Page 38 of Secrets of Starshine
“Do you have many?”
“I have a few scattered around – the bottom of the steps, here, a little spot off in the woods. The rest of the time, my brain is completely devoid of thought.”
I laugh, and sit down, glad my puffer coat is so long. He perches next to me, and it feels nice. Natural and cosy. We stare out at the moonlit waves for a few minutes, and then he says: “Not to be a drama queen, but I personally know quite a lot about how it feels to lose someone you love so much that you don’t feel like you can go on without them. It’s been four years, and I still miss her – and the only thing that’s got me through it, really, is the kids. When you have kids, you have to try and force yourself to carry on – to get up in the morning. To get dressed. To do all the things you need to do to keep their worlds afloat, you know? It was hard, impossibly hard…but I’m grateful now. All that responsibility was a kind of life raft in the end.”
I picture this man, this gentle giant, struggling with grief and nappies at the same time, and it breaks my heart. I wriggle my hand into his, and squeeze his fingers through the fabric of my gloves.
“Archie, you are a great dad – and a pretty okay human being. Maybe that is what got you through, but it also got them through. Lilly and Meg. Nothing will ever replace their mum, but they have more dad than most people ever get. With my mum…well, it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t enough to pull her through. She closed down, retreated into whatever pain she was suffering. I suppose I became the grown-up, pretty much overnight. I’m not judging her for that – it wasn’t a choice she made; she wasn’t being deliberately selfish. She had no control over any of it – but now, I really don’t understand. If she and my dad were so miserable together, why did it destroy her like that?”
He shakes his head, and sounds sad as he replies: “I don’t know, Cally. And I’m sorry that’s what happened to you. I think the only way you’re going to find out is if you talk to her. Shall we walk up to the inn, and you can try calling her again? The signal drops in and out at George’s place – maybe she’s responded and you haven’t got the message yet?”
I nod in agreement, though I don’t hold out much hope. He stands up first, and pulls me to my feet with the hand that is still entangled in mine. For one fleeting moment I wonder what it would be like if I left my hand in his – if that passing gesture of mutual solace would survive the forward momentum. It is a silly idea, and I chase it away.
We arrive at the car park at the top of the wooden steps, and Archie tells me he’s going to pop inside and get us both a drink.
“The girls come back at about ten tonight,” he explains. “Which means that we have time for a quick break, as long as someone might be willing to help me back at the house…”
He raises his eyebrows at me, and I grin.
“Well. If helping you get the pressies sorted means I also get a nice glass of Prosecco, then so be it. It’s a price worth paying.”
Truth be told, I think, as he goes into the pub, I can picture far worse ways to pass my night anyway. Maybe a little bit of Christmas sparkle is just what I need.
I lurk a few steps up the fire escape, where teenagers have reliably informed me I will get the strongest signal, and check my phone. I see all the messages I have sent to my mother over the last few days, and note with a sinking heart that they all have the little tick symbols next to them that mean they’ve been read. They’ve been read, and they’ve been ignored, and that hurts.
I decide that honesty is possibly the best policy here, and I quickly type out a new message before I can talk myself out of it.
Hi, Mum. I don’t know if I’ve done something to upset you or if you’re just too busy, but the silent treatment is really hurting my feelings now. Please get in touch xxx
I hit send, and wonder if that will work – or if I even want it to. I suspect that my next conversation with my mum might be a difficult one, for both of us.
While I’m here, perched on a fire escape in freshly falling snow, I decide to send a few more festive messages to friends and to my neighbour – I might as well make the most of the access. By the time I’m finished, a new one has landed, and I scroll to my inbox as fast as I can, both hoping for and dreading one from Mum.
When I see that it’s not her, I feel an equally complicated mix of emotions – disappointment, frustration, relief, and by this stage a little sprinkling of anger just to finish off the recipe. The new message is actually from Jo, my boss.
I open it up to be greeted with a small row of Christmassy emojis – trees, stars, candy canes, snowmen, and a GIF of a sprout in a party hat waving its hands at me. Cute. After all of that, the actual message begins.
Happy Christmas, babe! Hope you’re having a lovely time. More info in the new year but wanted to let you know I’ve decided to revamp the salon. Going to rent the flat upstairs as well – no more leaks, and can turn it into the beauty rooms we’ve always talked about. The Old Fella says about four weeks for the work, re-opening beginning or middle of Feb – so no need to rush back. Paid leave, obvs, not your fault. Give me a bell soon xxx
I close my phone, and sit in the snow for a few moments longer. Jo has always wanted to expand, to offer treatments and nail services as well, and it looks like fate has persuaded her that this is the time. Her hubbie – always referred to as The Old Fella – is a builder, and will do the work for her. It is, I know, good news in the long term – but right now it feels like yet another rug that is being pulled from beneath my feet.
I make my way inside the pub, and join Archie at his table. I grab the Prosecco that is waiting for me with relish, clutching the glass like the woman out ofIndiana Jones and the Last Crusadeclutches the Holy Grail.
“Any joy?” Archie asks, as I take a few gulps.
“Not with my mum, no. But my boss back home messaged to say I don’t need to be back at work for a while, because she’s doing up the salon.”
“Oh. Is that a bad thing? The look on your face says that’s a bad thing.”
“No, it’s not – it’s just a thing-thing. A neutral thing, I suppose. It means I have time to fill when I get home, and although I realise this makes me sound pathetic, I’m not used to having time to fill and I’m not sure what I’ll do with it. It’s different when you have little kids, you know? There’s always something that needs doing…at Sam’s age it’s not the same. I think maybe…I might do some volunteer work? I’ve loved being here and seeing how everyone helps each other out. Maybe I can find something like that. Be a good citizen.”
He grins, and replies: “Yeah. It’s good to do stuff like that. But it’s not perfect here either – sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming, how closely connected everyone is. Privacy is like a dirty word, and sometimes the whole hive mind thing makes you want to scream. I have had occasions where I’ve locked myself in my own shed and chopped things up with an axe just to indulge in some less-than-lovely behaviour. Don’t tell Connie I said that, by the way.”
I laugh, and tell him his secret is safe with me, and find myself incredibly amused at the image of Archie the Axe-Man creating his very own rage room.
We chat as we drink, and Jake tells us Miranda is still at the hospital, where things are progressing well but slowly, and eventually we leave. On the way back to his place, I call at George’s cottage and pick something up, following Archie back to his house a few minutes later.
By the time I walk through the door, there is no sign of him. I yell his name after I check all the rooms downstairs, and get a shouted reply: “Upstairs!”
