Page 47 of Secrets of Starshine
As I gaze out across the rooftop of the café and down to the sea, I notice something out there moving, on the periphery of my vision. I squint my eyes a bit, trying to figure out what it is, at first only seeing a rough outline making its way across the green. As it comes closer, I realise that it is at least human – and then I see that it is a human carrying a shovel. It is Archie, and the snowmen are finally for the chop.
I watch him for a few more moments, and then decide to join him. I mean, it’s not like I’m in any danger of actually falling into a slumber, and maybe the distraction will do me good.
I leave my pyjamas on but add my coat and boots, and let myself quietly out of the cottage. He looks up at me as my feet crunch in the snow towards him, and I see his face break into a smile.
“Hey!” he says, when I’m by his side. “I like the pyjamas…”
I glance down at myself, see the pink leggings covered in love hearts. Theyarenice.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I explain. “But I’m hoping to, at some point in the near future, so I’m dressing for success. Did you have fun at the inn?”
“Yeah,” he replies, passing me a big plastic box. “We did. You were missed. The girls are back at Connie’s, crashed out on her sofa while the grown-ups carry on celebrating. Sam’s with them.”
“I assumed as much. Not that I’m complaining, but what’s this box for?”
“Ah. Well, as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. More snow is forecast for tomorrow, but tonight is a few degrees above freezing – which means that all these majestic snow-people will start to melt, and nobody needs to see that. So if you can go around and collect all the accessories, the glasses and the hats and whatever, then I can do the macho part.”
“You think dismantling snowmen is macho?”
“It’ll be the most alpha male thing I’ve done all day. You might swoon.”
“Hope not. I’ll get my PJs covered in snow.”
I make a start, going around the various snowmen and women, divesting them of their finery and depositing various items into the box. Once I’m done, Archie comes in with his shovel, and basically batters the crap out of them until they are flat. I can imagine that it is quite cathartic, and it is certainly fun to watch. He’s wearing his beanie hat again, except this time there isn’t a mass of wild hair peeking out of the bottom.
He catches me staring at him, and I see the glint of his teeth as he grins at me.
“Are you going to swoon now?” he asks, flexing his biceps. Truth be told, I might – he looks delicious.
“I think I’ll survive,” I reply, smiling back.
“That’s only because I’m not really trying.”
This, I decide, as I laugh and remove a pair of neon sunshades from above a now-wonky carrot nose, was a good idea. A bit of physical activity, some company, the easy banter – it is all helping me to chase away the blues.
It takes about half an hour, and by the end of it, the two of us are standing together in the middle of the moonlit green, looking around at our handiwork. Apart from a few uneven bumps in the snow, you wouldn’t have any clue what was once there.
“It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?” I say, putting the box down. “Or am I being weird?”
“You probably are. But I know what you mean. RIP, Snow People. Back to the earth for now, but you will rise again.”
He says the last few words very seriously, and it makes me laugh. It sounds like a line from a movie that I’d watch while eating Maltesers. He gives me a wink to show he’s not serious, and lays down his weary shovel.
We stand together, beneath the stars that I cannot touch, beneath the bright silver glow of the moon, our breath clouding on the air as we breathe. I realise that I don’t want this to end. That I don’t want to go back inside, and wrestle with insomnia, and think about my mum. Think about the future. Think about anything. I wonder if he feels the same, or if he is simply waiting for the right moment to tell me he has to go, to escape.
“So,” he says quietly, “that was a lot more fun than I expected it to be. Time flies when you’re smashing snowmen. Happy New Year, Cally!”
He reaches out to give me a hug, wrapping his arms around me, holding me so close my face nestles up against his chest. He smells good, of fresh air and snow and something a little bit extra that is all Archie. I let myself stay there for a moment, feeling safe and warm and content and ever-so-slightly fizzy. I let my hands slide around his back, and neither of us moves.
The moment stretches, and I feel his hand on my hair, and I gaze up into his green eyes. Something changes the minute we make that connection. Something swift and silent and sensual takes over, and this feels less like a snuggle; it’s something more than that. Something bewildering, exciting, intoxicating.
He holds my face in both of his hands, and leans down to kiss me. It begins as a gentle touch, his lips pressing softly against mine, but it soon takes on a life of its own. I stand on tip-toes, my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, asking for more. I feel little flames of need pulsating through my body, and the more urgent the kiss becomes, the more I burn.
I have not kissed a man for a decade, and this, I think as I feel his body crushed against mine, was worth the wait. This is ten years’ worth of kisses, all at once. This is a thousand nights of lust rolled into one. This is fireworks and starlight and the melting of knees. This is, to be precise, the best kiss I have ever had.
When it finally runs its blazing course, we are left standing in each other’s arms, still close, still together. My face inches from his.
I hear him sigh, and he reaches out, tenderly tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. Slowly, slowly, we both regain our breath. Find our balance. Move apart. I immediately feel cold, bereft, fighting to resist the urge to tug him back towards me.
