He is whisked away upstairs, and I decide that having a nap is actually a great idea. I consider staying at the cottage and trying to get forty winks, but I’m not convinced how much rest is actually going to be had. Meg and Lilly are sitting outside the bedroom waiting for him to wake up, coiled springs ofexcitement, so I head back to his place instead. Being pregnant is a truly superb napping excuse – nobody expects too much of a woman who is growing another human being inside her own body.
I do get snaffled by the Betties on my way past their bakery, and they insist that I take home a box of their chocolate fudge cake, ‘for emergencies’. I can’t possibly imagine ever eating another mouthful of sweet stuff again, ever, but who am I to argue? I gratefully accept their gift and make my way back to the cosy solitude of the house.
I feel much better after an hour in bed, and in a jolly mood as I walk back along the green. It is quite the hive of activity, as the remnants of Mystery Cricket are removed and it is transformed into an outdoor party venue. Connie has also been transformed, from the friendly and benign café owning woman she normally is into a stern-faced sergeant major running a military operation. She’s directing everyone around, her eagle eyes missing nothing. Josh accidentally drops one of the beer kegs he’s carrying, and I half expect her to tell him to hit the ground and do fifty push-ups. Still, she’s getting things done for sure. I bet she was a nightmare when she was running her own restaurant in London.
I know a giant marquee had been on standby for the party, but the weather continues to be glorious so it’s not needed. A stage has been built, ready for the music that will come later, and part of the green has been coated in temporary wooden panels that fit together and make an ad-hoc dance floor.
There are trestle tables laid out, which Connie’s children and other volunteers are starting to fill with sumptuous amounts of food. This entire village is jam-packed with people who love either creating or consuming delicious food, I think.
Despite the amount I’d managed to eat earlier, my tummy does make a little rumble as I look at the feast – cooked meats,a whole salmon, sandwiches of every possible kind, salads and slaws and dips and giant glass bowls full of jellies next to jugs of cream. It looks like an adults’ version of a children’s tea party. Bear is here, snuffling hopefully around the edges that are just out of reach.
Ella’s little pooch, Larry – as much of a mystery as the cricket with his tiny legs and long white fluff – is at his side, and I wonder if they might work together and come up with some kind of master plan by the end of the night. I’m fairly sure that if Larry jumped up into Bear’s back, they could reach the sausage rolls.
One entire table holds nothing at all but cake – Connie couldn’t decide between the lemon meringue, the chocolate torte and the apple pie, so in the end she just contributed all of them. The Betties have produced a huge birthday cake in the shape of a cricket bat, and Jake and Ella have set up a mini-pub to keep the drinks flowing. Literally everything has been thought of. There’s even a photographer – Nathan, Sam’s boyfriend, milling around taking Polaroids.
I smile at how quickly and thoroughly it’s all been achieved, the way that everyone has come together to bring something to the mix. Starshine always was good at throwing a party. My mind casts me back to that New Year’s Eve, when the Millennium arrived in all its bug-free glory. My dad was a lot younger then, and some of the people making this event happen didn’t even know Starshine Cove existed. I was already plotting to escape it, with my mum’s unexpected support. I remember feeling so trapped, so stifled – I hated the Millennium, I hated the party, and I hated Starshine and all its horrible perfection.
Now, as I wave to my friends and cast a sympathetic glance in Guy’s direction when he comes under Connie’s scrutiny, I realise I’m finding it all a lot more appealing. I see what my mum always wanted me to see – the friendship, the love, the security. Maybe I’ve finally grown up – or maybe this is what she meant,years ago when she was ill. When she made me promise not to let losing her break me. She told me that when I’d roamed long enough and far enough, I’d come home.
Is this home, I wonder, looking around me? Is this the place I will stay and raise my child? Over the years I’ve known lots of families who travel together. It’s not the easiest of choices, but it’s possible – aid workers, volunteers, those dedicated to an alternative lifestyle, they still have relationships, still have children. The kids are often magnificently feral, rich in life experience even if that life isn’t conventional. Could I do that? Would I even want to?
I’m not sure any more. Now, when I look at the village green, dressed for the party, I don’t have quite the same urge to run. At least not all of the time. These people are my friends. This place is my safety. This village is a world where I know I will always be welcome, where I can raise my baby surrounded by peace and love. Have I finally roamed long enough and far enough?
Connie barks an order out at Guy, and I see him give her a brisk military salute as she walks away. It makes me laugh, and he winks at me before he follows her command.
He’s part of this place for me too, now, I realise. As important to me as all the others. I know he might not stay forever – that his own roaming days may still not be behind him – and I hate the thought of him leaving. He’s been so solid, so good for me. Like a supporting wall. I hope I don’t collapse when he goes.
That, I tell myself, is a worry for another day. It’s certainly not a worry for the day of my father’s ninetieth birthday party.
I walk around the bustling green to the cottage, carrying my dress over my arm. Inside, I find a flurry of activity. Cally is blow-drying the girls’ hair for them, which is apparently a special treat and cause for much mind-blowing excitement. They both have new outfits and are almost bursting with joy as they show me the fruit-flavoured lip gloss they’re going to be wearing.Girls always seem to be in such a hurry to grow up. I wonder what mine will be like. Not at all like me, is all I can hope.
Once the little ones are done, Cally seems to be offering a rolling glow-up service to anybody who calls in – free hair styling, make-up sessions, and nail painting. She’s set up a little ad-hoc salon in the front room, and it is a hub of floral scents, laughter, and the intermittent blast of the hair dryer. She has that thing about her, Cally, that just makes you relax in her company. I know she used to work in a salon in Liverpool, and I can imagine how many secrets she was told as she straightened and curled and coloured. She’s just the kind of woman you automatically trust and warm to.
Miranda calls by for a quick trim, and Lucy’s daughter Rose comes soon after. Last to visit is Connie herself, who gets her curls swept up into a very pretty bun.
I’m not the most girly of women, more at home in jeans and trainers than anything more glamorous, but even I give in to a small make-over session. It is a special day, after all. Cally manages the impossible, and tames my hair into a stylish French braid, and she gives me what she calls a ‘smoky eye’ that makes me stare at myself in the mirror. Is that even me? I look kind of mysterious, and end up sticking my tongue out at my reflection just to reassure myself that I’m still in there.
I’ve actually bought a new dress for the occasion, although as it’s from a charity shop, ‘new’ might be stretching it. I get changed up in my old bedroom, and decide that I don’t look all together disgusting. The dress is made of deep green silk, long and classy, with an empire line waist that does wonders for my ever-increasing boobs. I’m not really showing that much yet, but if I stand side-on and hold the fabric smooth against my body, I can see that there is a noticeable curve to my belly that makes me smile. I have no fear of getting fat – getting fat is good. It meansmy baby is growing inside me. I am fifteen weeks along, and now past the stage where everything went wrong last time.
I know that doesn’t mean anything, and Ella has talked me through all the facts and statistics in an attempt to reassure me, but I have still been tense. Part of me was waiting for the disaster to happen, for the unexpected pain or the blood or the sudden feeling that something wasn’t right. Every day that doesn’t happen is a bonus.
I still have a long way to go, and will probably never entirely relax, but still – I am past one landmark, and that’s got to be good.
My dad walks into the room, dressed to the nines. His outfit was a gift from Sam, Cally’s son, who I have now finally met. As everyone kept telling me I would, I absolutely love him. He’s studying marketing at university in Manchester, but he is pure showbiz – the same lovely Liverpool accent as his mum, tall and dapper, a budding fashion influencer with a gazillion followers on TikTok.
He’s put together a show-stopper of a look for my father tonight, and my dad carries it well. It’s a full top-hat and tails extravaganza, along with a white bow tie and black shoes polished so thoroughly you can see your reflection in them. He even has a cane.
‘Fred Astaire, eat your heart out,’ I tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. His blue eyes are sparkling with happiness, and he gives me a little twirl, making his tail-coat spin.
‘You look really rather beautiful yourself, darling,’ he tells me, taking in my outfit and my unexpectedly tidy hair. He falters slightly, and I know he’s thinking about my mum. I know I look like her, and I suspect the resemblance gets even stronger as I get older. That must be so hard for him, such a strange blend of emotions.
He holds it back with a visible effort and offers me his arm. ‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you this evening?’ he asks, the gentlemanly gesture completely natural on him. ‘I believe there’s some kind of event being planned…’
We stand at the top of the stairs together, and I can’t help remembering all the other times I have walked down these same steps. Galloping down them as a child, sulking on them as a teenager, storming past my mother on my way to slamming a door. Sitting on them with Sandy, consoling each other on the night we lost her. So many memories, all flooding through me. I glance up at my dad, still a handsome devil even at ninety, and pat his arm.
‘I love you, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘Happy birthday.’ He looks so moved I immediately feel guilty. I have been away too long, depriving him – depriving me – of moments like this.
‘Thank you, sweetheart. I love you, too. I can’t tell you how happy it’s made me, having you here. Now, let’s not talk about it any more, or I’ll cry and my mascara might run.’
