‘Worth looking into I suppose. Only trouble is, the biggest business round these here parts is tourism. There’s a computer company, mind.’ He stared into the distance. ‘Could give them a tap. I know the bloke who’s just taken over. Ambitious type.’ He shook himself. ‘I’m off again. Rambling.’ Rubbing his eyes, he explained, ‘Knackered. It’s one reason I like your paintings. Can come out of a stressy email or phone call and go stand in front of them for ten minutes and all is right with the world again.’
Callie felt tears threaten again. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’
He pushed her mug of tea over. ‘I’m sure that’s not the case. You’re a high school teacher, aren’t you? Don’t you get grateful parents throwing praise at you all the time?’
‘More likely they’re at me to get their precious child’s GCSE grade remarked.’
Dave harrumphed. ‘Can well believe it. Well, if you ever fancy a change of scene and a job in Lullbury Bay. There’ll be a tutor’s position going come January.’ He winked again. ‘Worse places to live.’
‘So I’ve heard but thanks I’m settled in Worcester. Job. House. Friends. That’s where my life is.’
‘Shame.’ He took an enormous gulp of tea. ‘Could do with a talent like you about the place. And there really are worse places to live.’
As Callie made her slow way back to Sea Haven House, breathing in the fresh sea air and dodging happy, suntanned tourists, she thought the same. She could imagine walking along this promenade every day, soaking up the ever-changing moods of sea and sky, making friends with Avril and Tracey.
Had she got it in her to make a move so drastic and life-changing? She doubted it. As she neared the bottom of God Almighty Hill, she paused before tackling it and dismissed the thought as the daydream of another Midland tourist wanting to run away to the seaside.
Five
SUNDAY LATE MORNING 11TH AUGUST
Beryl Cook 1926–2008
Painted flamboyant and extrovert characters. Very different to her own personality. Teaching point: naïve versus trained painter. Are they both valid artforms?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Johnny sucked in a deep breath, rested his hand on the gate to the house his family were staying in, and girded his loins. The house rejoiced in the name Sandy Vistas and was a Victorian Gothic monstrosity. Trust his family to rent somewhere completely over the top.
‘There you are.’ Stella, his oldest sister, pounced on him and claimed his arm. ‘Come on in, darling. We’re in the garden. There’s enough champagne to sink a battleship and everyone’s getting nicely sloshed so the edge has been taken off the Starling Flock.’
He followed her to a trestle table laden with glasses and ice buckets. Stella handed him a glass. ‘Chin-chin.’ She saluted him with her own and winked. ‘Or should I say, chin up? I knowyou don’t find us easy when en masse. Speaking of which, here comes Mummy.’ She gave him a mischievous look and melted away before he could claim her for moral support.
‘Jonathan! Where have you been?’ Dorrie Starling proffered her cheek. ‘Why weren’t you in church?’
‘I was. Slipped in at the back.’
‘At the back? But we’d reserved you a space on the front pew.’
Johnny gulped his champagne feeling, as ever when in the company of his redoubtable mother, reduced to a naughty teenager. ‘I was late so didn’t want to disrupt things. And you know how I feel about organised religion.’ His mother sniffed disapprovingly so he changed the subject. ‘Looked like it went well, though. Baby Inigo behaved and the vicar seemed okay.’
Dorrie pursed her lips. ‘Yes well, I like a man to lead a church service, always seems more proper somehow, but I thought she did jolly well. Very highly thought of in the town, I believe.’ She gave him a little push. ‘Now go and say hello to your father. You haven’t seen him since you came back from abroad. Why you had to disappear off and live inStratfordof all places, I’ll never know.’ She made it sound as if it was another planet. ‘Must dash. Haven’t circulated yet.’ She waved at someone at the other end of the garden and beetled off.
Johnny watched her go, a smile creeping across his face. For someone in her mid-seventies she had more energy than he’d ever have. Grabbing a fresh glass, he made his way over to his father who was sitting on the grand old house’s terrace and looking down upon proceedings with an amused eye.
‘Johnny, old boy.’ Sid Starling patted the vacant chair beside him. ‘Come and perch.’ Johnny sat down. His father leaned over confidingly. ‘Your mother’s in fine fettle. Loves a good party. She’s not content with just this you know. Afternoon tea for the ladies, a luncheon and a barbecue too. Costing us a fortune and I don’t even think Jessica and Connor wanted all this fuss.’
‘Payback for them eloping?’
Sid chuckled. ‘Oh, most certainly. Your mother can’t abide missing an opportunity to show off her latest outfit. I have to say, though, she’s looking remarkably well today. What a splendid filly, eh?’
Johnny’s heart warmed at the thought of his father still finding his wife attractive. His parents’ marriage, a survivor of nearly sixty years, five children and nine grandchildren, was as solid as a rock and grounded in mutual love. He’d never found that certainty for himself. Maybe that was why he’d chosen the lifestyle that, until recently, he’d been so careful to create. ‘She is.’
‘Cross with you though. Keep on your toes, old boy. She’s missed out on being there to see her youngest get married and she won’t do the same with her only son.’
Johnny groaned. He knew where this was going.
‘By that I take it there’s no one in tow today?’
