7
Sunday was Amber’s day off from the café, which was just as well as the mood which had descended on her last night hadn’t lifted. She lay on her bed, pillows all around, gazing up at the mobiles which Aimee had made from shells found in Lantern Bay last time she visited. Trouble was, whenever she opened the window, a few more grains of sand found their way out from the spiral shells as they moved in the breeze.
But this morning her mind, for once, wasn’t on the here and now, but on David. She felt foolish. She was used to her siblings treating her with affectionate dismissal, but not someone like David. She felt a connection with him, totally unlike any she had with past boyfriends. Rightly, or wrongly, she’d felt that somehow he’d seen through the superficial hippy exterior and seen her, the real her. The one that didn’t need looking after, the one that was strong and independent and happy with her life. But it seemed she was wrong. By buying up all her artwork, he’d treated her just as one of her siblings would. Step in and take over to make sure Amber was happy.
She grunted with frustration, tossed off the bedclothes and put her feet on one of the many rag rugs which covered the bare floorboards which she’d painted pink. She liked pink. She looked up at the ceiling, and she liked purple. What was wrong with that? Why didn’t anyone respect her, or take her seriously?
Grumpily she went and showered and dressed in one of her more outrageous outfits. She refused to let people influence her. And that was where she was strong, whether they knew it or not. If they underestimated her, that wasn’t her problem, it was theirs.
Amber foundFlo in the large garden, which was Flo’s pride and joy. Flo was a real homemaker, and Amber appreciated the spirituality of it. She just wished she had Flo’s practical sense.
“Flo!” Amber waved to her friend, who waved back and came towards her, peeling off her gardening gloves and dropping them onto the old table under the verandah she used for potting paraphernalia.
“Amber!” said Flo, giving her a big hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d got too busy to catch up with your old friends!” Flo grinned, but Amber didn’t.
“Don’t say that! I’m not like that, it’s just that I’ve been…”
“Preoccupied?” offered Flo. “I’m not getting at you. It’s been fun to see you get immersed with the Hot Green Eyes guy. How’s that going, anyway?”
Unwanted tears sprang to Amber’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Flo touched Amber’s arm. “It’s okay, we won’t then. How about a cuppa?” She glanced at her watch. “Even better, how about a glass of wine? It looks like you could do with one.”
“Oh,” moaned Amber, her brows knitting as she tried to control her emotions, but didn’t succeed. “I’d love a cup of tea.”
While Flo went and filled the kettle over the Belfast sink, chipped from decades of hard usage, catering first to Flo’s grandparents, then her parents, Amber slipped off her shoes and sat in the old-fashioned grandmother’s winged armchair, tucking her feet under her. Flo shot her a warm smile. Flo once said that Amber was the sister she’d never had. But it was more than just that which connected them. Flo had been with Amber every step of the way since Amber’s world had turned upside down five years earlier and knew far more than anyone else in her family about what had happened.
Flo plugged the kettle in, and leaning back against the sink, folded her arms. “It’s been good, you know, seeing you happy again.”
“I’m always happy!” said Amber, slightly scandalized that Flo could see through her.
“You’re mostly happy,” Flo corrected her. “But there’s always a shadow lurking in your spirit. You’ve never been quite the same since—”
Amber held up her hand. “We vowed to never speak of it again.”
“You vowed, I didn’t,” said Flo, pushing herself off the sink and opening a jar of home-made chocolate chip cookies. She shook some onto a plate and set it on the scrubbed pine table which dominated the old kitchen. She hooked a foot around a chair and dragged it noisily to the table and pushed the plate across the table. “Like a cookie?”
Amber normally loved Flo’s baking, more than her own, she had to admit, but not today. “No, thanks, I’m not hungry.”
Flo’s eyebrows shot up. “You have got it bad!”
Amber knitted her eyebrows. “Got what bad?”
“Don’t sulk, Amber, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Well, I don’t like you suggesting that I’m in love… or something.” She faded away, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought that she’d just admitted she was in love.
“I wasn’t. But it looks like you are.” She leaned forward and poured them both strong cups of gumboot tea. “That’s good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Why not?”
“Because David is not the man I thought he was.”
“And who did you think he was?”
“Someone… who was kind of perfect.”
