Chapter 2 #2
I need to go back and collect her later, give her some oil and water, the car equivalent of a spa break. I could have driven right into the village, but for some reason – cowardice, I think they call it – I really wanted to walk through the woods first.
I decide I’ve probably procrastinated enough now, having wasted several hours already.
It’s time. I launch myself off the tree branch and manage to land with a surprising ease on the soft green grass.
I do a mock stretch-and-bow, like I’ve just nailed the dismount in the Olympic vault final, and gallop down the little hill to join him on the path.
‘I’m Suzie,’ I tell him. ‘Are you going to Starshine? Well, I assume you are, because there’s nowhere else along this path. Are you doing the coastal path walk? You look like a coastal walk kind of person.’
I’m wittering slightly, because in all honesty I’m a bit nervous.
I think I was only actually stuck up my tree because I was scared of leaving it.
I probably could have got down at any time I wanted – I was just delaying the inevitable.
And now I have yet another excuse to do that, in the form of a very dishy and supremely flirt-worthy stranger.
Can’t beat a good flirt with a stranger.
‘I am going to Starshine,’ he replies simply. ‘I’m not walking the coastal path. Better be going.’
Ah. Not one for social niceties. Even more fun. He hefts his rucksack up a notch and sets off along the trail. He has very long legs and I dash a little to keep up. It’s harder to flirt if you also have to yell.
‘You look a bit more like the kind who’d run the coastal path anyway. Or do one of those Iron Man thingies. You look very fit. Like you have plenty of stamina.’
He stops dead in his tracks, frowns again, and stares directly into my eyes.
‘What’s happening here?’ he asks.
‘Doh! I’m engaging in a little gentle flirting, obviously! Don’t be alarmed, I can assure you I’m all talk. I just need the distraction.’
He shakes his head, but also slows his pace so I can walk more comfortably at his side. ‘I’m not the gentle flirting type. Or the any kind of flirting type. It’s wasted on me. I’ll just think you have some kind of condition.’
‘Funnily enough, people have assumed that about me before… So. Okay. Enough with the flirting then. Let’s keep it simple – what’s your name?’
‘Guy. Guy Keegan.’
‘Oh, wow. I know I said I’d stop, but even your name is kind of macho!’
I lower my voice to a mock-Hollywood-movie-trailer rasp and repeat his words. ‘Guy. Guy Keegan.’
‘It’s just a name. Why do you need distracting? And what’s with the fairies?’
I follow his eyeline to a little hammock that has been set up in one of the trees.
A group of five tiny wooden fairies is arranged inside it, along with a slightly incongruous plastic T-Rex.
I’d also noticed some earlier, peeking from branches and hiding behind hand-carved toadstools.
They’re pretty and fantastical and give the woods even more of a quirky feel.
I grew up here, so I simply accept the weird without questioning it too much.
‘I don’t know. I guess they’re just chilling with their good friend, Mr Dinosaur.’
He peers at the display. ‘Huh. That wouldn’t end well in real life.’
‘It wouldn’t happen in real life though, would it? Everybody knows fairies and T-Rex’s didn’t live at the same time. Science.’
He gives me a slightly disdainful look, but wisely doesn’t argue.
‘Do you live here?’ he asks as we continue to walk.
‘I used to. I haven’t been back for a long time though. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a bit nervous. I’m not entirely convinced I can do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Walk back into that village.’
I realise I’m slowing my steps as I speak, as though my body is in sync with my mind and really doesn’t want me to do this either.
I could just run back along to Bettina, and drive away.
Nobody would be any the wiser. Nobody apart from Guy Keegan would know I was ever even here, and he doesn’t seem like the blabbermouth type.
He pauses by my side, and I expect him to either say something practical, or to simply move on without me. Instead, he gazes around him, at the woods and the flowers and the fairies, and nods.
‘I know what you mean,’ he replies, surprising me. ‘I’m not sure I can walk into that village either. I’m sure we’ve both got our reasons.’
‘What are yours?’
‘Complicated.’
I wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Which is a shame, because we could probably have wasted quite a lot of time sharing our stories. He seems to allow himself a few moments to settle, then comes to a decision.
‘One foot in front of the other,’ he says, as much to himself as me, and heads off towards the gate that leads to the edges of Starshine.
I join him, and feel strange when I see that the gate is new.
The old one was wooden, worn smooth with the touch of thousands of hands.
It would have been comforting beneath my fingers.
There’s a sign on it, painted by children, welcoming visitors to the village and directing them to the Cove Café.
It’s pretty and bright and friendly, but it is new, so I don’t like it.
I feel a rush of weirdly misplaced fear.
I mean, I’ll allow myself the nerves – that’s natural enough after all.
But why the terror? Why the sense of doom?
What the hell do I think is going to happen to me when I walk through that gate?
Nobody is going to scream my name and stone me to death on the village green; nobody is going to call the police or set killer Dobermans loose on me.
The worst that will happen is that I will need to have some awkward conversations.
I will need to talk to my dad, and Connie, and Archie. I will need to go back to the cottage where I last saw my mum, to the room where she slipped away, her tiny hand in mine. I will need to face the past.
I freeze solid, rooted to the spot, my hands clenched into tight fists. I think I’d prefer the Dobermans.
Guy opens the gate, studies me with way too much perception. ‘You’re having an adrenalin reaction. Fight, flight or freeze. Possibly all three in your case. Try taking some deep breaths.’
That’s ironic. I’ve spent years both learning and teaching yoga, and I’m adept at telling other people to breathe. Somehow, though, I seem to have lost the ability to do it myself right now. I nod, and at least try.
One breath in, one breath out. One gate. One village. One foot in front of the other.
I follow him and watch his reaction as we walk through.
The Starshine Effect is normally immediate, a combination of gasps and sighs and sometimes tears at how beautiful it is.
The village itself is spread around a traditional green, a collection of chocolate-box pretty cottages with thatched roofs, a handsome village inn, a bakery and a café and a little store.
It’s all incredibly picturesque, and so wholesome it makes my brain ache.
It even smells amazing, the scent of the sea, the woods, the wildflowers, and depending on what time of day it is, sugar and vanilla from all the baking.
I see him take it all in, his eyes running calmly from one building to another, surveying the lie of the land.
‘Pretty isn’t it?’ I ask, slightly surprised by his lack of obvious response.
‘Yes. Is this it?’
‘Basically, yeah. Come on, we’ll walk along the beach. Where exactly are you going?’
‘I don’t really know.’
He frowns again and looks down at me with a borderline bewildered expression.
‘I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing,’ he says quietly.
‘You and me both, pal. You and me both. So, either I’m hallucinating you right now, or the universe maybe put us here at the same time to help each other out. Come on. Like you said, one foot in front of the other. Let’s go and look at the sea. It’s bigger than us, and it knows what it’s doing.’
He nods, and I lead him to the back of the Cove Café.
In my childhood version of Starshine, it doesn’t exist – Connie and my brother Simon built it together once they got married.
Connie used to own some fancy Michelin-starred restaurant in London before she literally crash-landed here, and became a Llewellyn.
I don’t know her that well – I was away at uni when she arrived, and my history with this place has been patchy ever since.
I was at their wedding, and she was great when my mum was ill, and I imagine she’s been a huge solace to my father in the intervening years.
Unlike yours truly, who has been nothing but a smudge on the horizon.
I shudder a little and hide behind Guy’s bulk as we skim the café and its full-length windows.
I think I can see Connie in there, and I’m really not ready for that right now.
My nostrils have other ideas, twitching slightly at the waft of freshly-baked bread that floats towards us.
A hint of sea-salt, maybe some rosemary.
The café building is perched on the edge of the village, the back looking right out over the bay.
A series of gentle steps and terraces lead down to the beach, scattered with troughs of summer flowers, tubs of lavender, and wooden picnic benches.
It’s mid-afternoon in high summer, and the seashore is busy, a pleasant blend of dogs and kids and people devoted to the fine art of ice cream eating.
We stroll down the steps and onto the sand. I lay a hand on his arm, and gesture at his feet. He’s wearing jeans and huge boots, the kind that are great for walking miles or kicking in doors, but not so great in a situation like this.
‘Barefoot is best,’ I explain. ‘You know, to communicate with the spirits?’
I’m winding him up a little, and he quirks an eyebrow at me. He has a series of expressions that cover all the versions of ‘stern’ I could possibly imagine.