Then he walked away from the beach, back towards the land, and the bright fantastical promise of the uncertain future.

If you enjoyed The Beach Hut, here is a sample of
Cassandra’s debut novel,
The Summer We All Ran Away...

Chapter One (Now)

This Thursday, in the middle of August, had been the most terrible, apocalyptic day of Davey’s nineteen years on earth. Getting drunk seemed the only possible response.

Slouched hopelessly on the grey-white steps of Trafalgar Square, his rucksack between his knees, he forced the vodka down his throat. Was it supposed to taste like this? Or were his mother and stepfather storing oven-cleaner in the drinks cabinet for secret reasons of their own? He imagined it burning through his stomach and intestines, fizzing gently, creating thick yellow fumes. Stubbornly, he took another swill, and wondered if he might go blind.

Of course, if he did, then maybe he wouldn’t have to…

“Alright there, mate?” said a companionable voice.

Davey squinted up through dust and sunshine to the policeman who stood, sweating amiably, by the steps.

“Bit early to be drinking, isn’t it? Not even lunchtime yet.”

Years of public school training smoothed over his terror.

“Er yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” His words slightly blurred by alcohol.

The policeman nodded wisely.

“Good.” His gaze took in the clean hands, the good jeans, the bottle of Stoli. The rucksack. The dark hair capping the young, weary face. The bloom of fresh bruises, one on the jawline, one high on the cheekbone. The crust of blood at the hairline. “You’ve been in the wars.”

Davey flushed. The policeman sat down beside him.

“Need any help? Got trouble with them at home?”

Davey wondered what incarnation of them the policeman was picturing. An alcoholic mother. An unemployed father with a drug habit. A violent girlfriend.

“I’m f-fine,” he said. His stammer peeking out from beneath its stone. Would the policeman read anything into it? “But, erm th-thanks.”

The policeman looked thoughtfully at the rucksack.

“Running away’s bloody hard, you know. You might think it solves everything, but it mostly makes it worse.”

“I’m n-n-n-not erm… ” Davey suddenly discovered he was a terrible liar, even to strangers. “How… ”

The policeman gave him a penetrating stare.

“Look, you’re not causing any aggro, so I’ll leave you alone if you want. But you’d do better to sort it. If you’re getting hit, we’ll help, but you have to ask. Alright?”

Horrified, Davey stood up. The ground rocked treacherously beneath his feet.

“Where are you going?” The policeman had hold of his elbow, his grip firm and impersonal.

“Train station,” said Davey, indistinctly.

“Yeah? Where you headed?”

Over the policeman’s shoulder, a paper bag danced in the breeze. West Cornwall Pasty Company.

“Cornwall,” said Davey, after a slight pause. “I’m g-g-going to visit my Aunt.”

“Your Aunt in Cornwall? What’s her name?”

“Dorothy,” said Davey, desperate. “My Aunt Dorothy. I’m g-g-going to stay with her for a bit. G-g-get my head together. You know?”