‘No. It’s… God, I’m so sorry, Suzie. What did you do?’
I let out a little laugh, completely devoid of humour. ‘I did what I do best, and ran – away from David, away from Thailand,away from everything and everyone that reminded me of what I’d lost, of who I’d been. It’s like there were two versions of me – the before Suzie, and the after Suzie. David tried, he followed me to India, and we made an effort, but it was just like something had switched off inside me. I had nothing to give him, nothing to offer other than my brokenness, and he deserved better than that. It was a relief when he finally gave up and went back home to the States.’
‘Are you still in touch?’ she asks.
‘Loosely speaking. He got married, settled down, is now being ruled by a three-year-old daughter called Bethany. I’m happy for him. But after he left, I threw myself into my volunteering work. It helped, I felt like I was making a difference, and it allowed me to live in a community but somehow still keep my distance. I didn’t form real relationships, I kept everything shallow and surface level, and I guess it all reinforced the way I’d always seen myself – as the kind of person who was destined to be alone. I found it impossible to reach out, to talk about what had happened. Nobody there knew, nobody here knew, and that’s how I needed it to be. I just buried myself in the guilt, about everything, and tried to move on.’
Connie drinks down a big gulp of her wine before she speaks again. ‘Guilt is a tricky bastard, isn’t it? But you’re here now, Suzie. And I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I think you should tell George about this. I think he deserves to know. He’s your dad, and he loves you, and he will understand. There is nothing you could tell him that would make him not love you.’
I know she is right. I know that I need to tell him, to fill in the terrible blanks, to explain why I seemed to behave in such a selfish and callous way back then. I know that secrets will eat away at a person, become emotional acid that seeps through relationships, poisoning them slowly.
But I also know that we all have our secrets. There are parts of all of us that we hide, that we protect, that we feel the need to bury away. Shame, guilt, things we’ve done, things we’ve said and regretted.
Secrets that shape the past, and some that will shape the future.
EIGHT
The next week passes by in a blur of gentle activity. Nothing ever reaches fever-pitch in Starshine Cove, even during the height of tourist season. Some places in our little corner of the world become unbearably full during the summer, but Starshine has always seemed to strike that perfect balance between welcoming visitors and becoming overwhelmed by them.
I’ve lived all over the world, in huge cities and in huge open spaces, and I’ve adapted to all kinds of conditions. Floods, droughts, overcrowding, cockroach-infested hostels, communes and campsites and makeshift settlements on beaches. I had my own little room at the school in India, which was the height of luxury, but I’ve certainly called far worse places home.
Being here, in a village with perfect plumbing and modern sanitation and supermarkets nearby, should feel like bliss. Waking up every day to plentiful hot water, a private place to wash, a comfortable bed, a safe space, should feel like a treat. I’m forty-three years old, and I’ve spent a lot of my life abroad. Abroad years are like dog years in humans, so I’m basically over 300 – I’ve earned the comfy bed and the safe space.
Despite knowing and accepting that for various reasons my days of roughing it are probably over, I still struggle with thesense that I am being boxed in. It is not the fault of the village, or of my family; it is something that comes from deep within me, I now have the maturity to realise.
I manage it the best way I can, by spending lots of time outdoors, by going for drives along the coast, by going for long walks along the cliff tops, where I can see if not feel the sheer amount of space that surrounds me. Which is exactly where I am now – sitting on the top of Golden Cap gazing out at infinity, allowing myself to unwind after a whole day spent helping out at the community centre playgroup.
I loved it – the noise, the chaos, the charging-around of the children – but it also involved dealing with people, answering their questions, being the focus of conversations. It’s natural, I know it is – of course people are curious – but it isn’t necessarily easy for me. I’m currently working on a rough equation of one hour alone for every three hours spent in the company of others, and maybe I’ll build it up over time.
My father seems to have a surprising amount of understanding for this unspoken feeling, never overcommitting me to any activities, always asking first before he plans anything that involves me. The night of Connie’s dinner, I took her advice, and when we got home I told him about the babies. About the loss. About my life since.
He absorbed it all, then held me in his arms for what felt like forever. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling,’ he’d said, wiping away my tears. ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you, and that the universe played such a rotten trick on us both…’
I’d looked up at him, saw the pain and regret etched on his face, and asked: ‘Dad, do you ever feel like we’re cursed? As a family? I mean, Mum was too young when she died, and then Sandy and Simon, and my babies… it feels like too much for one family doesn’t it?’
He’d smiled gently and replied: ‘I’m sure I’m supposed to come up with some life wisdom here, Suzie, but in all honesty, sometimes it has felt like that to me, yes. But then I remember the flip side of it – the blessings as well as the curse. You can’t lose what you’ve never had, and we’ve had so much. I never expected to fall in love and have a family; I never expected my old age to be as rich in friendship and love as it is. Simon, Sandy, your mother… they were blessings, even if we didn’t get to enjoy them for as long as we would have liked.’
I’d thought about what he said, and saw the truth of it – but I also knew that I would never really feel like that. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t born with what he calls the contentment gene; perhaps because I never got to enjoy the blessing of my own children. Perhaps just because I’m a naturally cynical person, I don’t know. I didn’t argue, though, because what would be the point? He finds the idea comforting, and who am I to disagree? One of the great revelations of being home is that we don’t all have to be the same – we can be fundamentally different and still love each other.
I’m glad to have had the conversation with him, though, and Connie was definitely right to prompt me in that direction. Sharing my emotions does not come easily to me, but I know that if I’m serious about wanting to be part of his life again, I need to start. Baby steps, I tell myself. One foot in front of the other, even if it sometimes feels like I’m going backwards.
I make my way down the winding trails that lead to the car park, breathing in the fresh air and the freedom. The coastal pathway here runs all the way from Somerset through Cornwall and Devon, curving around the shoreline until it reaches us here in Dorset. I may be biased, but I think the place I’ve spent the last hour is the most spectacular stopping off point on the whole route, the highest point on the south coast and blessed with mind-blowing views. Balm for a jagged soul.
I’m just getting into Bettina when my phone rings. I grin when I see the contact flash up: Smoking Hot Dude. Guy has been the other calming presence in my life, just as soothing as my escapes to the coast, and almost as pretty. He is walking his own path, this man, working hard to regain Miranda’s trust, getting to know his daughter all over again. They will never make up for lost time, but they both at least seem willing to try.
‘Yo,’ I say as I answer. ‘This better be a booty call…’
I have continued to shamelessly flirt with him, and he has continued to amusingly ignore me. It’d be bad for a girl’s ego if I actually meant any of it.
‘More of a talk-me-down-from-a-cliff call.’
‘Ah. Which is weird, as I am actually on a cliff right now. Where are you?’
‘I’m at a builders’ yard.’
‘Ooh, I like the sound of that. If I come and meet you there, do you promise to let me help you with your erection?’
I pull a face as I speak, because that was a little risqué even for me, and not even that funny. I really need to work on my construction-based double entendres. ‘Ignore me, Guy. Just drop me a pin and I’ll come and meet you.’
