Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
I wake up the next day feeling both incredibly good, and incredibly terrified. But even the terrified is enjoyable in its own way. It’s exciting – a fun kind of terrifying, the kind that makes your nerves sizzle and your heart beat faster. The kind that reminds you that anything worth having comes with its own set of risks.
I only managed a few hours’ sleep, which I don’t suppose was surprising. I had an extended nap during most of Paddington and beyond, plus I was just too wired to fall into anything resembling a deep slumber. I felt like I’d injected caffeine directly into my veins, I was so hyped up.
The rest that I did manage to get was fitful and full of vivid dreams. Some were strange and psychedelic, almost like some kind of acid trip involving Labradors that could talk and tents that flew through the sky like flocks of geese relocating to warmer climates. My other dreams were… well, my other dreams were quite clearly related to my intimacy with Zack. Which is of course a polite way of saying I was having sex dreams – absolutely gorgeous sex dreams as well! So gorgeous that every time I drifted anywhere close to consciousness, I’d try to go back to sleep and pick up where I left off.
Needless to say, when I finally wake up properly at just after seven a.m., I have a very big, very stupid smile on my face.
I lie in bed for a few minutes, letting my mind roam free, letting my imagination go crazy. It might only have been a bit of a snog and a bit of a fumble last night, but it had a spectacular effect on me. It’s like a button has been switched, and I am suddenly sensationally aware of what I have been missing for so long. My whole body is craving more, to the point where I’m starting to think this whole menopause thing is a myth – because right now I feel like a teenaged girl who has just realised what all the fuss is about when it comes to sex.
I had genuinely forgotten how fantastic it can feel to spend time with the right man, to be swept away by the right chemistry – or maybe I hadn’t forgotten exactly, I’d just suppressed the memory because it made me too sad to remember it and then live without it.
I climb out of bed, opening the curtains to see that it is still raining lightly. The sun is bright and clear though, the sky a vibrant pastel blue despite the downpour, seagulls streaking white stripes across the heavens. It’s perfect rainbow weather, I reckon, with all that sunshine and the ongoing shower. I love rainbows, so that is a very good omen.
I have a quick shower, do what I can with my hair, and get dressed. As I add a pair of pretty earrings with tiny dangling seashells, I realise that I am not at all worried about my clothes, or whether I should wear make-up, or how I should look when I see Zack again later today. That comes as a bit of a relief, because I’d found it super-stressful when I was getting ready for my dates. I’d maybe expected that I would feel the same today, and it is a joy to find out that I don’t. In fact, I feel extremely groovy, baby.
Last night, I was dressed in my scruffs and had been at work all day – and Zack still wanted me. It would be the very height of stupidity to wake up today and become obsessed with my appearance, when he clearly likes what he sees already.
It all still feels strange and surreal to me, but the lips don’t lie – and he wasn’t playing around last night. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him. I look at myself in the mirror, and see the slightly flushed complexion of a woman who has well and truly rediscovered her mojo. I give myself a wink, because why not?
Again, I could over-think this. I could pick at the scab, remind myself that he is London glamour, that our lives run on very different tracks, that this can’t possibly work in the real world. I could remind myself of how much I have to lose – of how it would feel to be rejected, or how sad and lonely I am going to be when he goes home. I could focus on the fact that this isn’t a long-term thing, that this isn’t even remotely feasible as a lasting relationship.
I could focus on any of those things, and maybe I should. Maybe that would be sensible. But this morning does not feel like the right time to be sensible. This morning feels sweet and sexy and hopeful and full of potential. It feels like rainbows all over. I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling any of those things, and I am not going to burst this bubble before I really need to. I shall ride this wave of optimism for as long as I can.
I emerge onto the landing to be confronted by Sophie coming out of the bathroom. She looks pale and exhausted, her hair in tangles and dark circles beneath her eyes. There was definitely a bit too much alcohol consumed last night.
“Mum, why are you singing ?” she says, sounding repulsed.
“Was I?”
“Yes! You were singing Walking On Sunshine really loudly! That’s just not a reasonable thing to do this early!”
“Oh. Sorry. Well, I do love that song… how are you?”
“Tired. See you later.”
She walks back into her room and slams the door behind her. Ah, what a sweetie she is! I don’t care. Nothing’s going to bring me down today. Besides, she has a point. It is unsociably early to be singing out loud.
I hum it quietly to myself instead, and head downstairs. Coffee, a slice of toast and home-made rhubarb jam, and I’m ready to go. I’ll have the doors to the Cove Café open by eight, which is right on time – yet another reason to be joyful. I am so winning at life.
I let myself in and pause for a moment, enjoying the familiar scents of the place – the lingering remnants of the blackberry and apple crumble from yesterday, the lavender and sea salt from the wax melts, the hint of floral fragrance from the vase of tulips and hyacinths on the counter.
I walk straight through the building to the back, where the vast French doors lead out onto the terrace. I gaze down at the beach, and smile at what I see. A huge arcing rainbow is anchored on one side by the red-gold cliffs that line the cove, then stretches in a gloriously bright semi-circle right out over the waves. It looks like it’s magically hovering over the sea, its brilliant colours reflecting up from the shimmering water.
It doesn’t happen often, seeing a rainbow out on the bay, but I had a feeling that today it just might. I allow myself a few seconds of peace and quiet, simply watching what I know is a scientific phenomenon but feels like so much more.
I tear myself away from the view, and get busy. I chop lettuce and cucumber and tomatoes, plate up slices of carrot cake, prep the coffee machine, and bring in supplies from the bigger fridges in the back. Little Betty calls in with a selection of freshly baked croissants and apple custard pastries, along with a spectacular Black Forest gateau that I’m almost tempted to sample there and then. It’s a good cake day, for sure.
My first actual customer is Lucy, Rose’s mum, who is on her way to work. She’s only lived here permanently since September, and works with Dr Wong, the local vet. I immediately get her coffee to go – black, no sugar, pretty easy to remember – and she orders two almond croissants to take away. Dr Wong has a very sweet tooth, to the point that it seems like a miracle she has any teeth at all. I chat as I put everything together for her, telling her she really should go out back in case the rainbow is still there. Then I tell her how much I love rainbows, possibly in too much detail.
“Are you all right?” Lucy asks, staring at me suspiciously. Her lovely red hair is swept up into a bun, and the white lab coat she’s wearing over her clothes makes her look like she’s a sexy super-villain in a Bond movie.
“I’m great! Has anyone ever told you that in your work outfit, you look like a sexy super-villain in a Bond movie, by the way?”
“Funnily enough, no. Especially when I’m trying not to get bitten by an angry Alsatian when I stick a thermometer up its bum.”
“Mmmm, yes, I can see that isn’t the sexiest of scenarios… but still. I bet you look stylish doing it.”
She narrows her eyes and replies: “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit… odd this morning. Even more odd than normal. You look tired but you sound like a toddler after a full bag of Haribo.”
“I told you, I’m great! All is well in the world! Have a good day, Lucy!”
She doesn’t look convinced, and I wonder if she’ll be calling in to see Ella on the way to the vet surgery. I can just imagine the conversation, as the two of them discuss whether me seeming especially perky first thing in the morning might be a cause for concern. These science types are always looking for logical explanations for things – I bet they don’t enjoy rainbows half as much as I do!
I serve a few other regulars, mainly people who are calling in before their commute or want to begin their working-from-home day with a treat. It’s always pretty quiet at this time of the morning, and I mainly serve up coffees and simple snacks like the pastries and toast to take away. Sometimes I get parents in early doors as well – the ones with little kids who think the most fun thing in the whole wide world is to wake up and demand cheerful activity at the crack of dawn. I remember those days myself, and always make sure their coffee stays topped up while their brain tries to catch up with their body.
I don’t get any bedraggled mums and dads this morning, though, and the first rush-hour is over by nine. It has consisted of five customers, all of whom arrived at different times. Not exactly stressful, or indeed much of a rush. I know I’ll get a fresh wave in at about ten, so I do what I normally do and use the quiet time to get a head start on lunch prep.
I do exactly the same thing pretty much every day. It is a tried and tested routine that I could probably perform in my sleep. Today, though, as I make sandwiches and pasta salad and put the jacket spuds in the machine for later, I find that everything feels a little bit more fun. Even the things that go wrong can’t bring me down.
I laugh in the face of the exploding mayonnaise bottle. I pour scorn over the smoked salmon that slithers out of my hands. I mock the macarons that crumble as I try to arrange them in colourful pairs. None of it has a chance of affecting my mood today, because I am walking on sunshine. In fact I’m walking on sunshine with a rainbow over my head.
I even maintain my good cheer when Sam turns up for work half an hour late. I had kind of expected it, given the previous night’s events, and luckily we’re not too swamped by the time he staggers in looking slightly the worse for wear by his usual standards. His usual standards are very high, though, so that’s okay.
“I’m so sorry, Connie!” he says when he arrives, whipping on his Cove Café apron and immediately starting to stack the dishwasher. “I’d try and come up with an elaborate excuse, but I don’t think there’s much point as you know exactly where I was last night. I can only apologise and blame the callousness of youth. Plus some exceptionally strong scrumpy. Did the girls make it home okay?”
“They did, and don’t worry, Sam – I’ll let you off. Can you clear some tables if I finish this?”
He nods and heads out into the main room of the café. I smile as I watch him wander off, gathering plates and trays and chatting to customers as he goes. He’s a natural with people, is Sam – even if he has no interest whatsoever in hospitality, he’d be brilliant at it. I wonder if he’ll end up with a glittering showbusiness career instead if his Charity Shop Challenge idea takes off.
Thinking about that, of course, makes me start thinking about Zack. I’ve been quite careful all morning not to allow myself to think about him – I have enjoyed the sensation of feeling floaty and excited, and have most definitely had a smile on my face. But I haven’t as yet gone down the route of considering when I will see him next, and what will happen then, and how absolutely mindblowing it might be if last night’s taster menu was anything to go by. I am at work, and it would just be plain rude. Nobody should look that excited over a tuna mayo sub.
Now, though, as I serve the last lunch order and see that Sam has everything under control, I nip into the kitchens for a quick break. I get out my phone and feel a silly little flutter of disappointment when there are no messages from him. It’s silly for a couple of reasons – first of all, because I’m not a sixteen-year-old girl. Secondly, because the wifi and phone reception in Starshine Cove are notoriously poor, and he could have sent fifty messages without any of them even landing.
I consider sending one of my own, but both of the above reasons still hold firm, and I don’t bother. I’ll be done here at about four, and I’m sure I’ll see him then – Starshine isn’t big enough for anybody to hide in, that’s for sure.
We get a busy spell after that, which is probably a good thing. We sell out of my pea and mint soup, and the smoked salmon and asparagus quiche flies from the shelves. The Black Forest gateau is mere rubble by the end, along with the carrot cake and half the raspberry pavlova. The coffee machine works overtime, and the drinks fridge is looking pretty sad by the time we wave goodbye to our last customer of the day.
As Sam turns the door sign to closed, we both breathe a sigh of relief before we begin the tidy-up routine. This is the least fun part of my working life, but I know it has to be done or I’ll regret it tomorrow. I clear and wipe and wash, and do the food safety checklist I was teaching Marcy and Sophie not so long ago.
I help Sam restock the fridge, and get some toffee fudge cheesecake out of the freezer ready for tomorrow. I chat to Sam as I work, but my mind isn’t really on our conversation, or on the jobs that I am doing. My mind is very much elsewhere, and mid-way through passing Sam some cloudy lemonade bottles, I decide that enough is enough.
“Stick these in and we’re done,” I announce, standing up and stretching my back. I might be feeling a little giddy today, but my back is still fifty-five years old.
“Are you sure? What about the Cokes?”
“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow. Nobody asks for a chilled Coke in the morning, it’ll be fine. I’ve had enough for one day. Jog on, sunshine – go and have fun!”
“Aye aye, captain,” he says, giving me a little salute. “Lilly and Meg will be out of school by now. Might go and see if they fancy a trip to McDonald’s with me.”
“Is there even a remote chance that they won’t?”
“Based on previous evidence, it seems highly unlikely. Their collection of Happy Meal toys has got much bigger since I moved in. What are you up to tonight?”
“That’d be telling,” I reply, raising my eyebrows in an attempt to be mysterious.
“Ooh-la-la,” he says, fanning his face with his hands. “Sounds interesting! See you same time tomorrow?”
“No, actually, Sam – see you at the right time tomorrow!”
“Absolutely. Scout’s honour.”
Once he leaves, I head off to the ladies’, where I keep a little emergency spruce-up kit in a cupboard, glamorously located next to the spare loo roll. I spray on a bit of deodorant, then run a brush through my hair before I hoist it up with combs at the sides. I still have a sparkle in my eyes when I look in the mirror, and give my curls a little zhuzh as well.
“Okay,” I say out loud to myself. “What now, gorgeous?”
It’s a good question, and not one I have an immediate answer for. Things were a little chaotic last night, and neither Zack nor I actually made any definite arrangements for when and where we would see each other again. It was left loose, and now I’m a bit at a loss as to where to head next. After a normal working day, I usually pick one of three options – I go straight home, I go to see George or Ella, or I go to the pub.
Today, I should really go home. If I go home, I’ll be able to check in on Marcy and Sophie, and make sure Dan survived his night of barn-surfing. I could also call at Miranda’s on the way, and see if James is there. Yes, that would most definitely be the most sensible option.
Obviously, having considered all the angles, I grab my bag, switch off the lights, and head straight for the Starshine Inn. Being sensible has never exactly been my strong suit.
It’s a beautiful day now, the air crisp and fresh in that way it can be after a storm, as though the wind and the rain have blown everything clean. The sky is still a vibrant blue, and the sun is casting a golden glow over the cottages that line the green. I wave to Trevor as I walk past his Emporium, and smile as I pass the Bettys’ home next to their bakery. They’re addicted to uber-violent movies about Navy SEALs or the SAS, and I hear the merry sound of a sub-machine gun blasting out from their TV as I walk by. Everyone’s happy place looks different, I guess.
I take a deep breath as I pause outside the door to the inn, realising that I am feeling a delicious blend of nerves and excitement. I am jittery, like my insides are skittering around. Classic butterflies in my tummy, I suppose. I have no idea why – I am simply about to do a completely normal thing and pop into my local. There is usually someone in here who I know, and if not, I can always sit at the bar and chat to Jake if he’s working, or his bartender Matt if he’s not.
This is not a big deal, I tell myself, as I push open the door. This is all totally one hundred per cent normal. I just wish my body was listening.
The place is busy but not full, and I spy a few familiar faces as well as a group of walkers tucking into pints of ale and plates of sandwiches. Starshine is on a popular coastal walking path, and more people seem to find us through hiking than driving. The jukebox is playing It’s Raining Men by The Weather Girls, which of course is a bit like Walking on Sunshine – impossible to not sing along to.
I see Jake behind the bar and he gives me a wave as he serves a young couple with an adorable Springer Spaniel. I wave back, and glance around the place with a bit more scrutiny. I let my eyes roam over the little alcove seats, and the tiny side rooms with only one table in each. Not that I’m searching for anyone in particular, of course.
Once Jake has finished, I wander to the bar and perch myself on one of the high stools. I’m so short that my feet dangle and swing, which always makes me feel like I’m at school.
“What can I get you?” asks Jake, smiling as he joins me.
“Oh, I don’t know… what do you think?”
“Well, what kind of a day have you had?”
“Busy but fizzy.”
“Ah. Right. Well in that case, maybe a nice sparkling rosé? How does that sound?”
“Like heaven. How’s Kitty?”
His already handsome face breaks out into a doting smile that makes him even more attractive. Wowzers.
“She’s fabulous! Not only did she sleep through last night, but this morning she rolled over all by herself!”
He couldn’t look prouder if his daughter had won a Nobel Peace Prize, and his happiness is so infectious it makes me grin.
“Amazing. She’ll be up and about before you know it, and then you’ll be in trouble.”
He pauses midway through pouring my drink and frowns. He’s obviously turning that idea over in his mind, and shakes his head as he says: “I know. We really need to sort our living arrangements out… I’m not sure a pub is the right place for a baby.”
“I shouldn’t worry too much. A pub is a fine place for a baby. Just make sure she’s not living in a pub when she’s fifteen.”
Jake nods, passes me my drink, and predictably enough refuses to take any money from me. We all kind of operate on a barter system here, and I can’t remember the last time I charged Ella for her coffee either.
I sip my drink, revelling in the slightly decadent sensation of doing a tiny bit of boozing in the afternoon, and find myself staring in the direction of the stairs that lead up to the guest rooms. Maybe he’s up there, I think. Maybe I should just take my drink back through with me, and go and knock on his door. That could be a lot of fun, and I’m very much in the mood for fun.
Jake notices me looking, and I have a brief moment where I panic in case he’s read my mind. Not that it would matter – we’re both single. We’re both adults. We’re both very much consenting. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, I know, but I’d still like to keep things as discreet as possible for the time being. Apart from anything else, our children might die of embarrassment if they found out.
He nods towards the stairs and says: “It’s a shame he had to leave early, isn’t it?”
I stare at him, wondering if I’ve been so distracted that I missed a conversational shift. Have we moved on from Kitty to something completely different?
“Sorry?” I reply. “What?”
“Zack,” he explains, frowning slightly as he looks at me. “He left a couple of hours ago. Checked out early, saying there was something he had to deal with at work.”
I blink several times in a row, and feel the world freeze around me. The sound from the jukebox fades into the background, almost as though someone has turned the sound down, and the noise of people chatting becomes a dull buzzing drone. I stare at Jake some more, and put my glass down on the counter.
“Oh,” I say, aiming for nonchalant but not at all sure I’m hitting the mark. “Right. He’s gone, has he?”
“Yep. Some kind of emergency he had to deal with at the office, he said. Connie, are you okay?”
The concern in his voice helps to snap me out of my reverie, at least long enough to pull myself together for a few seconds.
“All good, Jake, thanks. Just tired. Like I said, a busy day.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced. He’ll probably be yet another person reporting in on my emotional state to Ella. Luckily, one of the walkers arrives at the bar to order another round, which distracts him and gives me some much-needed space.
I take some deep breaths, and try to blink the confusion out of my eyes. Everything feels unreal and hyper-vivid, but at the same time blurred and out of focus.
Zack has gone. He has left Starshine. He has presumably driven back to London with Bear, without any explanation and any attempt at saying goodbye. I know that messages aren’t reliable here, but I’ve been in the café all day long – not exactly hard to find. If there was really a work emergency – and it’s hard to imagine that there was anything that couldn’t be sorted out on the phone – then there was no reason at all that he couldn’t simply call in and tell me.
I sip my rosé, my hands so shaky the liquid sloshes over the side of the glass, and revisit the way we’d left it the night before. We’d kissed on the doorstep after the girls had gone to bed. He’d asked if we’d see each other tomorrow, and I’d said yes, definitely – that it was ‘to be continued’. He seemed happy, eager, as pleased with the situation as I was. At least that’s how I interpreted it – could I be misremembering? Did I just hear what I wanted to hear? Have I rewritten the whole thing in my mind? I feel so uncertain that I think possibly I did. Because if I didn’t, then that makes his sudden disappearing act a callous and cruel way to behave, doesn’t it?
I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes and swipe them away. I am half angry and half sad, which is always a lethal combination for me when it comes to crying. I’m sad that I misjudged him – that I took him as a decent guy – and I’m angry that he’s been so disrespectful. Even if he’d changed his mind, even if in the cold light of day he decided it wasn’t such a good idea, then I thought our friendship was strong enough that he would discuss it with me face to face, not just run away, leaving me feeling like this. Like an idiot.
I put my glass down again. It’s probably not a great idea to start drinking right now. Because added into the sad and the angry there is also a sprinkling of self-loathing – a little voice inside my own head saying: “I told you so.” Telling me I’ve been foolish to assume a man like him would be interested in a ‘to be continued’ with a woman like me. Telling me I’m a terrible judge of character. Telling me I was a fool to let myself get so carried away by something that he clearly saw as a mistake. I’ve been walking on sunshine all day after what happened between us, whereas he obviously woke up with so many regrets he left the county. Way to go, Connie – still got the magic touch.
I wave goodbye to Jake, and head outside. As I stroll around the green and back towards home, I can’t quite believe the change in mood – how different I feel walking in this direction to how I felt walking towards the inn only minutes earlier. I know I’m being stupid – I know I’m a grown-up and I’m tough enough to handle a little rejection – but I can’t help it. I feel deflated and down and a teensy bit humiliated. Nobody knows anything about it all other than me and him, so there’s no call for the humiliation – it’s still there, though, niggling away at me. I decide I will delete the dating app as soon as I have time. I suspect I was right all along – this dating business is not for me. I will go back to my nice, quiet, boring life, because at least it was safe.
I open the door, and pause in the kitchen for a moment. I can hear a racket coming from upstairs, which tells me that Dan is playing one of his shoot ’em up video games, and the sound of the television in the living room, which tells me the girls are probably here too. I put my game face on, and remind myself to smile before I walk in to greet them.
“Greetings, earthlings!” I announce as I enter.
They both look up from their spots on the sofa, and Sophie replies: “Mum! We’re watching Bridgerton – want to join us?”
“Maybe later. Do you want dinner?”
I really, really hope they want dinner. I might have been doing it all day, but I feel like cooking. It will distract me, and comfort me, and it is something I know I am actually good at – unlike interacting with members of the opposite sex, it seems.
“Nah, thanks, Mum – we’ve already eaten. Zack left a note for you, it’s on the kitchen table.”
Sophie says this with complete indifference, and why wouldn’t she? She doesn’t know that just last night, Zack and I were on that sofa snogging each other’s faces off. She doesn’t know that I’ve spent the whole day looking forward to doing it again. She doesn’t know that my heart has sunk so low it’s somewhere around my ankles right now.
“Oh, right. He’s left, I believe?” I say, oh-so-casually. Part of me hopes I’m wrong. That Jake was wrong. That it’s all been some kind of misunderstanding.
“He has,” Marcy replies, tearing her eyes away from yet another stunning Regency ball, “he said he had to go in to work. He’s always doing that.”
“I thought he was supposed to drive you two to the airport the day after tomorrow?”
“He was, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get back here so soon, so he transferred me some cash so we could get an Uber.”
An Uber, I think, almost laughing. She’ll be lucky. Maybe Ged will give them a ride on his tractor.
Both girls turn back to the screen, and I suppose I am grateful that they seem so unconcerned. They definitely don’t have a clue that anything has gone awry.
I head back into the kitchen, taking solace from its familiar sights and smells. The pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The crammed surface of the island. The little notepad I always keep at hand to jot down recipe ideas in. This is my turf, my terrain, and I am safe here. I almost convince myself that I am completely fine, that I am simply over-reacting and that I will be perfectly okay as soon as I’ve had a chance to recalibrate. I’ll probably even laugh at it some time very soon, this minor disappointment.
I pick up the envelope from the table, and see that my hands are still shaking. I’m not sure I even want to read what’s inside. I’d quite like to simply throw it in the bin, or maybe even set it on fire. I remind myself again that I am a grown-up, and that this note might explain all. It might be a full and wonderfully acceptable reason for him running away without even bothering to say goodbye.
Inside the envelope I find a postcard that shows a picture of the beach, the words Hello from Starshine Cove! emblazoned above the shining blue sea. He must have bought it from Trevor’s Emporium; he has racks of them outside the shop every day. So, I think, frowning and feeling the angry part of me rise up again, he had time amidst his alleged emergency to go to the store, buy a postcard, write me a message and come to my house to deliver it – but not to call in at the café and actually talk to me in person? Am I that repulsive? Was seeing me again such a horrendous prospect?
I flip the postcard over, and see his loopy handwriting scrawled across the back of it.
Connie, I’m so sorry , it says, but I have to leave. This isn’t the right time for any of this. You’re fantastic, and I promise it’s not you, it’s me. Corny but also true. Forgive me – Zack.
I sit down at the dining table and lay the postcard flat before me. I have no clue what to make of it, other than he’s right. It is corny. And I am fantastic.
I sigh, feeling about a hundred years old. I glance at the fridge, and see that picture of Simon. The one where he’s wearing the Mickey Mouse ears. It almost feels like his brilliant blue eyes are staring out at me for real. Like he could step out of the picture and into my arms any second.
I smile at him, and allow myself the luxury of letting my tears flow.