“Us? Are you with your family?”
I am not entirely sure what my “family” consists of any more. My dad is gone, my mum has moved on, and Sam probably doesn’t even want to be here. I wonder if this whole journey was just for me – grasping at straws of consolation to distract me from the fact that the shape of my life is changing so quickly that I feel out of control.
“That’s another long story – but I’m here with my son, Sam. It was all a bit of a mad idea I had after drinking a bottle of Baileys and watchingGremlins…”
“Ah. One of those ideas. We’ve all been there – though I’m more of aGooniesman to be honest. I bet Connie was loving it, though – she loves a stranger turning up…”
“Yep. She did seem pleased to meet us. Ella warned me that the next step might be mind control.”
He smiles, and says: “She’s just…a really positive person. It can be a bit much, but it comes from the heart. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
“Have you known her for a long time?”
“Well – that’s yet another long story; we seem to be full of them, don’t we? But yes, long enough. I’ve been collecting twigs.”
He points at the pile at his feet, and I am momentarily confused by the sudden shift in conversation. I suppose twigs are less challenging – it’s probably not a long story: saw twig, picked it up. The End.
“For the snowmen,” he clarifies. “Tomorrow, after all this has fallen, I’m guessing it’s going to be prime snowman conditions. So I went for a walk in the woods over there, and gathered up some sticks to use for arms. Or for head decorations.”
As he says this he nods at me, and I realise that I am still wearing my Olaf hat. I laugh, and reply: “Maybe I can be a life model…”
We are silent for a few moments, but it is not awkward or uncomfortable – we are just both staring out to sea, admiring the view, thinking our own thoughts as we watch the snowflakes tumble into the waves. Mine veer back to my dad, and his, from the solemn look on his face, aren’t that much more cheerful. I decide that we probably both need distracting.
“I love your wig, and that fake beard is tremendous,” I say, reaching out to give it a playful tug. Wow. It’s really stuck on well – I’ve no idea how he’ll get this off again later without taking a layer of skin. I pull again, fascinated now, and he lets out a low yelp and takes my hand firmly in his.
He moves it gently away, and says: “Yeah. Right. Well, it’s not fake. That’s my actual beard you’re tugging!”
My eyes widen in shock, and I’m absolutely mortified. I glance at the long hair, and he adds: “Real too.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry…I thought…well, I didn’t think. I just gave you a tug – and we’ve only just met!”
He stares at me, and I am now humming with shame – I am not at home any more, and not everybody shares the same inappropriate sense of humour. Luckily, he lets out a huge boom of laughter. It is a fantastic laugh, one of those you can’t help but join in with.
“You’re from Liverpool, aren’t you?” he asks, once we’ve both calmed down. “I can tell from the accent and the jokes…I went to university there, a million years ago. Is the Blue Angel still open?”
The Blue Angel is an institution in the city, beloved of locals and students alike – the kind of nightclub that everybody has a story about.
“As far as I know, yes, though I don’t do a lot of dancing these days. Did you enjoy it, living in Liverpool?”
“God, yes,” he says, grinning. “I was nineteen and from a village not a lot bigger than this one, in Kent. I felt like I’d crash-landed in some kind of alternative universe in freshers’ week. I stayed on for a year afterwards, working in a bar on Mathew Street…it was a pretty memorable time in my life. Or at least I think it was – it was that good I don’t actually remember much of it at all!”
“A tale as old as time,” I answer. “I’ve met loads of people who stayed on after uni. When did you move here, then?”
I am, of course, being nosy. Sam is right – it is an occupational hazard in my job, but I do sometimes take it too far. People are so interesting though, aren’t they? I remind myself that although everyone has their stories, they don’t all necessarily want to share them.
“Oh, a while ago,” he says. “Almost ten years. I fell in love with a local girl, and then I fell in love with this place. It’s hard not to.”
I look across at the shimmering sea, the coastline stretching into infinity, all cloaked in moonlight, and I have to agree. This is very different from where I grew up, but it is definitely a place you could fall in love with.
“Anyway. I’d better get back,” he announces, standing up and looming above me. He offers me his hand, and pulls me up. “I just needed a few minutes on my own, but they’ll miss me if I’m gone too long.”
“I’m sorry if I intruded,” I answer. “Just came bumbling along when you were trying to clear your head.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says firmly. “I gave up on clearing my head a long time ago. Do you want to help me carry these twigs back?”
“I better had,” I reply, looking up at his brawny outline, “you don’t look capable of carrying them yourself…”
He makes an amusedpah!sound, and hands me one stick, before hefting up the rest of the pile himself.
