Page 28 of Secrets of Starshine
I think about it, still trying to get used to this new-found freedom, and reply: “Nope. Not a thing. Sam’s well past the age of…umm, you know…”
I trail off, conscious of the fact that there are two small people at the end of the room and not wanting to accidentally burst their Christmas bubble.
“Right. That’s sorted. I’ll make some calls on the landline after dinner. You’ll be bringing a bit of glamour to Starshine Cove, Cally!”
I nod, and feel a small, warm feeling creep over me. I am always happiest when I’m being useful.
“So,” she says, once she’s dished up the pudding, “tell us about the last time you were here, when you were little?”
“I’ll do my best, but it’s a bit hazy,” I reply, “I think I was about seven. My dad died not long after, and I suppose I decided to come back to try and…uggh, I want to say ‘reconnect with him’, but maybe that sounds like something fromLove Island? I don’t actually remember much about it – I wasn’t even sure where it was when I set off from Liverpool. My mum just told me to look for asignsign. And to be fair, there was that giant inflatable snowman, so maybe she was right…”
George asks me a few questions about what year it was, and what I can recall about where we stayed, and says he can probably try and figure out a few things for me – that a lot of the people who live here now would have been here back then, and might have a few memories to share. This is something I’d never even considered, and I thank him for it, telling him every scrap I can drag up.
“There is one weird thing, though,” I say, sipping my wine, “it’s a kind of memory…but it makes no sense.”
“Hit us with it,” replies Connie, “things that make no sense are our specialist subject.”
“Okay. Well, it’s more of an impression than an actual memory – but it’s like there were stars spinning around in the sky, but they were so close that I could reach out and touch them.”
There is a momentary silence, all of them looking nonplussed, then Lilly, who has clearly been ear-wigging, announces: “She means the caves, doesn’t she?”
The three of them exchange looks, while I just feel confused.
“But the caves don’t spin, Lilly,” replies Archie patiently.
“I know the caves don’t spin, Dad – but if she was little when she came, maybe she did?”
More silence, then knowing nods.
“She does mean the caves,” Connie says. “Lilly’s right – it makes perfect sense from a child’s point of view. Archie, I’ll be here a while clearing up, and can get the girls ready for bed. Why don’t you take Cally for a walk down to the bay, show her the stars that you can touch?”
THIRTEEN
I call at George’s to swap my shoes for some boots, and then walk with Archie around the green and to the side of the inn. The windows are all steamed up and as someone comes out, I hear a blast of music and conversation. No such thing as a quiet night there, it seems.
Archie warns me to be careful on the steps that lead down to the beach, and holds out a big hand to guide me onto the sand. His grip is firm, and as I lean against him, my mind flashes back to him throwing Connie around on the dance floor, lifting her in the air so easily. Gardening must be good for the muscles.
I pause at the bottom of the wooden stairs, and look out at the world that is spread before me. There are still scatterings of snow on the beach, heaped on driftwood and shining white in the rippled furrows of the sand. The moon is hanging fat and yellow, casting its reflection on the waves, and the only sounds around us are of the water hissing onto the shore, and a solitary owl letting out an eerie cry in the distance. It is breath-taking.
“Do you ever get used to this?” I ask, Archie at my side. “To living somewhere like this?”
“Get used to it, yes. Take it for granted? Never. There’s always something new, every season – you’re seeing the winter version, but in spring, the woodlands are full of life. In summer, the whole place is awash with colour – the climate down here means that you’ll see all kinds of plants and flowers that you don’t find in many other places. Even in autumn, when the leaves start to fall, it’s beautiful. I think that’s one of the things I like the best about it – watching it change and grow, seeing my gardens bloom in different ways every month, seeing the wildflowers. Foxgloves in summer, snowdrops in the winter, the celandine that springs up and covers the ground in the woods like a yellow carpet…”
He looks at me and pulls a little face, as though he is embarrassed at his own enthusiasm.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m a plant nerd.”
“That’s okay. I’m a sci-fi nerd. And it sounds amazing – I can see this is the perfect spot for a gardener.”
He nods, and we walk along the shoreline until we reach the entrance to what appears to be a cave. It looks dark inside, and I follow in Archie’s footsteps as we clamber over a few boulders and make our way into the mouth. There is enough moonlight that I can make out rough walls, and see a sandy floor smattered with pebbles as Archie uses the torch on his phone to light our path through.
It is larger than you would imagine in here, big enough for a few people to comfortably stand. I reach out and touch the wall, finding it damp and cool, letting out a little shiver. Maybe in summer, this is a haven from the heat outside – but in the dead of winter it isn’t so welcome, and I’m as yet uncertain as to why Archie has brought me here.
“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” he says, grinning at me. “Just your average old cave.”
“Well, I’m not an expert on caves, but I’m not seeing anything unusual so far.”
He nods, and then lifts his phone so that it lights up the roof of the cavern. I gasp out loud as the whole place is transformed – as the beam moves, each section becomes a brilliant scattering of shimmering, shining gems. Deep blues, reds, streaks of orange: a multi-coloured patchwork of dazzling jewels embedded in the rock.
