Chapter 7
The cries of seagulls and a cloudless blue sky greet me as I step off the train.
Journeys on packed trains can be challenging and emotionally draining, especially in the warmer months.
And today, this train was packed with beach day-trippers and stopped at every little station.
Despite pressing myself against the window and trying to avoid physical contact with my fellow passengers, they ignored all the signs I was giving.
My curse was busy showing me an endless reel of melancholic visions about love.
The little packet of boiled sweets I bought at the station was a lifesaver as they helped me feel better when the world went quiet.
The train reached the station before my aunt’s stop, and I didn’t think my journey could get any worse.
‘Is that seat taken?’ I looked up to see a young lad, clutching a skateboard.
He had blond surfer hair, baggy faded jeans and a boyish smile.
A door opened inside my mind, and my memories of Luke rushed out.
I couldn’t get the words ‘yes, it is taken’ out of my mouth fast enough.
By the time I reached Tide-Leigh, a lively seaside town on England’s southwest coast, my head was aching with sadness and salt air.
The road to Aunt Polly’s house was chaos; tourists hurrying towards the beach, screaming children, inflatable rings and cars blaring loud music.
As I weaved through it, I thought of the flat share advert I had posted last night. My criteria are simple:
No scary doll collection.
Must like cats.
Must agree to strict no-physical contact rules.
Above all, must not write books about love.
‘Hello, Nelly, you took your time,’ says Aunt Polly with a wry smile.
‘It’s hell out there.’ I chuckle. ‘I’ll need extra cake after that journey.’
Entering Aunt Polly’s bungalow feels like stepping back in time.
The walls are decorated with framed photos of me growing up and images from before her falling-out with Hilary.
When Hilary wasn’t arguing with her three daughters, her ex-husband, or playing a supportive role, she was Aunt Polly’s social sidekick.
Aunt Polly and Hilary knew how to enjoy themselves, organising babysitting for Hilary’s daughters, then going on drunken trips to Blackpool, where they got tipsy, sprayed their hair pink, and took silly photos.
They would also go to Spain for wild weekends, raving with whistles and glow sticks, or head to London to drink cocktails and shop.
Seeing Hilary’s photos, I still hear her high-pitched laugh and the sound of her high stilettos on Aunt Polly’s tiled kitchen floor.
‘Let’s go to the café,’ says Aunt Polly, grabbing her cardigan and bag from the hook. ‘Those cream cakes have got me through a difficult week.’
After she locks up her house, I take her hand.
A flash in my mind shows Aunt Polly’s hand holding someone else’s, recognisable by a delicate silver chain on their wrist. Hanging from the bracelet is a tiny padlock.
I’ve seen this vision since my aunt moved to Tide-Leigh ten years ago, and it has never changed.
I believe it’s a sign that my aunt’s ex-girlfriend, Sandra, still holds the key to her heart and will one day return.
This always makes me feel uncomfortable.
My father and his sister weren’t close. I remember asking my mum at a family wedding who the woman with black hair was and why she was holding hands with the woman with long golden hair like Rapunzel.
Mum explained that the black-haired lady was Aunt Polly and Sandra was her girlfriend.
They broke up six months after the crash.
I had confided in Aunt Polly about my curse and told her every time I touched her hand, I saw Sandra kissing the woman across the street.
It turned out Sandra was having an affair with the woman who lived opposite my aunt.
I will never forget the nights I sat in my bedroom listening to my aunt cry in the next room after Sandra left.
When Aunt Polly asks me what I see when we touch, I always lie and say I see her enjoying a wonderful single life in Tide-Leigh.
I don’t mention Sandra’s bracelet with the tiny padlock.
However, my curse is never wrong, and at some point, I do need to accept that she and my aunt will reunite one day.
This is a future I’m not yet ready to face.
A cooling sea breeze greets us as we walk up her street. I squeeze her hand. ‘We are going to get through this together.’
She casts me a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Nelly. It’s been a bit daunting. Come on. There are two cream cakes and a pot of tea waiting for us.’
Aunt Polly’s café, The Sailing Boat, is on Tide-Leigh Bay’s pedestrian street.
Facing it are pastel-coloured shops and a promenade of golden sand leading to the sea.
The royal-blue exterior features a hand-painted boat with white sails.
Inside, the nautical theme continues with a ship’s wheel on the counter and plastic menus with tiny boats.
Once we’re seated in our favourite spot by the window and have given the waitress our order, I look at Aunt Polly.
‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
‘Everything happened so fast after my regular mammogram. Before I knew it, I was having a biopsy and then sitting in front of a consultant being told I had cancer. I had to have a lumpectomy, and then I was told I needed to have chemo.’
Shock at what she’s gone through by herself takes hold of me. ‘You went through all that without calling me?’
She tries to calm down her mass of black hair. ‘You know me, Nelly. I don’t like being unwell. I tried to shrug it off and told myself I would handle it on my own. A few days ago, the thought of having treatment scared me. I realised I needed help.’
‘I’ll come to the hospital with you on a Wednesday, and we will fight this. I’m also going to come over every Sunday to help with housework.’
I notice her jade-coloured eyes are watery, and she’s trembling. ‘I’m scared, Nelly.’
‘I know, but we’re going to get through this. In the meantime, you need to eat more cream cakes,’ I say, gesturing towards the cakes on display by the till. We both chuckle, and she wipes her eyes.
‘I’ve added you to my car insurance so you can drive me back from the hospital. Don’t worry, Nigella will behave herself.’
Aunt Polly’s car, Nigella – named after TV chef Nigella Lawson – is in immaculate condition for its age.
My aunt pampers Nigella and treats her like a family member.
Nigella’s bodywork is rust-free, she has low mileage, and she receives daily compliments from my aunt.
The trouble is that Nigella has been spoiled, and now the car has a mind of its own.
It rarely starts on the first try, its seatbelts tighten unexpectedly, and it randomly switches off the radio or spits out CDs it dislikes.
It stalls at inconvenient moments, seemingly to deliberately annoy its driver.
My aunt has had mechanics look at Nigella and to my frustration, none of them can find any faults.
I groan. ‘Can’t we get a taxi?’
Aunt Polly shakes her head. ‘Nigella knows this is a big thing for me. She will be as good as gold.’
‘She’s a car, not a small child.’
The café door swings open, and a fashionable couple walks in.
Both have sun-kissed golden tans and broad smiles.
They wear matching sweaters over their shoulders, as if they’ve just stepped off their yacht.
Aunt Polly looks up and waves at the woman.
She whispers, ‘That’s my friend, Karen, with Jack, her new younger bloke.
We all think he’s dodgy. See what your curse thinks. ’
Karen and her new man head for our table. ‘Polly,’ she cries and throws her arms around my aunt. ‘How lovely to see you.’
‘Hey, Polly,’ says Jack, who runs a tanned hand through his dark hair.
Aunt Polly points to me. ‘This is Nelly.’
I stand up, and Karen grins. She outstretches her hand. ‘I finally get to meet you.’
Our hands touch, and a white flash reveals the truth.
When the light clears, I see Karen watching through a window in a rundown house.
Inside, Jack sits on a grubby sofa with three children climbing on him, while a tired woman tells them to leave their father alone because dinner is ready.
Everything goes quiet around me. I suck on one of my boiled sweets and pray my dentist has other things on his mind besides my teeth at my next visit.
When the café’s sounds greet my ears, Karen and Jack are leaving, as Jack has some business calls to make.
‘What did you see?’ Aunt Polly asks.
‘He’s a liar. Jack has three kids, a wife and lives in a shabby house.’
Aunt Polly gasps. ‘I knew it. Poor Karen. Her first husband was a cheat, and now she’s hooked up with a conman. Falling in love should come with a health warning.’
Our tea and cakes arrive. We both devour them in seconds.
‘I went to see a psychic medium,’ I say as I pour milk into my tea. ‘To reconnect with Mum and Dad.’
Aunt Polly looks puzzled. ‘Oh. Can I ask why?’
‘I’m sure they must know about my curse. Maybe one of them knows who passed it down and how to lift it.’
I have lived with my curse all my life. When I was little, I assumed everyone experienced a flash of white light and a picture in their head.
Every time I touched one of my parents, I saw them asleep in a car and covered in what I thought were sparkly jewels.
This didn’t trouble me when I was little.
I saw lots of things in my head, but I never quite understood what they meant.
As a child, I had a skin condition on my hands, and Mum made me wear little white gloves all year round.
She used to say that the germs in the air were making my hands sore.
The car crash when I was nine changed everything.