Page 17 of Secrets of Starshine
“Challenge accepted!” he declares, setting off up the steps.
We deposit our cargo in the middle of the village green, and make our way back to the inn. I feel jollier on the way back from the beach than I did on the way there, probably because I am not alone with my own thoughts. By the time we walk through the doors of the pub I am looking forward to another drink, possibly some more cake, and if the stars align, even a little boogie on the dance floor. All that talk about the Blue Angel has inspired me.
Archie pushes open the door, and as soon as we are inside, the little girl who was in charge of Twister comes hurtling towards him. She wraps her arms around his legs, then says: “Uggh! You’re all wet!”
He scoops her up in his arms and slings her over his shoulder, her red plaits flying as she screams in delight. She peers up at me, her face dangling down his back, and says: “Hello! I’m Lilly!”
“Nice to meet you, Lilly,” I say, pulling off my coat and Olaf hat.
Archie spins around and she squeals and tells him to stop in that way that implies she never ever wants him to stop, and when he finally dumps her gently onto the floor, she holds her face in her hands and declares to the world that she is dizzy. Her princess dress is puffed up around her like a pink cocoon, and she is beyond adorable.
I watch as Archie walks over to his other daughter, Meg, the birthday girl. She is still fast asleep, one arm slung over the coat of the Golden Retriever. As I get closer, it looks up at me with cloudy eyes, and thumps its tail once in greeting.
“That’s Lottie,” announces Archie’s daughter, pointing at the dog. “She’s thirteen years old, and in dog years, that’s…a big number!”
I try and do the maths in my head but get confused. It is, indeed, a big number.
“She’s very pretty,” I reply, leaning down to gently scratch her ears, careful not to disturb the sleeping child at her side. “Her fur is a beautiful colour.”
I find that even as I say it, I’m matching it up with colour charts in my head – I think from now on, when I’m back at work, I will call this shade Golden Retriever Blonde.
“And this is my grandad,” Lilly continues, as an elderly man approaches us. He is tall and lean, with a shock of thick white hair and dazzling blue eyes. His skin is tanned from years outdoors, and he has the kind of wrinkles on his face that speak of a lot of laughter. His main concession to the party theme is a drawn-on moustache that looks like it’s been done by a child.
“Cally from Liverpool!” he booms, shaking my hand. “What a delight! I’ve already met Sam, and if it’s okay with you, you’ll both be staying with me for tonight. Longer if you like.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, spotting Sam sitting in the corner with Connie’s kids, talking about something with such animation that his hands are flying in the air.
“Absolutely. There’s plenty of room, and I’ll enjoy the company. Only one rule though – you absolutely must wake up with a hangover tomorrow!”
Lilly tugs at my hand, and says seriously: “A hangover is when you feel poorly because you’ve drunk too much beer. My dad says if I invent a cure for it when I grow up, I’ll be rich.”
I nod, and solemnly reply: “Your dad is not wrong. At the moment I use a can of Diet Coke and a bacon butty, but I’m pretty sure that can be improved on.”
I notice, as we talk, that Ella and Jake are on the dance floor, smooching to a Whitney Houston song. They look like very happy pirates.
George is asking me a few gentle questions about what we’d like for breakfast when Lilly suddenly interrupts, slipping her hand into mine, saying: “Will you take me to the ladies’ toilets, please?”
I am taken aback by this, and gape at her for a moment. I see George and Archie exchange a look that I don’t quite understand, and then Archie nods at me, telling me that it’s okay.
“I will,” I say to Lilly, “and I’m glad you asked actually – I was just wondering where they were myself – can you show me the way?”
She eagerly leads me across the crowded room, past those little nooks and crannies with the quiet tables in them, and to a door at the back. There are steep steps that lead upwards, a little sign saying “guests only” at the bottom of them, and off to one side we find the facilities. I follow Lilly in, and she skips around, flouncing her skirt and twirling. These are very nice toilets, but maybe not quite nice enough to make someone twirl with joy.
We both disappear off into a cubicle to do what needs to be done, and she shouts through to me, “Aren’t they nice, ladies’ toilets? They smell nice, don’t they? I really like them.”
“Ummm…yes, they do. These ones are especially nice.”
“Yes. They’re my favourites. But the ones in the café are good as well, if you ever want to go and see them. I’ll come with you if you like. I’ve not been to the ones in the McDonald’s yet, but Auntie Connie says she’ll take me soon.”
It’s been a while since I spent a lot of time with a child of this age, but this is all striking me as odd. Harmless enough, but odd all the same. I meet her outside, and she takes huge delight in using the nice scented handwash, and deeply inhales the scent of a little tray of pot-pourri before she uses the dryer.
After that, she poses in front of the mirror, smoothing down a few stray strands from her plaits and staring at her reflection. She even does a little pout.
“This is what I saw someone doing on the TV,” she tells me. “It’s what ladies do, isn’t it? Do you want to put some lipstick on or do your hair?”
I pat my pockets and reply: “I don’t have any lipstick with me, Lilly, I’m sorry! I think you’re right about the hair though…”
I look into the mirror and pull a face at what I see. Olaf hats might be good for fancy dress, but they are not good for style. I finger-comb the tangles, and use a bit of water from the tap to smooth down the strands.
