Chapter 21
D espite another grey day dawning on Sunday, the mood in Sandyhaven was anything but dreary. The village Christmas lights were strung all around the square ready to be brought to life for the first time that year. Standing proudly in the centre was the village Christmas tree, which had been kindly donated from nearby Rockery Farm. Mr Slee’s shop was packed full of culinary festive goodies including potent sherry and fruitful panettone. The pub was raring to go, with buttery mince pies and warming mulled wine on tap. A heady scent of cinnamon and firewood filled the air, the beach today home to a blazing bonfire which luckily had timed perfectly with the waning tide. A couple of market stalls had been erected outside the pub selling a range of beautiful, handmade decorations and gifts. Millie browsed them carefully as she walked by, stopping to chat to the owners who were clearly so talented. She hadn’t planned to purchase anything – having vowed not to do presents or major celebrations of any kind this year – but she simply couldn’t resist a delicate, macramé Christmas tree decoration, expertly handmade from a gorgeous sage green cord. After thanking the seller and walking away, studying the intricacies of each knot as she moved, she felt a presence in-front of her and looked up into Alfie’s beaming smile.
“Treating yourself? Or is this a gift you were supposed to keep secret from me?” She rolled her eyes with a smile, placing the stripy paper bag into her coat pocket carefully and continuing to stroll down towards the beach. Alfie kept step with her.
“No gifts. Not for anyone,” she reiterated. “Well, except for my Godson. But he’s the only exception,” she explained, her heart doing a double beat at the thought of little Leo who she was yet to meet.
The beach came into view down the slope, with groups milling around, wrapped up warm in hats and scarves. The barrier around the bonfire was lined with people soaking up its warmth and at a safer distance, children and dogs ran and played, with their parents close by in groups, holding mulled wine in gloved hands. The sight of the beach and the water still made Millie shudder following her close call weeks ago, but she knew she had to move on. There would doubtless be multiple opportunities for her to get back in that water in the warmer months and she didn’t want the memories and the “what ifs?” to ruin that. Strange how she was thinking of being here next summer…her subconscious was obviously sure that’s what was going to happen. But would she be alone, or would she be with…
“So, what’re your plans for Christmas then? I know you’re totally against it and all that but surely you won’t be spending it on your own?” Alfie asked. Millie wrinkled her nose at him.
“I really don’t have any,” she replied honestly, “and besides, I’ve got far too much to think about now with the next few weeks the way they are. There’s so much to coordinate.”
“Yeah, but you’re only doing the one class, with me. That’s two hours per day.”
“And the rest! I’ve got a lot of preparation to do, you know.” She ignored his eye roll, instead stopping to take in the hard crunch of the sand beneath her feet now they were on the beach. They stood companionably, the gentle crash and ebb of the waves providing a mesmerizing and hypnotic soundscape.
“What are your plans?” she asked nonchalantly, not even turning to look at him. There was a long pause; so long she almost thought he’d walked away until he spoke.
“Dad’s invited me up there,” he said, referring to his father’s home in London. “But I’m not keen. It’s not that I don’t like his new partner I just…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence without it becoming too deep. He glanced down to see Millie’s beautiful brown eyes staring up at him gently. “I’m just not ready to spend Christmas in his house with anyone other than my mum,” he finished, quietly. He focused hard on the waves, desperate not to let too much emotion show. He very rarely spoke about his mum and had no intentions of starting now. Seconds later, he felt Millie’s arm gently thread through his own, linking them together and warmth rushed through his body.
“I get you,” she whispered and, for the first time in his life, he felt like someone genuinely did. She had lost her mum too and, despite not knowing the circumstances, or the relationship she’d had with her, it was still a strong common ground they shared. Their family situations were actually very similar – both “only” children, both lost a parent, both living away from their families in a remote corner of the country.
“It’s actually my first Christmas without mum,” she continued. “We hadn’t spent the last few together anyway, not properly. She was usually black out drunk and it wasn’t the most pleasant company to be around.” He reached up and squeezed her hand. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it had been for her. Yes, he’d lost his mum but at least the time they’d spent together had been happy, secure and full of love. It sounded like their relationship had been incredibly strained.
It was as they stood there together on the beach, surrounded by happy, chattering people and the palpable magic of the season that he realised he really would like to be part of a family with her and show her the love she had so obviously missed in the past.
* * *
“I can’t remember the last time I felt that relaxed. I wasn’t snoring, was I?” Amy asked as the rest of the hall slowly packed up belongings. Millie tightly rolled up the yoga mat and chuckled.
“Could barely hear Maya over you, actually,” she replied, and Amy pulled a face at her. The classes had been running for over a week now and the success had far exceeded anything she’d imagined. There was such a variety it had been hard to know which ones to choose to go to, alongside planning and preparing for her own sessions, which ran on Tuesday and Friday evenings. Yoga had attracted her though as it was something she’d always wanted to get into after trying a few tutorials online. A young girl called Maya who lived around fifteen minutes away in neighbouring Trewithen had just returned from a gap year in Bali where she’d earned her yoga instructor accreditations. Since returning, she’d started a few classes locally and had jumped at the opportunity to run one in Sandyhaven when the opportunity arose. Millie watched her at the front of the hall now collecting mats and blocks back in and thanking everyone with huge enthusiasm, her jet-black hair swishing as she did so.
“I may not be attracted to women, but she is stunning,” Ryan mumbled in Millie’s ear, yoga mat tucked under his arm. He had arrived in a flurry of Lycra and fluorescent headbands, making Millie and Amy hoot with laughter. It had transpired though that the gimmicky clothing had been a ruse because he was incredibly flexible and had moved from position to position with sheer elegance. Millie, on the other hand, had staggered between poses like a cat with a broken leg, puffing and straining as she went. Despite this, she’d really enjoyed herself.
The other classes had been a hit, too. Monday morning had been bookbinding with an elderly man from the village. The afternoon brought a soft play company with all their equipment and mums and babies from surrounding villages had come out in force, grateful to finally have somewhere to meet and sip tea whilst their children crashed around. Tuesday was paper craft run by two middle-aged sisters who had their own little business alongside their part-time office jobs. The Tuesday evening saw Millie’s first art class, where she introduced painting as a skill, demonstrating the various affects you could achieve from using different sized brushes and building a mixture of strokes. The results had been so effective and despite barely breaking even after deducting the cost of materials, she hadn’t minded. The sole aim for her was using the ordinary village hall and bringing it to life with all these different crafts and interests. And that had certainly happened.
Wednesday saw a change of pace with a vibrant and upbeat Zumba class, this week inspired by music from the 80s. Millie had popped to the pub that lunchtime to finalise some details around the New Year’s Eve party and had been astounded to see fifteen “Flashdance” lookalikes taking up one whole end of the building. Black leotards, a rainbow of fluorescent tights, sweatbands; the full works! The afternoon calmed down with a wreath making workshop by Mrs Slee, the shopkeeper’s wife – however, Millie had since heard the CD player from the morning’s dance session had been left switched on standby, so the traditional Christmas carols, which had played at the beginning of the session, were soon replaced with the likes of Funky Town and Holiday , (now that, she would have paid to see). Children’s Christmas crafts adorned the hall on Thursday morning, run by a group of parents who home educated their children. In the evening, there was a men’s mental health group, an initiative set up in Truro but now trialling outreach sessions in more remote locations. Alfie had agreed to play host for this one, setting up a refreshments table and making himself available for whatever the guys needed. He recognised several faces from the village and whilst he hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, he found himself listening intently to the stories being shared amongst the men. Some of the things these guys had been through were so incredibly sad, yet it made him feel more validated in his own struggles since he’d lost mum. He’d gone home that night vowing to call his dad soon. He’d pushed him away long enough.
Friday saw Millie’s art class come around again and this time she would be sharing it with Alfie. They’d agreed to collaborate to bring not only extra knowledge but also different styles. They’d planned to take the class outside on the beach for the first hour, if the weather was kind, as they would just catch the sunset. After taking some photographs and some discussion around colours and possible techniques, they would head inside and watch as both Alfie and Millie live demonstrated their own styles. The final hour would allow the group to start their paintings, with a view to finishing them the next week.
It had been bitterly cold but bright and luckily they’d had a tremendous sunset, with pastel oranges and pinks streaking through the sky. Millie had surprised herself with how at ease she felt in-front of the canvas with people watching. Never had she been so exposed whilst creating but painting alongside Alfie made it seem so much less scary. Whilst hugely focused on her painting, she’d made several glances across at his, admiring his style and the way a paintbrush worked deftly in his large hands. His grip, she’d noticed, was loose and he bit his lip whilst he worked, accentuating the stubble stippled around his chin. Judging by the way all the other women in the room were gazing at him, she’d guess they’d noticed too. By the time she’d finished packing away she found herself continuing to admire him from across the hall, with her perched on the stage and him tidying the last few bits away, chairs and tables rearranged again ready for the second bookbinding session first thing the following Monday morning.
He must have felt her gaze boring into him as he glanced up and they locked eyes. She felt a buzz of electricity jolt through her, and he felt it too.
“That went well,” he spoke out loud, attempting to diffuse the intensity of the moment, although he questioned if he wanted it to go at all.
“Extremely,” she replied, swinging her feet and leaning forwards slightly. “Your painting was great. You’re incredibly talented.” He smirked, wiping his hands down his paint splattered shirt.
“You of all people should know it’s just making marks on canvas,” he said, finishing the set up and standing back. “It’s just putting them in the right order that counts.”
“Don’t be so defensive,” she replied, frowning at him. “Just accept the compliment.” He moved towards her slowly and her heart began to thump.
“And you can accept a compliment, can you?” he asked in an accusatory tone, knowing full well she couldn’t. She hadn’t been used to her artwork receiving praise for a long time, the snide comments from Sam resonating in her head always. He stood just a metre in-front of her now and she must’ve carried a dejected look on her face from the memories because Alfie closed the gap between them, gently taking her hand in his. Millie couldn’t bring herself to look up, instead focusing on his hand and the splodge of yellow paint on one of his knuckles, cracked a little where it had dried. She ran her thumb over it, feeling the smoothness, then the bump.
“Millie.” He spoke it throatily and with her heart pounding, she swallowed and slowly looked up. A mere few inches from her face was his, staring intently into her eyes.
“Yes?”
He paused, leaning down until his lips were brushing her ear.
“I think you’re incredible.” He moved his lips away and within the next second, they were on hers firmly.
* * *
“It’s amazing that I’ve even been asked,” Millie shouted from the sofa, her knees tucked up under her chin. The clattering in the kitchen indicated that Sam had no intention of stopping what he was doing to listen to her; this infuriated Millie. She had received a letter that morning from an art gallery in Shoreditch – she’d submitted one of her paintings into a competition to be featured in their latest exhibition and whilst she hadn’t won, they’d written to her to say they were still very impressed and would love to invite her to a private showing. And also that she could bring a guest.
“SAM?!” she shouted again, impatient this time at his lack of response. Enthusiastic or not, it would be nice to simply be acknowledged. There was no response, so she huffily hoisted herself off the sofa and went through into the kitchen, where Sam was concocting one of his disgusting protein shakes. Clearly, he was off to the gym again. She stood for several seconds, staring straight at him, leaning one arm on the counter and the other hand placed on her hip. He paused mid-action, his kale-filled hand hovering over the blender.
“You OK?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“I’ve been calling you and you’ve been ignoring me!” she shot back. His hand released a cluster of wiry, green vegetable and it dropped into the blender on top of a mound of beige looking powder.
“You were in the other room; you should’ve come in here. You know, to have an actual conversation,” he replied, pouring water on top and securing on the lid. She sighed, just wanting to address the matter at hand.
“Well, I’ve been invited to this gallery in Shoreditch for their latest exhibition opening and I was hoping you’d come with me. You know I hate doing things alone for the first time.” She studied his face intently to gauge his response. His brow furrowed slightly, and he screwed up his mouth.
“Isn’t this the same gallery who rejected your artwork?” he asked, the emphasis on the word ‘rejected’ stinging Millie’s pride further.
“Yeah but making links with galleries is huge. It could be a valuable connection for the future,” she continued. “Especially because the owner of this gallery is the one who…” A loud whirring and grinding echoed around the room and Millie took a moment to realise he’d completely cut her off by turning on the blender mid-sentence. She stared at him in disbelief, but he looked back at her innocently. After a few more seconds, he turned it off and silence returned, its loudness deafening.
“What?!” Sam spat, taking in Millie’s expression.
“You just totally cut me off!” she said, exasperated.
“Oh, so it’s fine to holler at me from another room but raising your voice over the blender is unacceptable?” She had no words, just felt completely and utterly shocked at his attitude today. He’d been like this for a few weeks now, making her feel the least priority in his life, showing even less interest in her artwork than usual. It was starting to really grate on her, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Upon no response, Sam screwed the lid tightly on the bottle and shook it vigorously, before adding it to his full gym bag.
“I’m heading to the gym and then I’m probably going out with some gym friends after for a drink or two. Don’t wait up for me,” he said, hauling the bag onto his shoulder. Millie shuffled a little.
“Which friends?” she asked, keeping her voice as light and airy as possible.
“Just the usual. Matt, Tristian, Scott, Amelia…” his voice tailed off as he checked his phone absent-mindedly. He glanced up at her, noticing her vulnerable expression. He smiled then and Millie’s body rushed with warmth and tingly feelings; that smile being one of the first things that had attracted her to him, all those years ago. He moved towards her and pulled her closer, his arms looping around her waist. He placed a firm kiss on her lips, lingering enough for her to wish he’d carried on.
“Of course I’ll go to your art thing with you,” he murmured into her neck, leaving a kiss there before pulling away and walking straight out the door, a cursory “bye” called over his shoulder.
The door slammed shut and the silence enveloped her once again. He made her feel so many things with that kiss, so why was the feeling of pure rejection the one encompassing her the most?