Chapter 41
41
The Market Place, Stoneybridge
Ice cream vans and pushy parents
Friday
T he afternoon sun is so warm that I’m happy to linger in the shade of the green and white striped awnings as we make our way around the market stalls. It’s no surprise to find that Miles and I approach browsing in the same way we do the rest of our lives– from opposite directions.
Three moments after arriving he says, ‘I’ll make sure we don’t miss anything’, then races off and covers the whole area line by line, stopping in front of each stall for two seconds.
I know this because I pause my wandering from one bright object to the next to see what he’s doing. I murmur to Fudge, ‘For your dad this is a military operation at a million miles an hour.’
By the time he comes back from his whole market tour, I’m deep in concentration at my fifth stall.
He comes up behind me. ‘How can you be so haphazard, Eliza B? You’re like a molecule in a gas making random collisions.’
I hide my laugh in my fist. ‘I’ve been watching you, too. Have you taken photos and picked up calling cards from them all?’
‘Back to the drawing board.’ He rushes off again.
By the time he comes back the next time, I’ve found six definite choices and three possibles and had chats with the makers of all of them.
He sidles up to the stall Fudge and I are leaving. ‘Any immediate reactions?’
I smile. ‘Fudge has had so many treats he’s not going to want his tea. And for now I’m not looking at lampshades, art prints, clothes or cakes, and I’m ignoring anything truly pricey like silver jewellery and leather bags.’
He frowns. ‘That rules out most stalls.’
‘You think?’ I laugh. ‘There are beautiful miniature mermaids made from reclaimed fabrics, some coloured bowls, all the same shape but with different painted designs, some hand-printed coasters, two lots of soaps, and some lovely books that would be perfect for journalling or scrapbooking. Oh, and a knitter, and some bright wooden bead jewellery.’
His eyes blur. ‘This is why you’re buying and I’m backing.’ When he raises his eyebrows, I know there’s something good coming. ‘I found a hand-made ice cream stall. Would you like one?’
I grin. ‘I saw that too, I couldn’t decide between elderflower and gooseberry, or rhubarb and custard.’
He looks down at me. ‘Have a scoop of each. With a white chocolate flake?’
I try not to drool. ‘I’ll be over there by the stripy mugs.’
I call Fudge, who follows me, and then goes straight in to greet the mug seller.
I’m taking my time, looking along the stall, taking photos of my favourite mugs, when there’s a sharp tug on the lead.
‘Fudge, don’t pull, or I’ll drop things!’ There’s another tug and I warn him again, this time louder. ‘Fudge!’
‘ Fudge ?’ It’s like an echo behind me.
As I turn there’s enough time to see a dark-haired woman with a well-cut bob standing with a handsome grey-haired man. Then Fudge throws himself at them, bouncing on the spot on his hind legs, leaping up to lick the woman’s face until eventually she catches his front paws in her arms.
I’m still hanging on to his lead but as I’ve completely lost Fudge’s attention I have to say something. ‘I take it you two know each other?’
The woman’s got crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiles. ‘We do. I’m Jackie, Fudge’s mum. I’m also Miles’s mum. And this is my friend Harry.’
She smiles up at the guy, then she looks back at me. ‘You’re the girl with the auburn hair and the horse who came to stay with Miles. I’ve often seen you from a distance.’
There’s a cough behind me and Miles arrives at my side. ‘Betty is a woman, and Pumpkin is a pony. Apart from that you’re on the nail, Mother.’
I smile and will my hair to be less tangled. ‘Miles is staying with me, not the other way round. For the record. Scarlett is the boss.’ If there’s a chance to get this story straight around the village, I may as well take it.
Jackie beams. ‘I’m pleased we’ve got that sorted out. It’s very kind of you to have Miles to stay, and we very much appreciate you taking Fudge, too.’ She gives Harry a nudge. ‘Don’t we, Harry?’
Miles hands me my ice cream and turns to his mum. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two here?’
Jackie has the same long legs as Miles and the creases in her chinos are a lot like his too. ‘You know us– another day, another market. It makes a change from garden centres.’ She turns to me. ‘We didn’t expect to see you here either. Have you managed to leave the shop? You do know he’s banned us, but if you ever need a hand, you only have to say.’
Miles steps in. ‘Zofia is there today.’
His mum looks at me. ‘Miles’s first curly croissants were a lot like cricket balls, but all our friends buy them and they’re very impressed.’
I laugh. ‘The ones he bakes now are surprisingly delicious.’ My heart goes out to her for getting so left out. ‘I don’t want to cause a family rift, but it’s a shame not to see the shop when it’s only going to be there a few weeks. You’re welcome to pop in any time when I’m there, Jackie.’
Miles takes the dog lead from me and hands me his ice cream to hold instead. ‘I’ll take Fudge back before Harry starts sneezing, and we’ll let you get on with your day.’
As a drip runs down the side of my cone I catch it with my tongue. ‘The ice cream is yummy, if you’re thinking of having one.’
A second later Fudge is on the ground again. Jackie stoops to get a last goodbye lick on her nose, then she links arms with Harry and they wander off.
Miles takes his cone back from me. ‘Shall we find somewhere to sit and eat these before they melt to nothing?’
We head to the first bench we find on the edge of the gardens, sit with a decent distance between us with Fudge at our feet, and deal with our collapsing ice creams.
When I get over how delicious it is to taste the tang of rhubarb against the sweet vanilla of ice-cold custard, I go in for the biggie.
‘Lovely to meet your mum at last. Her boyfriend with allergies is why Fudge is with us?’
‘Correct.’ Miles studies his apple pie sorbet. ‘It’s quite a new relationship and I wanted to give it the best chance to work, which is why I’ve given them space. When I came here two years ago it was because she’d just lost my stepdad.’
I mull this over for a few licks before I reply. ‘Considering how kind of you that was, it’s a bit harsh banning her from the shop.’
Miles takes a bite of his sugar cone and crunches it. ‘Don’t think it’s because I don’t love her. It’s because we’re such good friends that I’m able to do it.’ He turns to me. ‘If we let Mum in once, she won’t ever leave. Same with the cottage. I didn’t want to lay that on you before you’d got established.’
I’m hiding my surprise. ‘How bad can it be?’
He gives a half shake of his head. ‘She and her friends are all the same. They haven’t slowed down to retirement speed yet. They’re traipsing round Cornwall, bored out of their skulls because they’ve got too much time on their hands. If she came to the shop to help, she’d probably bring half of the over-sixties with her and stay until Christmas. But she’s got to sort that out for herself– I came to support her. I’m not here to babysit her. She’s too young to live vicariously through me. She has to make her own life.’
‘I imagined you only worked or watched box sets?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’
I’m pushing the gooseberry ice further down into the cone with every lick. ‘It’s nice that you’re close enough to take a realistic view of each other.’ I think of what he’s sacrificed. ‘It’s also very good of you to have put your own life on hold to come to be with your mum.’
He sighs. ‘It was less of a sacrifice than you’d think. A bungalow on a cul-de-sac miles away from anywhere gave me the level of invisibility I needed at the time.’
‘Those bumps in the road you’re always banging on about?’
‘That’s the one.’ He blows out his cheeks. ‘My mum and I have always been close because my dad walked out when I was nine, and we had a few tough years on our own.’
I blow out a breath. ‘My dad left us, too, but from what my mum said things got easier once he had.’
He shrugs. ‘My mum was better off too. But she had cancer, and I had to look after her because there wasn’t anyone else.’
My heart goes out to him when I think of how young he was. ‘That was when you missed school?’
He sighs again. ‘I was never a big fan. It was fine in the end, because my mum pulled through, and after that nothing else really mattered, but I didn’t ever properly go back.’ He pulls a face. ‘I’d do a few days here and there, to keep them off my back. Not enough to pass any exams, but I learned different things– skills for life, the importance of money, how to seize an opportunity.’
I smile. ‘How to tie a ponytail?’
He nods. ‘At sixteen I went to sweep up in my mum’s friend’s hair salon, and I didn’t look back. You’d be amazed at the contacts I built up shampooing hair. By that time my mum had met someone else. Eventually they moved down here together, then I came down to be with her when he died.’
‘She’s had a rough time. But at least you still have each other.’
Miles looks at the end of his cornet. ‘I know I’m lucky. That’s why I always try to put her first. But she’s very resilient. She almost lost her life all those years ago. Since then she sees it as her duty to make the most of every day. She and Harry met at the Over-sixties. Those half price lunches at the Yellow Canary are like Tinder on rocket fuel. They fell for each other pretty quickly.’
I push the last of the cone into my mouth and lick my finger ends. ‘I admire anyone who makes a go of a relationship, regardless of how it happens.’
It’s not lost on me how strange life is. If we hadn’t bumped into Jackie and Harry none of this would have come up. But now it has I’m leaving this bench with a very different impression of Miles than the one I had when I sat down. Remembering the old saying that men are who their mothers made them, meeting the parent, even for a few minutes, gives a great insight. But I also need to remember that this meeting was accidental.
Miles has taken every precaution to keep his mum away from me, and the other way around, too. I take it he’d rather I was still that auburn girl glimpsed in the distance. And he’d certainly rather have kept his past under wraps.
‘You’re wondering why I’ve kept all this to myself?’
I laugh. ‘You read minds and make croissants?’ I sigh. ‘It feels a teensy bit secretive. I mean, within days of me arriving everyone knew where I lived and what I had for breakfast, but even now no one seems to know you.’
‘Pumpkin’s orange, you stand out.’ He blows out a breath. ‘No, you’re right. Trying not to sound even more weird, but I made a permanent move here from Manchester because I had a stalker.’
My eyes open wide. ‘What– the obsessive-who-pursues-you-relentlessly sort?’
He nods. ‘That’s the one.’
I gasp. ‘That’s not a bump in the road. That’s a mountain.’
He pulls a face. ‘St Aidan was the ideal place to hide away, but the drawback was the locals know everything about everything.’
I’m with him on that. ‘Every seagull that squawks, every message in the sand.’
He laughs. ‘For the first few months I went into stealth mode, because it was the only way, but I caught the habit.’ His lips twist into a grin. ‘When my problem eased, it became a bit of a challenge to see how long I could stay under the radar.’
I grin at him. ‘If you went to the over-sixties baking evening and you’ve been spotted drinking in the Yellow Canary, I guess your incognito days are over.’
He shakes his head. ‘It was a lucky break for both of us I went out to that.’ Miles is chewing the last of his ice cream, rubbing his hands together, and standing up.
I stand up too. ‘So what’s next?’
He narrows his eyes. ‘We could walk past your favourite stalls, and then we can head down the coast again.’
I smile. ‘Back to St Aidan?’
He looks at his watch, then back at me. ‘It’s barely afternoon, Betsy Bets. I’ve got two more shops to show you, then I’ll take you somewhere to help you make up your mind.’ He cocks his head. ‘If that’s okay with you?’
‘Fine.’ I say it like it means nothing at all, but I’m not telling the truth.
None of this is okay. The whole day has felt as if I were walking over tectonic plates that are shifting underneath my feet as I move. Every new step feels like it’s taking me further away from the person I am, from the things I know. It’s as if I’m crossing a metaphorical bridge and that when I get to the other side there will be no going back.
None of this is comfortable, none of it is what I’d have chosen even this morning, but I’m still here. I can stop it at any moment. I can walk away. But for some reason I’m not. It’s terrifying, and it’s entirely not me. But I’m here, and a tiny voice inside me is telling me I’m going to follow this all the way to the end. Wherever that might be.
And even stranger still– as we walk back towards the market, it feels like I’m walking with a friend not an enemy.