More than a Beach Hut

Copyright Oggbashan May 2021

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.

My beach front house was built during the 1930s depression by a local building family for the parents and owners. It provided jobs for the workers when other projects stalled.

It is an Art Deco house with a flat roof that can be used as a patio. It is set behind the sea wall and promenade. But the part I like best is the so-called beach hut just behind the promenade wall.

The house was built above a raised area for garaging cars because there was always the possibility that a ground floor would flood. The main living room, large kitchen/diner and family bathroom are on the floor above and the four bedrooms, three now with ensuites, are on the top floor. There is a lift from the garage level right up to the roof and all the electrics for the lift are sited at the living room floor level.

The promenade was thirty feet wide beyond the end of my garden but unusually the council only owned the seaward fifteen feet. The rest either belonged to the beach front properties like mine, or to beach hut owners.

In 1953 the floods had overtopped the promenade and flowed into the adjacent properties. The garage level had been flooded four feet deep but the then owners had moved their two cars hours before to park on higher ground. The house, and more importantly, its electrics were unharmed.

But the beach hut, sited just behind the promenade, had been completely destroyed. It had been a large wooden hut on a raised concrete base under which was a boat store. The concrete had been level with the promenade. After 1953 the then local council had installed a curved wave deflecting wall about three feet high but because that wall was on private land, the landowners had to pay. The council had negotiated a low cost and provided loans for those who couldn't afford a capital payment.

The builders who owned my house had won the contract and they did a good sound job.

But they changed the base of what had been their beach hut. They removed the original boat store and rebuilt a larger platform at the height of the top of the new sea wall. On the seaward side they provided wide steps leading up to the base, leaving spaces either side for a couple of benches.

The new beach hut was much more substantial, concrete and brick built, matching the Art Deco style of the house, with a twelve foot wide wooden decking in front, half covered with a projecting roof. The hut itself was much larger with a sitting room in front with French doors, a double bedroom, a smaller single bedroom, a shower room with toilet and a small kitchen. At the rear was a ramp and steps leading down to the sunken garden.

The father died in the 1970s and by the 1980s the mother was disabled and wheelchair bound. She moved into the beach hut as a granny annexe but it wasn't ideal because the shower room was too small to be used with a wheelchair. The single bedroom was converted into a disabled toilet. But there was another problem. When they built the ramp at the back they hadn't appreciated that it was really too steep for a wheelchair and three large men had to propel the mother up the slope. A longer and less steep ramp might have been possible but that would have taken up too much of the small garden so the family just made do.

In the late 1990s I decided to take semi-retirement from the City-based stockbroking company of which I was a director and senior manager. I hadn't been an active trader for years, leaving that to the younger staff while I did all the administration. Unusually our company employed more women than most similar companies and found them an asset. They were inclined to take fewer risks than the men. The profits might be lower than they could be, but the company was very sound.

I remained a non-executive director and a major shareholder. I could work from home but I found that wasn't enough to occupy me. I was friends with the eldest son of the local building company. Over a pint one night he admitted his company was in trouble. Housebuilding work had slowed and unless something happened soon, he might have to wind the company up just because they were short on cash reserves.

One thing led to another and I bought the company. But what was more important to me, was I also bought the beach front house I had coveted for years. It cost less than my former inland mansion with acres of land, stabling etc, and the purchase price of the company didn't really dent my cash reserves. The sale of my old house raised three times the purchase price of the beach front house.

Once I owned it, my extended family decided that visiting grandparents by the beach was popular. My wife used the fourth and smallest bedroom. I moved into the beach hut's double bedroom for most of the summer. I had made a corner of the living room into my home office with fast broadband and used it as the company office for the building company although I didn't have to do much work. I had kept the eldest son as the manager and all his family members as employees. With my financial reserves the company was easily able to survive until work picked up again.

Today, a February Friday, I was feeling lonely and slightly depressed. My wife had died of a stroke six months ago, depriving me of my life's partner and best friend. I had been to visit my eldest son's family at Christmas but I had felt like the skeleton at the feast. None of the family would visit me until the end of the school term.

It had been a dry day but with a keen wind off the sea. Although dog walkers had passed, they had been hurrying and had just given me a brief wave, not stopping for a coffee as some of them usually did.

About half an hour ago the sun had come out and I had walked out on my veranda for a few minutes. The sun as about to set so I put on a coat and went out again. I was surprised to see someone sitting on a bench despite the cold wind. I went down the steps to the promenade to see who it was.

I recognised her. She was Helen Reynolds, née Gault, the daughter of my family friends, beach hut owners who had moved away when Helen's father retired three years ago. Helen was a woman in her early fifties. My wife and I had been guests at her wedding a decade ago to George. Both had been divorced from their first partners because neither could have children.

Helen had a large suitcase beside her which must have been awkward to bring along the promenade.

"Hello, Helen," I said. "How are you?"

"Buggered! Stuffed! In the shit!" She said forcefully.

"How so?" I asked.

"Malcolm, have you got a spare key to my parents' beach hut?" She asked.

I am the Secretary of the Beach Hut Owners Association. I keep duplicate keys in case any beach hut gets vandalised.

"Probably. Why? Lost yours?"

"I couldn't find it in time before..." Helen started crying.

"Come in and have a hot drink. It is too cold to be out here."

I had to help her to heave the suitcase up the steps.

"Coffee? Or tea, or soup?"

"Soup would be good, Malcolm."

I didn't make Helen a cup of soup but a thick soup from a can. She seemed to appreciate it more than she should.

"So, Helen, why are you 'buggered'?" I asked again.

"I'm homeless, Malcolm, and unless I can get into my parents' beach hut I have nowhere to shelter."

"But you aren't supposed to sleep in a beach hut, except ones like mine," I said.

"I know. But the council can't help. As a single woman I have no priority. Even the homeless shelter can't offer anything until Monday and then only a perhaps, possibly, maybe..."

"But you're not single..." I said before I could stop myself.

"I am now, as of today. George has left me and gone back to his parents and I am well rid of him. He dropped me deep in the shit. We were evicted today and I didn't know that was coming. He had been hiding all the threatening letters from me. George had scarpered before I got up, leaving me a note and the pile of official notices. The bailiffs came at eight am, just as I was about to leave for work. George had cleaned out our joint bank account and it is overdrawn beyond its agreed limit. I have about two pounds in loose change and that's it. Oh, and this suitcase with my clothes and personal things the bailiffs let me keep. If you have a spare key to the beach hut at least I'll have a roof over my head tonight and can see what can be done on Monday but how? My mobile phone is dead because the direct debit failed. The council offices and the homeless hostel are a bus ride away, a bus ride I can't afford."

"What about your parents?"

"They started a cruise yesterday. They won't be back for three weeks and even if I had a key to their house, I can't get there. It is one hundred miles away."

I could see Helen was about to start crying again. I just opened my arms and let her sob against my shoulder for a few minutes. I was very aware that I had an attractive woman in my arms. I thought George had been very stupid. He should have worked with Helen to solve their problems, not hidden them and then abandoned her.

"When did you last eat?" I asked.

"Cereal at breakfast, and then your soup."

"Where have you been all day?"

"Sitting in the Council offices hoping for help which didn't come. I used too much of what little money I had travelling to and back."

"OK, For a start, we'll feed you. How about a takeaway?"

"A takeaway? We haven't been able to afford one for years."

I ordered from our local pizza place. They delivered within twenty minutes. We are sitting on the settee with tears still rolling down Helen's cheeks. She ate that pizza as if it was the most exquisite food ever. When she finished she asked.

"So, have you got the spare key to the beach hut, Malcolm?"

"Probably. But you won't need it. At least for this weekend until we can find out what is possible on Monday you're staying here as my guest, Helen."

"I can't! That's asking too much of you."

"No, it's not. The beach hut will be cold. You wouldn't have any food..."

"There might be some old tins or packets, Malcolm."

"Then they can stay there. I have an empty house and this beach hut has all the facilities we need. I can change the bedding in the bedroom and move back into the house..."

"This settee converts into a bed, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it is used when the family arrive en masse."

"Then it will do for me, if that's OK with you, Malcolm."

Within five minutes we had the settee converted and made into a bed.

"Would you like a shower, Helen?" I asked. "While you are doing that I can finish my emails.

+++

When she returned she was wearing a T-shirt nightdress. She hugged me which I found arousing.

"Tomorrow, Helen, I will be pleased to have you around," I said.

"You will, Malcolm? Why?"

"I have been feeling lonely and depressed. Having someone to talk to will be great."

"But I'm depressed and unhappy too, Malcolm. I can't see a way out of this mess with no home and no money."

"On Monday? You'll have access to my landline phone and emails. If you have to go to the Council offices or the homeless hostel, I can drive you there. But until then you have a roof over your head, a bed and food."

"Thank you, Malcolm."

She gave me a final hug before she got into bed. That night I dreamed of what it might be like to have Helen in bed with me. I shouldn't have. She was hurting and vulnerable and I shouldn't take advantage of her distress.

+++

After breakfast we sat down with the pile of letters that George had been hiding from Helen. She was crying too much to read them. I sorted them and asked her a few questions before I could work out the full story.

Eighteen months ago George had been made redundant from a local company that went into liquidation. Because he had been able to find another job in a week, they had used most of his redundancy payment to replace the ancient car with something better. He needed a car because his new job was some distance away but it paid about fifteen percent less. They had been struggling financially and the rest of the redundancy money had been spent.

They had been receiving housing benefit from the local council that was paid directly to their landlord. They had to pay the difference between the housing benefit and the rent and that had been a struggle, but they had done it.

But, about six months ago, the council had stopped paying the benefit. It wasn't a problem with George and Helen but with their landlord. They suspected him of fraud. Apparently, although George and Helen lived in a one bedroom maisonette, their landlord had been getting housing benefit for three other families that he claimed were living there. It had been another four months before the Council told George what they had done, and the landlord was demanding the full rent that the unpaid housing benefit hadn't covered. George had been in correspondence with the Council but had been getting nowhere and was faced with a bill for hundreds of pounds he didn't have.

The landlord had issued an eviction notice for non-payment of rent and that is what the bailiffs had come to collect. Since George had no money, they had taken everything including the car, leaving Helen homeless - but it wasn't her fault, or George's. If the council successfully prosecuted their landlord, and the Police had been involved for the last few weeks, George and Helen might, possibly, get compensation from him, maybe, eventually, but as of now, Helen was homeless and the council had no temporary accommodation for her.

I had just finished reading and working out what had happened when I saw a dog walker stopping at my dog bowl.

"Hold on a minute, Helen. I'm just going out for a word."

"Hello Mr Johnson." He said. "How are you?"

"OK," I said, "Please call me Malcolm."

"Then I'm Andrew, not Mr Baker."

"Thank you, Andrew. Can I make an appointment to see you as a Councillor, please?"

He got out his mobile phone.

"How about two o'clock Monday afternoon at the Council Offices?"

"That would be great, thank you, Andrew."

"What about?"

"Helen and George Reynolds. The council stopped paying their housing benefit and they were evicted yesterday. Their landlord is Jesus Morales."

"Jesus Morales? He is a slimy ... No, as a Councillor I can't say anything racist. Suffice it to say his birth name wasn't Jesus, and the surname Morales doesn't fit either. I don't know as much as I should. Housing isn't my portfolio but I will find out before we meet."

"Thank you, Andrew."

"What is your interest?"

"Helen is the daughter of my friends. I found her sitting on the promenade yesterday afternoon and I've taken her in till we can sort her out."

"OK. I'll try to see what I can do, but finding temporary accommodation might be difficult. We haven't anywhere near enough. Which reminds me, Malcolm. Why aren't you claiming a council tax reduction for a single occupant?"

"As of last night, I'm not. But my family comes so often that it is at least five months of the year that my house is full. I can afford the full rate easily and the council needs the money."

Andrew sighed.

"We do. The cuts are fierce and providing even the basics stretches us to the limit and beyond. See you Monday."

+++

"Who was that, Malcolm?"

"That was Andrew Baker, our local councillor. I've made an appointment on Monday afternoon to see him to try to sort you out."

"But I can't come. I'll be at work then."

"No problem. It would probably be better if he and I can talk without you. But I'll need something to say I'm acting for you. I know."

I produced a short Word document to say I was Helen's agent and got her to sign it.

"I've got to go shopping today, Helen. I was going to get food but now you're with me I'll need some more. But I must make a couple of phone calls that I'd like to do in confidence. Can you go for a walk or something for about half an hour?"

Helen looked out of the window at the rain.

"Your beach hit is amazing, Malcolm, much larger than our maisonette was. But could I have a look around your house?"

"Of course. I don't think I have been in it for a few months. It reminds me too much of my wife. It is sparsely furnished because we didn't want to clutter it. Here are the keys to the lift. That one opens the lift door. This one, you put in the lift control, turn to the left until a green light comes on, and then you can use the lift buttons."

"Thank you. See you in about half an hour."

Helen went off under an umbrella.

I am a prominent member of the local Chamber of Commerce. As soon as Helen had gone I rang the owner of the bailiff's company.

"Hello, Malcolm. What can I do for you on a Saturday?"

"Yesterday your men, John, did an eviction and distress on Helen and George Reynolds. Know about it?"

"Yes. We don't like working for Mr Morales but we have to do what we are paid to do."

"What was the debt?"

"Hang on. I'll have to look that up."

I heard his fingers on a keyboard.

"Hmm. The total with penalties was two thousand three hundred pounds. What we took won't cover all that. The car is the only real thing of value. We might get a thousand for that. The rest? A couple of hundreds.at auction, maybe."

"Have you still got everything, John?"

"Yes. It's in our storage area. It won't go to auction for a couple of weeks. Why?"

"If I paid off the debt, could I have everything back?"

"I don't see why not. That would clear the whole debt which is the best outcome."

"OK. If I pay it now, could you deliver everything to my house, on the first floor, and the car to the garage underneath?"

"Yes, for a fee. If you make the total two thousand and five hundred, we could deliver it all this afternoon. Three o'clock, OK?"

"Yes, John. That would be great."

I paid by debit card.

"How about Helen's credit reference?"

"Credit reference? We haven't told anyone yet. We would have done it next week but not now it is paid off. But all the correspondence and court proceedings were against George, not Helen. George will have the bad markers. There will be nothing shown against Helen."

"Thank you, John."

I went on line and booked an appointment with the family solicitors for Tuesday morning.

+++

Helen returned after three quarters of an hour.

"It's dusty, musty and needs airing," she said. "And I couldn't find any cleaning materials or equipment. Why not?"

I had to think.

"Oh, yes. We had a cleaner who came once a week but she retired just before Christmas and I haven't replaced her yet."

"When we go shopping could we buy some stuff and I could do some house cleaning."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Malcolm. It shouldn't take long but I need better weather before I open the windows."

"On the way to go shopping we're going to your bank to sort out the joint account, Helen."

"To sort out the account? How? I have..."

Helen opened her purse.

"Two pounds and seventeen pence and the account had an agreed overdraft of two hundred and fifty which is now at three hundred and ten."

"We'll close it and open an account just for you."

"With what?"

"I have money, Helen, more than you could ever dream of. I'll sort it."

+++

I did. We saw a customer advisor, closed the current account after I had paid off the overdraft, opened a new account for Helen and arranged for her pay to be credited at the end of the month. I added a credit balance of one thousand pounds, and an overdraft facility, guaranteed by me, of another thousand. We transferred the few remaining direct debits including the car tax and Helen's mobile phone for which I paid off the stupidly low debit balance of a couple of pounds. I added her on one of my credit card accounts and the bank were able to provide an additional temporary card for Helen, to be replaced with a permanent one within about ten days.