, successful people dressed head to toe in a charity shop fascinator and a cast-off dress. Zipping across the foyer in between the vast function rooms of the old country manor, she almost fell on the bar on the far side, gripped its side, and smiled at the person serving drinks. ‘White wine, please.’ She joked, ‘triple if you’ve got it.’ The woman, dressed in a fancy apron and starched white shirt, smiled and winked. ‘I take it that means you want a large one? Tough gig in there, is it?’ ‘Or the bottle?’ Lotta replied with a silly smile, the fascinator wobbling around beside her. Not that alcohol was going to help her. In fact, it could quite possibly make things worse. It had done before, and she didn’t want to end up drowning her sorrows and singing into her hairbrush at the end of the night. That was something she’d never quite lived down. The woman pulled a wine glass from underneath the bar. ‘Nice hat, fascinator or whatever it is. Very, very nice and trust me, I’ve seen it all in here. Where did you get it?’ Lotta contemplated making something up, couldn’t be bothered, and lowered her voice. ‘Charity shop. Fiver.’ The woman’s face showed a look of surprise. ‘I didn’t see that coming, especially with the lot you came in with. It’s gorgeous. I’m going to the races next week, and I still haven’t found anything. It’s just what I’m looking for, but in black.’ Lotta didn’t tell the woman that charity shops were fascinator and occasion event goldmines, or that she’d spent the last few years going to fancy high-end family events wearing attire found in them. The bottle-green silk-satin dress with the blouson sleeves, high neck, and bias cut was from the same place. She touched the fascinator. ‘It’s actually an Alice band. It’s so easy, you shove it on and be done with it. No pinning or hat pins or anything. I shoved my hair up in a pleat, plonked it on top, and was good to go.’ Lotta slid onto one of only two unoccupied stools, placed her clutch bag onto the bar, pulled her Kindle from inside, and turned it on. Leaning down with her right hand, she slipped her heel from her three-inch, also from the charity shop,