Chapter 4
Cherry
Squat, green static mobile homes decorated the clifftop caravan park like rows of tightly packed shoeboxes, but the expansive view across the glimmering Firth of Forth gifted the site a luxurious spaciousness.
Pamela Paradise’s home was easy to distinguish from all the others because there were more plants than a garden centre on the porch and a weathered garden gnome sitting sentry at the front door.
‘That’s Lucky Gordon.’ Cherry pointed to the gnome with her toe. ‘He guards the premises, keeps away evil spirits. Forgets to take out the bins.’
‘I see.’ Sean tilted his chin at the gnome. ‘Alright, Gordon?’
‘By the way, you don’t have to pretend he’s real for me,’ Cherry whispered.
‘But my mum will love you for it.’ She rapped on the frosted glass panel of the caravan door, took another glance at the view and a deep breath, before the door swung open and her mother appeared, resplendent in a tapered-leg, turquoise-green jumpsuit.
It was more ‘forty-year-old at a fondue party’ than ‘sixty-five-year-old at a caravan park’, but she had been forewarned that her daughter was bringing a special guest. Although Cherry had not mentioned that Sean was her husband.
‘Hey, Mum. You’re looking well. That colour suits you. What is it? Aquamarine?’
‘Aqua Cyan, darling. And thank you. Come on in.’ Pam gave Sean a once-over, as if assessing him for sartorial suitability, before ushering them up the steps and into the lounge. ‘How wonderful.’
Not much inside the caravan had changed since Cherry was last here at Christmas.
The same Royal Doulton ornaments festooned the shelves, alongside gilt-framed photos from her childhood – ones of her mother and father, her grandparents.
All that was missing were photos of Cherry… successfully adulting.
The sound of Sean clearing his throat interrupted her thoughts. It was time for the introductions she’d been dreading.
‘Sorry. Um… Mum…this is Sean. Sean, this is my mum, Pam.’
Pam dismissed Sean’s outstretched hand, opting instead to embrace him warmly. ‘A solid Irish name that. Are you Irish?’
‘Nope, although Ireland is just across the water from my home in Kintyre.’
‘Ah, Kintyre. Tell me, do you ever see Paul McCartney coming and going?’
Sean chuckled. ‘Never seen him once. He still owns his farm, but I don’t think he’s there much anymore.’
‘Mum…’ As nice as it might be to chat about trivial stuff all day, Cherry knew it was time to pull this Band-Aid off. ‘Sean and I are…’ She floundered and found the warm reassurance of his hand. ‘We got married...in New York… We’re husband and wife.’
As soon as the words were out, Cherry stood proud.
For a moment, the scene dissolved into a past one where she was bouncing up the steps of their Edinburgh colonies house clutching another A-grade.
But this beautiful man holding her hand was better than any Advanced Higher Maths buzz.
She hoped her mum could still be pleased with her daughter’s achievements.
Thankfully, instead of disapproval at the hastiness of the nuptials, Pam’s overriding sentiment was pique at missing the ceremony.
‘My only daughter, and I don’t get to see her marry. I suppose this is the universe getting its revenge on me for my own wedding.’
‘Mum was a runaway bride,’ Cherry explained, relief carrying her onto this well-trodden path down memory lane. ‘She and my dad eloped to Gretna Green when they were sixteen and got married in the old blacksmith’s shop.’
‘Best thing I ever did, following that intuition,’ said Pam. ‘Speaking of which, I knew there was a reason the High Priestess showed up in your reading yesterday.’ She clung onto a remnant of control by convincing herself that she had known about the marriage.
‘You don’t have to do readings for me, Mum. I’m not here to know about them.’
‘You’re my daughter; I like to know how you’re getting on. Anyway, I haven’t even said congratulations to Mr and Mrs…?’
‘Mr Butler and Ms Paradise,’ said Sean, and Cherry caught her mum’s expression of mild exasperation. Good women took their husband’s name.
‘Listen, we can’t stay long; it’s a long drive to Kinshore…’ Cherry ran her finger along the sideboard as if inspecting for dust, which she knew she wouldn’t find.
‘You could get a B I can’t be getting turned on at your mum’s.’
‘It’s hard for me too, you know. Have you any idea how wet I am?’
‘Have I what?’ Sean splutter-laughed. ‘Oh, just you wait, Paradise. You’re going to get it so hard for that gigantic tease when I’m five hours from home.’
‘So hard? You promise?’
‘Aye. In fact, fuck it. We’re getting a hotel. I’m booking the Balmoral. We’re going to consummate five-star style tonight.’ Sean picked up his phone from the Formica table but laid it down as Pam reappeared up the steps with a box of waffles.
‘Here we go,’ she said. ‘Nothing says welcome to the family like some Bird’s Eye potato waffles. And after tea, I’ll give you both a reading.’
Cherry stood from Sean’s knee. ‘Mum, you can just call them waffles. And we’re good for the reading, thanks.’ Sean didn’t mind, but he had no idea how blunt her mum could be.
The quiche and Bird’s Eye potato waffles were accompanied by tomato ketchup and a full-scale interrogation of Sean.
Pam needed to build a full profile of where he was from, who his parents were and what they did for a living, as well as his siblings, their jobs and partners.
Also important was Sean’s star sign and date, time and place of birth, accidents or major operations, and any other miscellaneous detail he wished to declare.
Cherry was only grateful that the pressure was off her.
The plates cleared away and Pam disappeared to the bedroom, returning with a tarot deck – something that provoked a conditioned response of clammy hands in Cherry.
‘Mum, seriously, can we not?’
‘Such a sceptic.’ Pam winked at Sean from across the table. ‘Come on now, let’s see what the cards are saying today.’
Cherry rose to wash the dishes – infinitely preferable to this. Protesting would only make her seem churlish and irrational. After all, if tarot cards were such pseudoscience, then why did she care either way?
Because what if they weren’t pseudoscience?
There had been things her mum had said in the past that were scarily on the money.
Relationship endings she’d foretold on more than one occasion.
Catastrophic loss Cherry had endured that her mum predicted would happen again – and it had.
What if Sean’s reading said that their marriage was doomed, that his perfect wife was prone to failure on a life-altering scale, and he should turn and head for the hills now?
She would have to let him. And that was the last thing she wanted. Because she was smitten with Sean. Obsessed. They should never have come here.
Pam laid the cards out in a spread and asked Sean to pick three.
‘We’ll only do a short reading,’ she said. ‘So as not to upset my cynical daughter.’
‘Cherry, come…’ Sean stretched out his arm and beckoned for her to sit with him. She relented and let him kiss her on the cheek.
Get a grip, Cherry. It’s only bits of card with pretty pictures on them. Doesn’t mean anything.
‘Afterwards, we can play poker,’ Sean suggested.