Grace greeted them in the Art School’s reception area, letting an ecstatic Vinny jump all over her. ‘Oh my dears, I can’t thank you enough. And how is my lovely boy? I hope he didn’t disgrace himself?’
‘Probably has better manners than my big bro.’ Jessica Starling let herself out of the office and kissed them both. ‘Hello, darling pair. I have an hour off from being a booby mummy so Dave has said I can be in charge of the children’s painting competition. Can’t tell you the joy in not being covered with baby sick for a whole sixty minutes.’ She took Callie’s elbow in a firm grip and steered her towards the staffroom. ‘All the entries are set out in here. My plan is to make some truly excellent coffee, drink it while it’s piping hot and eat all the biscuits. Grace,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘why don’t you find Dave. He’s in themain hall. You can show Johnny Callie’s gorgeous work at the same time. We’ll be busy for a while in here.’
Grace and Johnny, along with a panting, pulling Vinny, headed off down the white-painted corridor. Johnny looked back as if he felt there were unresolved matters to discuss. As indeed there were.
‘You two looked cosy,’ Jessica said knowingly as she flicked on the kettle. ‘Still think you make a great couple. Mum has issued a three-line-whip invitation to afternoon tea, by the way.’ Hunting in the cupboards for a pack of coffee and the percolator, she added, ‘I’m afraid The Aunts will be there, natch, but they can be managed so as not to be too awful. Actually, Aunt Sybs is great fun when there’s only pots of tea around. It’s the alcohol that turns her into a bit of a beast.’
Callie subsided onto a chair. She felt as if everything was colliding, rushing in at her. A panicky sensation rose in her stomach, making her feel sick. Why hadn’t she responded to Johnny more positively? Why had she retreated? She liked him. Possibly more than liked. The last few days with him had been wonderful, an escape from her normal life. A true holiday. Frida turning up so unexpectedly had catapulted her back into the role of mother and breadwinner. Johnny in her life could only complicate things. And there was no room for complication in her life.
He’d been so sure of himself earlier when declaring his feelings. Confident she felt the same way, that things would work out. But he knew nothing of her life, of how hard it had been. How hard won. Irritation rose. Jessica had just swept her up and now Dorrie expected her to attend some flamin’ afternoon tea, as if she hadn’t anything else to do!
She’d had enough of the Starling family trying to run her life. She’d managed perfectly well on her own all these years; she didn’t need an intervention now. God, they were all so bossy andconfident. ‘I’m not sure that will be possible,’ she said, her voice sharp. ‘My daughter arrived late last night.’
Jessica stood up from where she’d been rootling in the fridge for milk. ‘Well, that’s okay. In fact, that would be rather lovely. She can come along too. More the merrier I say when it’s teeny scones and finger sandwiches. I do like a posh afternoon tea, don’t you? Little bits of lusciousness. I’m permanently starving as I’m breastfeeding.’ She stopped, finally reading the room. ‘You cool, Callie?’
‘I’m fine. I’d just like to get on with the task in hand and get back to spend some time with my daughter.’ She’d slipped automatically into her no-nonsense teacher voice and saw Jessica start.
‘Of course. I’ll make the coffee and we’ll get going. I understand.’
No you don’t,Callie thought.You don’t understand one thing. How can you, when even I don’t understand?She’d never felt so miserable in her life. It was as if a bright shiny thing had been in fingertip reach, only to be snatched away by the cold wind of reality. The more she thought about it, the more unlikely any relationship with Johnny could happen. Besides, she had Frida to consider.
She shuffled the first batch of children’s paintings around to study them more intently, blinking her eyes and trying not to cry.
Twenty-Five
SATURDAY LATE AFTERNOON 17TH AUGUST
Edvard Munch 1863–1944
Norwegian painter. His fragile mental health fed into the themes of his paintings. Study ‘The Scream’ – what does it tell us?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Callie walked slowly back to Sea Haven House, her feet dragging. Watching a loved-up couple, with arms entwined, going the other way, her heart contracted with a painful envy. Donna had been right, she’d been lulled into living in cloud cuckoo land. How could she have imagined living here in Lullbury Bay, or having a relationship with someone like Johnny Starling? Of course she had to go home, back to Worcester and the little Victorian terrace. What alternative was there? Escaping to the seaside was a pipe dream and one she couldn’t hope to aspire to. As was any kind of meaningful relationship with Johnny. She clicked on Donna’s number, desperate to speak to her but it went straight to voicemail, so she clicked off without leaving a message.
Unable to face the trudge up God Almighty Hill, she cut up the main shopping street and turned into the public gardens, deliberately avoiding looking at the castle ruins. The sight brought back memories of the evening she’d spent with Johnny. As she walked through the gardens her feet slowed even more. She had no desire to get back to the house and find Johnny there. The cottage had lost its appeal as a haven. Instead, it was going to be a pit of awkwardness. What had she been thinking getting involved with him? It was making what should have been a relaxing holiday, a nightmare.
The air around her felt different, charged somehow. The wind, cutting off the sea, chilly. It shivered through the palm trees and was making white horses froth on the waves. The sky was thick with gulls, twisting and turning and heading inland. Was the weather breaking? Autumn was hovering on the horizon. And a new term.
For once she’d delegated being at school for the exam results to a colleague. At this time of year she’d usually be with her students. It was always a rollercoaster; wonderful to celebrate with those who had obtained what they needed but heartbreaking to console with those who hadn’t quite achieved their desired grades. It was the first time she’d not been there. It would be good experience for Nella who she suspected was nipping at her heels for her job, and who was perfectly capable if a little lacking in empathy, but the guilt assailed her even so. Her life was crowded with guilt. Guilt over not doing her job properly. Guilt over how Frida had turned out. She was tired of feeling guilty but didn’t know how to stop.
Callie made a decision. Wednesday was the art awards ceremony. She’d stay for that but would drive home the following day. Frida too. It was time to cut her losses and bite reality.
As she let herself in through the garden gate she heard voices. Johnny and Frida were in the garden. Her heart sank; she didn’t want to deal with either at the moment.
Wondering if she could go back out and hide in the Sea Spray for a couple of hours, she heard Frida call out.
‘Mum! Come and grab a pew. I had a fab time at the café, Tracey is a right laugh. She’s from Cornwall originally but she hasn’t been in Lullbury long. She’s travelled all over, spent loads of time in India and South America. She’s well cool.’
Johnny offered his deck chair, so Callie sank into it, carefully not meeting his eyes. If she stayed around much longer, she’d really fall for him and that would not do. It would not do at all. He passed her a fresh mug of tea. Muttering her thanks, she tuned into Frida who was still chattering away.
‘And I really enjoyed working at the café. Had my lunch there and I’m starting proper tomorrow. Got some majorly good tips too. It’s ace.’
‘But it’s hardly a proper career.’
‘What, like working in a boring office shuffling paper, at a boring engineering company, you mean? Everyone at Price’s is about ninety. Know what? Today, I ate my lunch sitting on a bench outside in the sunshine and got chatted up by some blokes on holiday from Leicester. They were brilliant fun and I’m meeting them later down The Old Harbour.’
‘No, you’re not!’
