Chapter 14 #2
Once the little ones are done, Cally seems to be offering a rolling glow-up service to anybody who calls in – free hair styling, make-up sessions, and nail painting.
She’s set up a little ad-hoc salon in the front room, and it is a hub of floral scents, laughter, and the intermittent blast of the hair dryer.
She has that thing about her, Cally, that just makes you relax in her company.
I know she used to work in a salon in Liverpool, and I can imagine how many secrets she was told as she straightened and curled and coloured.
She’s just the kind of woman you automatically trust and warm to.
Miranda calls by for a quick trim, and Lucy’s daughter Rose comes soon after. Last to visit is Connie herself, who gets her curls swept up into a very pretty bun.
I’m not the most girly of women, more at home in jeans and trainers than anything more glamorous, but even I give in to a small make-over session.
It is a special day, after all. Cally manages the impossible, and tames my hair into a stylish French braid, and she gives me what she calls a ‘smoky eye’ that makes me stare at myself in the mirror.
Is that even me? I look kind of mysterious, and end up sticking my tongue out at my reflection just to reassure myself that I’m still in there.
I’ve actually bought a new dress for the occasion, although as it’s from a charity shop, ‘new’ might be stretching it.
I get changed up in my old bedroom, and decide that I don’t look all together disgusting.
The dress is made of deep green silk, long and classy, with an empire line waist that does wonders for my ever-increasing boobs.
I’m not really showing that much yet, but if I stand side-on and hold the fabric smooth against my body, I can see that there is a noticeable curve to my belly that makes me smile.
I have no fear of getting fat – getting fat is good.
It means my baby is growing inside me. I am fifteen weeks along, and now past the stage where everything went wrong last time.
I know that doesn’t mean anything, and Ella has talked me through all the facts and statistics in an attempt to reassure me, but I have still been tense.
Part of me was waiting for the disaster to happen, for the unexpected pain or the blood or the sudden feeling that something wasn’t right.
Every day that doesn’t happen is a bonus.
I still have a long way to go, and will probably never entirely relax, but still – I am past one landmark, and that’s got to be good.
My dad walks into the room, dressed to the nines.
His outfit was a gift from Sam, Cally’s son, who I have now finally met.
As everyone kept telling me I would, I absolutely love him.
He’s studying marketing at university in Manchester, but he is pure showbiz – the same lovely Liverpool accent as his mum, tall and dapper, a budding fashion influencer with a gazillion followers on TikTok.
He’s put together a show-stopper of a look for my father tonight, and my dad carries it well. It’s a full top-hat and tails extravaganza, along with a white bow tie and black shoes polished so thoroughly you can see your reflection in them. He even has a cane.
‘Fred Astaire, eat your heart out,’ I tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. His blue eyes are sparkling with happiness, and he gives me a little twirl, making his tail-coat spin.
‘You look really rather beautiful yourself, darling,’ he tells me, taking in my outfit and my unexpectedly tidy hair.
He falters slightly, and I know he’s thinking about my mum.
I know I look like her, and I suspect the resemblance gets even stronger as I get older.
That must be so hard for him, such a strange blend of emotions.
He holds it back with a visible effort and offers me his arm. ‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you this evening?’ he asks, the gentlemanly gesture completely natural on him. ‘I believe there’s some kind of event being planned…’
We stand at the top of the stairs together, and I can’t help remembering all the other times I have walked down these same steps.
Galloping down them as a child, sulking on them as a teenager, storming past my mother on my way to slamming a door.
Sitting on them with Sandy, consoling each other on the night we lost her.
So many memories, all flooding through me.
I glance up at my dad, still a handsome devil even at ninety, and pat his arm.
‘I love you, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘Happy birthday.’ He looks so moved I immediately feel guilty. I have been away too long, depriving him – depriving me – of moments like this.
‘Thank you, sweetheart. I love you, too. I can’t tell you how happy it’s made me, having you here. Now, let’s not talk about it any more, or I’ll cry and my mascara might run.’
I stare at him. ‘You’re wearing mascara?’
‘I have no clue. Those girls were very thorough. Shall we?’
I nod, and we walk together down the stairs. Cally and Archie are waiting below, along with Sam and the girls. Sam immediately darts over and adjusts my father’s bow tie.
‘There,’ he says, admiring his handiwork. ‘Perfect.’
He takes some photos and videos, telling me that George is a popular guest star on his TikTok, regularly appearing as a model for what he calls his ‘country gent’ look. ‘He’s my muse,’ Sam adds. ‘My life goal.’
My dad takes this in his stride, and is obviously used to it, but when Sam is finished he whispers to me: ‘I’ve never had the heart to tell him, but I don’t even know what TikTok is! I just go along with it because it seems to make him happy!’
We all emerge from the cottage into a warm early evening, and I smile as I see the gathered crowd waiting for us.
Everyone is here, from the village and from further afield.
From the houses and farms that are scattered around the area, from my dad’s days as a teacher, from every part of his long, rich life.
There are babies and teenagers and people who look even older than my father, all here to celebrate with him.
I feel a little emotional as we walk out into the throng, cheers and shouts going up as we make our way down the garden path and onto the green.
Everyone has made the effort to dress up, and it feels a bit like we have been transported in time to a far more enchanting era.
Starshine always has a timeless feel to it anyway, so secluded and hidden away from the modern world.
When you throw in the costumes this could quite literally be a scene from decades ago.
The ladies are in classy gowns with updos, high heels and high glamour, and the men are in suits and smart shoes.
I smile as I look out at them, barely recognising some of the faces – some of these are people who are more at home on a tractor than a dance floor, but they’ve all made the effort.
Connie and Zack are stunning, her in a red number that makes her look like Jessica Rabbit and him in a classic penguin suit.
Ella and Jake are nearby, Kitty holding their hands, wearing the cutest little sailor dress.
Miranda is with James, both of them in suits, Evan perched on James’ shoulders holding on to his hair.
I scan the party, letting go of my dad’s arm so he can go and mingle.
I nod and chat and say hello to people, but all the time my eyes are roaming the crowd.
It takes me a few moments to admit to myself what I’m doing, and who I’m looking for. I’m looking for Guy. My safe space, my friend, my anchor. When I don’t see him, I feel a little flush of near-panic, which soon settles into ordinary disappointment.
I hope that he will be here at some point, but I can’t expect that.
I know he doesn’t especially enjoy big gatherings like this, and even though he was happy to help with the preparations, it wouldn’t be totally out of character for him to make a sharp exit in advance of the event itself.
I can picture him in his tent, reading a book alone instead of throwing himself into the party.
A little part of me is tempted to join him, but I owe it to my dad to last the night.
I will be okay, I tell myself. I will be fine.
I will have a nice time, and I will see Guy tomorrow, and I will not let myself start to wonder what I will feel like if he leaves for good.
He seems content here for now, but he has made no real commitment to staying, and I understand better than most how a wandering soul is hard to tie down.
He could be here forever, he could leave tomorrow.
It’s nothing to do with me, and nothing I can control, and I will deal with whatever happens, I tell myself.
God, everything would be so much easier if I could just have a drink right now – a glass of wine would be a great distraction, and take the edge off the jumbled thoughts, and the nerves I feel as I mill around in the crowd. This pregnancy lark really isn’t for the faint-hearted.
The evening begins with food and drink and a laid-back social whirl, some of which I actually enjoy. It is nice to catch up with a few people, not so nice to catch up with others.