Page 50 of Secrets of Starshine
“It’s okay,” she says seriously, squeezing my fingers. “If you’re scared, I’ll go with you…”
This, I decide, is possibly the sweetest thing that anyone has ever offered to do for me. I know from her face that she really doesn’t want me to take her up on the offer, that this is her special day, her first time doing it as a “big girl” – but she is willing to give that up for my sake. It is just about enough to push me in the right direction.
“Lilly, that’s very kind of you,” I say, giving her a quick hug. “And I am scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes. But you know what? I think I’m going to give it a go anyway!”
She claps her hands, and within seconds she’s forgotten all about me. She gets onto her sled with ease, and Archie does a last-minute check, makes sure she’s definitely okay – and off she whooshes, hair flying red against the snow behind her, everyone at the bottom shouting her on. I see her land, and run towards Connie, who picks her up and swings her around in congratulations.
Archie goes next, with Meg settled between his knees. He pauses at the top, looks back at me, and says: “I believe in you – see you on the other side!”
With that he’s off, crashing down the hillside at an insane speed, much faster than previous sleds – they’re just a big blur of colour as they hurtle away. Once he’s safely at the bottom, I realise that it’s now or never. I am now the very last person still standing up here, on my own, a lone scaredy-cat with a plastic sled.
“Come on, Mum!” yells Sam from the bottom. “Don’t be a wuss! You can do it!”
Other voices join in, the cacophony so loud now that I worry about them causing an avalanche, just as I’m mid-way down.
“Okay,” I say to myself, sitting on the sled while it’s still on a flat bit of land, just to be sure. “What’s life without a bit of danger, eh?”
I scoot myself along, and don’t even let myself pause at the top – if I pause, I will panic. I push myself off, and I scream, and I fly, and I see sprays of loose snow cloud up into the air around my face. I feel cold air streaming against my cheeks, and my hair billowing behind me. I feel that strange lurch in my tummy, like when you go over a dip in the road in your car, and a sense of wild speed as I slide. This, I think as I stare ahead, is actually fun – why have I spent so long being scared of it? I just about have time to realise I am enjoying it when it comes to an end.
As promised, the landscape plateaus at the bottom of the hill, and I don’t even need to use my brakes – I just glide towards the waiting crowd, gradually slowing, knowing that I have a big goofy smile on my face that I don’t seem able to shake.
Archie leans down, offers me his hands. I take them, and he hauls me easily up to my feet. I am feeling euphoric by this stage, and would love to hug him – but I settle for an enthusiastic high five. Sam rushes in to follow suit, as do a few others, and I literally cannot stop grinning and laughing. It’s like I’m on some kind of drug: a natural high. I suddenly understand why people do crazy things like sledding, and skiing, and mountain climbing. I don’t think I’ll be making a habit of it, but I have at least had a taste of that adrenaline rush.
We all make our way through the woods back towards the village, the trees alive with our chatter and laughter as we move. I have no clue where we are, but decide we’re on familiar turf after about fifteen minutes, when we start to share the path with little fairies and pixies and even the odd dinosaur. They’re perched on branches, lounging in snow-laden hammocks, and arranged in circles around the trunks of the trees.
The café, closed to customers today, is re-opened by Connie, and everyone streams inside for their treats. The atmosphere is buzzing; everyone seems to be on the same kind of natural high – maybe a combination of the fun afternoon, and the knowledge that tomorrow or the day after, everything goes back to normal and the holiday season is over for another year. I get the impression, though, that in Starshine Cove, there is always some excuse for a celebration. I’m guessing that Easter is a big deal, and the summer holidays, and, well, probably weekends as well. Maybe even Wednesdays.
The mood lifts even further when Miranda and baby Evan make a brief appearance on the patio. She’s reluctant to bring him in among a big crowd, but Ella has assured her that he is perfectly healthy, growing well, and that it’s fine for him to be out and about as long as he’s dressed for the weather.
I take my turn going out to meet the new princeling, who is wrapped up snug in a little snow jacket, hat and blankets. He looks like a baby – which is to say both weird and adorable at the same time. Miranda herself looks predictably exhausted, and accepts a hot chocolate gratefully before strolling back around the green. What an adventure she’s embarked on – even scarier and more thrilling than a sled ride, and certainly a lot longer-lasting.
I feel slightly emotional after meeting the newborn, and watching Miranda amble away with him. I know she has friends here who are like family, but it is, I can attest, not an easy route, bringing up a child on your own.
I take my own mug with me, and walk around to the back of the café to snatch a few moments of solitude. I have landed here at the strangest of times, and none of this has gone like I’d expected it to. My mum has disappeared from my world, my job is on hold, and I’ve discovered that my parents weren’t the happy couple I’d always pictured.
All of that is in the “bad” column – but I’ve also made friends, felt part of a community, seen Sam blossoming in ways I couldn’t have imagined, and, of course, met Archie. Even if nothing ever happens between us again, which would probably be the sensible option, then maybe it can be put in the “good” column – maybe it will shift something in me, make me more open to change. To possibility. Maybe I’ll even try online dating again, who knows?
I stroll down to the bottom of the terraced steps, and settle down to watch the sunset. The snow has stopped, only coming in light flurries and never quite taking hold, but the sky is clear and blue and huge. The sun is pale yellow, and looks as though it is sinking slowly into the waves. As the light fades, I know how beautiful it will look out here – as though a million stars have been cast down, their reflections shining from the darkness of the sea. I love my home city, but this little slice of heaven is like nothing I have ever seen before.
As I sip my hot chocolate, I hear footsteps behind me, and a familiar voice says: “Have you stolen one of my thinking spots?”
I smile, knowing who it is without turning around, and reply: “Finders keepers.”
He sits beside me, close enough that our thighs are touching, and we fall into a comfortable silence. I am literally made of questions, but for now, I am content to simply sit here, watching the sun slide into the water. He seems to feel the same, and it is a good few minutes before either of us speaks.
“So,” he says, leaning in to nudge me with his shoulders. “I suppose we should maybe talk about what happened last night?”
I chew my lip, and think about what I actually want to say – what I actually feel – and find that I cannot. I’m too confused.
“Archie, to be honest, my head feels like a jumble sale. I’m pretty much incapable of forming complete sentences. Last night was…well, maybe a mistake? Or maybe not? Maybe it was a good thing, or maybe it was a disaster…maybe it was both? Maybe I’m glad I’m staying a bit longer, or maybe I should go home?”
I feel him chuckle beside me, and can’t help smiling as he answers: “Right. Well, that clears things up. Look, I know what you mean. I’ve not…since Sandy…well, there’s been nobody else. So in some ways, it freaked me out if I’m honest. But I also went to bed with a big smile on my face, so I don’t really know what to make of it all. My life is busy and messy and complicated, and yours probably is too, and you’re only here for a few more weeks anyway. It’s not simple, is it?”
“No. It’s not. But perhaps we don’t want it to be. Maybe we’re both cowards, and it’d be far easier to just pretend it never happened – which I’m totally down with, by the way. Sam gave me a lecture the other night. He told me our generation – he really enjoyed that part – make too much of everything. That we don’t seem able to just go with things, and see what happens. He even mentioned the words ‘holiday romance’.”
It is Archie’s turn to be quiet, and I realise that I am nervous about what he might say. Whichever way this goes, I will deal with it – but I suddenly find myself hoping that he doesn’t want to ignore it. Doesn’t want to extinguish this tiny fire before it’s even had the chance to properly burn bright.
“I think Sam may have a point,” he says after an agonising pause. “We’re maybe over-reacting. I think it’s because we’ve both been on our own for so long. You get used to it, don’t you? It becomes part of who you are. The thought of change can be scary, so I suspect we’re both desperate to make some kind of decision when perhaps we don’t have to. Perhaps we can – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – follow Sam’s advice. Maybe we should just go with it, and see where things lead? I know it was just a kiss – but it was a particularly good kiss. Right up there in the premier league of kisses. And I like you, Cally. I feel good when I’m with you, I enjoy your company, and I don’t want to lose that…I think it’s made me realise that I’ve been lonely for a long time now. So even if it’s just for a few weeks, it might be nice to…I don’t know, give ourselves permission to live a bit? To be happy?”
