Chapter 5 #2
At least that’s what I told myself, and I think it is at least partly true.
Cally was telling me all about the plans for his ninetieth birthday party in a few weeks’ time, and it’s clear that George is still very much the beating heart of the village.
He is treasured and cherished and loved, and in some ways me being here would have just got in the way.
I always felt a bit like that – like I was spoiling the perfection of Starshine Cove and everybody’s gorgeous little lives here.
My mum got it. She didn’t agree, but she understood – she understood everything about me, and I still miss her every single day.
I follow him through into his new house, remembering that it used to belong to an elderly couple called Sylvia and Owen.
They moved away to be with their children, I vaguely recall, and sold it to Archie and Sandy.
I came here just once, on the day of the wedding, to help her get ready.
She looked so beautiful, completely disproving the redheads-shouldn’t-wear-white theory.
The dress was perfect, but it wasn’t anything on the outside that made her so stunning – it was the happiness shining from inside that made her radiant.
The love. The sheer joy at finding her man, at committing to him, at settling down to begin their lives together in Starshine Cove.
That was my idea of hell – but I was thrilled to see her dreams come true.
I look around now, seeing the signs of my dad all over the open plan room.
His collection of Wilbur Smith thrillers next to his classics and poetry anthologies; his cricket memorabilia displayed on a shelf; his slippers laid out and ready to wear on the carpet by the armchair.
It’s cosy and warm, a perfect little cocoon for him.
He tells me he’s going to put the kettle on – obviously – and I wander around, smiling at the selection of found objects on the dining table.
Shells, bits of driftwood, a craft box full of glue and glitter.
I’m guessing it’s some kind of project with the girls.
He always had endless patience and enthusiasm for such things.
One wall is covered with framed photos, and I spend some time on them.
They take me on a bit of an adventure through the lives of my extended family, and some show my dad with people I haven’t even met.
The old goat seems to have a better social life than I do.
One big frame contains a collage that has the feel of a gift, a charming snapshot of my dad’s existence.
There are scenes from parties, a wedding, one of him holding a chubby, grinning baby.
Another where he is standing in front of a table full of cake, a look of glee in his sparkling eyes and a giant spoon in his hand.
There are cricket matches on the green that seem to involve people getting covered in flour, nights in the pub, him in fancy dress as a pirate… His world. Not mine.
Bear follows me as I investigate, occasionally licking my hand to remind me he’s still here. I let my palm rest on his broad velvety head, taking solace from his simple affection, and trying to clamp down on my sense of unease.
I have come a long way to see my dad, to come home.
I did it because it finally felt right, like something I needed to do.
I don’t want to mess it up by turning into a sulky teenaged girl again on my first night back here.
Yes, I always felt like an outsider. Yes, looking at these photos still makes me feel like an outsider.
But I’m a big girl now, and I made my choices – my dad never turned his back on me, I turned my back on him.
He walks into the room just as I move on from the collage.
There are two pictures of my mum – one of her wedding day, and one of her with all three of her children.
Sandy is sitting on her knee smiling like a little angel, and Simon is at her side, laughing at something off camera.
I’m about eight on this, and already glaring at the world like I know it hates me. It does make me laugh a little.
‘How could a child so young already have such a bad attitude?’ I say, as he passes me my mug of tea.
‘It wasn’t so much a bad attitude as… Hmmm, no, I was hoping to think of a better phrase, but you were always a bit on the angry side, from the day you were born!
But it was also very funny, dear. I know it would have killed you to imagine this, but your mum and I used to spend hours laughing about you and your moods!
I was a little bewildered by it all, but she got it.
She said she was exactly the same when she was a child. ’
I smile and nod, reaching up to stroke the photo. ‘I know. Even that used to annoy me, to be honest. I couldn’t even play the “nobody understands me” card, because every time I tried, she’d be irritatingly cool and know exactly what I was thinking! I’m sorry, Dad.’
He looks at me and frowns. ‘Whatever for, Suzie?’
‘For leaving. For being away so long. For not being here when you needed help. For… I don’t know, being me?’
‘Hush now! Being you was always enough. Your mother wanted you to go off and have your wild times, didn’t she?
I never got that because I was born with the contented gene, but your mum?
She got it, and she explained it, and once she did, I never resented you going.
I knew that if you stayed here, you’d never be happy. You’d never be yourself.’
We settle on the little sofa, and I wish it wasn’t so warm outside. A log burner would be perfect right now. It would feel even more cosy and safe and homely, all the things I have rejected for so long.
‘When Molly died, Suzie, we all lost different things. I lost the love of my life. Simon and Sandy lost their mum. You lost your mother, your best friend, your confidante. You lost the one person you felt really understood you. We all knew how close you were, we all knew that even though she loved all of us to the moon and back, what you two had was a special bond. Losing that was hard, I know. I never expected you to stay, and I never held it against you when you left. Life is far too short for holding grudges, or expecting people to be someone they’re not and then getting annoyed with them about it.
You are you, Suzie – and I love you for it.
I’m just… I’m just so happy to have you home, even for a little while. ’
I put my mug down on the floor and reach out to hold his hand in mine.
I feel emotional, tearful, relieved and worried all at the same time.
Mainly, though, I feel grateful. I squeeze his fingers, and say: ‘I love you too, Dad. And don’t worry, I won’t do a runner in the middle of the night, I promise! ’
‘You did last time!’ he says, his smile softening his words. ‘One minute you were at the wedding doing the Macarena with your sister, and the next you’d gone!’
‘I know. But to be fair to me, one of Archie’s mates offered me a lift back to London, and I was very tired and emotional by that stage. The Macarena always has that effect on me.’
That, and being back here. Being back here without my mother, faking my happy just to stop myself ruining Sandy and Archie’s big day.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it up all night, and that it would start to be obvious that I was avoiding going back to the cottage.
I suspect my father knows all of this, but he does not push it any further. He is a wise man.
He yawns and looks at his watch. ‘Goodness me, look at that – it’s almost ten! Way past my bedtime! Would you be a darling and take Bear out for a little amble for me?’
Bear looks up at mention of his name, his expressive eyebrows rocketing and his thick tail thumping against the floor.
I have zero doubt at all that Bear would be just as happy having a last pee in the garden, but I recognise this for what it is – Dad acknowledging that I need my space.
He is giving me the chance to recalibrate, to breathe my own air.
To run, if that’s what I really need to do – though dognapping is not my style.
I kiss my dad on the cheek, stand up and stretch.
I will accept this little gift, because I have been around people for hours now, and it has pushed me in all kinds of ways.
‘Torch by the front door?’ I ask, knowing the answer will be yes.
Living out in the middle of nowhere like this comes with certain compromises, and a lack of streetlighting is one of them.
‘Yes. On a string that goes round your neck!’ he replies, making me laugh. Some things really never change. There’s probably a whistle too.
Bear follows me outside, and I hear music coming from Connie’s place.
Not too loud, but with the bass-line thump that speaks of young people and video games.
People I am genetically related to are in that house, which is an odd thought.
I’ve always believed in finding my own family, but I realise I’m looking forward to seeing them – and maybe I don’t have to choose one or the other.
I walk out into the centre of Starshine, darker now, and smile when I see that the cottages and buildings are all decorated with swooping strings of fairy lights that loop from one to the other.
That’s new, and it is incredibly pretty, making the place feel ethereal and mystical.
It casts glittering shades of gold and purple over the village, a hint of Christmas bling that seems to last all year round.