‘Hello, stranger,’ says Milo, a smile lighting up his face. ‘Decided to take me up on my offer and try out the competition?’
He’s carrying a blanket and even though there’s still quite a bit of heat left in the day, he wraps it around his mum’s legs.
She flaps her hands at him. ‘I’m not an invalid. I can manage.’
‘I know.’ He steps back. ‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘Go get Ellie a milkshake.’ She looks up at me. ‘They’re lovely.’
‘No. I’m OK.’ I back away, beginning to make my retreat.
‘I’m not taking no for an answer.’ Sophie’s eyes crinkle up at the sides and I glimpse the twinkle I recognise. ‘I’m having a chocolate one. Go and check out the flavours.’ She studies me for a second. ‘Jackson’ll make you one.’
I’m saved from having to answer by the little dog snuffling around us. Sophie pats her thigh, and the terrier jumps up and nestles itself on her lap. She ruffles the dog behind its ears, and it leans into her. ‘Go on, you two. Give Tippi and me a bit of peace to enjoy the sea breeze while I can.’
‘Come on,’ says Milo. He squeezes his mum on the shoulder, then smiles at me and nods towards the camper van.
I follow him reluctantly, my whole body desperate to keep the distance between me and Jackson. He’s in the VW, behind the counter, mixing a drink. He looks up as we approach and his hand jerks, spilling milk from the jug he’s holding.
His hazel eyes look exactly like the ones still haunting my dreams. The splinters of gold and orange nestled in between chestnut brown are unforgettable. They’re framed with long dark lashes that curl up ever so slightly and he has a gold eyebrow ring that’s new and suits him. My insides spin like a lit Catherine wheel shedding sparks.
‘Are you two just going to stare at each other?’ says Milo, sounding like a teacher dealing with a pair of six-year-olds. He gives each of us a pointed stare.
I’m standing like a waxwork dummy and Jackson speaks first.
‘Hello, Ellie.’ His voice, deep and rhythmic and utterly familiar.
I try to make my mouth move, but nothing happens as I have no idea what to say, and the growing silence is mortifying.
‘Are you going to ignore me, again? Not even a hello?’ It’s impossible to ignore the hurt in his voice. Or is that me imagining it?
‘No,’ I say, flustered. The sparks rebounding around my chest are very distracting. ‘I mean, yes. Hello,’ I finish lamely, my mouth sticky and dry. My eyes drop out of his gaze and study the tips of my scuffed and sandy trainers.
There’s another elongated pause, which thankfully Milo breaks for a second time.
‘I promised Ellie a drink. Make her one of your famous milkshakes, bro.’
Jackson glares at his brother, then steps sideways revealing a list of drinks written on a board to the side of the till.
I scan the menu, filling my head with the options so there’s no space to think of anything else. As well as the ones you’d expect, there are several I’ve never even thought could be milkshakes. Strawberry and Kiwi. Vegan Pineapple. Banana Pudding. Green Matcha Tea. The Unicorn.
‘A unicorn?’ I blurt out.
Milo laughs. ‘The kids love that one. Vanilla shake, rainbow choc chips and sprinkles, squirts of pink and white whipped cream and a white chocolate unicorn. All Jackson’s creation. He’ll make you one.’ He leaves us and heads around the side of the van.
I’d always promised myself if I met Jackson again, I’d explain and apologise. Make him see it was all my fault and nothing he’d done. If I’d had my time again, I’d have done everything differently. Everything. Now I’ve got that opportunity. The chance to put the past behind me and free me to enjoy my future, except like the idiot I am, I have no words. Instead, my head is full of the Jackson that’s standing right in front of me. He’s tall and lean, and very much not the skinny boy I once knew.
‘Do you want to try one?’ he says, looking over at me. Although still frosty, his eyes are magnetic and connect to mine with a snap. ‘The unicorn one?’
Although the words are normal, his tone is flat and gruff and I can’t gauge how he’s feeling. I bite at my lip. ‘No. I think I’ll stick to being boring. I’ll have a chocolate one like your mum.’
‘If you say so.’ He disengages his eyes from mine easily andreaches behind him for a tall glass. ‘Don’t know if you’ll ever be boring.’
His last words are so quiet I’m not sure I heard them right. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other until he’s made the drinks and put them down on the counter.
‘How’s your mum? Is she OK?’ I ask, scratching around for small talk.
‘She’s fine,’ he says, the words clipped short. His eyes soften as he looks across to where his mum is sitting. ‘It’s nothing.’
