Page 27 of Escape to Starshine Cove
Trevor himself greets me cordially as I pay for the chocolate éclairs I have in my basket, then solemnly announces from behind his wizard beard: “I can cure warts with nothing more than the power of my mind and flowers from the hedgerows, you know.”
“Well,” I reply, somehow not at all surprised, “that’s great. I have a lot of time for herbal medicines.”
“The ingredients are important, but so is thepower of the mind.”
He stares at me intently, as though trying to communicate something of great importance telepathically, and I nod again.
“Yep,” I say, taking my change. “I can’t argue with that.”
He seems placated, and I leave, stifling yet another laugh – that seems to be my go-to mode this morning. He’s right, though, to some extent – the power of the mind is one of the most important forces in the world, for good and for bad. Not so sure it can get rid of warts, but it definitely plays a vital role in how well we live our lives.
The power of my mind allows me to remember where George’s cottage is, and also instructs my hand to magically lift up and knock on the door. For my next trick, I will attempt to levitate Larry into the air and make him do the Charleston.
I stand back, and look up at the house. It’s one of the older buildings, large and sprawling, with a thatched roof and a bright red front door. There is a small courtyard garden in the front, and a flag flying at full mast. I glance up at the fluttering fabric and see that it is a picture of some kind of winged creature, with the word ‘Pixieland’ painted beneath it in bright pink letters.
George opens the door, and I am ushered in. Larry immediately dashes through to find Lottie, who is lying in a heap of golden fur by the fireplace. She thumps her tail once, and endures Larry’s adoration stoically.
“I come bearing cakes,” I announce, glancing around the room. It is a beautiful room, filled with light and air, the ceiling criss-crossed with dark wooden beams. The walls are decorated with paintings of the cove, and numerous framed family photos.
“You must be a mind reader,” he replies. “I was just sitting here pondering a trip to the café. I’ll get us some tea, shall I?”
As he leaves, I browse the pictures, smiling at one of the two little girls – Lilly and Meg – in a paddling pool with Lottie sitting between them. There are several of George and a red-headed woman who I assume was his wife, who I know passed away a few years ago, and plenty of people I don’t even recognise, including Connie with a smiling man with golden hair and bright blue eyes. I see a wedding photo, a woman in a white dress with the same red tresses, grinning as she gazes up at a man I eventually recognise as Archie. He looks very different now, with his long hair and his beard, but underneath it all he was a bit of a babe.
I start to realise how little I know about these people – I have been welcomed, a little too thoroughly on some occasions, but I still don’t quite know how all their lives interconnect. I have perhaps been guilty of seeing this place as some kind of wacky art installation, between the Druids and the Mystery Cricket and the general sense of wellbeing, but I know they are people like anyone else, with complicated lives and histories. Their bonhomie is, in some cases, maybe just what lies on the surface – a different kind of protective shell. If someone seems relentlessly happy, you don’t tend to question them too much.
“Ah,” says George, passing me a mug of tea that looks strong enough to floor a builder, “that’s a nice one, isn’t it? A very happy day. My daughter, Sandy, that is, and her Archie before the girls came along.”
He points at the man with Connie, and tells me that is Simon, and then takes me to another framed photo, this one showing a young woman with darker auburn hair and a smile so mysterious she makes the Mona Lisa look like a blabbermouth.
“And this is Suzie, my middle one. I was a later starter, me, only met my wife when I was in my late 30s. Thought it would never happen for me. Thought love was a bit of a myth to be honest, until she turned up – rolled into the village in one of those Volkswagen camper vans, she did, and from the moment I met her I suddenly understood what all the fuss was about. She was younger than me, didn’t think I had a chance…”
I laugh, and reply: “George, I think you’d have a chance with anyone.”
“Thank you kindly, love, but those days are over. I was lucky once, and you can’t expect more than one miracle in a lifetime, can you? Anyway. What brings you here? Not that I’m complaining.”
I hear a touch of melancholy in his voice, and understand that showing me these pictures has made him sad. Perhaps they have been there for so long that he has become accustomed to their presence, their power, the fact that they are maybe ticking time-bombs of emotion. Now I’ve come along, and he’s seen them all anew.
“Well, apart from the pleasure of your company, of course, I just wanted to pop in for a chat. That was a weird thing that happened yesterday, and I thought I’d check you were okay. Plus Larry asked me to bring him for a visit with Lottie.”
“Ah,” he says wisely, nodding, “you have a talking dog as well, do you? Chatty buggers once they get going, aren’t they? Well, that was very nice of you. At my age – 87, in case you were wondering, and yes, I know, I don’t look a day over 70 – at my age, you do get a bit more used to the ups and downs of life. But when it’s a young one, like that man in the café, well…it doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
As he speaks, his eyes roam across the wall of photographs, of memories, of his own life and the lives of those he loves.
“It doesn’t, no,” I reply quietly. “I called the hospital last night, by the way, and he’s doing as well as can be expected.”
“That’s good… So, what kind of a doctor are you, anyway, in the real world?”
“The real world?” I echo, widening my eyes. “Are you telling me Starshine Cove isn’t actually the real world? Because, you know, I’ve been having my suspicions it’s all a bit too good to be true…”
He laughs so loud that Lottie lifts her head and stares at him, before flopping down again.
“No, it’s real enough, my love. We just try very hard to see the bright side of life – which isn’t too hard when you live here. We have each other, and we have this beautiful place, and we have a lot of love and laughter and fun. That’s the key isn’t it? Whatever life throws at you, you have to try and find the fun in it.”
I can’t help but smile along with him, charmed as ever by those sparkling blue eyes.
“Maybe it is,” I reply, “and that’s definitely something I need to work on. But in answer to your question, I’ve mainly worked in community health – GP surgeries, health centres, that kind of thing. I go around different places when they need an extra pair of hands.”
I don’t go into detail about my other experiences – because that really doesn’t qualify as finding the fun.
