Page 17 of Snow Falls Over Starry Cove

‘You know it is, Emmie. You’ve changed so much since you came to the interview over three years ago. I almost wish I hadn’t told you about this job. We used to see each other so much more before that.’

‘Maisie…’ is all I can say. Because deep in my heart, I know that, on some level, she’s right. I have changed, and not in a good way. But I will sort myself out. I’ll tell the MIL where to stick it and finally feel like my old self again. In other words, independent and free of family ties. Except for my new grandmother, that is. Because I just know that she’s going to be a revelation.

But to blame Stephen isn’t completely fair. Because I had been searching for stability when I’d applied for this job. And my relationship with Stephen had simply been a consequence of that search. In Stephen I’d found the solid rock to ground me in the storm.

*

Saturday, 12th November

After a night of tossing and turning despite the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in and the crashing of the waves against the cliffs below, at about 4 a.m., I finally give sleep up as a bad idea and quietly roll out of bed, careful not to wake Maisie. I don’t want to turn on any lights, so I curl up in the armchair in the corner and pull my Kindle reader out of my bag to finish myJane Eyre, which I must have read a thousand times.

But it’s no use. A million things are roiling around in my brain, but one sticks out particularly. The looming date of our engagement party forces me to think of how I’m going to be dealing with the MIL. I’ve done my best to try to make things light between us, but there’s a not-so-underlying current of jealousy towards her own son. She tries to convince herself she loves me, too, and that we’re all one happy family. And the pretence of actually caring for me? She only uses that angle when she needs to manipulate me for something or other.

But if I’m a mature woman – and I am – I’m going to have to solve this by myself rather than ask Stephen to dial his mum down. Because he, on the contrary, doesn’t have the maturity to understand that I shouldn’t even have to ask. He should be making sure that I feel at ease with the family rather than having to fight for a modicum of breathing space.

A couple of hours later, as I watch the sky brighten over the diamond-studded bay, I unfurl myself from the chair and my unread book. Having decided to let Maisie sleep off her hangover, I loop my bag over my shoulder, wind my blue-and-white scarf around my neck and softly close the door behind me. The inn offers breakfast, but I’m curious to try the delicacies of a shop we passed on our way back from the pub, The Rolling Scones.

The morning air is crisp and the damp sand on the south-west coastal path is as soft as sponge beneath my boots. In the light of the rising sun, I squint as the fog is rapidly dispelling, just like my previous uncertainty on what to do. I’ve come here for a reason – to meet my grandmother. And that’s what I’m going to do. If it becomes unpleasant and we don’t get along, then Mum would simply have proven herself right about my grandparents all these years. No biggie, no major disappointment.

But I can’t marry Stephen and start a family without knowing who I really am. Also, it would be nice to tell Lady Bracknell finally that yes, I did have a family, after all, despite my being so careless about misplacing it twice. In her own mealy-mouthed way, she never missed a chance to remind me of how my ancestry is, if not uncertain, very much broken, as it isn’t proper to break ties with your family, acquired or not. You simply put up with them. Of course, she also means me. I know exactly how she feels about me, despite the false rhetoric of my being the daughter she never had. Make that the daughter she never had to kick around even if I’ve always been polite and patient in the face of a blatant offence that she claims is meant with motherly love.

On entering Starry Cove, the first thing I see again is fairy lights still visible in the early morning shadows, weaved among the bare branches of the trees, framing the shops, squirrelling up old iron lamp posts and even reflecting in the gently babbling water channels between the pavement and the cobbled streets. This is all so beautiful and I suddenly feel suspended in a bubble of happiness, or one of those glass Christmas snowstorms. All you have to do is shake it for the immediate Christmas spirit.

I pass a gate with a huge faded sign that says Moon River Cruises, right under another reading Reclamation Yard: for nautical stuff, ask Jago Moon on the beach.

How positively, ridiculously quirky all this is! Almost too quirky to be true.

It’s safe to say that in this holiday season, there are more Christmas lights than shops, the high street being aglow with a bakery, cafés, a butcher’s and yes, an actual candlestick maker called At My Wicks’ End. Next door there’s a newsagent and a small variety post office next to the pub where I’d joined Maisie. And immediately the memory of that weird encounter flashes through my mind.

I hope I don’t bump intohimagain!

---