Page 42 of Secrets of Starshine
I can tell how excited she is by the use of “Daddy” not “Dad”, and Meg follows suit, demanding to be picked up so she can “touch your new head”. There is muchoohing andaahing and stroking of the close-cut parts, and tugging of the tamed beard, before he finally disentangles himself and tells them firmly that it’s time for them to go and get into their Christmas pyjamas.
As they leave the room in a whirlwind of excitement, George walks slowly over to Archie, and places a hand on one of his shoulders.
“Archie, my fine fellow,” he says quietly. “Welcome back.”
It looks for a moment like they might do an awkward man-hug, but settle for a firm and enthusiastic shaking of hands instead. It is a nice moment – one I feel borderline embarrassed to be sharing.
“Right!” announces George, smiling at me. “We’d better go home and let this newly suave Santa Claus get the savage sisters sorted…”
I nod, and grab my handbag before putting my coat back on. We make our farewells, and Archie waves us off. Outside, it is still lightly snowing, and Lottie snuffles through it at our feet as we stroll back around to George’s cottage. The lights are still on in the café, and I assume that Connie is hard at work.
“That was a nice thing you did for him,” George says as we near his front garden. “Thank you.”
“Oh, it was just a haircut,” I reply, hearing the clenched emotion in his voice, lurking just beneath the surface.
“No,” he answers firmly. “It was most definitely more than that.”
SEVENTEEN
Christmas dinner at the Cove Café is going with a swing. The place is packed, some of the faces familiar, some of them not – but all of them happy. There is a rich vein of spectacularly awful Christmas jumpers, a lot of party hats, and quite a few sequins. I’ve had some waves from ladies whose hair I did, which is nice.
As we near the end of the banquet, carols are playing, the wine is flowing, crackers are popping, and miniature puddings are being devoured.
The food has been fantastic, and the atmosphere even more so. Connie – with her super-straight hair, courtesy of yours truly – made a little speech at the start, standing on a chair to offset her vertical challenge. She read part of a lovely poem by someone called Helen Maria Williams, all about the joy of Christmas cake, and instructed us all to eat, drink and be merry.
The mood was kicked up another notch by the arrival of Ella, looking tired with freshly showered hair and wearing yoga pants paired with a reindeer sweater, who had a quick word with Connie.
After a few excited squeals, Connie announced over the microphone, “News just in, people! A few hours ago, our lovely Miranda gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, weighing in at eight pounds nine. Our very own Christmas baby! Mum and baby – called Evan – are both doing well!”
A huge cheer went up, and Ella joined the ever-delectable Jake at the wine table, where he wrapped her up in what looked like a much-needed hug. It was the perfect start to the celebration, and definitely lifted my mood.
Truth be told, I hadn’t been feeling much Christmas joy up until that point. George had gone round to see the girls, and I was left waiting for Sam to get out of bed so we could open our presents. In the end I’d decided to help matters along by standing outside his door and playingMerry Xmas Everybodyby Slade really loud on my phone until he yelled at me.
He was still half asleep by the time he made it downstairs, and opening our gifts was a subdued affair. I gave him his headphones, some cash, some smellies and a few other bits and bobs, and he reciprocated with a lovely Rituals gift set that promised to help me embrace the power of positivity. Fingers crossed.
Before she left, Mum had given me wrapped gifts for both of us, which I brought with me on our adventure. This by itself was unusual – under normal circumstances, she just gives me the money to choose something for myself and Sam, and I also get the job of wrapping them and even writing her cards. This year, she’s done it all herself – probably thanks to her newfound tech savvy and the wonders of internet shopping.
Sam’s turned out to be a large gift box that contained a medium gift box, and inside that was a small gift box, and inside that an envelope with £100 in cash inside it. Fun. Mine was a small bottle of the YSL perfume I’d liked in John Lewis, and as I gave myself a festive spritz, trying to smile, I’d actually only felt sad. I’d rather have had my mum in person than an expensive gift – I’d even settle for a chat on the phone.
At that point I’d used George’s landline to call her mobile, but it went straight to voicemail. Hearing her message – a new one, all perky – didn’t help. Not only did I miss her, I was also still confused about what Viola had told me, and wondering if I would ever be able to get the answers I needed. I’d had no choice but to leave a voice message thanking her for the presents, and hoping she liked hers.
That was several hours ago, though, and the mood at the café has managed to kick me out of the doldrums. Seeing Archie and the girls helped – I had to do a double-take when I first spotted him across the room, surrounded by people who I assumed were commenting on his new look. He seemed predictably uncomfortable at being the centre of attention.
At one point he’d looked up, met my eyes across the room, and pulled a “please help me!” face as an elderly lady I’ve not met before reached up and stroked the back of his head. I laughed and left him to it.
The girls are wearing what look like new dresses, and they’ve unplaited their braids so their hair is shimmering in mermaidy waves down their backs. Both of them are leaning over the fairy compendium I wrapped last night, Lilly pointing to the pages and talking to her sister.
I am sitting with Trevor the Druid, who has delighted me by describing his Emporium’s full range of sci-fi classics on VHS, and with the Betties, who seem to have a passion for movies that involve sub-machine guns, Navy SEALs, and insanely high death counts. Who’d have thunk it?
I am enjoying the conversation, which is lucky, because I’ve eaten so much that I’d probably need to be lobbed into a wheelbarrow to have any chance of moving. I compliment the Betties on their very fine puddings, and lean back in my chair, wondering if it would be rude if I nodded off to sleep for a few minutes. Looking around, I see at least one old gent who has done exactly that, his party hat slipping down his forehead as he snores.
I spot Sam by the counter, Sophie and Dan either side of him, holding his phone up to take a selfie. He volunteered to help out as a waiter, and all three of them have dressed for the occasion, red velvet Santa hats perched on their heads. He’d normally object to getting his hair all mussed up, but the Christmas spirit is clearly strong right now. Certainly a lot stronger than it was this morning. The other two are wearing jeans, but Sam has gone all out in a dinner suit and dickie bow, undoubtedly raided from George’s never-ending wardrobe. Honestly, I’m starting to think we might find a magical portal into Narnia at the back of it by the time we leave.
By the time we leave…well, that was supposed to be in a few days’ time. I did have a very loose plan to be back in my own home by New Year, but now I am not at all sure. I’d been expecting to be back at work the week after, but Jo’s news has scuppered that idea. I could, as I said to Archie, try to find some volunteer work for the month – but that might be more complicated than I expect as well. I know from Sam’s friends that there are all kinds of checks these days, which is not a bad thing at all but means I couldn’t hit the floor running.
I try to imagine what I have waiting for me back home, and it doesn’t fill me with joy. I have my little house, which is nice enough but currently filled with a giant abandoned Christmas tree which may well have been colonised by squirrels by now. I have Sam, but he lives his own life. And I have the prospect of being ignored by my mother in a completely different location.
All in all, it is not a tempting scenario, but I try to give myself a little mental pep talk. I remind myself that Jo wouldn’t mind if I carried on doing a few clients in their homes. That I have friends who will probably come on a night out with me, even though I’m not especially close to any of them. That I could do all those jobs I’ve been putting off – I could paint my bedroom, or finally sort out the photo albums, or learn a new skill. I could take up line dancing or pottery or join a gym. I actually laugh out loud at that last one, taking Trevor aback until I explain I’d just thought of something funny.
