The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea

by Jaimie Admans

  I laugh, but mainly at how fiercely red his cheeks have gone.

  ‘I meant my wooden decking, obviously.’ He points towards the edge of the platform in the sand surrounding the tent. ‘I told you I’m crap at talking to people.’

  ‘Well, I asked you if you needed a hand, so I think we’re fairly even on that front. And these are melting.’

  He smiles as he sits down and I perch on the wooden pathway next to him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to hold his ice cream to my right.

  He leans forward and licks it. ‘You have full permission to poke me in the nose with it if you want.’

  I’m trying eat mine daintily without ending up in a Beauty and the Beast-style porridge scene and it makes me laugh so much that I nearly take my own eye out with the Flake. ‘I was just thinking about how easy it would be to do that. Are you some sort of mind reader or what?’

  He laughs too. ‘I think there’s an innate part of every human being that makes that connection when there’s a pointy ice cream and a nose around.’

  I give him a sideways glance, appreciating the way his tongue runs up that smooth ice cream. His chin is so close to my hand as he moves, near enough that I can almost feel the drag of his stubble, and it’s probably a really weird thing to sit here and feed ice cream to a complete stranger but it doesn’t feel as weird as it should.

  ‘I can’t believe you came. I didn’t think you would and I was really hoping …’ He shakes his head without finishing the sentence. ‘And I can’t believe you brought me ice cream. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but …’ His voice drops to a whisper and I naturally lean a bit nearer to hear him. ‘I’ve already had two of these today.’

  I laugh like it’s a terrible secret. ‘Isn’t there an unwritten British law that says you have to have a 99 when within a five-mile radius of a beach?’

  ‘Oh, definitely, but I don’t think they mean to prescribe them like Paracetamol, you know, one every four hours until your liver packs in from sugar overload. I had one when I got here this morning and then I couldn’t resist running back across the road for another one after lunch. I foresee that working across the street from an ice cream parlour is going to be very bad for me.’

  ‘I can’t think of a nicer place to work.’ I nod towards the sea in an attempt to take my mind off his tongue and how close it is to my hand. ‘The ice creams are just a bonus.’

  ‘I can’t believe you came,’ he says again. ‘I was really hoping you would. I got the impression on the phone that you’d love it here, and I thought I’d probably scared you off and I’d never hear from you again, and I just …’ He swallows and leans over until his shoulder knocks gently into mine before sitting upright again. ‘I’m chuffed you’re here.’

  It makes the sun warming my skin feel like it’s warming the whole of me from the inside out. He’s so … uninhibited is the word that springs to mind. Either he’s overcompensating because he thinks I’m a deranged stalker and is biding his time until he can run away, or he’s genuinely pleased to see me, and instead of trying to hide it and invent excuses like I am, he’s not afraid to say it. I’m still wondering if he’d believe that I have family in the area and I happen to be visiting them mere days after he told me where he was and I conveniently forgot to mention it the other night. ‘You made Pearlholme sound so perfect and I liked talking to you,’ I say, trying to be a bit more forthright with my answer. ‘I couldn’t resist seeing the village and the carousel.’ And the guy restoring it. Well, maybe not that forthright.

  ‘Did you get my text last night? I thought I’d better check to make sure I hadn’t bored you into a coma the night before.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, I’d gone to bed because I knew I’d have to get up early for the train, and I got your text this morning, but I didn’t answer because …’ Right, forthright. ‘I didn’t know how to say I was on my way here without sounding like I was stalking you.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t joking when I asked you. I tried to pretend I was because it’s a bit weird to talk complete strangers into holidaying with you … I mean, not with me but in the same place I am …’ He twists one blackened finger around the other. ‘When I said I was going to stop making an idiot of myself earlier, I clearly meant now, not then. Now I’m going to stop making an idiot of myself. Just as soon as I finish the ice cream you’ve been forced to feed to me because I can’t get my hands clean.’

  I giggle again, and I really am going to have to stop all this nervous giggling, I’m even annoying myself, but the thought that he actually wanted me to come … that it wasn’t a joke … It’s making me feel all fluttery and light, like in the movies when you see the heroine twirling down the street in a floaty pink dress after a wonderful romantic date with a handsome man who’s too good to be true.

  I look over at Nathan again and his eyes meet mine and we both smile at the same time. Until he takes a bite out of the cornet and sends crumbs fluttering everywhere.

  ‘So, is “will you feed it to me” the worst chat-up line you’ve ever heard? Not that it was a chat-up line or anything – I am not interested in that kind of thing – I just meant it sounds like something a leery drunk in a pub would think was a clever chat-up line, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but “hold it and I’ll lick it like a dog” is right up there.’

  He laughs and groans at the same time. ‘Oh God, I hadn’t even thought of that one. See? I’m terrible at having conversations with people. I’m not even trying to chat you up and I’ve tried out the worst chat-up line you’ve ever heard in your life.’

  ‘Nah … A bloke outside the tube station told me he’d like to eat my ovaries once. Not quite sure what he expected the outcome to be.’

  Nathan puts a non-greasy wrist to his forehead and pretends to swoon. ‘Oh, finally, your prince has been found?’

  ‘Exactly. Now that’s setting the bar high for bad chat-up lines.’ I laugh. ‘I always wonder how many women he tried it on and if any of them ever said, “Oh, lovely, that sounds like a jolly good way to spend an afternoon.”’

  He dissolves into a fit of laughter and the fact that he’s nervous and giggly too makes me feel a bit more normal.

  ‘So what’s the worst chat-up line you’ve ever had then? It’s not some girl turning up on a beach and ramming an ice cream down your throat, is it?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ He meets my eyes and raises both dark eyebrows. ‘This is the highlight of my day. No, my month. Although that’s a bit unfair because we’re only a week into June and I doubt anything will beat a beautiful girl feeding me a 99 this side of Christmas.’

  I blush because he called me beautiful. I’ve never been called that before. Daphne is beautiful. I’m just plain and ordinary, the kind of person who would never stand out in a crowd.

  He seems to realise his slip-up because he continues quickly. ‘I mean, no, I’ve never been chatted up.’

  ‘You’ve never been chatted up?’ I ask in disbelief. I know I don’t know him at all, but on face value, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t chat him up.

  ‘I think I put out a bit of a “not interested” vibe. I’m quite boring and I’m not looking for a relationship so I don’t go out and meet people. I generally just work and spend my evenings collapsed on the sofa in front of Netflix.’

  He doesn’t put out a ‘not interested’ vibe to me. He seems warm, and friendly, and so approachable that I nearly broke the unwritten rule of London transport and spoke to a stranger on the tube.

  ‘Ditto. On all things.’ I make a point to emphasise the ‘all’ just in case he gets the mistaken impression that I am looking for a relationship because I most definitely am not. ‘And hooray for Netflix – my evenings would be empty without it.’

  ‘I would offer you a hooray for Netflix high five, but …’ He wiggles his greasy fingers in front of us. ‘I also fear a high five might give away how desperately uncool I am. No one high fives anymore, right?’

  I grin at
his self-deprecating humour. In person, he’s even funnier than he was on the phone and just as easy to talk to, but I’m more self-conscious because I can’t hide how much he’s making me laugh, and I’m all too aware of vanilla ice cream slowly dripping down my fingers because I’m not eating my own ice cream fast enough, and I can’t remember the last time a man was more interesting than an ice cream. That just doesn’t happen, right?

  He uses his teeth to take the bottom of the cone out of my hand in one go, and I can tell he’s making an effort not to touch me, but this time his barely there stubble does brush against my fingers, making me shiver despite the warm sun.

  Somehow, he manages to fit the whole thing in his mouth at once even though it’s so big he can barely chew it.

  ‘Impressive,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off him.

  He laughs despite the mouthful and nearly chokes.

  ‘Why, thank you.’ He pretends to bow when he can finally speak again. ‘My ability to feed myself is second to none.’ He pauses for a second. ‘I say while someone else feeds me.’

  It makes me giggle again. I’ve got to stop this – the giggling is getting ridiculous.

  ‘Did you find the place all right?’ He says while I try to furtively lick melted ice cream off my fingers after finishing my own cornet.

  ‘Not really, but I thought I’d have the full Pearlholme experience and ask a stranger for directions. The bloke selling newspapers outside the train station?’

  ‘Yep, I asked him as well.’

  ‘So he said. You weren’t joking when you said everyone knows everything around here, were you?’

  ‘Told ya.’ He winks at me. ‘Where are you staying? It’s not The Shell Hotel, is it?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Oh, come on. Why are you the third person to say that to me today?’

  He looks worried. ‘I take it you are?’

  ‘Of course I am. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve changed the standard greeting in Pearlholme from “hello” to “you’re not staying at The Shell Hotel, are you?” in a sinister voice. Let me guess, the newspaper guy and a woman outside the pub asked you the same thing?’

  ‘Actually, it was the newspaper guy and an old gent who started talking to me on the bus when I went into the next town.’

  ‘Oh, great. It’s a real county-wide thing then? That’s comforting.’ I glance at him. ‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I gave it a quick peek from the corner when I was looking around the village but I didn’t want to get too close. It looked like the kind of place you might walk into and never be seen again.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s even more comforting.’ I know he’s only joking but I narrow my eyes when he grins again. ‘Not all of us are lucky enough to get a perfect little cottage with a landlady who makes us mac and cheese, you know.’

  ‘It was an amazing mac and cheese too. I’d ask her for the recipe but I doubt I’d get further than getting the cheese out of the fridge without burning the cottage down so it’s safer if I don’t.’

  ‘I’d say your inability to cook is endearing but I’m even worse. I doubt I could get further than a bowl of uncooked macaroni and a block of cheese. Sounds good, right?’

  ‘If you ever want to cook for me, that’s the cottage.’ He leans forward and reaches his arm past me so I can see where he’s pointing. I follow his grease-covered finger towards the first cottage on the cliff, the closest one to the road where I stopped on the way down here, a delightful little picture-worthy stone building with a grey slate roof, surrounded by a lot of greenery and a garden hidden behind a rhododendron hedge. Even from this distance, I can see that it’s just as perfect as I’d pictured it, although it’s difficult to concentrate with his arm so near, and the movement has sent a wave of his tropical shower gel towards me, along with the sexy scent of oil on skin and an undercurrent of sea air.

  ‘I mean it, you know?’ He suddenly turns serious. ‘You’re welcome to come over anytime. If your hotel is anywhere near as bad as it looks from the outside, or if you want a nice view or a bit of company or something …’

  ‘Thanks, Nathan.’ I cut him off because I’m surprised that he’s offered, that he genuinely seems keen to see me, and that he doesn’t think I’m a nutter for coming here. I should probably say something else but I’m a tad flustered.

  He looks like he wants to say something else too, but he doesn’t. ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘A couple of weeks,’ I say, deciding it’s best to keep it vague. ‘It’s kind of a working holiday. As long as I’ve got a laptop and an internet connection, I can work anywhere. My boss probably only gives me a cubicle in the office so she can check I’m not slacking off. She’s let me bring my work with me. She was really understanding about the whole phone thing. She thought I should get it back to you as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Nice boss.’

  How can I tell him? He’s just told me he’s not interested in a relationship, and I’m definitely not, so what am I going to say? I’m here to write an article about whether you’re going to fall in love with me or not? The answer is already a resounding ‘not’, so what am I here for? To make up an article about us falling in love? Neither option makes me sound any less off my rocker.

  ‘Well, it’s my own fault for being so careless.’ It takes me a moment to realise he means the phone when he looks at me. ‘Or so distracted.’

  I go red for no reason.

  ‘To be honest, I’m kind of enjoying being without it. Pearlholme is the kind of place you come to disconnect, and this little old thing …’ he pats the pocket of his dungarees ‘… is perfect for that. It can phone, it can text, it can take an awful picture, and it’s got no internet, which is a welcome break to be honest. Do you know, I actually slept soundly last night rather than tossing and turning for ages over something I’d just read on Twitter or watched on Facebook.’

  ‘You don’t have the apps on your phone.’

  ‘So you went through my apps but you didn’t go through my browsing history? You’d make a terrible investigator, do you know that?’

  He’s smiling as he says it and he doesn’t seem annoyed with me. ‘I didn’t even think of that. I didn’t want to invade your privacy too much.’

  ‘You didn’t want to open my browser and find I was into unicorn porn or something like that?’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘Is that a thing?’

  He laughs. ‘I have no idea. I promise I’m not into anything weird. If you had opened my browser, you’d have found Google News and searches for how to make a Pot Noodle more interesting.’

  ‘Can you make a Pot Noodle more interesting?’

  ‘It’s really a case of with or without the sauce packet. Some bloke on YouTube tried putting it in a sandwich, which just looked … ick. And I’m always being careful not to strain something with my adventurous cooking.’

  Surely it’s not normal to just sit here and smile at someone? Everything about him makes me smile. I feel comfortable sitting with him, and I’m suddenly so, so glad I came. I know it won’t lead to anything more, and I don’t want it to, but I’m just glad to have met him. He feels like someone special.

  I shake myself. I have to stop it. I’m here to further my career, nothing more. ‘So, are you okay? You said on the phone that you felt better than you had for months. Had you been feeling bad?’

  He gives me a sideways glance and his dark eyes turn soft. ‘I can’t believe you heard that. Or cared.’ He looks out at the sea again. ‘Yeah, I hate London. My last job was restoring an Edwardian organ in the basement of a London museum. I felt like I hadn’t seen daylight in months. I couldn’t have asked for a better job at a better time than this.’

  I glance at the giant tent behind me. There’s not much of the carousel to see. He hasn’t opened the tent from this side, so all that’s on show is the greyish white canvas of the marquee covering and enough space for Nathan to work around it. ‘Do you get many jobs like this?’


  ‘It’s been a while since I was sent anywhere quite as perfect as this, but yeah, I go out to fix things in situ if I can. Our workshop is on the outskirts of London, so we get stuff brought in there or shipped to us, or we go out to jobs like this one. There’s six of us there and we all have different specialities. My boss is one of the leading antique restorers in the country, so people go to him with whatever they need doing and he decides which of us is best suited to the job. I’m lucky that I mainly fix big old things because I’m more likely to get to go out to jobs. I’m probably sixty per cent away and forty per cent in the workshop. The guys who fix up furniture and small easily moveable things are almost always in the workshop.’

  Which explains his absence on the train for weeks at a time. It’s easy to tell how much he likes being outside. It’s something I’d never really thought about until I wandered through Pearlholme, but I don’t get much fresh air either. I’d always thought I got enough on the walk from my flat to the tube station every day and the lunchtime walks to the nearest sandwich shop, but there’s a difference between London fresh air and real fresh air.

  I can’t help looking at his hands again as he leans down to draw mindless patterns in the sand at his feet. ‘Do you know they’ve invented these really clever hand coverings for people who do messy jobs … called gloves?’

  Instead of being offended like I feared he might, he laughs, a warm sound that shakes the wood we’re sitting on. ‘I need to be able to feel what I’m doing. See this?’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small metal thing he was rubbing earlier. ‘They’re the bearings that allow the carousel to turn, and because it’s so old, they’ve got gunk all around them where it isn’t supposed to be. I’ve got to be able to feel if they’re damaged – if there are any chips or splits it’ll affect the movement – and the best tool I’ve got for clearing these little ridges out is my thumbnail.’