“No farmers looking for wives? No psychics heading in to suss out where all the positive energy comes from?”
“No, but that’s a fun idea. No, honestly, Connie, nothing at all like that – just a little gift. I don’t have any real skills outside this. I can’t bake you a cake – not one you’d want to eat – and none of you seem to need anything. This was just a way of saying thank you. I thought maybe you could screen it at one of your community centre film nights…”
I am swamped with relief as he explains, and as I start to believe him; there is no sign of deception, no indication that he has been playing with me. He really does just want to put Starshine on screen for us, and us only. I’m delighted – not only that I won’t have to physically kick him out of the village, but that he hasn’t betrayed me at all. That I was right to trust my judgement.
“Maybe,” I say, starting to turn the idea over in my mind, “we could have a premiere. We could have a red carpet, and paparazzi, and Champagne. We could invite celebs.”
“Like who?” he asks, sounding amused now.
“Like Jolly Ged and the Funky Farmhands. They do a comedy strip routine that involves a lot of vegetable-based innuendo.They’re going down a storm, and they’ve even got their own calendar out where they look muscular on tractors, and ride horses with their tops off.”
“I see. Well, I suppose they would be celebs then. And yes, you could do all of that – just promise me you’ll invite me down for the screening, all right? If you like the idea then I’ll get the rest of the footage while I’m here, and I can do the editing when I’m back in London with all my equipment. I’ll definitely come back down for the premiere, though.”
I smile, but I am sad at the thought of him leaving, I realise. Not just because of the crush thing, but because it’s actually been nice having someone to hang around with like this. Apart from my father-in-law, George, pretty much everyone else in Starshine is part of a couple – which is lovely. I have in fact been instrumental in forming some of those couples, and I am never made to feel like an outsider. I know I am loved, I know that I’m never the third wheel – but I’m only human, and sometimes I feel like I am. While Zack’s been here, that feeling has faded. If nothing else, I’ve had a pal.
“You’re quiet,” he says. “I find that unnerving. Are you planning your outfit for the red carpet?”
“Ha! Well, maybe there’ll be some actual carpet left over, and I could just wear that – glamour isn’t exactly my thing these days!”
“Well, glamour is vastly over-rated. Besides, you looked really nice that first night in London.” I raise my eyebrow at him and he hastily adds: “And, of course, every day ever since then…”
“Don’t worry,” I reply, grinning. “I’m just messing with you. I can scrub up okay, but I prefer the day-to-day me. I know it’s not your type of glamour, but it’ll do for me.”
I realise that I mean it, which is nice. It’s all very well feeling good about yourself when you’re dolled up for a night out or adate, but isn’t it even better to feel good about yourself all the time instead? Just like Dolly?
“You don’t really know what my type of glamour is,” he says. “Maybe I’m secretly really into… whatever it is you call this particular look.”
He gestures to my hot pink peasant blouse and my now tumbledown hair.
“I call it Beach Chic for Dating Days. My other looks include Dazzling Dungarees for Doing the Dishes, Bright Blues for Big Boobs, Knock-Out Knitwear and my personal favourite, Fun With Primary Colours. It’s what you might call a playful palette.”
“I like it. It works for you. Everyone in London wears black, all the time. It’s like some kind of style uniform. You always look great, no matter what you’re wearing – you still have that thing you had back when I first met you.”
“What thing?” I ask, frowning. I don’t see any similarities between me back then and me now. “That thing that made you think I might be up for a one-night stand or a quickie in the stationery cupboard?”
“I never said such a thing – though yeah, maybe I thought it at the time. But it was always more than that with you. You just have this energy. That light that seems to shine from the inside. That little bit of extra that makes you irresistible.”
“Irresistible, ha! That makes me sound like a cream cake!”
“It does, doesn’t it? I don’t know, I’m not expressing myself very well. I’m making it sound weird. You just have a quality about you, Connie, that makes people want to be around you. That draws people in. You had it then, and you still have it now.”
“Oh,” I reply, taken aback. “That… well, that’s very nice of you to say. Maybe I’ll pack in this café lark and become a cult leader instead.”
“If you do, you really have to let me make a TV show about that!”
ELEVEN
A few days later, the population of Starshine Cove increases by three.
Dan comes homes from university at Liverpool, as does Cally’s son, Sam, who is studying marketing in Manchester. My oldest, James, has also returned from Jersey to spend a week with us. Or, more accurately, a week where he mainly sees Miranda and Evan and pops in to say hi to us lot every now and then.
It’s the first time I’ve had all of my children around me for a while, and I have to say it feels good. I’m surrounded by them in the Starshine Inn, and James is taking a selfie. I’d tried to do it myself, but they’d all got frustrated with me as I repeatedly failed to fit everyone in. This is, apparently, ‘classic Mum’. I can’t help it if I have freakishly short arms, can I?
James takes several shots, and even manages to get one where none of us are gurning. Miraculous.
“What a handsome bunch you are,” I declare, staring at the screen. All three of the kids are varying levels of blonde – Sophie’s is very light, like mine, and James’s settles at the darker end of the spectrum. Dan is in the middle, but is also currentlygrowing his way out of some misadventures with box dyes so he looks a bit stripey.
“Dunno,” says Dan, pulling a face. “Reckon we look a bit like Children of the Corn. Or the creepy kids fromVillage of the Damned.”
