Page 62 of Escape to Starshine Cove
Jake has only been in touch once, a one-line message asking me to let him know I was safe. I told him I was, and left it at that. I needed the time and the space to figure out what I really wanted, and being in close contact with him would make that impossible.
And now, I have had some of that time and that space. Now, I am here, driving these familiar curving roads, making the steep descent down the hill and towards the coast. Larry has been going frantic in the backseat for the last few minutes, spinning in circles, pawing at the window, yapping in excitement. He, at least, seems happy to be home.
By the time I park the car at the back of the inn, it is dusk on a cold November day. I clamber out, and look around me as Larry gallops to the nearest pee point. The lights are shining from the mullioned windows, and I can picture the scene inside, imagining the logs on the fireplace, the lively chatter, the red velvet booths.
I glance towards the green, see the familiar circle of cottages and homes, the Pixieland flag in George’s front garden flapping and fluttering in the breeze. I see Trevor closing up his emporium for the day, and hear a deep, solitary woof. Larry’s ears go up, and I suspect Lottie knows we are here before anyone else does.
I let my eyes wander the village, spotting all the subtle seasonal changes – different flowers coming into bloom, a scattering of frost on the grass, fairy lights strung along the buildings twinkling in the fast-darkening gloom. It is the same, but different – just like me.
It feels strange, being back here – strange but not bad, I decide. When I first arrived, it all seemed almost alarmingly perfect – the way it looked, the way the people acted. Now I know differently. It still looks perfect, but I know what lies beneath – I know that the people here have lived, have suffered, have struggled, just like people everywhere. Some of them, in fact, have experienced almost unimaginable tragedy.
Their lives are not perfect, the village is not perfect, but it is a place like nowhere else. When these people are in pain, they don’t just support each other – they allow themselves to be supported. They’re not immune to hardship; they just help each other through it. That sounds so simple, but I know that it is not – I know that opening yourself up, to the good as well as the bad, is never easy. It’s not the caves that makes Starshine so special, or the views, or even the cake – it is the people. The humanity of it all, the sometimes-scary sea of fellowship that they all seem to sail together.
I tell myself not to give in to being scared, and I push open the door to the inn. I take a deep breath to prepare myself, and my gaze goes immediately to the bar. I have imagined this moment so many times: planned what I might say, prepared myself for what I might feel. Now that it’s here, I realise that no amount of prep would have helped. I am stepping into the unknown.
I remind myself that I need to do this. That I cannot run, because it simply doesn’t work. That even though I won’t be able to control how Jake reacts, I can focus on how I react. I need to find a little faith, and then leap into it.
In the end, I needn’t have worried – because Jake isn’t there. Matt is behind the bar, along with a now much rounder Miranda. They both look up when I walk in, and I see the look of surprise on their faces.
“Ella!” Matt exclaims. “You look fantastic! Can I tempt you to a taster of this new stout I’ve got in – a hint of plum, a touch of chocolate…”
“That sounds delicious, but no. I still have nightmares about last time. Miranda, how are you? Where’s your usual T-shirt gone?”
She gestures down at herself and pats her belly.
“I got too fat for my I’m-not-fat T-shirts,” she replies, grinning. “Bit of a design flaw. Are you…staying?”
Ah, I think, now there’s a question.
“I have no idea, to be honest,” I say, shrugging. “Umm…is Jake around?”
“It’s his afternoon off,” she explains, looking apologetic, as though it is somehow her fault. “Sorry.”
I brush it off, and stand there, feeling vaguely embarrassed. I have spent the whole drive building up to seeing Jake again, and now this feels like a huge anti-climax. He could be anywhere – maybe he’s gone to London for a meeting; maybe he’s visiting his dad; maybe he’s in Dorchester on a date. Apart from that one brief message, I haven’t been in touch – anything could have happened in his life. It’s been a month, and things could have changed, moved on, evolved. He could have met someone else, or hate me so much he has a picture of my face on a dart board.
“I think he maybe mentioned something about going for a run down at the beach?” Matt offers, interrupting my thoughts. I smile and thank him, and have a quiet word with myself for allowing my mind to go on a mini-rampage. Just because I know what I shouldn’t be doing doesn’t mean I always manage to avoid doing it.
I make my farewells, and go back to the car. There is a deep chill to the air now, and I retrieve a fleece from the boot. I pull it on, and briefly run my fingers across the pendant that Jake gave to me on my birthday. I never wore it much while I was here; it was kept hidden and secret, like our relationship. While I’ve been away, though, I’ve had it around my neck every single day. It’s become a touchstone, a mantra given physical form. A reminder of why I’m worth fighting for – living proof that you need to let in the light to make things shine.
Larry dashes ahead, thrilled to be back, trotting down the steps and immediately rolling around on the sand as though he’s trying to coat every inch of his body in the stuff.
I pause as I reach the beach, sighing as I stare out at the view. The moon is full tonight, hanging fat and yellow over the water, and the stars are perfect jewels of light in the black velvet of the sky. I have missed this, I realise – the way this place, these sights, the sound of the waves, lift my spirits. I had almost forgotten quite how beautiful it is.
There is no sign of Jake, either on a run or a walk or simply sitting on the beach, but as Larry suddenly sniffs the air and hurtles off along the shoreline, I start to realise where he might be.
I follow him, knowing that my dog is about to spoil any element of surprise here – I won’t be making a dramatic entrance. This, I think, is no bad thing – Jake deserves a moment to clear his head, and I slow down deliberately.
By the time I reach the caves and make my way inside, Larry is on Jake’s lap, little legs kicking in the air as Jake rubs his belly. A small torch is on the floor beside him, casting a singular beam against the shimmer of the cave walls. It is beautiful, as usual – but for me, there is only Jake. I look at him, and feel a physical thud inside my chest, followed by the flutter of a thousand butterflies.
I stare, and drink him in – his hair is slightly longer, and his trainers look new, but the smile is the same. The smile is still one that can make my knees wobble. I examine it closely, looking for signs that it isn’t real – that he is just being polite.
When I don’t find them, I smile back, and we are both still and silent for a few moments, lost in each other’s eyes.
“Ella,” he says finally, as Larry scoots off to explore. “You’re back…”
I sit next to him, close enough to touch but not touching, much as I want to.
“I am,” I reply. “It’s so good to see you, Jake. I’ve missed you so much.”
