Page 55 of Secrets of Starshine
I walk with her back into the foyer of the hotel, and she suggests I stay for a drink while we catch up. She seems more like her old self now – well, no, not heroldold self, but the old self she became after she met Kenneth. I am not sure if I am quite ready to throw myself into pretending like nothing has happened just yet, and am about to tell her no when she points out that they do a very nice-looking cream tea in the restaurant.
Well, what can I say? There are few ailments in the world that a nice scone slathered in cream and jam can’t fix.
“All right,” I agree, “but you’re paying.”
Once we’re settled at a table and a waitress has taken our orders, she lays her hands on her lap, leans across, and says: “Photos, please!”
I make a tutting noise, but get my phone out of my bag. I pull my chair over so we are sitting next to each other, and I start to scroll through my pics, giving her a little commentary on each of them. I show her the snowmen, and the Christmas dinner, and a couple I’d taken in the woods after the sledding. I show her Miranda and baby Evan, and she smiles at that one almost as much as she does at a shot of Larry curled up on Ella’s knee.
I explain who all the people are, and she takes special interest in one of George looking particularly dapper on New Year’s Eve, when he popped in to say hello on his way to the pub. I wonder if it’s possible that my mumfanciesGeorge, which is a brain-shattering concept, until she says sadly: “I remember him. He was a teacher. Nice family.”
I’m not exactly sure how old George’s children were, but realise that it’s entirely possible they were around at the same time as I was in Starshine – and now two of them, Sandy and Simon, are gone, and the third, Suzie, is apparently living somewhere abroad and hasn’t been seen for years. Poor George – even though he has his grandkids, that must be very tough for him. I don’t tell Mum any of this, though, because I am keen to move on from things that might push either of us over the edge, disrupt this fragile truce that we are navigating.
“This is Archie,” I say instead, showing her a selfie we took on the day of the snowman contest. He’s holding the phone, and me, Lilly and Meg are crammed into the frame, next to our most pretty creation.
She stares at it intently, then smiles, saying: “Oooh, goodness, love, he’s a giant! And all that hair! Who are the little girls?”
“They’re his,” I reply, flicking the pictures forward to find one of the two of them sitting with Lottie in George’s kitchen. “He’s a single dad.”
Again, I don’t go into detail, and she doesn’t push. I find one of me and Archie on one of our days out, standing by the brightly coloured beach huts at Lyme Regis.
“He’s had a makeover!” she exclaims. “Was that your handiwork?”
I tell her it was, and go on to share a few shots of Sam in various outfits that belong to George. She tells me she’s already seen versions of these on his TikTok – I had temporarily forgotten my son’s internet fame.
Once that’s done, and the tiered tray of cakes and sandwiches has been delivered, she asks: “So, you said it was casual, this thing with Archie?”
“I think so,” I reply, licking cream off my fingers. “We haven’t given it a name. It’s…complicated.”
“But are you happy?”
“Yes. I think I am. I don’t know what the future holds, or even where I’ll be in a month’s time – Sam thinks I should get a job on a cruise liner and travel the world – but for now, yeah. I’m having a really nice time.”
She nods, and toys with her tiny sandwiches. She’s not really eating anything, and I can tell she is still shaken and upset, no matter how hard she’s trying to hide it.
“Good. That’s good. And as for the future, well, the world’s your lobster, love, isn’t it? You don’t have to worry about me any more, and Sam will be off at college next year. I suppose, Cally, for the first time in your life, you’re finally free – you can do whatever you like. Now you just need to decide what that might be.”
TWENTY-TWO
Mum and Kenneth end up staying for an extra night, and Sam and I join them for a meal out in Dorchester. It is an almost-repeat of our similar trip to the restaurant in Liverpool, when we first met Kenneth – except now that feels like a lifetime ago. I am different, Sam is different, she is different. I am still dizzy with the pace of all that change, but remind myself that right now, at this particular moment in time, we are all happier than we were. She has her new life in Scotland and is clearly thriving there; Sam is an entirely more optimistic human than he was, and me? Well, I’m bumbling along quite nicely, thank you.
When she first said she was leaving Liverpool, it felt like my world would never be steady again. Now, it might still be shaky – but at least I’m enjoying the ride.
They leave with us all making promises to see each other again soon, and with my mum wrapping me up in a huge hug and whispering in my ear: “I’m still sorry, Cally. Call me any time – I promise I’ll pick up.”
I feel a strange mix of emotions once they’ve left – sad to see her go and relieved to see her go all at the same time. I know I still have a lot of emotional catching up to do about her version of events, and that it will take its toll, but I am also feeling so much better now that we are back in touch. I’d felt her loss so much more harshly than I’d realised – when your own mum ghosts you, it hurts. I might still have questions, and I might still feel some resentment, but at least we are in contact again, which means there is a chance to resolve it all.
After that, life settles down again, and I throw myself back into my social whirl of the occasional home visit for a hair-do, popping in to help Miranda with the baby, and getting impromptu baking lessons from the Betties. Baking has never been my strong suit, and I enjoy the company of the two older women, who are quite sweary and irreverent and a lot of fun to be around.
I carry on helping Archie with odd jobs, more to enjoy spending time with him than anything else, and am growing a vast appreciation for his job – the amount of forward planning it takes is astounding. He’s always thinking months or even a year ahead.
In terms of our romance – holiday or otherwise – we are both still avoiding any definitions, any commitments. We are looking a lot less far ahead about that than he is his cabbages and leeks, for sure. It is possibly something that we will need to address, but for now, it is suiting us. Whenever I think about leaving, about going back to my real life, I feel sad – so I decide that the very best thing to do is not think about it at all.
I’ve spoken to Jo back home, and the salon refit is progressing. She again offered me a job as a manager, and this time I am giving it some serious consideration. I’ve also, much to Sam’s surprise, and in fact my own, actually sent in a CV to a recruitment agency that specialises in cruise travel. It still seems a bit daft – hard to imagine – but who knows? Maybe I’m about to enter a whole new phase of my life, one I’d never dreamt possible. It doesn’t hurt to look at all my options, I suppose.
As the days go on, I do find myself thinking about my dad a lot. It’s hard not to, after everything my mum told me. I’ve always yearned for the comfort and security I associate him with, always wondered what my life would have looked like with him in it; maybe I would have felt a lot more cherished, a lot more protected. Now, though, I yearn for the ability to comfort him instead – he must have felt so damaged, so lonely, so confused by it all, in the same way that I was when Steve had his affair. It destroyed my confidence, reduced me to emotional rubble, the rejection of it all shattering any self-belief I had.
It took me a long time to get over that, but at least I had Sam and my mum to keep me busy. Steve might have cast me aside, but they still needed me. My dad, though, didn’t even have that consolation – he was facing up to a future where his wife hadn’t just cheated on him, but was threatening to leave, taking his only child with him.
