Page 30 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
“Thank you, I think. That was taken on a trip to the Amalfi Coast. The others are more mundane.”
I flick through, seeing a carousel of pictures. He is being modest, because he looks great on all the rest as well. I glance at the mail icon, and raise an eyebrow. He clicks on it, and we see that he has over two hundred messages.
“And here’s me,” I say, laughing, “feeling like a sex goddess because I had eleven!”
“Well, to be fair I’ve not logged on for a while. Some of these are probably really old, and some of them might be from the female version of our close friend Cristiano Ronaldo. Plus I’m in London, and London is a lot different than Dorset. Dorset is a pond, and London is an ocean.”
I shrug and accept his protestations, but I know it’s more than that – he is incredibly attractive, and I suspect he’d be flooded with offers even if he lived in Timbuktu. Wherever that is. I do a quick google while I have a signal and find that it is an ancient city in Mali. Now I know. It’s not surprising I felt a little flicker of attraction for him too, and maybe I shouldn’t take it too seriously. Me and two hundred women agree that he is a very handsome man.
“So, okay,” I say, “what happens next? Do I message them and arrange to meet up?”
“Usually you’d chat a while first, get a better idea of whether you’re a good fit or not.”
“I don’t have much time for that – plus as you may have noticed, it’s not exactly easy to keep on top of anything World Wide Web related in Starshine Cove.”
“Nobody calls it the World Wide Web anymore.”
“They do here. We still call cars a motor carriage. I think… I think I’ll just ask them both if they want to meet up for coffee.”
Even as I say the words, I can’t quite believe they’re coming out of my mouth. What has happened to me? Have I suffered a head injury without noticing?
“Sounds like a plan,” says Zack. “Here’s to you, Connie!”
He raises his glass, and I clink mine against it. My hands are a little shaky, and liquid sloshes over the side.
What the heck have I just agreed to?
NINE
I am having coffee with my father-in-law, George. He lives literally seconds away from me, and I try to call in every day. This house used to belong to Archie and the girls, and George lived in a much bigger thatched cottage on the front of the green. Last year they simply swapped, because it made sense – more room for the growing family, and a cosier space for George. I’m still getting used to walking in here and seeing George’s things instead of Archie’s. I’m also still getting used to there being no Lottie, his old Golden Retriever. Every time I walk in, I expect to hear her tail thumping on the floor.
“So,” George says, sitting across from me at the little table, “I have something for you.”
As ever, there’s a twinkle in his eyes, and I wonder what might be coming next.
He reaches into his pocket and produces a whistle. It’s on a string, the kind a referee might use during a football match – in fact it’s probably exactly that, as George used to be a teacher and oversee a lot of sport.
I pick it up and give it a blow. Still going strong.
“Okay. Thank you. It’s a very nice whistle. I shall treasure it.”
“I thought you might wear it this afternoon, when you go on your dates.”
“Ah. I see. Are you worried about axe murderers too?”
“Not really, but it pays to be cautious, doesn’t it? Any problems, three sharp puffs on this and the cavalry will come running. Or at the very least you’ll have eyes on you.”
I nod, and know it will put his mind at rest if I accept this wisdom. I put the string over my head, and tuck the whistle beneath my top.
“Are you okay with this, George?” I ask, reaching out to hold his hand on the table. He is, after all, Simon’s father, and for years now he’s been my surrogate dad as well. He lost two of his children in that car accident, and I can’t even imagine the agony of that – I don’t want him thinking that he might lose me as well.
“Of course I am! I was happy when Archie met Cally, and I’ll be happy to see you find someone, my lovely – you’re much too young to give up on love. Simon wouldn’t want that, and neither do I. No, I’m fine with it… It’s just the technique I feel a bit uncertain about.”
“I know,” I say, giving his fingers a final squeeze, “me too. I knew you didn’t mind really, I think I was just looking for an excuse to cancel. I feel… guilty.”
“You really mustn’t. He wouldn’t want that, and you know it. It’s been a long time. You’ll always love him, and he’ll always be part of you – but he wouldn’t want you to put yourself in cold storage, would he?”
“No. No, he wouldn’t. Maybe it’s not just guilt, though, George – maybe I’m also a bit nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve put myself in a position where someone can judge me.”
