Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
As the next few days pass, I do actually get better at working behind the bar.
Even the archnemesis is eventually mastered.
Admittedly there’s a lot of silent swearing, but I’m getting there.
I’ve also swapped with Sean a couple of times and done the cooking instead, although it is mainly the type of cooking that involves putting frozen things in a deep fat fryer and operating a microwave.
I can’t help thinking it could be so much more, that this place has potential to be a foodie haven given its spectacular location – but that isn’t my call to make.
When we lived here, there was a lot more genuine home-cooked food on offer – simple fare, but freshly prepared.
These days he’s even let his little fruit and veg garden grow over.
I remember picking fresh lettuce and harvesting new potatoes in spring, all of which were used in the kitchens.
We’d buy apples and pears from local orchards, meat from nearby farms, and Mum would take early morning trips to the harbour at Newlyn to buy fresh fish.
It was hard work but in its own way wholesome and idyllic.
Now the menu is basic pub grub, with most of the meals bought in pre-prepared.
I settle for doing some baking, supplying bread and fresh muffins for breakfast, and creating home-made desserts instead of the ones from the freezer.
I’ve also started offering a selection of cakes to go with the coffees in the bar, and the lavish Victoria sponges and apple tarts sell out every time.
That is always heart-warming, even if a room full of drunk people isn’t exactly the most discerning of crowds.
If I had more time, I might look at changing things – but really, I don’t. I live on the other side of the world, and anyway, it feels like my dad has made his mind up about not keeping this place.
That concept took a little adjusting to.
I suppose I have frozen him in time as the dad I left behind.
In my mind he is forever behind the bar or greeting hotel guests, full of bonhomie.
Imagining him doing anything else is difficult, and even he doesn’t seem to have a clear idea of what will be next for him.
I just hope he’s not making this decision too soon – which is of course easy for me to say.
I’m painfully aware that I have helicoptered in after years of absence.
I feel like I am getting to know him all over again – the real him, and not the carefully curated version he has been presenting for all these years.
We have spent a lot of time talking, and walking, and working together; it has been both fun and moving.
As well as seeing so much more of my father, I’ve called in to see Maggie at the bakery, and paid another visit to Brian and Bernadette.
Liam was there, locked in negotiations with a surly Bella about A-level coursework that she hasn’t submitted.
He’d rolled his eyes at me behind her back, and I’d stuck my tongue out.
This is the secret that grown-ups keep from teenagers: we’re not that grown-up at all.
This afternoon, I have been invited up to Rosings to help the Byrne family get it ready for Christmas – which is now only a week away.
I decide to walk up to the big house, because the weather is still cold, dry and bright.
We have had frost in the mornings, making the grass deliciously crunchy beneath my feet, and the very occasional flurry of snow – but nothing that has stuck.
The light is so gorgeous that from the inside you could be forgiven for thinking it is spring.
I call Tyler as I approach Rosings, knowing he’s working from home today.
It’s just after lunch here, and he will be up, dogs walked, and already in his office.
It’s been tricky navigating the time difference, especially given my evening duties in the pub, and I smile when he answers and his face fills the screen.
His hair is still damp from the shower, and I can hear Miley Cyrus woofing in the background.
‘How goes it, fair maiden?’ he asks, doing a terrible British accent.
‘It goeth well, hunky dude. I wanted to show you the view from up here.’
‘Up where? You sound out of breath. You need to work on your cardio.’
He winks as he says it, but he’s not wrong.
I do a lot of walking in New York, but I’m not a gym person, and this hill is a lot steeper than it seemed when I was a teenager.
Back then I floated up here on a hover board made of anger and rebellion.
I’m almost there though, and I turn the phone screen to show him the panorama in front of me.
I give him a little commentary, pointing out the village and the inn, and he is suitably impressed.
‘Wow, that looks amazing,’ he says, when we’re back face to face. ‘So beautiful. And you look… relaxed? Apart from the red cheeks that is.’
‘That hill is steep, okay! That was like going for a hike! And yes, I think I’m settling into things. It’s starting to feel a bit more normal, a bit more like home.’
There is a flicker of something on his face when I say this, quickly covered up, and I wonder if he is worried that I might never come back. In turn, I wonder if that would be as big an upheaval for me as it would be for him.
‘Show me the house then,’ he says, moving past whatever it was I was probably imagining.
I turn the phone again, and show him Rosings, with its turrets and chimneys and golden stone.
As I do, the door opens, and Ralph comes zooming towards me as fast as his short legs will carry him, followed by Liam on his considerably longer legs.
I crouch down low to let Tyler see the dog, because I know he will want to. Ralph obligingly snuffles at the phone and licks the screen, making sure he can’t eat it before losing interest.
Liam mutters ‘Sorry!’ and proceeds to follow Ralph off into the woods. He’s wearing a sweater decorated entirely with Christmas trees.
‘Isn’t he cute?’ I ask, once I’m back.
‘The dog or the good-looking guy dressed as Christmas?’ Tyler replies. He has never struck me as the jealous type, and I am momentarily taken aback at the slight edge in his voice. I don’t reply, and he quickly goes on to make a joke about it all, as usual.
‘Personally, I think the dog was hotter,’ he says, running his hands through his hair. ‘It was all in the eyes. There was real chemistry there.’
‘I’ll give Ralph your number. What are you up to today?’
‘Ah, you know, a roller-coaster ride of audit prep and spreadsheets. Nothing as fun as you.’
‘Well, this part is fun, visiting friends and doing Christmas stuff, but later won’t be so much fun – working in the pub is much harder work than I remember it being! Anyway, I’d better go…’
He nods, and blows a kiss at the phone. ‘Okay, Ellie. I… uh, I miss you, okay?’
‘You too,’ I reply, before hanging up. I do miss him.
I miss hanging out, I miss the dogs, I miss chatting about my day to him.
I miss the cuddles and the kisses. But I’ve been so busy since I got back here that I haven’t exactly been pining – I’m so tired by the time I fall into bed that I can barely think.
What brain space I do have seems to be filled by my dad, his health, and his future.
There isn’t a lot of time left for yearning for my other half.
A flow of sadness runs through me, because I wish that I was missing him more.
Yes, Tyler is a big part of my life – but I don’t actually feel like my other half is missing.
Maybe my other quarter. I miss him, but I don’t feel incomplete without him.
Will that ever change? And if not, what the hell is wrong with me?
Tyler is fantastic. He’s decent and kind and handsome, and he’s made it clear that he wants to build a future with me.
If this thing between us was right, that would make me feel ecstatic.
In reality, it just makes me feel anxious – because I don’t want anything to change.
I don’t feel ready to fully commit to him.
It’s definitely a ‘me’ problem, I know. Maybe I really am just too broken to make a success of a relationship. This isn’t a very festive train of thought, and luckily the door to Rosings opens again, and approximately seven thousand members of the Byrne family spill out to distract me.
There’s Cara and a tall man I presume is her husband, Bernadette, Brian, a whole flurry of children between the ages of toddlers and teens, and Liam’s kids too.
Every single one of them is wearing a Christmas sweater.
A quick glance shows me the designs include reindeer, elves, snowmen, polar bears, and even a few penguins.
It is a dazzling display of multi-generational bad taste, and I love it.
Liam emerges back from retrieving the dog, and laughs at the stunned look on my face. ‘Don’t worry, there’s a sweater for you inside. And I’m told they all light up. Welcome to the mad house!’
He places his hand on my back to usher me forwards, and I jump a little at the unexpected physical contact.
He notices, and I feel like an idiot. It’s Liam, and he didn’t mean anything by it.
I think I’m still a little bothered by my conversation with Tyler.
I pass him the cake tin from my backpack, and he sniffs it, looking so much like the always-hungry teenage version of himself that I momentarily forget what he looks like now.
‘Lemon shortbread?’ he asks, nostrils flaring.
‘Got it in one!’
‘My nose has never forgotten the smell of your lemon shortbread, Ellie. Thank you.’