Page 31 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
“Well, what could they possibly find lacking in you? Any man would be lucky to have you.”
George has a shock of silver hair and blues eyes that put Daniel Craig to shame. Even at his age he’s a good-looking man, and I suspect he’d be a hit on a dating app himself.
“Thank you, George, but I think you might be biased.”
“Not at all, I’m speaking as an objective observer! Anyway, what’s that thing you always say – be more Dolly? Would Dolly be nervous about going on a date?”
“She might be – but she’d hold her head high, plaster on a smile, and stride forth to dazzle the world.”
“Exactly! So that’s just what you should do, Connie. Stride forth and dazzle.”
“But take an emergency whistle just in case?”
He nods approvingly. “That’s right. You never know when you might need an emergency whistle. Will I see you later, so you can tell me all about it?”
“Of course. I suspect there won’t be much to tell. If it’s really boring, I’ll just make something up, okay?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. Right, off with you, madam – time’s ticking and you don’t want to be late!”
I pull a face as I get up to leave. I kind of do want to be late, actually. In fact I kind of want to abandon the whole idea, because I wasn’t lying – I am strangely nervous.
I head home and realise that I also have no clue what to wear, or what to do with my hair, or if I should bother with make-up. These are all issues that usually have little relevance to my life, and I start to suspect that I have lived for so long in my cosy little bubble that stepping outside it feels terrifying. Part of me knows that this is a good thing – stepping outside my comfort zone – but part of me also thinks it’s stupid. I mean, why would you want to step outside a comfort zone? Comfort zones are nice – the clue is in the name.
I head upstairs and start to go through my clothes. Before too long, my bed is covered with tried on then discarded outfits, andmy wardrobe looks like it’s been ransacked, empty coat hangers rattling as I’ve pulled out various dresses, tops and skirts. None of them feel right.
I decide that I will start from the bottom up and have in mind a certain pair of sandals that I haven’t worn for ages, but always make me feel good. I root around in the bottom of my wardrobe, but they’re not there. Next I run downstairs in case they’re in the dumping ground of footwear that lives in the porch. Also a bust. I go back up to my room, and pull out the storage boxes I keep under my bed, rummaging through the contents.
“What are you looking for?” Sophie says, as she ambles into my room. She’s in her pyjamas still and stifles a yawn as she clears a space on the bed.
“My sandals!”
“Which ones?”
“The ones with the low cork wedge. My favourites.”
“Well, they can’t really have been your favourites, because you gave them to the charity shop before Christmas.”
“Did I? Why would I do that? I loved those sandals!”
She joins me on the floor, and picks out another pair from the debris.
“Wear these. They’re almost exactly the same.”
She has a point, I think. Okay. That’s good – one thing at least has been decided.
“Your room looks like someone threw a hand grenade in it,” says Sophie, looking around at the chaos.
I am a messy person, and my room is never what you’d call minimalist, but this is, I have to agree, a whole new level of mess.
I shrug and say: “To be honest, Soph, I’m a bit freaked out at the thought of these dates. Even simple stuff like what to wear is making me feel a bit bamboozled.”
“That’s a good word, bamboozled. And this is supposed to be fun, you know – not an ordeal!”
“I know it is, but it doesn’t feel much like fun at the moment. I mean, whatdoI wear? And what should I do with my hair? And should I put make-up on? I don’t want to seem like I’ve made too much effort, but at the same time it seems rude not to makeanyeffort…”
I’m rambling, and shoving shoes back into the storage box as I do it. Why do I own stilettoes, I think, staring at the pair in my hands. I never wear them. I put them to one side to take to the charity shop – which means I’ll probably have a desperate need for some high heels in the near future.
Sophie helps me with the tidy-up, then says: “Look, Mum, you don’t have to go on a date. It was just an idea. Now me and Dan are away and you have more time, I just thought it’d be… well, like I said, fun.”
