“Oh, it’s a great place,” he replies enthusiastically. “Sure, it’s not as glamorous or cosmopolitan as Ramsgate—”
“Now, is that a high enough bar to set?” I ask, pointing my fork in his direction, and he laughs again. This guy laughs at everything. I wonder if it’s nerves or if he really is this bright and happy.
“Most people find the place charming,” he says, and I shrug.
“Well, it’s definitely got its charms,” I say.
It has an achingly cute seafront, wooden pier, and Georgian terraced houses, but in a way Broadgate feels like a glorious abandoned film set. No one is looking after it, notreally. It’s been left to flounder. The town, the lido, and at least sixty-five percent of its residents are old. Broadgate peaked early and kind of gave up. A bit like me, I think grimly.
“It’s the lido,” I say, channeling my frustration into that one thing. “It’s falling apart at the seams, and my boss just doesn’t seem to care.”
“I patched up the hallway last winter. It has really good bones, you know. Everything that’s wrong with that place is superficial.”
“What do you mean?”
“It just needs some cash for a proper renovation. Maybe the pool needs redoing?” he says, thinking aloud now. “It was quite something back in the day, apparently. They say there were some epic parties.”
I imagine the salt-eroded white cladding redone and sparkling in the summer sunshine. I imagine the pool filled with bathers, and the poolside littered with brightly colored umbrellas, people lazily sunning themselves, and I sigh.
“I’m sure there’s a way. They just did up Saltdean in Sussex,” he says, a face full of optimism that grates on me.
I sigh and shrug. “Sure, Ash. Maybe I just need totry.”
“No! Do or do not. There is no try,” he says in a gravelly voice.
“Did you just quote Yoda at me?”
He grins, and I can’t help but return it. He quoted a movie. Sure, it was a quote everyone should know before the age of twelve, but it was a movie quote. This is a good sign. Perhaps this might just work.
“Broadgate is a great community; they’ll back you right up.”
“I don’t really know anyone in thecommunity,” I say, a word that conjures up small-town apathy more than anything. “I’m not close to anyone here.”
“Aw, Mara. You need to get yourself out there. There’s plenty of people to meet, if you’re feeling lonely. My mum has a book club,” he says.
“That’s kind,” I say, although inside I’m quietly devastated. Has he really just suggested I join his mother at her book club as a way to meet people? My life is a disaster.
“Sure. Anytime. I know a bit of what it’s like to be in a new place. You’ll settle in if you make an effort.”
“Everything is effort enough,” I say, rubbing my temples as the last few days’ events swirl around in my head, unstructured. Unfiled. Wild and confusing. “My brain hurts.”
“You must be tired,” he says.
There is a silence now and Ash moves the goulash around in his bowl and looks up at me. I catch his eye at the same time and sense a strange feeling coming from him. Is it pity? Does this man pity me? Is this what it’s come to?
“Let me tell you about Budapest,” I say, quickly breaking away from his gaze.
“Yes,” he says, nodding.
“I met a man,” I say, blushing as I do. Embarrassed to share it with this guy I hardly know. I’m that starved for people to tell.
“You did?” Ash replies, scratching at some plaster on his sleeve and flicking it off onto the floor.
“His name is Josef. He’s a cellist.”
“A cellist.” He nods. “Impressive.”
“It was pretty muchbam. Like, hereheis.” After a thoughtful pause, I decide not to divulge the details just yet. I don’t know if Ash will appreciate the delicate fabric of fate and destiny that will bring Joe to me in August. “I was waiting for something to happen. You know, that moment when you meet someone and they are meant for you and suddenly you feel your roots dig into the earth and there is a point to everything. I mean a point toyou. Like, there is a point to Mara now.Iexist for a reason. I’m not just white noise; I’m like an earthy part of the world. Do you know what I’m saying?”
