Page 49 of Secrets of Starshine
The boy himself was home, which I figured out when I saw his jacket dumped in the middle of the floor of the living room, covered in the multi-coloured string of a party popper. I’d actually slept all the way through him coming back, which is a first – I suppose I just felt he was safe here, that I didn’t need to be alert for a call from the police or an emergency cash request for a taxi.
He’d finally emerged, bleary-eyed, sniffing the air in search of bacon, half an hour after me. I could tell from the weary look and the imprint of multiple celebratory lipstick kisses on his cheek that he’d had a good time, and fallen into bed as soon as he got home.
“We have to go sledding down a hill today, Mum,” he’d said, lounging on the sofa with his breakfast, his feet dangling off the end. “It’s a thing, apparently.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll do it.”
He’d stared at me suspiciously, and replied: “You do know what sledding is, don’t you? You sit on a flimsy thing and go hurtling down a slope?”
“Yes, darling, I am aware of what it is. But thank you for the explanation.”
“It’s just…it’s not normally your kind of thing, is it? The last time I saw you do anything remotely athletic was in year six, when you did the mums and dads egg and spoon race on Sports Day, and fell over…”
I snort at the memory – I only made it about four steps before I tripped over my own feet – and say: “That was a one-off. I’m sure I’ll be great at sledding.”
Now, though, I have to say that I am not so sure at all. It does look an awfully long way down.
As I am still pondering my impending death, a family group walks past me and sets themselves up at the crest of the hill. There is a mum, who has a toddler tucked between her knees on a big red sled, a dad, and a child of maybe five perched on his own. His face is a picture of joy and excitement, his cheeks rosy and his eyes glittering.
The dad does a little countdown, and with a huge whoop they push themselves off, to the backdrop of cheers from the small crowd. I watch intently as they hurtle through the snow, holding my breath as they slide further from sight. After a tense few moments, they finally land. Dad first, then the boy, then the mum. They all clamber off their sleds, turn back to face us, and wave their arms around in delight.
Right. Well. Nobody has died, fallen off, been swooped up by a passing pterodactyl, or even lost a hat. No excuses.
One by one, other groups take to the slopes, a mish-mash of colour and energy, all of them seemingly happy to be embarking on a high-speed horror drop. Ella and Jake step up for their turn, and I smile as I see that Ella has Larry perched on her lap. His ears are pricked and his tail is wagging, and as soon as they slide down and get to the bottom, he jumps off and runs around in excited circles, yapping and trying to run back up the hill.
Sam sets up on the brink, with Dan next to him, and I fight the temptation to run over and tell him to stop. That would be an unforgivable mummy faux-pas. They yell and scream as they plummet downwards, and I feel a little wash of relief when I see him stand up again at the bottom.
Connie and her son James set off, making an insane amount of noise, and then a few others follow down. Ged has arrived with the last of the stragglers he’s rounded up from the village, and I lurk off at the side, wondering if I could just sneak back into the jeep when nobody is looking.
Lilly and Meg fly out of the Land Rover, hair tied up in high ponies, both clearly fizzing with excitement. Last out is Archie, lugging two big plastic sleds alongside him. He’s wearing a different beanie hat, and big green wellies that look so right on him, I can imagine he was born in them.
Suddenly, the thought of the death plunge doesn’t seem quite as frightening – compared to this. Compared to these few seconds, where we stand and look at each other, frozen in time. All of those “what ifs” from earlier come back to haunt me, and I steel myself for all eventualities.
He holds my gaze, and suddenly grins. It is a big, happy, silly grin, and it is the best thing that’s happened all day. I feel a rush of warmth that competes with the frigid air, and tell myself that this doesn’t need to be awkward. That he didn’t necessarily wake up this morning with a severe self-worth problem and a plan to leave Starshine Cove until I’d moved on. A man who was planning to ghost me wouldn’t grin like that, would he? Or maybe he would, maybe it’s all a bluff…
I realise that he is entirely possibly feeling the same flurry of doubts, so I smile back, walk over to him, and say casually: “Morning. How are you today?”
It is an innocent question, one that allows him plenty of wriggle room – one that even I can’t be embarrassed by.
“I’m on top of the world,” he replies, still beaming. “Quite literally. Are you ready to sled down it?”
“Not in the slightest,” I answer. “In fact, on a scale of one to ten, I’m terrified. I assume you’re an old hand at this?”
“Yeah, but today is Lilly’s first solo sled, so that’s pretty special. Meg wants to do her own as well, but I’m not quite ready for that.”
“God, no, she’s tiny! Is it really all right? Not dangerous?”
He laughs, and shakes his head at my frowning face.
“It’s fine. And what’s life without a little bit of danger, eh?”
“Safe?”
“Boring! Come on, you can do it. Or die of shame, the choice is yours.”
I follow him back over to the crest of the hill, looking down at the tracks in the snow, the churned-up ridges from previous sledgers, and the now considerable gang of people waiting at the bottom. I’ve been assured that once everyone is down, it’s walking distance through the woods back to the village, the café, and the holy grail of hot chocolate.
Lilly and Meg dance around me in their padded jackets and pink wellingtons, and when she sees me gazing in fear down the slope, Lilly takes hold of my hand.
