Page 8 of Secrets of Starshine
I finish my trip down almost-memory lane, and pack the photos away. Like I said, tiny treasures – pictures from another land. Back in this one, though, I am feeling that tug of melancholy again, and know that looking at these images has been bittersweet.
I tell myself off, and decide to finish the Baileys while I watch a film. Sam is unlikely to be home until much later, and I might as well stay up. I know from experience that I won’t truly be able to settle until he is in. No matter how old they are, you always worry – and on nights he heads into the city, even more so. Until I hear the front door close, and him swear as he falls up the stairs, I will be on low-level alert.
I settle down in the back room, which we don’t usually use but now contains the TV, and bring my Baileys and Ferrero Rocher with me. I have run out of ice, and have resorted to putting frozen blueberries in my booze instead. This probably qualifies as one of my five-a-day so I don’t feel bad about it at all. Add in the nuts from the Ferrero, and I’m on a super-food diet if you squint at it from the corner of your eye.
I watch a movie and get quietly drunk, trying not to feel upset about the genuinely sad past, about the lack-lustre present, or about the murky future. Those Christmas ghosts can bugger right off, I decide.
At some point, I must have drifted off into a snooze. That’s the only explanation for the fact that I startle back awake when Sam prods my shoulder and then takes a photo of me wiping drool from my chin. Charming. If that’s getting posted, then I’ll be blocking myself from his Insta.
“Oh! Hi! What time is it?” I ask, scrunching up chocolate wrappers and checking I haven’t spilled booze on my lap so it looks like I’ve wet myself.
“About two am,” he replies, perching on the corner of the couch and grinning at me. “Were you asleep?”
“No, of course not, I was just…resting my eyes. Did you have a good night, love?”
As I ask, I am doing a quick visual assessment of my overgrown baby. No bruises, no stains, no tears or rips, both shoes on feet, no apparent sign of emotional distress. In fact he looks in better nick than me.
“Yeah. It was good. Weird seeing everyone though, you know, when they’re all off at uni and I’m stuck here. And since I lost my job, I didn’t even have that to talk about. I’m just a great big void.”
Sam didn’t exactly lose his job – it’s not like it slipped down the side of the sofa or got put “somewhere safe”. He was let go by the owner of the bar he worked at for being repeatedly late, missing shifts, and generally being a pain in the arse to deal with.
He isn’t usually unreliable, and he has been raised with a work ethic – but it all happened during the first two weeks after Ollie dumped him, and he was literally in pieces. Not eating, not sleeping, not talking. He even wore his house-slob joggers when he went to the shops, which worried me the most. It was horrible to watch, and undoubtedly horrible to go through, and I’m hoping we’re coming out the other side.
“You’re not a void, Sam,” I say, pulling him down next to me for a cuddle. “You’re awesome.”
“Well, yeah, I suppose I am – but I still felt a bit out of it. They were all chatting about their courses and their student flats and the million ways they can use Pot Noodles these days…and Ollie was there, and he was looking fabulous, and that wasn’t the best feeling in the world. I came home a bit early because I didn’t want to reach that stage where I got so drunk and weepy that I thought begging him to get back with me was a good idea.”
“No, love,” I reply, shaking my head. “Never a good idea, that. And things will get better, I promise. I know things haven’t worked out how you planned, but life does that to you sometimes. And Plan B might work out even better than Plan A.”
Sam got decent grades in his A-levels, and was planning to go to university next year, after working for a few months to save up the cash to go travelling. Probably with Ollie. Now he must feel like everything has slid away from him.
“I think I’m on to about Plan W now, Mum. Anyway, what did you do? Drink a whole bottle of Baileys while you watched a film and wondered what you’re going to do now Gran’s not around? Your hair looks nice, by the way.”
I have nice hair – it is thick and long and a rich deep brown shade that doesn’t need any help. It’s probably my best feature, as the rest of me is really normal and dull. I’m average height, slightly overweight but not yet panicking about it while I fit into a size 14, and have brown eyes to match the hair. I spend a lot of time looking in mirrors because of my job, and never see much to write home about – I’m just ordinary, I suppose.
I haven’t made any effort tonight, though, and am confused by his compliment, until I put a hand to my head and realise that at some point during the evening, I’ve tied strands of tinsel around my ponytail.
“Ah. Yes. Christmas spirit,” I reply.
“More like whisky-based spirit I’d say. What did you watch?Empire Strikes Back?”
That is my favourite film of all time, so it’s a pretty safe bet – but tonight I didn’t feel like I could cope with the emotional load of seeing Han Solo’s face after he’s been frozen in carbonite. It would have been too much for my fragile state of mind.
“Nope –Gremlins. It’s kind of Christmassy.”
“Is that the one with the little creatures, and the rule is they can’t drink Baileys after midnight or they turn evil?”
“Ha ha, very funny. Do you want a crisp?”
I hold out the bowl, and he shrugs and helps himself. We are, I decide, quite the pitiful pair, sitting on the sofa feeling sorry for ourselves. This is not shaping up to be anywhere in the neighbourhood of magical for either of us, and that makes me sad. This might be the last Christmas he is at home, and it is our first Christmas without my mum, and I have this burning desire for things to be better for us. I turn it over in my mind and come to a conclusion.
“We’re going away,” I announce, firmly. “For Christmas. We’re going away. To somewhere magical.”
Sam raises one eyebrow at me, finishes chewing his cheese and onion, and replies: “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to an unspecified place in the South West of England. I know what it looks like, but I don’t know its name, or where exactly it is, or how to get there. That’s where we’re going.”
“Right,” he replies, stretching and standing up tall. “Well, that sounds very definite. I’m off to bed.”
