“On the day it happened,” he continues. “I’d gone Christmas shopping in town, and I had a message from Sandy, saying she was in labour and she was getting a lift to the hospital. I was so excited – I was in a gift shop at the time, buying her a necklace, and I told the woman behind the counter that I was about to be a dad so could she just stick it in a box rather than gift wrap it…even she was excited! I’ve never been back there again, in case she asks about it. In case she remembers me. So, off I went – I ran all the way to the hospital, which is just outside town, the fastest I’ve ever run, carrying all my shopping bags. I just didn’t want to miss it…”
He runs his big hands through his hair, and I bite my lip to remind myself not to cry. This is his story, his pain.
“So when I got there, I headed straight for the maternity unit – the same place Lilly was born. I flew inside, expecting to be sent to one of the birthing suites, and…well. As soon as the nurses figured out who I was, and who I’d come to see, their faces changed. I could tell something was wrong straight away, and thought there was some kind of complication with the baby…but they told me I had to go to A&E instead. That there’d been an accident. Nobody would tell me what had happened, and walking through those corridors…well, it was the longest walk of my life, and every step I took brought me closer to the truth that would change our lives forever. It was…bad.”
There are tears shining in his eyes by this stage, spilling from the corners, and I cannot stop myself – I reach out, and gently wipe them away.
“More than bad,” I say quietly, holding his cheeks between my hands and looking into his green eyes. “Terrible. I’m so sorry.”
His hands cover mine, and I see him make an effort – a small shudder goes through him, and he screws up his eyes to stem the tears, and he holds my hands in his and moves them from his skin.
“Thank you,” he says. “Though I think you may have killed me with kindness. This is morose and sad, and not very Christmassy.”
He stands up and stretches, and I can tell it is all part of his attempt to go back to normal – to switch off the pain. I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to, that I am happy to listen, but sometimes, I know, the only way to deal with hurt is to hide from it.
“I’m going to put this last bag in the shed,” he announces. “No idea why I’m still bothering, because Lilly is definitely giving me a bit of side-eye when I mention Santa these days…”
“That’ll be Shannon again, I suppose,” I reply, going along with the change of tone. “If she’s the youngest of five she probably had that particular bubble burst a while ago.”
“Ha! That’s very true…be back in a bit. We’ve broken all records here and we still have a bit of time before they come home. I’ll crack out the Baileys, shall I?”
“If you insist,” I say primly, as though that’s something I would never possibly consider doing myself. Little does he know that it’s a bottle of Baileys that pointed me in the direction of Starshine Cove in the first place.
When he gets back, I stare at him, assessing, and he stares right back. There’s more than one way to change the tone.
“What?” he says. “I’m not sure I like the look in your eyes right now…”
“Well,” I reply in my nicest voice, “I was just wondering…everyone else got a hair-do today. And you, my Viking friend, present me with something of a challenge. I just happen to have my scissors with me…”
He scowls, and answers: “So that’s what you called off at George’s for? Sneaky! Look, I’ve been happy with lopping a bit off every few months for a long time now, and I’m not sure I’m ready to mess with that system…”
“I get it,” I say, holding my hands up in placation. “Your hair is like a shield. Lots of people feel that way – whether it’s fancy extensions or bright colours or a wig. It’s something to hide behind, something to take attention away from other things.”
“Wow. Well, I’ve never thought about it in such depth before…I thought it was just hair.”
I don’t know this for a fact, and am not planning to ask, but I suspect the retreat into his wild-man look probably started a few years ago. Four, to be precise – a combination of him being busy, of his world being chaotic, of too many changes all at once. Something had to give, and in his case, I suspect grooming dropped off his list of priorities.
“Of course you haven’t. But this is my speciality – this is my gardening. And Archie, a little tidy up won’t kill you. I promise I won’t go crazy. I’m just talking about a trim – not a transformation.”
He still looks uncertain, and is physically backing off from me, probably without even noticing he’s doing it – as though I am about to leap at him and attack him with the clippers.
“The girls would love it,” I add, knowing it’s a cheap shot but also knowing that it’s true. He narrows his eyes at me, and it makes me laugh – he knows what I’m up to as well.
“Do you have a mirror down here?” I ask, glancing around.
“Ummm…no. I’m not much into mirrors. There’s one in the bathroom…”
“Perfect! Come on, pour yourself a glass of that Baileys, and pull up your big boy pants – you’ll thank me in the end, I promise!”
SIXTEEN
I can tell he is not fully convinced, but grudgingly he gets out the bottle, finds glasses, muttering to himself as he goes. I follow him up the stairs, making sure he goes first in case he makes a run for it, and he goes off to fetch a chair.
There is little-girl chaos all around – toothbrushes with handles in the shape of dinosaurs, milk teeth paste, detangling shampoos, a couple of those little shower caps with frills on them. All I see of Archie’s is a big bottle of something that might as well be called Man Stuff from the way it’s packaged. I quickly unscrew the cap and inhale the woodsy aroma that is part of Archie, getting a little head rush before I guiltily put it away.
Archie settles down nervously on the chair he’s brought through, and I rest my hands on his shoulders, telling him it will all be fine. He is a big man, reduced to jelly by the thought of a haircut.
I place a towel around him – a very macho number in hot pink with little ice-cream cone designs all over it – and start to comb out his wild but perfectly clean hair. It is thick and lush against my fingers, a lovely shade of chestnut-tinted deep brown. It is gorgeous hair – there is simply too much of it.
