Chapter 8
EIGHT
The next week passes by in a blur of gentle activity.
Nothing ever reaches fever-pitch in Starshine Cove, even during the height of tourist season.
Some places in our little corner of the world become unbearably full during the summer, but Starshine has always seemed to strike that perfect balance between welcoming visitors and becoming overwhelmed by them.
I’ve lived all over the world, in huge cities and in huge open spaces, and I’ve adapted to all kinds of conditions.
Floods, droughts, overcrowding, cockroach-infested hostels, communes and campsites and makeshift settlements on beaches.
I had my own little room at the school in India, which was the height of luxury, but I’ve certainly called far worse places home.
Despite knowing and accepting that for various reasons my days of roughing it are probably over, I still struggle with the sense that I am being boxed in. It is not the fault of the village, or of my family; it is something that comes from deep within me, I now have the maturity to realise.
I manage it the best way I can, by spending lots of time outdoors, by going for drives along the coast, by going for long walks along the cliff tops, where I can see if not feel the sheer amount of space that surrounds me.
Which is exactly where I am now – sitting on the top of Golden Cap gazing out at infinity, allowing myself to unwind after a whole day spent helping out at the community centre playgroup.
I loved it – the noise, the chaos, the charging-around of the children – but it also involved dealing with people, answering their questions, being the focus of conversations.
It’s natural, I know it is – of course people are curious – but it isn’t necessarily easy for me.
I’m currently working on a rough equation of one hour alone for every three hours spent in the company of others, and maybe I’ll build it up over time.
My father seems to have a surprising amount of understanding for this unspoken feeling, never overcommitting me to any activities, always asking first before he plans anything that involves me.
The night of Connie’s dinner, I took her advice, and when we got home I told him about the babies. About the loss. About my life since.
He absorbed it all, then held me in his arms for what felt like forever. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling,’ he’d said, wiping away my tears. ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you, and that the universe played such a rotten trick on us both…’
I’d looked up at him, saw the pain and regret etched on his face, and asked: ‘Dad, do you ever feel like we’re cursed? As a family? I mean, Mum was too young when she died, and then Sandy and Simon, and my babies… it feels like too much for one family doesn’t it?’
He’d smiled gently and replied: ‘I’m sure I’m supposed to come up with some life wisdom here, Suzie, but in all honesty, sometimes it has felt like that to me, yes.
But then I remember the flip side of it – the blessings as well as the curse.
You can’t lose what you’ve never had, and we’ve had so much.
I never expected to fall in love and have a family; I never expected my old age to be as rich in friendship and love as it is.
Simon, Sandy, your mother… they were blessings, even if we didn’t get to enjoy them for as long as we would have liked. ’
I’d thought about what he said, and saw the truth of it – but I also knew that I would never really feel like that.
Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t born with what he calls the contentment gene; perhaps because I never got to enjoy the blessing of my own children.
Perhaps just because I’m a naturally cynical person, I don’t know.
I didn’t argue, though, because what would be the point?
He finds the idea comforting, and who am I to disagree?
One of the great revelations of being home is that we don’t all have to be the same – we can be fundamentally different and still love each other.
I’m glad to have had the conversation with him, though, and Connie was definitely right to prompt me in that direction.
Sharing my emotions does not come easily to me, but I know that if I’m serious about wanting to be part of his life again, I need to start.
Baby steps, I tell myself. One foot in front of the other, even if it sometimes feels like I’m going backwards.
I make my way down the winding trails that lead to the car park, breathing in the fresh air and the freedom.
The coastal pathway here runs all the way from Somerset through Cornwall and Devon, curving around the shoreline until it reaches us here in Dorset.
I may be biased, but I think the place I’ve spent the last hour is the most spectacular stopping off point on the whole route, the highest point on the south coast and blessed with mind-blowing views. Balm for a jagged soul.
I’m just getting into Bettina when my phone rings.
I grin when I see the contact flash up: Smoking Hot Dude.
Guy has been the other calming presence in my life, just as soothing as my escapes to the coast, and almost as pretty.
He is walking his own path, this man, working hard to regain Miranda’s trust, getting to know his daughter all over again.
They will never make up for lost time, but they both at least seem willing to try.
‘Yo,’ I say as I answer. ‘This better be a booty call…’
I have continued to shamelessly flirt with him, and he has continued to amusingly ignore me. It’d be bad for a girl’s ego if I actually meant any of it.
‘More of a talk-me-down-from-a-cliff call.’
‘Ah. Which is weird, as I am actually on a cliff right now. Where are you?’
‘I’m at a builders’ yard.’
‘Ooh, I like the sound of that. If I come and meet you there, do you promise to let me help you with your erection?’
I pull a face as I speak, because that was a little risqué even for me, and not even that funny. I really need to work on my construction-based double entendres. ‘Ignore me, Guy. Just drop me a pin and I’ll come and meet you.’
Over the last week, we’ve formed a kind of support group of two.
We are very different people, but we have enough shared experiences and weird reference points to make it work.
So far, the times that we’ve both felt overwhelmed have never coincided, and it’s been incredibly helpful to have someone to talk to.
The pin lands, and I make the twenty-minute drive to meet him.
He’s driving a white van that belongs to the Starshine Cove council thingy, which is chaired by Connie and involves all of the village elders.
I know they’re a force for good, providing all kinds of services for the local community and beyond, but I also still get slightly freaked out if I let the phrase ‘village elders’ take up too much space in my head.
I start to imagine secret societies and late-night rituals and being chased around the woods by spooky strangers in black robes.
I park up Bettina, and shock Guy by banging on the side of the van door.
He’d been staring into space, oblivious to the world around him.
The world that currently involves other men in vans, planks of wood, bags of cement and mysterious looking machines that probably make sense to people with more practical skills than me.
I open the door and clamber up next to him. It’s quite exciting, and I wish I had a ham radio call signal so I could pretend I was a trucker.
‘Did you ever see that film called Convoy?’ I ask him.
‘The old one with Kris Kristofferson in it?’
‘That’s the one! I used to love that. Found the concept of driving around living in a truck very appealing as a kid. Is that what’s going on here, Guy? Are you about to make a run for it, go all Smoky and the Bandit?’
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. It’s thick and slightly longer than it was when I first met him over a week ago, and it stands up in tufts when he’s finished.
‘No, I don’t think so. I just… You know we’re extending Miranda’s place?’
I nod. This has been the main focus of activity recently, a project that has been on the drawing board for a while but kept stalling due to a lack of manpower.
Miranda and little Evan live in a cosy place at the back of Trevor’s Emporium, but it is basically a one-room set up that combines living area, sleeping space and kitchen with a tiny shower room.
From what I’ve pieced together, she moved to the village when she was pregnant, needing a fresh start in a place where people didn’t judge her.
I totally get it and admire her courage – she was only nineteen at the time, which is young to be striking out alone.
I don’t know all the ins-and-outs of her life, because Miranda is a very private person, almost guarded.
I’m guessing that life has not always been kind to her, though, and she has learned to protect herself the best way she can.
‘I do. It’s all very manly. I’m hoping to see you prancing around in a tool belt at some point. Maybe get myself some popcorn and settle in to watch you knock a wall through.’
He smirks a little, and I’m glad to have been able to cheer him up even slightly. ‘I do like that bit,’ he admits. ‘The knocking through, not the prancing. Something very relaxing about wielding a sledgehammer.’
‘If you say so. We all meditate in our own way. So, how’s it going? The project?’
I know he doesn’t really want to discuss the challenges of the extension, but it’s a way in to what’s really bugging him.
‘Good. Loud. Hard. Messy.’ He pauses when he’s finished his list, and raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Like all the best things in life.’
‘Attaboy! You’re getting the hang of it! So, is Miranda excited about it all? There’ll be a bedroom for Evan, won’t there? And a separate kitchen?’
‘Yes. It’ll be great for her, and maybe for James if he moves in too.’