“She looks nice,” I say, taking in the information provided.
“She does,” he replies. “She’s in Poole.”
She would be, I think. Poole is full of beautiful people and millionaire homes and luxury yachts. It’s still in Dorset, but it’s a lot more glamorous than Starshine Cove – just like this woman is a lot more glamorous than me.
“That’s just under an hour away on a good day. What do you think?”
He still looks undecided, and puts the phone down on the table before he speaks again.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I’m not sure it’s fair. I’m not in a position to really make a go of anything right now.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“Well, I’ll be going back to London for a start. Some kind of time warp seems to have occurred, and I’ve already been here a week.”
“Ah, yes. Time does move differently in Starshine. They should really set an episode ofDoctor Whohere.”
“Realistically, I can’t stay for more than another week because of work, and Marcy’s placement with you ends in a few days, so I was hoping to spend some time with her.”
I nod, deciding not to tell him that I’ve already overheard at least two conversations where the girls were discussing heading somewhere cheap and cheerful for a bit of beach-based R&R before they start the next term at college. That is very much for her to discuss with him, and at some point I’m sure Sophie will do me the same honour. Probably when she realises she has £2.50 left in her bank account.
“Right. Okay. But – look, this is Dorset, not Timbuktu – which by the way is in Mali! And like you said to me, nobody really expects to find true love right away, do they? You could just be honest with her and say you’re in the area for the time being. And if it did turn out to be something worth pursuing, then I refer you to the aforementioned ‘not Timbuktu’ comment.There are even direct trains from London to Poole – we truly live in an age of wonders!”
He is starting to look convinced, and I have no clue at all why I am arguing in favour of this. I think it’s partly to cover up how I’m starting to feel, because it’s embarrassing to have a crush on someone when you’re fifty-five. And partly it’s simply because I suggested it, and therefore I have to stick with it now. Funny how we never really grow up, isn’t it? I’d have expected to be mature and sensible by my age, and here I am – still a complete knob.
“Okay, you have a point,” he says, starting to type a message. He does it fluently, clearly used to writing extended communications on his phone. I’m one of those people who still stabs at the screen with two fingers and gets everything auto-corrected to weird alternatives.
“She’ll probably hate the look of me anyway,” he says once he’s done, looking pained.
I let out a bark of laughter before stealing a glance at his silver-streaked hair, his golden skin. The bright green eyes. “Yeah. You are a bit of a minger. Maybe she’ll just feel sorry for you?”
“I live in hope. Anyway, can I show you something?”
“That very much depends on what it is.”
“It’s just a little side project of mine.”
He pulls up a document on his phone and shows it to me. It’s similar to the outline I saw in his room about the refugee TV show idea – except that this time, the places, names and suggested filming locations are all a lot more familiar.
I see the Cove Café mentioned, and the inn, and notes about me and my friends. Little pen portraits that combine potted bios with ideas for shots – like Archie being interviewed in his greenhouse, and Jake behind the bar at the inn. Me, predictably enough, on the terrace of the café with ‘views down to bay’.
I frown, and feel a little flicker of worry uncurl in my stomach. Worry, and something more – a burgeoning sense of betrayal. I trusted this man, and thought I’d made my views clear when I said nobody here was looking for fame. That nobody here would want this kind of intrusion. I’ve noticed him constantly taking video and photos on his flashy phone with its hundred million giga-pixels or whatever, but I never thought he was doing it for work – I thought he understood that wasn’t welcome.
It’s not a decision I made unilaterally – I did float it very tentatively and half-jokingly with the other members of the Starshine committee at our last meeting, just in case I was over-reacting. I mean, I hate the idea, but I wouldn’t want to make that kind of decision on everybody else’s behalf. I was super-relieved when they were all horrified at the very idea, and I could stop worrying about it.
Now, though, I’m wondering if Zack has ignored our wishes – ignored me – and it doesn’t feel nice. Maybe my instincts were right that first night I saw him in London – he is from the past, and the past was not great. He is from a world more ruthless than mine, a world where people maybe don’t count for more than profit and success. You probably don’t get to build the kind of career he has built by being sensitive to other people’s views.
“What is this?” I ask simply, trying not to show how upset I am. “I told you no. I told you we were off limits – no TV shows welcome in Starshine Cove. What are you up to?”
I’m clearly not doing a very good job of hiding how upset I am, because he immediately puts his hand on my arm in what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring way. If the next sentence out of his mouth dares to involve the words ‘calm down’ I may well chuck my G&T in his face.
“It’s not for a TV project,” he says quickly, obviously sensing danger. “You told me nobody was interested in that, and Irespect that decision. It would be impossible to do without co-operation anyway – you can’t do these things by stealth.”
That’s true, I realise, suddenly feeling a bit silly. The whole show would consist of very short interviews with nobody at all, and shots of people’s backs as they walked away.
“So what is it then?” I ask, still not feeling completely settled.
“It’s just something I was doing for you. For the village. You’ve all been so welcoming, not just to Marcy but to me, and I wanted to give something back. I’m always taking video – occupational hazard – so I had this idea that I’d pull together a little Starshine special. Nothing at all intended for public consumption outside the village, I assure you.”
