by Jane Linfoot
Epic Achievement: Working up to something huge – watch this space!
‘The last time we all went for sundaes on a Friday night it was dark and the beach was deserted.’
Walking along the sand towards the Surf Shack we’ve come closer together now, and as Barney reminisces – or tells it like it is, depending on who you are and how rosy your view of the world is – the sky is still bright and the cries of people grouped around the outdoor tables are blowing our way on the wind.
‘And you were writing on the sand with a stick, Edie Browne.’ That’s Cam chiming in, his voice loaded with disapproval.
‘And you were too.’ I’m laughing at how judgmental kids can be. Looking back, for me it was another one of those significant moments where I accidentally cut the ropes that were tying me down. With the whole beach to write on I stopped trying so hard and after that writing became easier. Fun even. It’s funny to think of a time when the beach was new, now I come here every day and it feels so much like my place.
As Dustin gallops up, he collides with my knees and showers me with wet sand and I lean forward and take the stick out of his mouth. I’m about to fling it towards the shiny part of the beach by the water when Barney sweeps it upwards out of my hand.
‘Hang on, don’t throw the pen away until we’ve had a go.’
‘For old times’ sake?’ It’s a measure of how long I’ve been here. Or maybe it’s not so long at all and we’re just clinging on, trying to make traditions where there are none, because in our own ways, we’re all alone. All wishing we were in some other place, with someone different.
‘Come on, let’s all write our names in the sand.’ He passes the stick to Cam. ‘You go first.’
‘All of it? Cameron Michael Arnold?’
‘If you’re hoping for ice cream this side of midnight, you could just put Cam?’
‘It is what we call you.’ I’m backing Barney up here. ‘If you write it all it might be dark again.’
‘C-a-m.’ His lips are sounding out the letters as he concentrates and drags the stick hard enough to make the marks, then he stands back, grinning. ‘There.’
Barney thrusts the stick at me. ‘You next, Edie – you don’t have to put Browne, there aren’t that many more Edie’s around St Aidan.’
Barney’s looking thoughtful. ‘I think you’re really more of an Edie B. Come to think of it, you should sign that on the shepherd’s huts you paint and your signs and pictures.’
‘Thanks, I like that. So in a long line, or below?’
‘Underneath, I’d say.’
‘Great.’ I scrape my letters below Cam’s in my best joined-up writing, and hand the stick back to Barney. ‘Okay, Dustin, no need to steal the ball from Robert, it’s not long to wait now.’
Barney writes his in big bold big letters, then stands back and nods. ‘Not bad.’
‘One thing.’ I take back the stick and draw a couple more lines.
‘A cactus? Is that because you’re prickly or so on-trend?’ Barney’s laughing. ‘Draw a guitar for me – it’s a shame I haven’t got mine with me, knowing how much you townies love a song on the sand, Edie B.’
I make sure he sees how hard I’m shaking my head at that. ‘Cam, what drawing are you having?’
‘An ice cream cone with strawberry sauce, like on my first picture. You do it.’
‘No surprise there.’ Barney takes back the stick then traces a line all the way around the edge, then he hurls the stick into the surf. As Dustin dives in after it, Cam and I pick up random stones and lay them along the lines. By the time they’re done, Barney’s pulled his phone out of his pocket and he’s holding it in the air.
‘Okay, bunch up here, say cheesy pizza, we’ll have a selfie.’
‘Cheesy what?’
‘Pizza – another secret of St Aidan, that way it makes you laugh too.’
‘Jeez, weird or what?’ I’m trying to flap my hands around to hang onto my hair at the same time the gust of wind comes and tries to blow it off my head. All that and get Dustin and Robert, and hold onto them with one hand and put my arm around Cam too. And then there’s this knot in my chest because we’re all hugging together to fit in the frame.
It’s over in a breath. And when Barney flips the phone screen towards me, there we are, all shorts and suntans and freckles and flapping T-shirts, wrapped up in an out-of-focus fuzz of laughter. Three people on a little patch of sand, three seconds of happiness before the wind snatches it away again. But for me there’s a little bit more, because this is me getting to the end of another day where, even if I’m not in the exact place I should be, I’m actually glad I’m myself. Although as we jump and leap our way off up the beach again, my mind keeps spinning me back to Cameron’s Star, and the parents who will never get to see Cam grow up. And my stomach’s also clenching at the thought of that little patch of sand I’ve left behind. Of my name, framed between Cam and Barney’s. And how long it’s got to stay there until the tide rushes forwards over it, then slides backwards again sucking away every mark. And how soon it will be before the pounding water tumbles the sand grains back to their new smooth watery shine, obliterating every trace that we were ever here.
As we stride up the broad sleeper steps onto the deck at the Surf Shack the daylight must be fading because the strands of light bulbs swinging in the wind are already glowing yellow. Cam and I pull up some chairs, the dogs flop down on the planks, and Barney looks at Cam.
‘Are you having your latest usual then?’
‘What’s that?’
When he really smiles there are dimples in his cheeks. ‘The Unicorn Special because it’s better than the Spiderman – it’s strawberry, cherry and blue marshmallow ice cream with squirty cream and a raspberry horn. Please, Barney. And two spoons in case I drop one.’ Once he’s nailed the detail he beams at me. ‘You should have the same.’
‘Make that two Unicorns then, with extra napkins, please.’ I’m so totally up for this, it’s even funnier to think that last time I was desperate to get away. If they’d told me there were Unicorn sundaes on the menu I’d have made damn sure I came back sooner than now.
Barney waits inside while they make up the order, and when he sets down the glasses they’re just as huge and crammed as when I’ve been here with Aunty Jo. But the Unicorn versions are so pretty, with their pink and purple and turquoise swirls, rainbow sprinkles and barley twist horn, when I see mine I actually let out a squeak that’s way more girlie than I’d intended.
With sundaes this big you have to give them every bit of your attention, or you don’t make any impression at all. So for a while there’s only the sound of munching and the occasional groan of pleasure from me as I hit the unexpected crunch of the pastel-coloured meringue. After the heat of the day it’s a novelty to be shivering as the freezing ice cream slides down my throat. It’s only when I eventually stop and look up I notice the ice cream Barney’s digging into is shades of sludge.
‘So what the hell is yours?’
‘It’s a mix from the Guy-Zone freezer.’ He ignores my eye roll. ‘Indian pale ale, chilli chocolate, quadruple espresso, rocky road and root beer.’
‘Wow, very macho.’
‘I order it when I want my voice to go deeper.’ He laughs. ‘No, that’s a joke, it’s actually great for waking you up. Have a try.’ He loads up his spoon and holds it out. ‘Or dip in for yourself if you’d rather.’
Refusing his spoon would make a lot more of it than it is. So I lean in, grab it and push the ice cream lump into my mouth and slurp. ‘Woahhh.’
‘Not liking the tough-boy choice?’
‘That’s totally disgusting.’ I’m clutching at my tongue. ‘What the hell is it?’
‘That’s root beer, one of the most delicious flavours known to man … or woman.’ The more I shudder, the more he laughs. ‘Made from liquorice, wintergreen, saspirilla and aniseed, among other things.’
But as his grin widens I can feel my eyes widening until they’re almost popping out
of my head.
‘Edie? Is something wrong? Shit, you’re not allergic, are you, tell me you haven’t gone into anaphylactic shock?’
I’m shaking my head wildly in answer because the words are locked in my throat. When they finally come out they’re half rasp, half sob. ‘I tasted it.’
‘Edie can’t taste anything because she broke her head.’ Cam’s jumping up and down. ‘That’s why she made salty cakes and fell over at her party.’
‘All that time.’ However much I’m dabbing them with my serviette, my eyes won’t stop leaking.
‘When I said it would wake you up I was joking. I’m so happy for you.’ If Barney’s pulling me into a hug I hope he knows it’s the fast way to get a soaking T-shirt. Two arms, I’m still not getting the fabric conditioner smell, let alone any of the rest. For this one time only, it could be a good thing I lost my sense of smell.
‘So does she get to taste all the ice cream now?’ Cam’s gone back to his sundae, and he’s got a spoon in each hand.
‘I guess she’ll have to.’
Cam’s eyes are shining. ‘I like going out with you, Edie B.’
‘Me too with you, Cameron Michael Arnold.’ How’s that for total recall?
35
Day 239: Thursday, 28th June
In the orchard at Saltings Lane
Epic Achievement: I’m guessing no one else ever tried EVERY flavour ice cream from the Plank Place at ONE sitting – putting myself forward, as this has to be some kind of St Aidan record? Whatever, it was totally epic in every sense of the word.
(Just saying.)(In case anyone missed it.)
It’s true what they say about watching pots – if you’re waiting for something it can take forever to happen. But if you forget about it – or in my case concentrate on something else – what you’re aching for tends to happen so much faster. The same holds true whether you’re cooking or stalking your inbox. The minute I mentally left ‘the office’ and stopped pressing refresh, my email pinged in.
As flavours go, root beer’s not exactly subtle or delicate, in fact, as Bella said, I might easily have got the same effect from swigging toilet cleaner. But however it happened, it took that intensity to wake me up to the potential that I could taste again, and that kick-start reminded me not to give up trying. You can’t argue, dream-come-true excuses to take a spoonful from every ice cream flavour in the ice cream shop freezer don’t come along every day. And once I tried all of them, I could taste others too. To be honest, on balance I’ve always preferred cupcakes to smoky barbecue sauce, take me to a bar and I’ll be downing syrupy cocktails not beer. But if no other options open up, given time and effort, I might yet get to like all those boy-zone flavours. As Tash always reminds me, some patients have reported improvements up to twenty-three years after their strokes, so the doc who said to be patient and travel with hope definitely knew what he was talking about.
This sudden leap of progress spurs me on in other areas too. I finally finish my Quick Read –spoiler alert: they don’t ever find Poldark himself, but I give it five stars because all the characters find their own happy endings, which is actually better. Then I order another one from the same series called Dead End Street, which is billed as a ‘murder mystery to make you smile and shiver’. So far I’ve read enough to know it’s set on one of those roads you can’t get out of like our close, but I haven’t come to any scary bits or laughed yet.
Then Aunty Jo ropes in Malcolm to help with a whole new raft of sticky signs around the house. As if those cushion/sofa/fridge labels weren’t already enough, she’s now gone all technical with words like beams and balustrades and stud partitions and sash cords and splashbacks and thresholds and double glazed fenestration units. As a measure of how thorough she’s been, the night she does it I go to clean my teeth and end up with the labels for tile grout, Jack and Jill bathroom and toughened glass shower screen sticking to my pyjama top, all because I accidentally leaned up against the wall to recover from the horrific shock of the Euthymol toothpaste Barney bought me.
In a way the last few months have been like passing through a series of rooms. There was the first room, where I was bewildered and home with Mum or at the hospital, and it was such a big step to leave that behind. Then, when I first arrived here, every day was centred around the garden room at Periwinkle Cottage. But now it’s as if that door has closed, and I’ve moved forwards again. The new room is bigger, and all about the orchard, and the shepherd’s huts and the showroom in the barn yard. With so many people there, and the carpenters, it’s a lot more like being back on the building sites. Better still, rather than tying Aunty Jo down to being with me, she’s free to go off on jaunts with Malcolm and the over sixties, because there’s always someone around at Barney’s to call on if I need help.
I’m not the only one making bounds of progress either. Malcolm has got Aunty Jo driving again. He started by taking her down the B&Q car park in the evenings when I was painting at Barney’s, and now she can go all the way from the harbour back to here. Okay, he still has to sit and talk her through it, but if she can get back behind the wheel, realistically, there’s hope for all of us. Me and my beautiful little slate grey car may yet be on the road. I’m pausing for a silent fist squeeze, and to send wishes across the universe to catch any passing unicorns or fairy godmothers. Please, please, please. Let me be able to drive again. There was once a time I doubted it would ever happen, but with the roll we’re on I’ve finally convinced myself; so long as you believe in yourself enough, anything is possible.
With the shepherd’s huts, the Seaside Stripe variation is done all the way down to the rope-festooned blue and white life belt ring hanging next to the door. And under the shade of the reclaimed sail suspended from the apple trees there are the first of the deckchairs, with Sail away and Captain’s Chair painted in lovely wavy letters on the canvas. And just to add a touch of extra authenticity, there’s a pile of lobster pots and a washing line with stripy beach towels pegged on it.
Which leaves me on my root beer wave of euphoria, moving onto the next hut. Barney’s already painted it a wonderful shade of dusky pink on the outside, and because this is the ditsy print one we strung some pretty bunting all around where the roof meets the wall. Inside I’ve painted the plank walls the colour of clotted cream, and picked out some comfy chairs with red checked linen covers which are still up at the showroom. Today as I dip under the boughs in the dappled shade of the apple trees, and pause for a moment because the sea is the most wonderful shade of pale turquoise, I’m armed with a small bucket of paste I’ve scrounged from the decorator at Periwinkle and my pile of wallpaper samples, and I’m loving the quiet.
Even though I’m out in the orchard, I’m still close enough for Barney to keep an eye out from the courtyard, and I’m not quite on my own, because thanks to Barney’s idea of me giving Dustin his meals, the only time Dustin lets me out of his sight is after I’ve given him his dinner last thing in the evening. After he eats it, then he goes and lies down on the rug by the door. For the rest of the day, at best he’s like a shadow padding behind me, but mostly he’s so close he’s slobbering on my shorts. It’s funny because at times he seems so bright I almost expect him to come out with a sentence. But even though his dinnertime never varies, he doesn’t seem to be able to get past the idea that I may be about to whip out his bowl of biscuits and lean steak mince at any moment in the day. So when I talk about peace, that’s obviously overlaid with Dustin’s snorts and sniffs. In fact some of his sighs and grunts are so heartfelt it’s hard to believe he’s a dog not a human.
As I leaf through my pile of pinks and yellows and red wallpaper prints and snip them into smaller pieces, I’m hugging myself with excitement. I pick up my brush, slide on a slug of paste using one of Aunty Jo’s trays as a pasting table. Then starting at the top, I begin to stick them on the end wall of the hut. I’m having such fun as the pattern grows that I miss hearing the creak of the timber entrance steps. The first inkling I have tha
t Barney’s standing in the doorway is when Dustin lets out a half-woof greeting.
‘Are you busy?’
‘Only working on my sticky wall.’
‘You do know they’re all different?’ There’s a lilt around his lips. ‘No, actually it’s already looking really cool.’
‘Thanks.’ As I stare up at the patchwork of roses and rampant flowers and polka dots randomly repeating across the hut, I can’t help a flutter in my chest, because it’s striking yet pretty at the same time. ‘So how can I help?’
‘I just had a call from a couple who’d love you to talk them through this theme. I suggested they looked at the huts we’ve already finished, but apparently only pink will do.’
‘So long as they don’t mind glue, that’s fine with me.’ I grin and wave my brush at him. At Zinc Inc demanding clients went with the high-end territory, and Jake was laid-back and patient enough to handle them, which took the pressure off the rest of us. We all vied to have our own worst nightmare customer story, but I hadn’t expected to meet any here in St Aidan.
‘You could run them around the showrooms too?’
He’s making those sound way more upmarket than they are as well, because we’ve literally thrown them together in between other jobs the last few weeks. But there’s one that looks very like a smaller version of The Junkyard, with items ripe for restoration, and another that’s bursting with style and ideas with restored pieces that are ready to go.
‘Great, just send them along whenever they get here.’ There’s no need to worry, these people have to be time wasters or he’d be seeing them himself.
‘You could sound more—’
‘More what?’
‘Enthusiastic. Up for it. Like you actually believed in the product you’re creating.’
‘Really?’ It comes out as a squeak because I’m so close to being found out here.
He’s frowning as he rubs his head. ‘I don’t know why when you do it so well, but sometimes I get the feeling you don’t actually like shepherd’s huts.’
