Edie Browne's Cottage by the Sea

by Jane Linfoot

  I blow out, screw my eyes tightly closed and focus my mind. ‘If you want me to circumnavigate the world, you missed your window.’ And ‘yay’ to getting that mouthful out.

  ‘Much better than that. The infants’ end-of-season penalty shoot-outs are after school, Cam was hoping you’d cheer him on.’ All my effort’s gone straight over his head.

  ‘Football?’ I know everything there is to know about that from Marcus and have no wish to learn any more. Enough said.

  ‘Everyone’s going.’ Across the table Loella and Beth are both nodding, backing him up. He’s rubbing his hands. ‘If we hurry we’ll get a good place.’

  ‘Great,’ I say, and smile, even though it’s my idea of hell. And before I can say ‘own goal’ we’ve been whisked across town, and we’re walking across a field behind the school which is teeming with parents and dizzyingly close to the cliff edge. It’s so exposed, me hanging onto Aunty Jo’s anorak is all that’s stopping her getting blown out to sea. Although I have to admit in passing, the view from here is amazing, and watching the sea tumbling in and crashing onto piles of inky rocks is so mesmerising I could happily watch it all day. Which I’d definitely never say about football. Calling it a field is a stretch too because, to be fair, we’ve walked the length of the pitch, which is thankfully shortened for kids and unfit people like me, and I still haven’t seen a blade of grass.

  Beth comes up behind us. ‘Don’t worry, some of the school tournaments go on all afternoon, but this is an abridged version for the small ones. The kids take penalties, Mr Wagstaff goes in goal and lets them all in, we roar until we’re hoarse and it’s over in seconds.’

  I beam at her. ‘What’s not to like?’

  When Cam comes belting across, his hair sticking out at even more angles than usual, his body’s almost non-existent under his baggy shorts and red shirt.

  ‘Hey, Edie Browne, you came.’

  ‘I reckon I deserve a high five for that.’ As his fist hits my palm I can feel Aunty Jo’s full body shudder as she takes in the state of his knees.

  ‘If there’s dirt, boys will find it.’

  I need to tell her that’s sexist, but Beth gets in first. ‘If anything, the girls are worse, Jo.’

  Cam’s hitting my hip. ‘I was worried you didn’t play football.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t. Not since junior school anyway and I’ve no plans to play again.’

  ‘Barney didn’t tell you?’ Beth’s head’s tilted and she’s holding back a grin. ‘Kids go first, then all the grown-ups have a turn too.’

  ‘Nice try.’ I grin at her. ‘Me and Aunty Jo are exempt, count us out.’

  ‘But I need you on my team.’ Cam’s at my elbow. ‘You have to, Edie – everyone else has got teams and I haven’t.’

  ‘Fine.’ If this was Barney the answer would be a big fat ‘no’ for sure, but with Cam it’s harder to refuse. It could be worse; in year four Bella and I had a crack women’s five-a-side team, we beat the boys hollow and left them for dead. It was so long ago, for once I’m glad I can’t do the sums, but it can’t be beyond me to boot a ball. ‘Give us a shout when you want us, Cam, we’ll smash this.’ Aunty Jo’s gold pumps are welded in first position, so I give her a nudge. ‘Won’t we, Aunty Jo?’

  Before she can reply, Mr Wagstaff blasts on his whistle and all the kids belt across to him and line up in a disorderly queue a few yards out from the goalposts, where a woman with a ponytail in full footie kit is standing with a net of balls and a whistle of her own.

  I turn to Beth, who’s got children hanging off both hands. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘No need to look so worried, this isn’t Man United. If you yell like mad every time one of them kicks the ball you won’t go far wrong. If in doubt, yell anyway.’

  ‘If we shout “Boom!” here too, I’ll be right on point.’

  ‘Boom?’ Beth looks like she hasn’t got the first clue what I’m talking about.

  ‘Isn’t it a Cornish thing?’ I must be less on point that I thought, but there’s no time to ask more because Mr Wagstaff’s backed between the goalposts, the woman blows a whistle and a small girl taps a ball that’s almost as big as her. As it rolls slowly towards the line Mr Wagstaff falls in entirely the wrong direction and the whole crowd erupts and yells, ‘GOAL!!!’

  It happens so many more times I start staring at the sky, watching the seagulls getting blown in the wind, then Beth shakes her hand free for long enough to prod me. ‘Okay, Cam’s turn next.’

  Barney’s muttering behind me, ‘Get ready, anything could happen here.’

  Beth puts a hand on his arm. ‘He’s been much better lately.’

  I give Aunty Jo a shove. ‘Here we go. This is us, as loud as you like.’

  I’m holding my breath, then as Cam steps back we start waving and screaming and jumping up and down. He misses the ball completely with the first kick and the crowd dissolves with a collective ‘ahhh’.

  As Cam’s face crumples Barney groans. ‘Just what we don’t need.’

  Beth’s watching anxiously. ‘No, he’s holding it together.’

  I have to ask. ‘Doesn’t he always?’

  Loella raises her eyebrows. ‘He has been known to go into total meltdown.’

  Cam turns towards us, and Loella, who’s standing beyond Beth, leans forward and gives me a shove. ‘It’s you he’s looking at, Edie – you’ve got tissues, see what you can do.’

  I’m dabbing my eyes because they’re streaming in the wind, but Beth’s nodding at me too, so I forget the mud sucking at my shoes and dash out to the middle of the pitch. I bob down, pull Cam towards me, stare straight into his eyes and try to ignore the mayhem around us.

  ‘Okay?’ It’s a stupid thing to say, because he obviously isn’t.

  His sniff gives way to a wail. ‘I can’t do it, and now everybody’s laughing.’

  ‘Don’t listen to them, just look at me.’ What the hell is there to say about penalties? And then it hits me. ‘The best pro footballers always miss first time, then it fools the keeper. That’s all you did there, you didn’t touch the ball.’

  He scrapes his sleeve across his face. ‘Really?’

  I decide to spare him the embarrassment of going in with my hanky. ‘Get in there for a second kick and you’ll catch the keeper napping. Look at the ball then whack it, you’ll have to be quick.’

  ‘Now?’ He sounds very doubtful.

  ‘High five me first, then go for it.’ I hold up my hand and as he barely taps it I turn him back onto the ball. ‘Come on, Cam, we’ve got this.’

  I’m willing him on so hard I’m barely breathing. For a second I think he’s going to crumple, but I send him a manic grin and wiggle my eyebrows, and then he pulls his leg back, kicks, and this time his foot touches the ball. As it wobbles towards the goal Mr Wagstaff does a huge dive and hits the ground as the ball rolls over the line.

  I can hear Aunty Jo screeching like a banshee from the sideline, I accidentally let out a couple of ‘booms’, and by the time she launches into a series of grand jeté leaps across the pitch to join us the roar around is so loud I’m holding my hands over my ears as I yell.

  Cam’s back at my side, pummelling me with his fists. ‘I got my goal and I got the loudest shout.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ The wind’s whipping my words away, but beyond Barney sticking his thumbs up at me I’m staring at the seagulls lined up along the fence, feathers parted to the skin by the wind, the iron grey of the sea beyond streaked with foam where the breakers are rolling towards the shore. So much for sun, sand and summer. Right now this has to be a contender for the least hospitable place in England, if not the world.

  ‘C’mon Edie, it’s your turn now.’

  I punch the air. ‘Wooo-hooo, bring it on.’ I want to boot in my goal and get the hell off this clifftop. It’s only as I turn around that I realise. Those few moments staring out to sea, I’ve missed the damned boat and I’m literally last in the queue. Somehow Aunty Jo’s at the front,
and as she waves her arms and glides forward towards the ball she could be dancing the lead in Giselle. No one cares that all that’s missing are her point shoes and tutu because she scores. Then what looks like the whole of St Aidan follow her, balls flying in all directions, every kind of parent from yummy mummies in pink fur fabric to dads in oily overalls. And then suddenly it’s my turn.

  I’ve seen it a thousand times before, on PlayStation and Match of the Day, so I know what I’m doing here. So long as I ignore the distraction of Barney’s cheekbones and windblown hair looking more like they belong on a Hollywood film set than an infants’ footie pitch, I’ve got this. Or I would have, if Mr Wagstaff hadn’t started showing off his keeper talents. I can’t mess about if I want to score here.

  My best chance is to go for power and speed and a long run up. By the time I put my ball on the spot, the ground is more slippery than an ice slide. I back half way down the pitch, sprint forward like a mad thing, then hurl myself at the ball. There’s a satisfying thud as my foot hits it and as it hurtles through the air like a missile I’m still running, because my feet won’t stop. Then my boots hit a huge puddle and as my feet slide out from under me I see the ball make contact, slapping Mr Wagstaff square in the face. My back thumps onto the ground and I skid feet first into the goal mouth. Then Mr Wagstaff lands on top of me, clutching his nose, which is now bleeding.

  All I can think as I lie there, pressed down in the mud, staring at a hairy calf, watching drips of blood landing on my capri pants is, if I stay here a lifetime, I’ll never live this down. Being accidentally sat on by some hunk is definitely more Bella’s thing than mine. Where she’d lose no time jumping him, I’m too mortified by injuring him to think of anything more than groaning my apologies.

  Then someone comes over and disentangles Mr Wagstaff, and as someone else comes in to mop his face Barney’s pulling me up. ‘Shit, Edie, I’m so sorry – tell me you didn’t bang your head?’

  ‘I’m fine. Or I am now I haven’t got a hot muscly teacher pinning me down.’ It was worth saying if only to see Barney’s eyes almost pop. As for the mud I’m plastered in, if Aunty Jo hasn’t had a dirt-induced nervous breakdown yet, she will now.

  ‘Mr Wagstaff’s the headmaster.’ Cam sounds awestruck. ‘You knobbled the headmaster, Edie.’

  More importantly, I made an even bigger spectacle of myself. This makes me crawling out of the garden club look like a Prosecco picnic. Thank Christmas we’re not staying.

  I’m picking clumps of mud off my pink and black checked jacket when I spot a guy in paint-spattered overalls disappearing over the horizon towards the playground. There was a decorator here and I missed him. This goes down as a fail in every area.

  16

  Day 149: Friday, 30th March

  At Periwinkle Cottage

  Epic Achievement: Facing the critics.

  The last couple of days, people have been calling round with random gifts. The milkman dropped off some pots of luxury apricot and mango yogurt, knocked at the door and made clear he had definitely meant to deliver them, and they weren’t going to be added to the bill. Then Helen from the gardeners’ came round with a jar of homemade shortbread biscuits with a pretty tartan ribbon tied around the top, and Beth called by with a bottle of five-flower pick-you-up essence and recommended we should both take double doses. When Loella dropped in on Thursday and brought some yellow fabric Aunty Jo had been admiring at the class, I had to mention it.

  ‘We’ve had a lot of presents this week.’

  She laughs. ‘Like Beth said, there’s a good side to the whole of St Aidan knowing your business.’ She stops and puts her hand on my wrist as she does. ‘You’re a bit of a legend, ending up in the mud and all – I’ll have your jacket back tomorrow.’ And then, before I can say any more, she’s off across the courtyard with a flap of her coat made out of coffee sacks and a cheery wave.

  She’s as good as her word. When she turns up with my jacket after school on Friday Cam’s tagging along. He settles in what’s now his usual place at the centre of the sofa, with his reading book open, waiting for Aunty Jo, and I get my spotless jacket in a zip-up Iron Maidens Cleaners cover.

  She hands it across to me. ‘For the record, Barney wanted to pay, but two of the assistants were at the football and they wouldn’t charge.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s brill.’ I’m not sure I’m comfortable with my legend status, but after the news we’ve just had from George that’s the least of my worries.

  ‘You’re going to have to pull a whole lot out of the bag at next year’s penalty shoot-out to top this.’

  Aunty Jo’s coming through behind Cam, carrying his juice. ‘We definitely won’t be around for that. After the call we’ve just had, it looks like we’ll be selling straight away.’

  Loella looks at me. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘Seeing there’s no secrets in St Aidan, you might as well know. We’ve had some figures and there’s no way we can afford to finish eight apartments in the stable yard. Aunty Jo’s best bet is to sell right away at a knockdown price.’ Basically, to grab her cash and get the hell out of here.

  ‘And lose money?’ Loella takes in my nod, then her frown deepens. ‘I can’t believe you’re giving up like that, Edie.’

  And I can’t believe she just said that. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘We don’t walk away at the first hint of trouble in St Aidan. Weren’t you in charge of the whole south-west?’

  ‘Who said that?’

  Aunty Jo winces. ‘I might have … at the football.’

  Loella’s carrying on. ‘Whatever the fancy title, you’re a designer, you’re sassy, so get on and sort it.’

  ‘How many times do I have to explain? I’m not a designer.’ I let out a groan. ‘This is more than a hint of trouble, Loella, this is no money for the job.’ In project terms, that’s full scale disaster.

  But in my heart I know she’s partly right, I am giving up without a fight. As I was before, I’d have come up with a solution, Jeez knows what, but I would have. I used to think I was creative too; coming at things from a different angle from everyone else on a site was easily as useful as my smile. But, as I am now, I have zero ideas, even less inspiration, no contacts and hardly any energy at all. And that’s on top of not being able to read and write. I’m no use to anyone and, worse, I let Aunty Jo think I could help when I couldn’t at all.

  ‘Then do a different job!’ Loella’s straight back at me, and feisty with it. ‘Get around the back, look at the problem from every side. And if you still come up with nothing, then give up. But don’t walk away now.’

  Aunty Jo’s joining in. ‘Loella’s right. I would lose money.’

  Loella’s eyes narrow and her voice drops. ‘It’s not only about the cash. Think of the good you’re doing here.’ She gives an imperceptible nod in Cam’s direction. ‘You wouldn’t believe the difference you being here has made in two short weeks.’ She turns back to me. ‘In any case, I thought you came here to recover? Surely you can’t cut that short?’

  I’m shuddering at how blunt she’s being. ‘The sea air isn’t doing me any good. I’m not exactly improving.’ Which is another good reason to leave.

  Loella’s eyes are almost closed now. ‘Hang on. If anything doesn’t come easy, you duck out. You’ll never make progress doing that.’

  My jaw’s sagging.

  Aunty Jo butts in. ‘She’s right, Sweetpea. You haven’t worked your hardest, not yet.’

  Loella’s hugging herself. ‘We’re not ganging up.’ They totally are. ‘But it would be a shame for all of us if you rushed off when summer’s so close.’

  ‘Well, thanks for that.’ As for these legendary blue skies, I’m not holding my breath.

  ‘You’re a problem-solver. If anyone can do this, you can, I just know it.’ Her eyes are shining under the dark curls of her fringe. ‘Think how amazing you’ll feel when you smash it.’

  I wish I had a tiny bit of her optimism and confidence. But, realistically
, if I did I wouldn’t be hiding away here, I’d be toughing it out back in Bath.

  Cam’s flicking through the papers on the coffee table. ‘Edie already smashed it with her pictures.’ He’s pointing to a seagull I’d drawn, and I’d like to hug him for sticking up for me. ‘See, I told you drawing by yourself was better than colouring in.’

  Loella nods. ‘If you ask nicely she might make one for you too, Cam.’ The ‘look’ she sends me over his head tells me I’m not getting a choice in this. ‘What would you like yours to say?’

  Aunty Jo jumps in. ‘You could write What a lovely springtime day on the hilltop barn, and have pictures of cows and pigs and hens and llamas and buttercups.’

  Cam rubs his nose as he thinks. ‘Can you draw a tractor towing a grass cutter, or a baling machine?’

  This is getting out of hand from every side. ‘I’m better at birds. Or doughnuts.’ There’s one sure way of getting back control. ‘How about I surprise you?’

  ‘Good plan.’ Aunty Jo nods at me then turns to Cam. ‘If you’re ready to read to us, maybe Edie can try a little bit too today.’

  I know when I’m beaten. If my holiday’s over I’m going to have to look out for myself here. ‘Do we get cake after?’

  ‘For definite.’ Cam’s so serious yet so cute. ‘Then it’s like a prize.’

  I’m nodding furiously to cover up how much the shine in Cam’s eyes is making my heart melt when there’s a knock at the French window. I’ll never be pleased to see Barney, but at least this time he saves me from getting all teary.

  Aunty Jo waves for him to come in as Loella slips out. ‘Barney, lovely to see you – we haven’t started yet.’

  Cam is clamouring at Barney’s elbow as he steps inside. ‘Edie Browne’s making me a special drawing, only for me, but not with tractors.’

  ‘Great.’ Barney manages to get his bemused stare under control and gives Cam’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘You’re one lucky guy, then.’

  ‘She might make you one too – what would yours be?’ Cam’s hitting Barney’s arm.

  The beam I send him is to say ‘dream on’. Anyone who calls me a burglar and takes me out to sea on false pretences doesn’t deserve any favours. I may not remember a lot of things, but I’ll never forget that.