Page 24 of Secrets of Starshine
“Yeah. Smells are like that. They just seem to stay with you, don’t they? I…I lost my wife a few years ago, and she always used to wear the same perfume, and every time I come across it, it just seems to take me back to when I first met her. There’s still a bit of it left in a bottle at home, and in the early days, when I just couldn’t accept that she wasn’t going to magically walk through the door and put the kettle on, I used to spray a bit on my pillowcase at night…I know that sounds morbid, but it was actually really helpful. It comforted me, you know?”
I nod, and completely understand. It’s like me and the smell of paint.
“Sam did mention it,” I say, not wanting to pretend that this is news to me. “I’m so sorry. It must be so hard on Meg’s birthday.”
He looks momentarily taken aback, and I am worried that I have over-stepped – that he feels ambushed by me knowing more about his life than he has told me himself.
He seems to consider what I said, and replies: “Ah. Right. I’m kind of glad you know, to be honest; it’s a bit of a conversation killer. Not that I’m up there with the world’s wittiest raconteurs or anything, but even I know it’s not a tale to throw into a casual chat. I’m guessing the teenagers blabbed? No, that’s not the right word…blabbed sounds bad. I mean, they just seem to find it easier to talk about than us oldies. Maybe it’s a generational thing.”
“Maybe it is. Less buttoned up perhaps, which is good. You’re all…doing well? At least you look like you are?”
He thinks about it, and nods.
“Good days and bad days. Connie lost her husband, Simon; her kids lost their dad; George lost two of his children…me and the girls lost everything. Or at least that’s how it sometimes feels. But we decided, all of us together, that we wouldn’t mourn them on Meg’s birthday. It just didn’t seem fair – she never even met Sandy, and she’ll feel that loss for the rest of her life. The last thing she needs is a miserable birthday as well. So, we do it the day before – me, Connie and George. We get together, and we cry, and we laugh, and we remember. We give ourselves that day – and afterwards, it’s all about Meg. In fact, she has the best birthday parties ever, because the whole village gets together to celebrate with her. We’ll probably all tag along when she’s on her eighteenth, and going out with her mates…”
“Dressed as pirates and princesses?”
“Possibly…anyway. Thanks for listening. That’s the one thing that we all find tough – sometimes, you feel the need to talk to someone, but you see the others are having one of those good days, and you don’t want to trample all over it with your misery. If that makes sense.”
“It really does. It must be hard to balance. Don’t you have…umm…friends to confide in? I’m sorry, that sounded weird…I’m sure you have friends!”
He waves off my awkwardness, and answers: “Not close ones. Not any more. I used to have work colleagues, and pals from home and from uni, but when I moved here I just didn’t see them too much any more. And then after we lost Sandy, Meg was here – and I was raising a newborn baby and a toddler on my own. That didn’t leave a lot of time for cultivating relationships. It’s all been a bit of a blur to be honest. Meg starts school in September, though, so maybe I’ll…I don’t know, join the PTA or something!”
I try to imagine this man sitting in on a school governors’ meeting, and find that I simply cannot. I don’t say that, obviously – I just nod encouragingly.
“What about you?” he says, shrugging, clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable after talking about himself so much. “Any big revelations?”
“Oh no. I’m pretty dull. Single mum since Sam was eight. And carer for my own mum, who has recently run away to Scotland…”
“Run away?”
“Well, no, but that’s what it feels like. She’s fallen in love, it seems, at seventy-two. And on the one hand, I find that very romantic and also hopeful – but on the other I’m a bit worried about her. She’s been single even longer than me – my dad died not long after we came on holiday here. It’s one of the reasons I was so keen to come back, to somewhere I remember being with him. Us all being happy.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, and I can tell he probably gives the world’s best hugs.
“I’m sorry. You must have been very young.”
“Yes. I was the same age as Lilly is now. But you know how you were saying parts of your life were all a blur? Well, that’s what mine has felt like when it comes to my dad. It’s only now I’ve got time to breathe that I’m really thinking about him again. I know this is a truly weird thing to say, but I think I’m only just realising how much I miss him – and how little I knew him.”
Archie is about to reply when an ear-tearing screech of feedback echoes around the green. Everyone groans and holds their hands to their ears, and I notice Connie standing on top of one of the patio tables with a microphone in her hand.
“Ooops! Sorry, folks…anyway, at least I got your attention. Right, well, now you’re all listening – most of you know the rules. And those who are new to us today – welcome and happy Christmas! And there aren’t actually any rules, other than you have one hour to complete your task. At the end of that hour, there will be judging – led this year by our very own Betties, in partnership with Trevor the Druid from Trevor’s Emporium. And at the end, there will be cookies and hot chocolate! Now, all that remains for me to say is…do you want to build a snowman?”
TWELVE
The snowman building was an intense affair – quite the high-adrenaline rush when you’re up against the clock. It should probably be introduced as a new sport at the Winter Olympics.
There were a variety of types, from the very traditional carrot-nosed through to some truly spectacular flights of fancy. Sam and his pals scooped “Most Stylish” for their Snowman at the Races, which was thoroughly deserved – not only did he have a top hat, he also had a cane and a monocle. No idea where they came from, but it looked great. My personal favourite was Snow-woman at the Beach, wearing sunglasses and a pink bikini top matched with a sarong.
Ours was declared Prettiest Snowman, which is unsurprising as she was decorated like an advert for Cath Kidston, draped in pretty fabrics and wearing a very sweet bobble hat covered in hand-made paper roses.
Pretty much everyone won a prize of some kind, and was allowed to choose a treat from a table of tat provided by Trevor the Druid. Trevor, it turned out, was the man who looked like a pirate wizard at Meg’s party, and he doesn’t look much different when he’s not dressed up, with a long white beard and a wooden staff. He also runs the local shop, and is apparently the village historian – I have been warned that he will talk to me about ley lines and stone circles for hours on end if I show any interest whatsoever. I am actually quite interested, but maybe not that much.
Meg and Lilly insisted that I choose our team’s prize, and I was childishly excited to see a battered old VHS copy ofHighlander, a deeply silly but very endearing fantasy movie from the eighties. I don’t have a VHS player at home, but I enjoy the old-fashioned feel of its chunky plastic case in my hands. So weird to imagine that there was a whole industry based on renting these out not so long ago. The local Blockbuster was my happy place when I was a kid – no matter how tough things got at home, I could always escape into the movies. I feel much the same now.
At the end of the contest, we all helped ourselves to those magical cookies, and Connie’s café served up mugs of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows and cream. As the daylight faded and the fairy lights switched on, surrounded by happy children and chattering adults, I felt more content than I had for years. Being back here as an adult is allowing me to see Starshine Cove from an entirely different perspective, and it’s one that I very much like.
Now, a few hours later, I have enjoyed a nice long soak in George’s almost-antique claw-foot bath, and am getting ready to go and have dinner with him and Connie at Archie’s house.
