Chapter 4
Connie drives us to Starshine Cove once the fitting is all done, leaving Ella to transport the now-tipsy Katie and Priya. She parks her little pink car outside her house, and walks with us around to the cottage where Rose and I will be staying.
We emerge onto an oval-shaped village green, fringed with houses and small shops and the café that Connie owns. The whole place is bathed in the dim evening sunlight, and swallows are diving around in twittering swoops.
Connie is doing some twittering of her own, telling us who lives where, and how Jake – Ella’s fiancé – has just bought a portfolio of holiday homes from their owners, an elderly couple called Ed and Viola, who live “up the hill”. Most of it means very little to me, but it’s a pleasant background as we stroll, taking in the sights and sounds. I see a bakery, and a store called Trevor’s Emporium, and a higgledy-piggledy collection of homes that vary from tiny Victorian terraces to big old period places with thatched roofs and lush lawns. It’s very charming, and very eclectic – like a village that’s kept on growing over the centuries, but somehow kept its soul.
At the far end of the green I see the ivy-clad stone of the Starshine Inn, which I already know is Jake and Ella’s home. I wonder if her little dog, Larry, is there now – he’s a stray she adopted when she moved here, and an irresistible mix of fur and fun.
The inn, like everything else here, is pretty. Or handsome at least. All of the buildings look well cared for, fronted by gardens that bear flowers and fruit trees and hedges. Fairy lights are strung all around, going from tree to fencepost to lamp, ready to twinkle into action. It’s April, and so far the weather has consisted of rain, rain and more rain – but today, spring seems to have well and truly sprung.
As we walk, Rose spots a few mysterious little creatures tucked away in shrubs and plant pots – tiny hand-made pixies and fairies with shining wings, peeking out at us. She is fascinated by them, reaching out to stroke every one she passes, as though the little girl she hides inside her cool exterior has suddenly come out to play.
It is a beautiful place that feels secluded, hidden from the outside world. There is no road in the centre of the village, and all you can hear is the hiss and crash of the waves down in the bay, playing out one of my favourite lullabies. That immediately puts me at ease – I love being by the sea. I grew up in London, then moved to Manchester, but now I can’t imagine ever living anywhere other than the coast. There is a sense of unrivalled freedom you get from standing on a beach, gazing out to sea – from being at the very edge of the world.
“Here we are,” Connie announces, as we approach a small row of terraced stone cottages. “They’re all named after birds, very cute. Yours is Kittiwake, but there’s also Puffin, Tern, Kingfisher and Merlin… which I always thought was a wizard, but is also a bird, who knew? That’s one of the great things about being ignorant – you learn something new every day!”
“So,” says Rose, stopping outside the cottage and looking along the row, “Ella’s boyfriend just… bought them? I thought he ran a pub?”
I’d tell her off for being nosy, but the truth is I’m curious about that myself.
“He does run the pub,” says Connie, grinning. “But you can be more than one thing, can’t you? He’s now also the proud owner of a load of birds. Ed and Viola are both knocking ninety, and they finally decided to retire, and Jake made them an offer. They’re pretty successful businesses – there’s always demand around here – but I wouldn’t be surprised if he rents them out to local people too.”
She opens up the door, and we follow her through into Kittiwake. The entrance leads directly into a small hallway, then through to a snug living room dominated by a big chintzy sofa. Behind it is a dining area, and a table that bears a vast vase of fresh flowers, and an enormous chocolate cake laid out on a plate. The whole place smells divine – of lavender and sugar and roses.
“Oh wow!” says my daughter, flying towards the table in an uncharacteristic flurry of enthusiasm. I assume she is heading for the chocolate cake, but instead she is burying her face in the flowers, inhaling and stroking their petals.
I see Connie frown, then smile, and she says: “Not what I’d have gone for first, but each to their own… you’ll find some basics in the fridge, and I’ve put a few dishes in the freezer for you that you can pop in the microwave whenever you need them.”
I tear my eyes away from Rose, who has pulled out a deep purple tulip to inspect it properly, and register what Connie has said.
“Oh…” I reply, “that is so kind of you. What have we done to deserve all this?”
Connie waves it off and says: “You don’t have to do anything to deserve kindness, love. Anyway, it comes as part of the package in Starshine. Kindness. No use trying to fight it – we will drown you in the stuff. Resistance is futile!”
She walks over to Rose, and leans down to sniff the bouquet herself.
“If you’re interested in flowers, you should talk to Archie, the gardener. He can show you the wildflower meadows, take you to the woods to show you the bluebells, and give you a grand tour of his greenhouse.”
Rose gives her a little smile, still holding the tulip, and says: “I might just do that.”
“I have to admit, there’s not a huge amount else to do in the village – there’s the pub, and the café, and the shop, and that’s about it. There’s no reliable wi-fi, and the phone signal’s dodgy too – we all have landlines.”
“What’s a landline?” asks Rose innocently. I know she’s joking, because we have one at home – the situation is much the same there, so neither of us will be especially traumatised by radio silence and patchy internet.
Connie is about to answer when she notices the glimmer in Rose’s eye, and laughs out loud.
“Almost got me! Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it. Rose, if you’re at all interested in other human beings around the same age as you, there are a few knocking around. They’re not too bad at all, though I might be biased, as two of them are mine – Sophie and Dan, they’re eighteen now, and Cally’s son, Sam, he’s the same age. You could all get together and look at pictures of Kim Kardashian’s new hat, or whatever it is teenagers do these days.”
She winks to show she’s not serious, and Rose and I thank her again as she heads to the door. Once she’s there, she pauses, and adds: “You know where I am if you need anything. And tomorrow, if you fancy it, there’s our annual Spring Greening.”
“Spring Greening?” I echo. “Is that some kind of… folklore thing?”
As I say it I really hope it’s not some kind of festival of those creepy Green Man figures. They scare the bejesus out of me.
“No – it’s our version of spring cleaning. Every year at about this time, we all have a big clear out, then bring everything out onto the green on a sunny day. People can take whatever they want, and whatever’s left gets taken to the big charity shop warehouse in town. There’s collection boxes – Priya has us sponsoring a doctor in Bangladesh – but no pressure at all to put anything in them. Basically, we all swap our tat – I got rid of one of those singing fish last year, you know the ones?”
I shake my head, and she explains: “So, it’s like an ornamental bass mounted on a plaque that you hang on the wall, and when you push a button it opens its mouth and sings. In my case it was Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”
She sings the last part, badly, then laughs.
“God, I loved that fish… it was the best start to the day! But the spirit of Spring Greening was strong that year, and onto the table he went. I’m hoping someone brings him back this year and he can come home with me again.”
“Fingers crossed for a happy reunion,” I reply, knowing that that song will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day now.
When she finally leaves, we browse around the ground floor, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the little gifts that have been left for us, and then Rose stands looking up the stairs, with her hands on her hips.
She tilts her head on one side and says: “I bet one of the bedrooms looks out over the sea…”
I stare at her for a split second, then we both make a run for it. She’s quicker off the mark, getting a head start, but I have longer legs, and quickly clamber past her, blocking her with my body when we reach the top. I dart into the front bedroom and throw myself onto the bed, spreading my arms and legs out like a giant starfish to claim it.
“It’s mine, it’s mine!” I pronounce. “Double bagsy no comebacks!”
“Double bagsy? What are you, twelve?”
“You’re just jealous!”
She blows a raspberry, and wanders over to the window, to look at the view we were fighting over. She pulls back a curtain, stares outside, and turns back around to face me.
“It’s shit,” she says dismissively. “You’re welcome to it.”
She strides out of the room, and presumably towards the other one. The one that is now hers, because she’s a loser.
I get up, and look for myself. She was, as I suspected, lying. The view is amazing – across the green, over the rooftop of the café, and off into infinity. The sun is setting, and it is a spectacular show of burnished gold, sliding down into the hazy turquoise of the sea. I sight out loud. I think I’m going to like it here.
Don’t worry, I tell myself. Be happy.