Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Norwegian painter. His fragile mental health fed into the themes of his paintings. Study ‘The Scream’ – what does it tell us?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Callie walked slowly back to Sea Haven House, her feet dragging.
Watching a loved-up couple, with arms entwined, going the other way, her heart contracted with a painful envy.
Donna had been right, she’d been lulled into living in cloud cuckoo land.
How could she have imagined living here in Lullbury Bay, or having a relationship with someone like Johnny Starling?
Of course she had to go home, back to Worcester and the little Victorian terrace.
What alternative was there? Escaping to the seaside was a pipe dream and one she couldn’t hope to aspire to.
As was any kind of meaningful relationship with Johnny.
She clicked on Donna’s number, desperate to speak to her but it went straight to voicemail, so she clicked off without leaving a message.
Unable to face the trudge up God Almighty Hill, she cut up the main shopping street and turned into the public gardens, deliberately avoiding looking at the castle ruins.
The sight brought back memories of the evening she’d spent with Johnny.
As she walked through the gardens her feet slowed even more.
She had no desire to get back to the house and find Johnny there.
The cottage had lost its appeal as a haven.
Instead, it was going to be a pit of awkwardness.
What had she been thinking getting involved with him?
It was making what should have been a relaxing holiday, a nightmare.
The air around her felt different, charged somehow.
The wind, cutting off the sea, chilly. It shivered through the palm trees and was making white horses froth on the waves.
The sky was thick with gulls, twisting and turning and heading inland.
Was the weather breaking? Autumn was hovering on the horizon. And a new term.
For once she’d delegated being at school for the exam results to a colleague.
At this time of year she’d usually be with her students.
It was always a rollercoaster; wonderful to celebrate with those who had obtained what they needed but heartbreaking to console with those who hadn’t quite achieved their desired grades.
It was the first time she’d not been there.
It would be good experience for Nella who she suspected was nipping at her heels for her job, and who was perfectly capable if a little lacking in empathy, but the guilt assailed her even so.
Her life was crowded with guilt. Guilt over not doing her job properly.
Guilt over how Frida had turned out. She was tired of feeling guilty but didn’t know how to stop.
Callie made a decision. Wednesday was the art awards ceremony. She’d stay for that but would drive home the following day. Frida too. It was time to cut her losses and bite reality.
As she let herself in through the garden gate she heard voices. Johnny and Frida were in the garden. Her heart sank; she didn’t want to deal with either at the moment.
Wondering if she could go back out and hide in the Sea Spray for a couple of hours, she heard Frida call out.
‘Mum! Come and grab a pew. I had a fab time at the café, Tracey is a right laugh. She’s from Cornwall originally but she hasn’t been in Lullbury long. She’s travelled all over, spent loads of time in India and South America. She’s well cool.’
Johnny offered his deck chair, so Callie sank into it, carefully not meeting his eyes.
If she stayed around much longer, she’d really fall for him and that would not do.
It would not do at all. He passed her a fresh mug of tea.
Muttering her thanks, she tuned into Frida who was still chattering away.
‘And I really enjoyed working at the café. Had my lunch there and I’m starting proper tomorrow. Got some majorly good tips too. It’s ace.’
‘But it’s hardly a proper career.’
‘What, like working in a boring office shuffling paper, at a boring engineering company, you mean? Everyone at Price’s is about ninety.
Know what? Today, I ate my lunch sitting on a bench outside in the sunshine and got chatted up by some blokes on holiday from Leicester.
They were brilliant fun and I’m meeting them later down The Old Harbour. ’
‘No, you’re not!’
‘I am. Get real, Mum. I’m twenty-three. You can’t tell me what to do. I’m going with Chelsea. She works at the café in the summer. Says she’s got some friends down there she’ll meet up with tonight.’
‘I thought you didn’t like going out drinking.’
‘Jeez. Lighten up, will you? I’m going to a pub which is barely half a mile away, in a seaside town in Dorset. It’s hardly the Ayia Napa strip.’ Frida heaved herself out of the deck chair and flounced off.
Johnny sat down in silence.
Callie concentrated on sipping her tea. ‘Didn’t handle that well, did I?’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment. My experience of young women is restricted to Jess, and I don’t think she’s typical.’
‘Not sure anyone in your family is typical.’
Johnny didn’t respond.
‘Sorry. That was rude.’
‘Is everything all right, Callie? Has something happened?’
Callie ignored him, supplying the obvious answer. ‘I worry about her.’ She gripped her hot mug, finding comfort in its heat. Even here, in the sheltered garden, the wind was brisk.
‘I don’t think she’ll come to any harm in The Old Harbour. She’s still young. Finding her feet.’
‘Then it’s about time she found them. At her age I’d been working for two years and owned a house.’ Callie screwed her eyes shut. She knew she was being unreasonable but couldn’t snap out of her mood.
‘Things are different for young people these days,’ Johnny said, mildly. ‘They mature later.’ He hesitated and then went on. ‘I feel I should warn you about something.’
Callie snapped her focus onto him. What had he to warn her about?
‘Frida and I have been having a fairly intense discussion about journalism. Apparently, Lucie Wiscombe came into the café today. She got chatting to Frida about her plans and about the advice I gave her.’
‘Advice?’ The word came out on a sort of squeak. Callie slid herself more upright, frowning. ‘What advice?’
‘On the evening of the play Lucie and I discussed paths into the career, courses and so on. South Western University in Exeter runs a highly rated degree and conversion degree in journalism. Lucie’s probably going for that seeing as it’s local.
She got talking to Frida about it and enthused her with the idea.
Frida came home bubbling with excitement.
We ended up chatting about my experiences in the job and she’s mustard keen to do the same as Lucie. ’
Callie glared at him, trying to take it all in.
‘Are you saying Frida wants to do a degree in journalism?’ she asked stupidly.
‘In Exeter?’ She huffed out a disbelieving laugh.
‘But it’s hardly local for Frida. Not to mention she has a job.
She may consider it boring and staffed by geriatrics but it’s secure and pays well. ’
‘Ah.’ Johnny looked down, uneasy. ‘It’s not my place to say but I also ought to warn you that Frida’s considering putting in her notice.’
‘What?’ Callie exploded.
‘She’s thinking about trying through clearing to get a place at South Western.’
‘How?’ Callie spluttered. ‘Why? What? Where’s she going to live? How’s she going to support herself?’
Johnny was struggling for words. ‘I suppose in the way students usually do. A student loan, or a part-time job.’ He stared at her. ‘I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I thought you wanted her to find her vocation, her direction in life?’
‘Yes, but not like this! She’s only been here five seconds and already her whole life is planned out.
Before she came here, she’d never even considered journalism.
And she’s already dropped out from one degree course.
What if she does that again? It’ll take the rest of her life to pay off the debts.
Or, more likely, I’ll have to work until I’m bloody seventy and do it for her! ’
‘What if she doesn’t drop out? What if she makes a success of it?’
Callie surged to her feet. She’d had enough.
She’d had all she could stand of the Starlings and their middle-class confident assumptions that money wasn’t an issue, that debt wasn’t something to fret about, that you could do anything you liked if you desired it enough.
She knew, from bitter experience, that wanting something wasn’t the same as making it happen.
‘You haven’t a clue.’ She pointed a furious finger at him.
‘You know nothing about us. How we live. How we’ve had to scrimp and save.
We’re not the sort of people who can just throw in jobs on a whim.
We have mortgages and bills to pay. Responsibilities.
You know nothing about any of that. Dreams aren’t for the likes of us. ’
And, after that remarkably silly speech, she tossed her mug to the ground and ran off to find her daughter.