Chapter 2
Shannon
Now
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” my mum says, handing me a sparkly envelope. It looks like she’s spent weeks with her Bedazzler kit. I can just imagine her calling out to my dad at every stage, asking if he likes it, if it’s good enough for their only daughter.
Some would say I’m spoilt, but I’m not. I’ve worked hard for everything I own, from buying my own car to saving for a deposit on my first home. I’ve still got a long way to go, but now I’m twenty-five, I should be living in my own place, not with my parents.
I’ve got big plans for my future. I may not have a lot right now, but I’m working towards it.
One day, I’ll have my own glamping site.
It’s something I’ve always wanted ever since I binge-watched episodes of Amazing Spaces.
George, the presenter, visited all sorts of unique homes around England, where people had built tiny houses out of old buses, boats, and even garden sheds.
The show would run competitions like Shed of the Year.
Although I could never build anything quite like the people on the show, I could at least own a couple of yurts, comfortable enough for people who’d want to visit.
Ashbourne is the perfect place, with so many things to do, trails, caves, and spectacular views.
Not forgetting pubs and restaurants.
I’m still trying to convince my parents to let me add a couple of yurts on their three acres of land, far away from their house so it wouldn't disturb them. I could even work from my dad’s shed and arrange trail guides, maybe even team up with local attractions.
I have it all planned out. I just need to get my dad on board with the idea.
I’m still trying to convince him, I’ve tossed ideas around with him and he’s really shown an interest, not forgetting how impressed he was with my business plan.
I’m fortunate to have some savings. It might take me a while, but with a second job I could make it work.
Mum nudges me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Open your card, darling.” She’s so excited, her knee bounces under the small round table we’ve occupied in our local pub. “I don’t want to ruin your artwork,” I tease, running the pretty diamante envelope between my fingers.
Dad rolls his eyes like he’s running out of patience, but Mum and I both know he’s just nervous about today's game. He lives for rugby. He never misses a single match, which is why the compromise was to celebrate my birthday at a sports bar. Today, it’s packed out with fans, every single table occupied by groups of people out to support their favourite team.
A sea of yellow and black shirts, men swilling pints, chanting at the TV, waiting for the game to start.
The atmosphere is buzzing with laughter and excitement; you’d think we were really there.
The game’s about to start, eighty minutes of grown arse men throwing each other around just to get the ball.
Dad wears his Leopards shirt with pride.
But seriously, who came up with the name Leopards?
I snicker to myself as I lift my pint of Carling to my lips.
I’ve never done anything by halves, so why start now?
I can sink a pint like the rest of them but I can be a lady when I want to be.
I see the pride in dad’s eyes as they drift towards the massive screen set up for game days, waiting for his favourite team to walk out onto the pitch.
He played back in the day as a prop, he’s not a small man.
He could have gone on to bigger things if Mum hadn’t fallen pregnant with me at twenty, and Dad was twenty-three.
He still had time, but he chose a stable job, despite her telling him to chase his dreams.
But even with the little flicker of envy in his eyes, the way he still looks at my mum, like she hung the moon, tells me he wouldn’t change a thing.
I would love to find a love as strong as theirs.
Mum elbows Dad. “Derek, pay attention, she’s opening her card.
” He grunts, turning to face me. Deciding to speed things up so he can return to his precious game, I ease open the envelope, only to be left…
speechless. I feel like someone has knocked the air out of my lungs.
Not because it’s bad news. But this? This is bigger than I was ready for.
The pub suddenly feels overcrowded, too warm, too loud and too open.
Like everyone is waiting for my reaction.
I’m struggling to keep my composure, my heart hammers in my chest, never in a million years did I expect this.
“W-What is this?” My voice trembles, eyes welling up.
Mum’s smile is so wide it deepens the creases around her eyes.
“Well,” she says, tightening her grip on my hand, “your Dad and I wanted to help you get a head start.” I glance between them, Mum’s eyes brimming with tears and Dad grumbles something into his pint.
“Mum, this is… I… you bought me a bloody house?” I practically shout the words, but my voice is drowned out by the roar of rugby fans yelling at the TV.
I throw my arms around my mum’s neck, pulling her in for the tightest hug as tears stream down my face.
I’m so glad I decided against mascara. The last thing I want are tear tracks.
I no longer care that I’m sitting in a sports bar full of men.
My parents have bought me a house, a bloody house!
. Dad’s more excited about the rugby than what he's done for me, what they’ve done for me.
I’m practically shaking. I swear if I wasn’t in the pub I’d faint.
They’ve both worked so hard their entire lives, living modestly while saving for their retirement, their future, but they chose to buy me a home. Dad finally decides to give me his full attention, while the commentator on the TV drones on about today’s game.
“Dad?” I say, swiping the falling tears from under my eyes. “Mum?” I shake my head.
“You shouldn’t have done this… it’s… too much.” Swallowing down the ache in my chest, as I look between them both.
“Darling, you are our future.” Her hand grips mine with a gentle squeeze. “We made you our future the minute I gave birth to you,” she whispers behind the strain of her voice. This is all too much.
“Remember when you were a kid and we got lost on our way to the strawberry field?” Dad says.
I think back to the day, one of many I’ll never forget, because those were some of my best childhood memories.
Dad got lost on the way to take us strawberry picking.
Mum loved our Sunday rituals, our one dedicated day each weekend to spend time together as a family.
She said we’d make strawberry tarts with custard when we got home but Dad took a wrong turn and ended up pulling up at the wrong farmhouse.
I’ll never forget the little house sitting pretty next to it; it looked just like a classic American Southern farmhouse, with a wraparound porch, half wooden slats, half brick.
The garden was covered in wildflowers, so beautiful that I had to take photos to treasure them forever.
I still have them stuck between the pages of my scrapbook.
Taking a deep breath, my attention back on my parents. “What about it?” I ask. Dad looks at Mum, his eyes filled with so much love and pride.
“We bought it for you.” He chokes out the words but tries to hide them around a cough.
“Thought about your business ideas, and I’ll be honest, I don’t want to share my garden with a bunch of strangers who find something about camping exciting.
I couldn’t think of anything worse.” Mum and I both laugh because this is typical Dad.
He can be a grumpy sod at times. He clears his throat.
“So, we thought, rather than you paying high interest rates, you pay us.”
Mum taps my hand, cutting in, trying to get my head around it all. “The house is yours, darling. If anything happens to us, it will go straight to you, in your name.”
The tears threaten to spill over again. I’ve never cried so much in my life. I’m not a crier but today is an exception.
“Mum? Is he serious?” I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.
She nods, lips pressed tightly together as if she’s afraid she’ll burst.
“The place will need your personal touch.” He looks between us both. “But we got it for a great price. You’ve got enough savings to get you started,” he says.
I nod like one of those little bobbleheads people keep on their car dashboards, because I can’t form a single word. “You can finally start your campsite,” Mum says, but I don’t correct her and explain there will be no tents.
Dad carries on, “We need to sign the papers on Monday, and then it’s ours, well, yours.
” Throwing my arms around my parents again, hugging them so tightly it feels like my life depends on it.
I kiss my dad’s shaved head, leaving a red lip stain on his shiny scalp, then pepper kisses all over Mum’s cheeks, marking her face with more lipstick stains.
Dad glances back at the TV just as the game is about to start like he hasn’t just bought me a house. “Now, can we please watch the game? All these tears do me no good,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion.
Soon after the game ended, Mum and Dad left me in the pub just as my best friend, Talia, turned up, holding a huge gift bag and singing, “Happy Birthday.” Before handing me an obnoxiously oversized badge, bigger than my head, which read, It’s my birthday, buy me a drink or give me a kiss!
She made me wear it. Not caring because I’m well on my way to getting drunk.
“You look gorgeous, Shannon, I love what you’ve done to your hair.”
I swish my long dark curls from side to side. “It’s my birthday present to myself.”
She claps her hands like an excited seal. “Open the bloody bag.”
I’m a little scared, but dive in. She’s covered my mystery gift in magenta pink tissue paper. Her eyes dance with excitement and mischief as I pull out the box and unwrap it on the table and… “Oh my fucking God, Talia!”