Page 19 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
We wander back along the path through the woods, Zack intermittently stopping to take more photos and video. I get it – this is a beautiful place, and I suppose given the nature of his job, he always has one eye on the visuals – but I always think people who spend so much time on their phones capturing the image of something often miss out on simply experiencing it. He’s a grown man, though, so it’s none of my business how he behaves.
We emerge onto the road, and Bear obediently clambers into the back seat of his car. I tell Zack to go back the way he came, and talk him through the slightly tricky route back around to the other side of the village. It’s hidden away, tucked between other routes but invisible from them – our own little secret slice of heaven.
We chat about how Marcy is doing, and what I have planned for the Spring Feast, and it’s all pleasant and harmless enough – but lurking in the back of my mind is Archie’s comment about me fancying him.
As I glance at his profile while he drives, I can’t deny that he might be right. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a good-looking man – Jake, Ella’s husband who owns the inn, looks like a god in human form, and his brother Josh is just as gorgeous. But appreciating that and fancying them are two differentthings. I don’t think I’ve actually fancied a real-life man since I met Simon – setting aside the holy trinity of Daniel Craig, Chris Hemsworth and Henry Cavill, of course. I have life-size cardboard cut-outs of them in my living room, left over from Ella’s hen night, and they are fantastic company.
Now, though, I can’t help noticing the way Zack’s jeans fit snugly against his thighs, and the width of his shoulders, and the tiny gold flecks in his green eyes. I don’t want to notice these things, but I do, and it is unsettling. I keep imagining what it would be like to put my hand on those thighs, or wrap my arms around those shoulders. I think I’m managing normal conversation, but my mind is feeling decidedly abnormal. By the time we reach the inn, I am feeling hot and bothered and wishing I had my little fan with me. Hormones are absolute bastards.
I get out of the car as quickly as I can, scrambling for fresh air and hoping I don’t look as hot as I feel. Bear tumbles after me, and immediately pees on the wheel arch of Jake’s new car. He used to have a fancy Audi but he’s swapped it for something more boxy and big-booted since baby Kitty arrived. It never ceases to amaze me how much gear one tiny baby needs.
Zack is looking at me with slightly narrowed eyes, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he remember that spark we used to share, or was it all too long ago? Has he ever wondered what might have been? Or is the explanation much simpler – I’ve gone bright red.
“Would you like a quick tour of the village before you check in?” I ask, forcing myself to be welcoming even though I’d quite like to go home and stick my head in an ice bucket.
“Yes please,” he replies. “Will my gear be okay in the car? I’ve got my luggage, plus some quite expensive cameras.”
“Zack, your gear would be okay if you piled it up in the middle of the village green with a sign saying ‘steal me please’. I know it takes some getting used to when you’ve lived in London,but nobody is going to do anything like that. I was exactly the same, don’t worry – these days I’ve forgotten what keys are actually used for.”
“That must be nice,” he replies, walking by my side as we make our way across the car park. “And not exactly a long commute to work, either.”
“Nope. I could fall out of bed and roll there in my duvet. Anyway, as you can see, this is the Starshine Inn. It’s owned by Jake, who also owns several of the holiday cottages in the village. He’s married to Ella, who is the local GP, and they have a baby called Kitty, and a dog called Larry.”
He nods and says: “Okay. Just checking, will there be a test on this later?”
“Absolutely, and if you get anything wrong, we’ll tie you to a stake in the bay and let the crabs eat you.”
“Yikes. What a terrible way to go – sounds very Greek. What do I get if I pass the test?”
“A pint in the inn, and a crustacean-free night.”
He nods to accept the terms, and I lead him through to the village green. He actually pauses and sighs out loud when he sees it, and I feel the familiar lick of pride that I always get when somebody sees Starshine for the first time.
The central green is lush and neat, the bedding plants around it starting to blossom in clusters of spring pinks and purples. The homes that surround it are an interesting mix – chocolate-box thatched cottages, little terraces built of mellow golden stone, the old school that houses the community centre. Trevor’s shop, the bakery, my café – it all adds up to an impossibly pretty blend of old-world country charm.
“I feel like I’ve just stepped onto a set,” he says, predictably enough getting out his phone to frame some shots. “This would be an amazing filming location…”
“Ah. But then our secret would be out, and everyone here is pretty much happy being one of those places that get called a hidden gem. There is a tourist trade – the cottages are always booked, the inn too. People who know about us come back year after year, but it’s never too much. It doesn’t overwhelm us or take away from Starshine’s identity. I’m not sure we’d enjoy it if we started getting coach parties.”
“But wouldn’t that be beneficial, for the economy?” he asks as we stroll along the side of the green. “Help people make a living? I know it can be hard in rural areas, with the decline of traditional industries…”
I laugh out loud and shake my head.
“I’m guessing what you actually know about rural areas is based on reading articles or watching TV, because that sounded exactly like a quote you’ve picked up while you were sitting in an office in central London! And yes, of course, some places depend on tourism – but this place is a bit different. We have a real mix of people and they all do different jobs. It’s not just yokels desperate for cash and running moonshine across county lines – assuming that is a little bit patronising!”
He looks horrified at the accusation, and replies: “I’m sorry if it came across like that. And you’re right – it was my big city privilege talking. What do I know?”
“Nothing, when it comes to Starshine Cove. So, you see that bakery over there? That’s owned by the Betties. They don’t just churn out a few loaves for the locals – they supply high-end grocers all across the UK. They’re actually pretty famous.”
I see him processing the information, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah… okay, I think I’ve heard of them – or at least seen their cakes on the shelves. Do they have a logo like two letter Bs covered in seashells?”
“Yep, that’s them. And up there, over the rooftops and halfway up the hill, there’s a studio that belongs to a jewellerymaker called Daisy, who isn’t here right now but is also really successful – as in, international shows successful. Jake, who owns the inn? He used to be one of the leading property developers in the UK. And Trevor, who runs the shop?—”
“Let me guess, he used to be the CEO of Amazon?”
“Don’t be silly – he’s just a nice old hippie dude who likes selling herbal tea and occasionally sleeps overnight in the middle of a stone circle. But anyway – I’m just making the point that this place isn’t hurting. It doesn’t need publicity, or to be a filming location, or any of that. I’ve noticed you getting everything on video – don’t be scheming away to make some kind of reality TV show about us, all right?”
I smile to take any potential sting out of my words, and he holds his hands up in surrender.
