Page 44 of Secrets of Starshine
I did all of those things – I wasn’t a recluse – but at the back of my mind was always the knowledge that I couldn’t be out too late, go too crazy – that I had responsibilities.
As an adult, I married a man who lived two streets away from home, after meeting him in the local pub. We bought a house together, and Mum moved into a flat around the corner. Everything was built around her, and that was fine. That was all I’d ever known. I’m sure it didn’t help my marriage, and I know for a fact that Steve always felt like he was, at best, third on my list of priorities – and he was probably right. We didn’t get to go away on package holidays or have romantic mini-breaks, or do the things that couples try to do when things start to slide.
My world always felt small but demanding, filled from morning until night, with very little room for spontaneity. It’s probably why I enjoy my job so much, and value my relationships with clients – sad as it sounds, they are my social life. My contact with the outside universe. Spending hours chatting to my ladies, even about the flimsy stuff, has always been a genuine pleasure for me. Those friendships might look shallow, but to me they have been a lifeline. A bridge into the normal world. That, along with the odd work night out, has been enough.
Since I’ve been here, though, things have been different. I have had the time, and the headspace, to talk to people for more than a half hour session. I’ve had the freedom to delve into their lives, to offer them glimpses into mine. To open up. It’s been a bit of a revelation, and Archie has been a big part of that.
I feel safe and relaxed when I am around him. I feel comfortable, and mellow, and sometimes even inspired – he has helped me see a few issues very differently. But I also feel other things. Possibly more concerning things – things that I haven’t felt for a very long time. Things that I’m not sure how to handle. Sam, of course, has noticed this – maybe even before I did.
I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to disturb the easy companionship I feel when I’m around him. I don’t want to feel any of this at all – but I can’t help remembering that moment, last night, in that tiny bathroom. The way the firm muscle of his shoulders felt beneath my hands, the slow smile he gave me as he met my eyes in the mirror. The little skip my heart made when he suggested I stay in Starshine for longer.
I am, undoubtedly, over-reacting, and reading too much into it all. Maybe that’s the unwanted side effect of having all this extra time. I probably need to start doing an enormous and very complicated jigsaw to keep my brain busy.
“So,” says Sam, once he has replaced his hat, oblivious to my turmoil, “how would that work, if we stayed until the salon reopens? Would we carry on at George’s?”
I wrinkle my nose, and think about it. George is a wonderful host, and has never once made us feel out of place or even like we are guests. He has accepted us into his life and his home with gentlemanly good grace – but I’m not entirely convinced that I would want to stretch the arrangement out much longer. It would be nice to have our own space, somewhere I could walk around in my knickers and bra at the end of the day. Somewhere I wouldn’t worry if Sam came home drunk at two am and slammed the doors. Somewhere I could watchBridget Jones’s Diaryand sing along toAll By Myselfwithout fear of discovery.
“I don’t know,” I reply simply.
He looks crestfallen, and says: “That’s disappointing. You were thinking so hard as well.”
“I know, right? Doesn’t seem fair. But I really don’t know. It seems a bit bonkers, to just decide to stay here even longer. But...maybe it also seems a bit bonkers not to. Look, let’s just ponder it for a bit. I’m not sure. My head’s a bit busy at the moment.”
He gives me a look, and I wait for the sarcastic comment that I’m sure is coming, but instead he just takes off his Santa hat, and pulls it down over my hair.
“Happy Christmas, Mum,” he says, giving me a quick hug then running away in the direction of the steps.
I smile and follow him back inside. I love that boy of mine so much that sometimes I think I might burst with it. I can’t ever imagine a time I could simply stop wanting to talk to him, like my mum seems to have done with me.
As I walk back through the doors, I see that some of the tables and chairs at the end of the room have been moved to the side of the walls, creating an impromptu dance floor. A big circle has formed, and people are doing a weird half hokey-cokey thing toI Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day. Lilly, Meg and the other assorted children of the village are in the middle, doing their own version.
I pause, and watch, and laugh, staying at the sides so I don’t get swept up into it. It’s only a matter of time before Connie leads a conga line through the village while everyone singsJingle Bell Rock.
As I take off my coat, deciding to keep the Santa hat on for kicks and giggles, Archie walks towards me. He’s looking smart today, in black jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt that he fills out a bit too nicely.
“Hey,” he says, once he’s at my side. “Back from a head-clearer?”
“Miniature version. Less of a clearer and more of a shoving some crap in a cupboard and hoping nobody looks too closely. I saw you getting lots of attention.”
He grimaces, and runs a hand over the back of his head, as though checking it’s still the same.
“Yeah. Weird. It’s like I’ve suddenly taken off my cloak of invisibility. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. But anyway – happy Christmas, Cally…”
He passes me a small parcel, incredibly badly wrapped in the same unicorn paper I used last night. I feel a rush of embarrassment at not having anything to exchange in return, and am about to apologise when he pre-empts me.
“Nope. Don’t even think about feeling bad,” he says firmly. “It’s nothing, really. Sorry about the wrapping. Lottie did it.”
“While she was drunk?”
“Yep. The old lush.”
He watches as I tear the paper carefully off – I painted my nails a nice shade of crimson this morning to cheer myself up, and don’t want to chip it this soon.
As I pull away the sheets and the lumps of sticky tape, I am momentarily confused as to what I am seeing. Once it is fully out, though, I understand – it is a version of one of the fairies he makes for the girls, but with the bigger, more solid wings of an angel. There’s a little halo made of thin wire, and the entire creation has been spray painted in different shades of iridescent blue. It is absolutely exquisite.
I cast my eyes up at him, see him watching out for my reaction, and can’t keep a huge smile off my face.
“It’s a Blue Angel,” he says, looking awkward. “Like the night club we might both have been at all those years ago. Bit silly really.”
