Chapter 7
SEVEN
Dinner turns out to be a full family affair at Connie’s house. I’m absolutely crapping myself as I get ready, convinced that Connie is going to hate me for some reason. I have no logic to back this up, it’s just a horrible gut feeling that I can’t quite shake.
Part of it, I know, is me being sexist. Connie is a woman, and I am a woman, and we are supposed to be kind and nurturing and self-sacrificial.
That’s all part of being female, the world tells us.
Except Connie is obviously a lot better at all of that stuff than I am – from everything I’ve heard, she is the glue that held them all together when Sandy and Simon died.
Even though she was suffering her own loss, even though she had three children to raise alone, she was the one who rallied, the one who got them through it.
Now, I know, she not only runs the café, but is the driving force behind the Starshine Cove committee, responsible for everything from organising the community centre to raising funds to pay for Archie’s fresh food project.
Everyone loves Connie, she is pretty much a saint in human form – she is everything a good person is supposed to be.
I, on the other hand, am a pain in the backside. Especially my own.
‘You look nice,’ my dad says as I emerge downstairs.
I’m wearing a loose-fitting cheesecloth dress I’ve had for decades, the clothing version of comfort food.
I’ve washed my hair, put on some moisturiser, and added a dab of Neroli oil to my wrists.
By traveller standards, I look like a goddess, but by normal society standards, I’m still a little rough around the edges.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, eyeing up his smart suit, waistcoat and paisley tie, ‘you don’t look so shabby yourself.’
‘Well, at my age you have to make the most of every possible opportunity to celebrate,’ he replies. ‘Shall we?’
He offers me his arm and we make the long walk all the way across the road to Connie’s home. I can hear music coming from inside, and the sound of Bear woofing merrily. I slow down slightly as we approach the door, and my dad pats me on the hand.
‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about, Suzie,’ he tells me. ‘You are very welcome here.’
I consider making some silly comment or denying that I’m at all bothered, but decide there would be no point. I nod, and tell him thank you, trying to untangle the knot in my stomach as he pushes open the door and shouts that we’re here.
Within minutes, I am physically assailed by several different creatures.
Meg is the first, wrapping her arms around my legs in a death grip, Lilly more cautiously following on.
Bear doesn’t want to miss out on the fun, so he wriggles his way in with his big wide head and squishy nose.
Only slightly more restrained is Connie herself, who flies across the room and throws her arms around my top half, kissing me soundly on the cheek.
I am now completely engulfed in her wild blonde curls, my eyes wide with panic.
‘Welcome home!’ Connie says, giving me one final squish before she adds: ‘Come on now, troops, let her go!’
One by one they disentangle, and I suck in a breath and wave hello to everyone. Archie and Cally are here, as well as Zack, Connie’s partner and all-round silver fox, and all of Connie and Simon’s children. It’s a lot.
That gives me pause, and I stare at them for a long moment, shaking my head. ‘You guys are only, like, seven in my head…’
‘The boys are still seven in their heads,’ Sophie jokes, coming forward to give me a quick hug. ‘And that’s on a good day.’
I’m reintroduced to James and Dan, and eventually, we are all settled around Connie’s large dining table.
I look about at the chaos, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of a busy life lived with lots of love.
There are pictures of the children stuck to the fridge, one of them with my brother wearing Mickey Mouse ears at Disneyland where he looks like the biggest kid of all.
Bear’s presence is felt in a basket in the corner, his toys piled messily in a box, along with a smaller dog bed – presumably for visiting friends?
Maybe even the little fluffy Larry creature I met earlier.
There are gorgeous flowers dotted around the place, all in gloriously mismatched containers – wine bottles, vases, jam jars, even one of those old glass beakers from chemistry lessons.
Even the houseplants are messy, the tendrils of a huge spider plant flowing from the window ledge almost into the sink.
The whole place is scattered with battered recipe books and heaps of used utensils and dried chilli and garlic strings hanging from the ceiling, and it makes me wonder why I was never closer to Connie.
Judging by her housekeeping style, we have a lot in common.
I suppose the reality was that there was enough of an age gap between us for me to see her as a Grown-Up, and more importantly as a fully-assimilated Starshine Cove Grown-Up at that – she was originally from London, and chose to move here and marry my brother, which just seemed insane to me at the time.
I watch now as she skitters around the room, refilling wine glasses, distributing nibbles, giving the little girls jobs to do to keep them busy.
She makes it look effortless, the way she remembers what everyone wants – that Cally prefers red, that Lilly hates olives, that Dan asks for mozzarella instead of parmesan, that I’m on cranberry juice instead of booze.
She juggles it all with ease and doesn’t look anything other than happy when she finally sits down herself and tucks into a simple but totally delicious spaghetti Bolognese.
She immediately spills a load of it down the front of her T-shirt, which is pink and emblazoned with the words: ‘What Would Dolly Do?’ across an illustration of the magnificent Ms Parton.
Connie looks down at the stain, then shrugs. ‘Dolly wouldn’t care,’ she says. ‘So neither shall I!’
‘Dolly probably has servants to wash her clothes for her,’ Sophie points out.
‘So do I. You can be in charge of laundry from now on…’
The boys both laugh at their sister’s crestfallen expression, then she throws a breadstick at Dan’s head, and then it lands on the floor and Bear makes a sliding tackle to retrieve it, and then…
then it simply goes on like that. Laughter, giggles, banter, everyone talking over everyone else in a pretty delightful mix of noise and energy.
It’s big and fizzy and silly, and at no stage whatsoever do I feel at all awkward.
It is, in fact, the absolute opposite of what I’d expected.
Nobody quizzes me, nobody snubs me, nobody says anything along the lines of ‘So, why were you such a useless cow when the accident happened? Could you just not be arsed coming home for your siblings’ funeral? ’
The only one of them who is gazing at me with more curiosity than the others is James, Connie and Simon’s oldest. He looks so much like Simon that I actually struggle to meet his eye, and I worry that I’m appearing rude or evasive.
He has the same blonde hair and blue eyes, the same wholesome good looks.
It’s a bit like being in a time machine, sitting in here with my brother in years gone by, the effect made all the more noticeable by the fact that I haven’t seen him since he was a child.
This morphing into Simon isn’t something I’ve seen happen gradually over time, but something sudden and more jarring.
Connie serves up dessert, bowls of home-made mango sorbet, fresh raspberries, and a platter of cheese and crackers. She adds in a tin of delicious little almond biscuits that the kids call ‘nutty numpkins’, and which are obviously one of Connie’s specialities.
‘So, Auntie Suzie,’ James says once she’s done, ‘can I ask you something?’
‘Um, yes,’ I mumble, almost choking on a nutty numpkin. Oh, Lord. It’s all gone too well – here it comes…
‘Grandad says you know Miranda’s father?’
There’s a bit of a communal whipping around of heads among the adults at that one, and I feel initially relieved at the question.
I’d expected something about me, which with hindsight is pretty egotistical.
My relief is followed up with a slight sense of caution – I feel a strange loyalty to Guy, and I have no clue how this conversation is going to pan out.
‘Well, I met him yesterday,’ I offer. ‘If that counts as knowing him?’
James nods, then says: ‘I mean, he seems okay. But she’s not seen him since she was a little girl, and even though she’s pleased about him being here, she’s also a bit freaked out.
I don’t want her to get used to him being around if he’s just going to disappear again, you know? I’m sorry if I’m being rude…’
Connie reaches out and pats his hand. ‘You’re not, sweetie. We all know how you feel about Miranda and Evan. It’s good to look out for the people you love, but you also have to give people a chance, don’t you?’
‘That’s more your thing than mine, Mum,’ he replies, grinning at her. ‘And I don’t mean anything by it. I just don’t want her to get hurt.’
‘I don’t think that’s his intention at all, James,’ I say sincerely. ‘I think theirs was a complicated family situation, and he’s trying to make it right.’
‘I know, and Miranda does too. Her mum wasn’t very stable, from the sounds of it – she just uprooted them one day and told Miranda she wasn’t allowed to even mention his name any more. I know it’s complicated, and I’m not accusing him of anything, I’m just…’
‘Feeling a bit like if he hurts her at all, you’ll physically tear him limb from limb?’
‘Yeah. That. Although he looks pretty tough to be fair. I’d still have a go though. But you think he’s genuine?’
‘I do,’ I assure him, ‘though I’m not sure my opinion should count for anything to be entirely honest. I’m a Grade A flake myself.’