I walk through into the kitchen, past the huge old coffee machine. It’s a temperamental beast that regularly breaks down and has to be bashed with hammers. It obviously needs replacing, but for some reason she keeps it. I suspect that ithas meaning to her, some sentimental value that makes it more than a coffee machine. I glance at it with curiosity, wondering how many hot drinks it’s dispensed over the years, how much warmth and comfort it has shared.
I stare into the huge fridge and whistle at the sheer amount of food in there. This is definitely the place to be after those solar flares and the collapse of society. After a bit of poking around and the rearranging of plates and bowls, I emerge with an apple and blackberry crumble and a jug of custard. I pop them in the microwave and the smell of cinnamon and cream fills the room.
Cherie emerges from the stairs, bearing fleecy blankets and a packet of face wipes. ‘You go and get snuggled on the sofa,’ she says, ‘and I’ll bring over the hot chocolate. I’m assuming it’s a hot chocolate occasion?’
I nod and do as I’m told, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. The sofas are in the corner of the room, surrounded by bookshelves that are overflowing with paperbacks, guides, board games and colouring pads. I idly pick one up, along with a carton of crayons. I find a picture I like– a giant teapot made of squares like a patchwork quilt– and start to colour it in.
Within a few minutes Cherie is over with a tray holding bowls of steaming crumble and tall glasses of chocolate with cream, marshmallows and crumbled up Flake. Perfect. She sits down opposite me, the sofa slumping under her weight, and starts to dab at her face with the wipes. Scary clown starts to disappear bit by bit.
‘Can’t believe I slept in this,’ she says regretfully. ‘I suspect drink might have been taken… So, what’s going on, my lover? I didn’t see you sneak away last night. What happened to upset you like this? You’re normally an even keel kind of girl.’
‘I’m not, actually,’ I say, abandoning my colouring and scooping up some cream with my spoon. ‘I’ve just perfected looking like it on the surface. Underneath, I’m a mess.’
‘Aren’t we all, darling? Some people are just better at hiding it than others. Go on, spill. Tell your Auntie Cherie everything– you’re safe here.’
I nod, and against the odds I believe her. She has shown me nothing but kindness, and I suppose I’ve come to trust her.
‘I… Uh, I spent the night with Aidan.’
Her eyes pop open in surprise, and then a huge smile creases her face. ‘About bloody time. So why the sadness? Was it that bad?’
I gaze out of the window, looking down at the moody and magnificent sea crashing onto the sand. ‘No. It was… wonderful. Amazing. Perfect. Right up until the moment he told me he loves me.’
Cherie sips her hot chocolate and looks at me over the rim of the glass. She has a cream moustache now instead of a killer clown face. She thinks about it for a few seconds, then replies: ‘And I’m guessing from your appearance here this morning that that’s not a good thing? You don’t want him to love you?’
I shake my head. ‘No! It’s too soon! It’s too much! It’s… What if it’s the beginning of the end?’
‘Okay, now you’ve lost me. Generally speaking, sleeping with a man for the first time and him saying he loves you is the beginning of the beginning.’
‘Not in my experience,’ I say bitterly. ‘In my experience, when they say that, they’re lying.’
She knows my history and she doesn’t jump in to judge or tell me I’m being unreasonable. I will forever love her for that, but I’m already doing it to myself.
‘You’ve had some shoddy experiences, my love, and no mistake. But tarring Aidan with the same brush isn’t really fair now, is it? And do you think that maybe, just maybe, you’re reacting like this because you love him too, and that’s much scarier than anything else that can happen at Halloween?’
I buy myself some time by shovelling a huge spoonful of crumble into my mouth. Despite the circumstances, I can still take a moment to appreciate how delicious it is. ‘You or Laura?’ I mumble.
‘That one’s all Laura, made with fruit from Frank’s farm.’ The woman’s a genius, I decide. She should get some kind of award, an MBE for Services to Happiness.
I finish up, and Cherie is looking at me in amusement. ‘Finished stalling?’
‘Yes, I suppose. I can’t love Aidan. He’s too young for me. He’s too good-looking for me. He’s too nice for me.’
‘I see,’ she replies, nodding wisely. ‘And he’s said all of that, has he?’
‘No. He’s said pretty much the opposite. But it’s still all true.’
‘You’re gorgeous, Sarah. And despite your best attempts, you’re also very nice. I’ve noticed how sneakily kind you can be, spending time with me, offering to help out with Katie, talking to Edie for hours on end about Briarwood.’
‘Those are pleasures, not chores. And I’m still too old for him.’
She snorts, and the remaining cream flies off the top of her drink. ‘Bah! What a load of rubbish! You’re, what, sixteen years older than him?’
‘Yes. That’s a whole adult human being older.’
‘It’s still rubbish. I’d have expected you to be more of a smash the patriarchy kind of woman, Sarah. Would anybody bat an eyelid if it was the other way around? If you were a man seeing a woman sixteen years younger? No, they bloody wouldn’t! So stop being so… sexist. Besides, Aidan strikes me as an old soul, and you’re behaving like you’re immature. So maybe you can meet in the middle.’
I narrow my eyes at her and point the spoon in her direction.
