I could join the litter-picking group I’ve seen out and about in the area, or do a cookery course at the adult ed centre, or take up wild swimming in the Mersey – though maybe this isn’t the best time of year for that. I could become a bird-spotter, or watch all the Marvel films in order, or buy a bus pass and ride around all day chatting to strangers. The possibilities are endless – and frankly, all a bit shit. I am not dealing well with all of this – I have broken a little too free for my own liking.
I stand up, dust down the black wrap dress that is now covered in crumbs, and tell the others that I’m going to walk off my pudding. I can’t think straight here, surrounded by all of this festivity. I find my coat from the huge pile by the doors, and go through the back exit and onto the terraced steps.
I look at the troughs and barrels filled with flowers as I walk down, subdued now but undoubtedly spectacular in summer. I notice a few fairies peeking out, snow dusting their shiny wings, and give them a little wave as I pass.
I am at the bottom of the steps, looking out to a grey-tinged seascape, when I hear Sam’s voice behind me.
“Mum!” he shouts. “Hold up!”
I pause, and watch as he jogs down the steps. No careful shuffle from him, no fears that he might slip on ice – one of the joys of youth.
I smile as he reaches me, and give him a little kiss on the cheek. He looks grand – and more to the point he looks happy. He hasn’t mentioned Ollie for days now, and although I know he still feels the sting of the missing wi-fi, he seems to be bravely battling through. He makes regular trips to the inn fire escape, and tells me his country gent series is being very well received. Phew, what a relief.
Now, as he stands towering above me on the frost-coated beach, I feel a sudden rush of love and pride, the way us mums sometimes do at the most unexpected of moments.
“Where are you off to?” he says, seemingly oblivious to the cold in his suit jacket. The joys of youth, part two.
“Nowhere in particular. I’m full as an egg and fancied a stroll.”
“Oh. Right. It was good, wasn’t it? Never seen anything quite like that before.”
“I know, it was great! We’ll miss it when we’re home, I’m sure. Have you…um…heard from Gran?”
He pulls a face and shakes his head.
“Not since the day before yesterday. Though I did message her earlier and say thanks for my pressie. It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the planet. Do you think she’s okay?”
His voice is a strange mix of concern and annoyance, and I know exactly where he’s coming from. It’s almost as though we’d prefer it if she’d been kidnapped by marauding pirates, or was suffering from amnesia after a freak golfing accident – because the alternative is simply that we’ve been dumped.
“She was fine before we left to come here,” he continues, staring out at the waves as though they have some answers. “Always sending messages and pics. Now suddenly we’re being ghosted.”
I suspect I know the reason for that, but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant. I think maybe she really can’t handle the idea of me being here, of me asking her questions she doesn’t feel ready to answer. Of me finding things out, or even remembering them, that she’d be happier I didn’t know.
At first I thought perhaps she didn’t want me to come to Starshine because she was concerned I’d find out the truth, and that it would upset me – that she wanted to protect me. But her ongoing silence and refusal to engage with any kind of communication tells me that it’s simpler than that – she doesn’t want to deal with me potentially asking about things that might upset her.
It is a childish and hurtful reaction, but she has never won any prizes for sensitivity, my mum. Much as I love her, with a bit of distance between us, I’d have to say that she has always been on the self-obsessed side.
“Well. I suppose we’ll be home soon enough, and maybe we can go and visit her,” I say, not wanting to share any of my less-than-generous thoughts with him. “Just turn up on her doorstep if we need to.”
“Whenarewe going home, then?” he asks. “Because Connie said – and I don’t think she was joking – that if I ever wanted a job, I could work at the café for a while. Bit of a big commute from Liverpool though.”
Especially, I think, for a boy who had enough trouble turning up at work on time when the pub in question was a fifteen-minute train ride away.
I haven’t as yet told Sam about the situation with work, that I now have over a month to be a lady of leisure. Or a trainee lion tamer – whichever I decide on.
“Right, well, that’s nice to know…funnily enough Jo from the salon messaged me last night. She’s not re-opening until February now; she’s adding some treatment rooms. I forgot to tell you earlier.”
I see him staring off into the distance – turning this new information over in his mind, doing a lightning-fast assessment of all its implications. Examining all possibilities from every angle.
“That seagull over there just did a gigantic poop on top of another seagull’s head,” he announces, pointing.
Okay. Maybe he wasn’t being quite as analytical as I thought.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind staying here a bit longer, if we could,” he continues, as I try and spot the badly behaved bird. “I mean, I quite like it. Not forever, but for a bit. And you seem to be enjoying yourself…nice job on Archie, by the way.”
He actually winks at me as he says this, and I respond in the only logical way – by slapping his Santa hat off his head. As he scurries to retrieve it from the sand, laughing as he shakes it out, I hope that I’m not actually blushing. I’d hate to prove him right, and look all embarrassed.
Truth is, I do feel a bit embarrassed. Or not exactly that – just unsettled, perhaps? I have been busy for as long as I can remember, looking after my mum, working, raising Sam. I haven’t had a lot of time to work on friendships. Even in school, I was limited in what I could do – while my pals started going out and about, hanging around in parks and swigging cider, then progressing to actual pubs and clubs, I was always the one who had to get home before the fun really started. Had to make sure she was okay, that she had everything she needed, that she’d eaten and dressed and got through another day. I wasn’t one for parties, or festivals, or anything that involved being out after midnight.
