Chapter 17
Four days have now passed since that one magical night. I woke up in a tangle of sheets and man, settled in Josh’s embrace – my head against his chest, his arms around me. If I close my eyes even now, I can go back to that moment, and how perfect it felt – that split second where I drifted into the day, and remembered where I was and who I was with, and let myself relax into it. That sensation of being entirely safe, entirely at peace.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything like that before, and certainly not for a very long time. I know it’s not real, and I know it’s nothing that could ever last, but I am grateful that at least I had it, even for that one perfect moment.
Josh had woken up not long after, and caught me staring at him, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes against his skin, noticing the way his hair had curled over his forehead in his sleep. He kissed me and hooked one long leg over my hips to pull me closer, and somehow we got distracted and didn’t end up leaving until quite a lot later than we’d planned.
And now, we are back to semi reality – not the place-out-of-time that was our night in the Lakes, but not our everyday lives either. We are back in Starshine Cove, and Rose is here, and Josh is catching up with his work, and all of us will be leaving in a few days’ time. The idyll must come to an end.
I’m not totally sure how I feel about that, because my time here has been so very special. Not just because of Josh, but because of reconnecting with my old friends, and making new ones like Connie and Cally. I have felt the beginnings of a different phase in my life, a new confidence – a belief that maybe one day, I will find happiness. All of them have played a part in that, as well as the sheer beauty of this magical place.
I have stuck to my guns with regards to Josh, and he has accepted that. I am still too messy, like I said – and I don’t want to impose that mess on anybody else, especially somebody who I care about. So now we are friends, without benefits, and even though I still find myself looking at him in a less than platonic way, I know it is for the best. As well as my internal mess, there are plenty of real-life obstacles anyway – he lives in London, I live across a sea. Our lives have collided here, and it has been wonderful, but taking it any further would involve a commitment that I am not ready to make. Nor am I arrogant enough to think that he would want me to.
This thing with him has been a whirlwind romance, and I’m never quite sure why people think that’s necessarily a good thing – I mean, a whirlwind can result in a lot of destruction, can’t it? In our case, it hasn’t – but if I let it carry on, it could. I might be feeling more confident, more hopeful about the future, but I am not there yet. I still feel the need to go back to my little refuge, my small, safe life, to a place where nobody even sees me. Because anyone who has ever watched one of those David Attenborough nature programmes knows this – if the predators don’t see you, they don’t eat you.
If all of this sounds overly sensible, that’s probably because it is. I didn’t go so far as making an actual list with a pen and paper, but mentally I basically established a whole spreadsheet. The things I feel for Josh – the things I maybe could feel for Josh – are powerful, and wild, and could sweep me away in their current. I don’t want that. I couldn’t cope with that, no matter how exhilarating it might feel to start with – there would come a point where I started to drown. I know that if I let go, I might never be the same again, and that’s just too scary. Yes, indeed – I am a coward.
I have no clue how I’ll feel in a few months’ time, or a year, or a decade. Maybe I will feel ready for more, with Josh or with someone else. I can’t predict the future – but I can say with some certainty that I’m not ready yet. He understands that with minimal explanation and no drama, and I am glad – none of this started well, but if I come out of it with a friend, then it’s a win.
Rose, on the other hand, is very sure how she feels about leaving Starshine Cove – and she’s dead set against it. We have picked up drinks from the café and are walking along the beach – now we are nearing home time, we both seem to want to spend even more time by the waves.
“There’s nothing really keeping us there,” she says as we stroll. The day is warm, and she has taken off her boots to feel the sand between her toes. “In Ireland. I’d miss my friends, but we’ve kind of started going in separate directions anyway. And you could come and work for Dr Wong and give up your dream job in the call centre.”
I roll my eyes at her sarcasm and let her carry on. She has much to say, and it’s best to just let her say it. She has been through a lot recently, and although she has not talked about it directly, finding out about her father must have taken its toll. I don’t know if that’s the only reason – maybe it’s also seeing Lyssa and the children safe in their family home, and knowing she played a part in that – but she seems more passionate about things now. More willing to throw herself at life. More determined. That is not at all a bad thing, but doesn’t necessarily mean that what she is suggesting is the right thing, job offers or not.
The Dr Wong thing came completely out of the blue – the day we got back to Starshine, we joined a few people gathering in the pub, where plans were afoot for the first of the season’s Mystery Cricket matches. I have no idea what that is, but Josh assures me it is not only a great deal of fun, but kind of like the official arrival of almost-summer. The way he said it led me to believe that “almost summer” might actually be classed as its own season here.
Dr Wong had turned up for a night-cap, and I found myself talking to her about her job, about the animals she treats, about her life and her work here. She is a strange woman, not exactly blessed with smooth people skills – she speaks in an abrupt fashion that probably takes some getting used to. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this tendency in vets, and what they lack on the social front, they usually make up for with their furrier clients.
The next day, she’d sent me a message saying that she was planning to reduce her working hours, and was looking for someone to work with her part-time, if I was interested.
It was flattering, but again it was something I don’t feel ready for – I haven’t practised as a vet for years, and as well as me being rusty, I’m sure that the medicine and technology have moved on without me. I explained this to her, and she responded by sending me links to professional development refresher courses for people who had been out of the game for a while. I got the impression they were aimed more at people who’d maybe been on maternity leave than me – I’ve effectively been on maternity leave for sixteen years.
Again, it feels like too much, too soon – and it is slightly exasperating that I am receiving these potentially life-changing opportunities at a time when I’m not quite ready to change my life. And as with comedy routines and train connections, timing is all.
“And I’m sure Jake would rent us one of the cottages,” she continues. “Plus, even if you didn’t want to be a vet again, there must be call centres here as well.”
I pause by one of the big boulders in front of the caves, and sit down. She continues on without me for a few moments, not even noticing that I’ve stopped. I hear her still talking away, waving her hands to emphasise the excellent points she’s making, and enjoy a small internal giggle at the look on her face when she realises she’s alone.
“That was rude!” she announces, doubling back and standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. “But funny, which is what matters.”
“Always! Look, love, I get it. You like it here. You’re bored at home, and your friends are moving on to college or jobs, and you want a change. I understand that. But it isn’t that easy, is it?”
“I’m not saying it’d be easy – but is it really that hard, either? Haven’t you had enough of it, Mum, the hiding away? Having no real friends, no real social life? I mean, it’s a bit sad isn’t it – apart from your work colleagues you only ever see me! And I understand now, a bit more, why you’re like that… but staying like that forever doesn’t seem like much of a life plan does it? And it’s… I don’t know, it’s letting him win! I have a lot of weird feelings about him at the moment – I mean, he’s my dad, and always will be, but at the moment that doesn’t seem like an entirely good thing.”
“I know, my love. It really is complicated, and it will take time to work through. And there are good points about your father – he’s talented and hard-working, he can be very charming, and he does love you, I know. It’s complicated for me too, because I don’t want you to hate him – I don’t want him to have any negative impact on your life at all.”
“You say that, but you don’t seem to realise how much of a negative impact he’s still having on your life! It’s like he’s still in charge of you!”
She sits down next to me with a humph. I know she is hurting, and she is lashing out – but her words feel like a small punch in the gut, not least because part of me suspects she might be right.
“Well, look, there may be some small truth to that, Rose, and I’m not saying I’m perfect and have everything sorted – but I’m also not going to make a snap decision to relocate our whole lives just to make a point. We’ve been on holiday here, and that’s not the same as living here. Places always seem better when you’re on holiday. Besides, you know you have to be in education or training in England until you’re eighteen? It’s not the same as in Ireland. No more being a feckless workshy layabout!”
“I know,” she says, scooping up sand with her toes and letting it drain between them. Her toenails are painted alternately black and purple, I notice. Tres chic. “And I’ve been thinking about that, too. You know I really enjoyed my placement with Archie?”
It was not, of course, anything remotely resembling a placement – at best it was an informal shadowing – but I nod anyway. She has created her own narrative, as teenagers often will when it suits them.
“Well, I think that’s what I want to do, Mum. I know I could do normal A-levels and go to uni and do something academic, but I really don’t want to. I’d just come out of it with bucket loads of debt, and a useless degree, and I don’t even really love anything enough to study it for three years.”
“What about English? You did so well in your English exams!”
“I know, yeah, and I did love it – but the thing is, I can read a book any time I want. I can analyse a poem any time I want. I don’t really have to go to uni to do that, do I?”
I shrug, not disagreeing with her. She’s right, of course, and if it’s not something she’s passionate about, what’s the point?
“So, I’ve looked at colleges here in Dorset,” she continues, “and a few other places. But there’s one here that specialises in all kinds of countryside stuff. You can do courses in horticulture, and cultivation, and farming, and floristry, and all the businesses that are related to them – the kinds of stuff that’s basically covered by the term ‘growing things and making money’. I think that’s what I want to do. I think I’ll be good at it, and I think it’ll make me a lot happier than any other career I’ve considered. And it doesn’t have to be a course – you can do an apprenticeship instead, and earn some money while you learn. Not everybody has to go to uni, do they?”
“No, not at all – there are lots of different paths to take in life, and apprenticeships are brilliant,” I reply. “If you find the right one. Have you?”
“Well, no, not yet… but Archie has way too much work to do for one person. I know he wants to expand his veg growing, and he has plans for a community delivery service for people who can’t get out or are struggling with money – he just doesn’t have the time to do it right now. And this place is weirdly like a commune, isn’t it? You know how everyone chips into the village funds?”
I nod, because I do. Ella told me all about it. There’s a fund that’s used to support the village and its people – to do things like buy the minibus, and run courses at the village hall, and hold events that everyone can join in with. People who are successful in their work – like the Betties, who sell their cakes to posh supermarkets, and Connie, who was a well-known chef in London before she moved to Starshine and Jake, who always has stuff going on – put in more, like a kind of tithe. It’s a lovely idea, especially for someone like me, who would be contributing about 5p a week.
“I think,” she says, with plenty of emphasis, “that they’d consider setting up an apprenticeship for me, don’t you? Archie genuinely does need the help, and I’d work really hard, and… well, I just think it could be a thing, you know?”
I am impressed and also a little shocked at how much thought she has given this. She’s been coasting since she left school, and I have been content to let her – I want her to find her passions in life, not just get straight on a treadmill. And now, confronted with it, I am both delighted and a bit knocked sideways. I take a few breaths and think about what she’s said.
“It could be a thing,” I reply eventually. “And I think it’s fantastic that you’ve made some decisions – growing things is most definitely a good way to spend your time. But it doesn’t have to be here, does it? There are colleges like that back at home as well, I’m sure, and maybe when we get back we could arrange some visits? Or look into apprenticeships there?”
She is a very mature sixteen-year-old, my daughter, but she is still a sixteen-year-old. She huffs and sighs in a totally “Mum you’ll never understand me why am I wasting my breath on you?” way, her eyes rolling back in her head. I think she’s about to storm off, or give up. In fact neither happens, much to my surprise.
“Okay. That’s fair, actually,” she replies, after a few seconds of solid teen-on-mum contempt. “That’s reasonable – we can do that. I will think about going somewhere more local – but only if you think about this as well. I feel like you’re just saying no to changing things because it’s what you think you should do. Maybe because it’s all a bit sudden and scary, and because it’s not your idea, it’s your kid’s idea, so you’re automatically closing it down.”
She definitely has a point there. Being a parent means you are always on a steep learning curve, because your child changes every single day, constantly throwing up new challenges and new joys. So far, I have been very firmly the mum, the authority figure, the person who makes all the decisions – but are we now nearing a time when she starts to take some control? When her ideas have to be genuinely listened to, because she is a young adult now, not a baby? It’s all very confusing and I’m probably doing everything wrong.
“Well, I’m not going to lie,” I say, “it would be scary and sudden! And it’s a big decision, not one to make after a few weeks.”
“It would be sudden and scary for me too, but I love it here, Mum. I love the people I’ve met, and the scenery, and the lifestyle… I just feel at home here, in a way I haven’t felt before. And I’d be in the same country as my sibs, and nearer to Gran, and… well. Think about it, properly, with your mind all open and clear instead of clogged up and closed. I don’t think it’d only be good for me either – you like it too, I know you do. You’ve been loads happier here than at home, despite all the drama.”
“My mind is not clogged up and closed, thank you very much! And yes, I’ve seemed happier here – because I’m on holiday!”
“It’s not just that. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy walking on this beach, or being in the magic caves, or climbing up the cliff paths. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it, the way it just is here… the way it seeps into your soul.”
“Seeps into your soul? Maybe you should be doing an English degree!”
“I refuse to take it back. That’s how I feel when I’m here – and I’m a sixteen-year-old girl, so I’m allowed to be theatrical! Plus, I like Sophie and Dan and the others, and you get on so well with Connie and Cally and everyone, and Ella’s going to be back tomorrow as well. And, you know, Josh.”
“What do you mean, Josh?” I ask, my voice shooting up an octave.
“Oh, come on, Mum. I’m not an idiot! I see the way you are around each other. The way you look at each other when you think nobody else notices. It’s kind of sweet that you think it’s a secret.”
“We’re not any way around each other, Rose! Josh is just a friend. And even if he was more than that, he lives in London, not here! There isn’t anything for you to see, and it’s not a thing, and I don’t know where you’ve got that idea from! And even if there was a thing, which there isn’t, that’s not a reason to move to Starshine Cove anyway.”
I am marginally hysterical by the end of this response, and have lurched emphatically into lady-doth-protest-too-much territory. She winks at me, and I realise I’ve been baited. I shove her off the boulder and she lands in a heap on the sand, laughing and pointing up at me.
“You’re hilarious,” I announce. “And I’m going to the pub.”
“It’s only just opened!”
“Even better. Didn’t you say you were doing something with Sam anyway?”
I hold out my hands as a peace offering, and she grabs hold of them to hoist herself up. Sam, Cally’s son, is planning on going travelling over the summer, but doesn’t seem quite able to make up his mind where.
“Yeah, I’m going round to look at his work away options. Personally I think he should go for something really weird and remote, but he’s also keen to go somewhere he won’t get into trouble just for being gay. So we’re going to do a bit of research.”
I wonder how Cally feels about Sam leaving. Even though she has Archie’s girls, and she is a mother figure to them, it must be hard to face up to saying goodbye to your big baby. I suppose I’ll find out first-hand soon enough.
Rose and I wander back up to the village green and then go our separate ways. She heads back to the café to meet Sam after his morning shift, and I head home. I was only joking about going to the pub. As I walk along, I see a text landing from Priya – admittedly almost a day after she seems to have sent it, but at least it’s here. It’s nothing important – just a hello-how’s-tricks kind of thing – but I am so busy tapping out a reply to it that I don’t notice Josh until I physically walk into him. I hit him solidly, bounce off again, and then wobble around until he reaches out to hold my shoulders and steady me.
He had, very clearly, been standing still waiting to say hello, but I was so over-excited at my phone working that I screened out. And here’s me thinking Rose was the teenager.
“Oh! Sorry!” I say, embarrassed but also amused. “Didn’t see you there. Were you wearing your Cloak of Invisibility?”
“No,” he replies, grinning. “I was waving at you, and said hi, and you completely blanked me. Honestly, it’s enough to make a man paranoid – now you’ve had your wicked way with me you just don’t want to know, do you?”
I frown, as though I’m giving that some actual thought, and say: “Well, it was pretty wicked wasn’t it? What are you up to?”
He rubs his face with his hands, and I notice signs of fatigue. His hair is rumpled, and his eyes look tired, and he yawns right in front of me. Call me Sherlock Holmes.
“Just needed to get out. I’ve marked twenty-seven essays on corporate social responsibility and sustainable business practice this morning.”
“Oooh. Sounds fascinating.”
“Well, little miss sarcasm, it actually can be – but maybe not twenty-seven times in a row, and seen through the prism of an eighteen-year-old’s eyes. I woke up at five for some reason and I’ve been at it for hours, so I think I might call it. Fancy doing some day drinking with me?”
I ponder this question, and feel conflicted about how to respond. On the one hand, I don’t actually have anything else to do, and I am on holiday, so why not? On the other and far more risky hand, is it wise to put myself in this position? How much alcohol can my friend zone with Josh withstand? I mean, he always looked good – but now I know how he feels too, and even more so, how he can make me feel. It’s hard enough to forget all that when I’m stone cold sober, and I’m not entirely sure if having an impromptu boozing session is going to be beneficial.
“That would be decadent,” I reply eventually, gazing up at him. “And probably wrong in many ways.”
“True. Does that mean you’re up for it then?”
“Yeah. But only a couple. Give me five and I’ll meet you there.”
I nip into Kittiwake to get my purse, and run upstairs to freshen up. Quick hair brush, fresh blast of my lovely Lush rose body spray, and I’m ready to go. I glance at myself in the mirror, and see that my cheeks are flushed and my eyes are bright at the whole concept of meeting Josh in the pub. I do wish somebody would tell my libido that we’re just friends.
When I arrive at the inn, we are the only people there – which is unsurprising as it’s 11.30am. Matt behind the bar gives me a cheery wave, and I join Josh at a table by the jukebox. There’s a bottle of Prosecco and a jug of orange juice there, along with two long-stemmed glasses and several packets of crisps. An intoxicating mix of classy and common.
Josh is choosing songs on the big old-fashioned jukebox, and I laugh when the first one on is Sound of the Underground by Girls Aloud.
“What?” he says as he sits down opposite me. “They’re very under-rated! This is one of my favourite driving albums!”
“What else is on the driving playlist?”
“Oh, loads – I like all kinds of music. David Bowie, Pulp, Queen, Duran Duran, Black Sabbath, Abba…”
“Abba?”
“Yes, Abba! My mum loved them and I guess it kind of stuck. I have really lovely memories of her cooking dinner, dancing around the kitchen waving a spatula to the soundtrack of Super Trouper.”
I grin at the image, and can hear from his voice how cherished that memory is – that it brings him more joy than sadness to remember her. There is a point in the hideous journey of grief where that starts to happen, where the balance creeps back in and you can finally think of them with a smile.
“I know what you mean,” I reply as I pour us both some fizz and add in a generous glug of orange juice to make me feel less like an alcoholic. “My dad died when I was twenty-one. A couple of years before he passed away, we’d bought a karaoke machine for Christmas. I can still see him now, murdering some Otis Redding, or strutting around to The Rolling Stones.”
“Ha! Was he a Mick Jagger kind of dude?”
“He was about a three Mick Jaggers kind of dude – and seeing someone with an impressive and proudly displayed beer belly dancing to Satisfaction is something you never forget. He was quite a character.”
“He sounds it,” says Josh, raising his glass for me to clink against. “To my mum and your dad – may they form a supergroup in the sky!”
I take a sip of my Prosecco and open a bag of posh crisps. I am winning in life.
“So,” I say, after a happy few moments where we just eat and drink, “Rose has been giving me the hard sell on relocating to Starshine Cove. Seems to have her whole future planned out, and the only fly in the ointment is me.”
He gives this some thought, and replies: “Right. Well, this place does have that effect on some people. Is it a thing that’s even possible for you? I know I’ve considered it a few times…”
“Really? I thought you were happy in London, and with your job?”
“I am – but I’m also aware that every time I leave here and go home, I seem to start planning my next trip to see Jake. And London is starting to feel more like the kind of place I’d like to visit than the kind of place I want to live… I don’t know, maybe I’m getting old? I have given it some thought though. There are schools and colleges here too; it’s not an implausible idea.”
I find myself moving quite quickly on to my next glass, and wondering why this conversation is making me feel vaguely uncomfortable. It’s not like he’s doing anything out of order – he’s just telling me something about himself that I didn’t know, but for some reason I feel a bit ambushed. Probably because I now feel like I am the only person on the planet who doesn’t yearn to live here – and because if I imagine Starshine Cove with Josh in it permanently, that totally skews my vision of what life here might actually look like.
“You’ve gone quiet and weird,” he says, “what’s freaking you out?”
“What makes you think I’m freaked out?”
“I know the signs by now,” he replies.
I laugh, and realise he is right – he does read me very well.
“Is it possible that we’ve only known each other for weeks?” I say.
“I know. It feels like decades doesn’t it? In a good way, I mean. Now, stop trying to dodge and answer the question – what’s up?”
“Don’t know,” I answer, “which is rubbish but true. My brain is sounding some kind of alert klaxon and I don’t really understand why. Maybe change is a bit scary for me, and I feel like I’m being confronted by a lot of it, all at once? Everything Rose said actually makes sense – and I’m not so attached to our current home that I couldn’t consider leaving. And maybe it would be good for me as well as her. But just because it might be a good idea, that doesn’t also mean that it isn’t…”
“A frightening idea?”
“Yup. I’m starting to suspect that I might be a bit of a wuss.”
He frowns, and shakes his head. Our tone has been light, but there is an intensity in his gaze as he stares me down.
“Uh-uh. I’m not having that, Lucy. You’re a million miles away from being a wuss. Whatever you decide, it won’t be because of that. I might not always like your decisions, but I respect your reasons for them.”
I’m either being especially dense or the effects of the booze are kicking in super-fast, but I find myself asking him what he means by that. He leans back in his chair, and gives me the lop-sided grin that always makes my heart beat faster, and says: “Don’t you know?”
“Nope, that’s why I’m asking!”
“I’m talking about us, Lucy. If it was only up to me, I’d give this thing between us a shot. I’d let it grow and see where we end up. I’d be willing to take that chance, which has come as a bit of a surprise. But it’s not just up to me, and I know enough about you to understand that you don’t take things lightly, that you put a lot of thought into everything you do. You made it clear it was a one-night deal, and you’ve opened up about your past experiences, and I value our friendship. I understand why you feel this isn’t the right time for us, and like I say, I respect that choice – but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.”
I gulp some more wine, because this has come out of the blue. He doesn’t sound angry or annoyed or as though he’s trying to get me to change my mind – he just sounds slightly regretful. And now he’s doing that thing he does where he smiles and makes eye contact and I feel like he can read my mind. I hope so – because maybe then he could tell me what I’m actually thinking.
I like Josh. I certainly lust over Josh. And now he’s saying that if I chose to, I could carry on seeing Josh. Am I being the world’s biggest idiot for saying no to such an offer?
“Is your brain klaxon going mental now?” he asks.
“Yeah. Kind of. I just… look, I don’t know what the answer to anything is anymore, and that is unsettling – before I came here I knew all the answers!”
“What’s the capital of Turkmenistan?”
“Okay, maybe not the answer to that! But you know what I mean. My life was dull and safe and I liked that. Now I feel a bit like the universe is pulling the rug out from beneath my feet in all kinds of ways – and this thing with me and you? I didn’t plan it, and I wasn’t prepared for it, and I didn’t expect it. I thought it was fun and done – but now you’ve given me something else to think about. Something else I don’t quite understand.”
“And that makes your klaxon go off? Because you feel more in control if everything is based on logic, don’t you? Even if logic wasn’t the thing that had you screaming my name in that hotel room in the Lakes…”
He grins as he says this, and it is so unexpected that my eyes pop wide open in shock and my mouth falls into a surprised O.
“I can’t believe you just said that!”
“Well, it’s true isn’t it? All I’m saying is that I understand why you need to be logical, and think things through, and look at all the potential risks. But I also think maybe you might be deliberately ignoring the good stuff too.”
I am still blushing at what he said about me screaming, but manage to reply: “You do know, don’t you, that when I look at all the potential risks, it’s not just me I’m worried about? I don’t want to hurt anyone just because I’m… I don’t know, emotionally clumsy!”
“I know. But it’s not your job to decide that for me, is it? I’m all grown up. I can do my own risk assessments. Look, no pressure – ever. Just say you’ll think about it.”
He leans forward and lays his hand on the table. His little finger touches mine, just the barest of contacts.
“Yes,” I say, feeling a new warmth spread through me at the look in his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”