Reach for the Stars

by Kathy Jay

  ‘Unlikely. Precisely how long ago did you throw it in?’

  ‘About twelve years.’

  Without looking down, she swung first one leg, and then the other, over the railings at the side of the bridge. Holding on tight she shimmied along until she reached a sturdy overhanging tree branch, grasped onto it and clambered onto the big rocks beyond.

  ‘What the hell are you doing? Stop.’ Nick’s voice crackled electrically.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She laughed nervously. ‘It sounds crazy but it’s worth a quick look.’

  ‘Crazy. You’re a lunatic.’ His words sounded like something trapped in his throat.

  She scrambled carefully down the steep bank, jumped off the lowest mossy rock, landed safely and looked up at him triumphantly.

  Standing at the railings he glared down into the gully, his face granite-like and ashen. ‘At the risk of sounding pessimistic,’ he shouted, ‘won’t it be all rusted up by now?’

  Ignoring him, she kicked off her flip-flops and paddled into the stream. Crystal clear, cool water flowed gently over her feet. All around her raindrops made circles in the stream. In defiance of Nick, and good sense, she lifted pebbles and looked under rocks.

  She picked up a slippery stone, dropped it with a splash and dug around hopefully in the empty hole it had left behind.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Nope. But I’m not giving up.’

  She doggedly shifted another large stone and the water beneath it clouded with disturbed silt, obscuring her bright pink toenails. Hot Day, it said on the nail polish bottle. Not counting Nick, that particular nail polish related prediction had been wrong too. The day that had begun so promisingly sunny had turned cloudy and grey and wet.

  ‘Face it. It’s not in there.’ Nick’s deep voice rumbled down into the gully like thunder. ‘You’re wasting your time. Twelve years is much too long, it’ll have been washed away in a storm years ago.’

  She was ankle-deep in water looking for something that she wasn’t going to find. ‘That’s positive. Thanks for nothing,’ she yelled, a sour taste at the back of her throat. ‘I thought you said you wanted to help.’

  A darkening sky and a deafening thunderclap got her to face the futility of what she was doing. Ophelia whined pitifully, so Nick picked her up.

  ‘I do. But I think it’s time to call it quits. You’re shivering like you’ve seen a ghost and there’s going to be another heavy downpour any second.’ He took hold of the padlock between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a tug. ‘We’ll think of another way to shift this thing.’

  ‘That thing, as you call it, is a symbol of my broken heart,’ she yelled. ‘In case it’s escaped your notice, I’m falling apart. My ex got married. And the pictures are everywhere on social media. All one hundred and fifty-three of them.’

  Admitting defeat and that she now qualified for fully certified village idiot status, she began to clamber back up over the rocks, searching out footholds with her bare feet, carrying her flip-flops in her teeth, and avoiding looking down.

  When she reached the top, grim-faced Nick grabbed ahold of her and clung on like a rather lovely limpet while she climbed back over the railings to safety. Since he was still steadying her with his arms even though she was out of danger, she hinted, ‘You can let go now.’

  ‘On one condition. Promise me you’ll not do that or anything like it again. He’s not worth breaking your neck over. Hearts heal.’

  She glared at the padlock taking in how insignificant and tiny it looked, hardly noticeable to anyone but herself. ‘True.’ She met his eyes and realized he’d gone a funny colour. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m scared of heights. You have the agility of a primate and I wish I had your head for heights. Just watching you made me panic.’

  ‘But you’re the new Mr Hollywood-Action-Hero. You can’t be afraid of heights.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Yep. So I’ll have to swear you to secrecy – either that or shoot you.’

  ‘Crikey! That must be awkward.’

  He nodded and abruptly fired a non sequitur at her. ‘So, about these photos. Why not ignore them?’

  ‘I couldn’t help it. I can’t stop looking at them.’

  ‘Because you enjoy self-torture?’

  She managed to conjure up a hint of a responsive smile, but wrapped her arms across her body miserably. ‘Because I keep looking at her and asking myself, why her and not me?’

  ‘Let me guess. She looks a lot like you?’

  She stared at him long and hard. ‘That’s spooky.’ Had he been stalking her friends on the internet? ‘Joe’s wife …’ Saying the word out loud practically made her gag ‘… and I do look alike. How did you know?’

  He held his breath and then let it all go at once in exasperation. ‘A hunch. Most of the women my father was photographed with after my parents’ split resembled my mother. I remember asking myself why he’d destroyed a family to be with women who seemed like brand new versions of the one he’d left?’

  ‘I suppose there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Right.’

  Ophelia had skedaddled ahead of them and was lying down in a muddy puddle.

  Layla groaned. ‘This day really isn’t getting any better. And she’s having way too much fun.’

  As if on cue Ophelia rolled onto her back completely coating herself in mud. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the mischievous little dog covered from head to paws. ‘She looks like she’s been dipped in chocolate. We’re going to need a pint of dog shampoo.’

  ‘At least.’ Convulsed by a sudden fit of giggles the warmth of Layla’s laughter broke over him like a wave.

  Oddly reluctant to tear himself away he started to walk back in the direction of the little store he’d spotted down by the harbour. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. The clouds parted and the sun warmed the cobbles in the lane. ‘I’ve never been anywhere with such whimsical weather.’

  ‘That’s the Porthkara microclimate for you. It’s one of those if-you-don’t-like-the-weather-wait-fifteen-minutes days.’ She gazed at him wide-eyed. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the store. I’ve had an idea. I’m going to see if they have pliers.’

  ‘This very minute?’

  ‘Right now.’

  Fran had cut him to the core. The news about Beth hadn’t gotten out there – yet – but it was in his shattered heart. He couldn’t stop himself looking back into the past without the foggiest idea what to do about it. But if pliers to cut the padlock would free Layla from the memory of a relationship gone bad, then at least he could fix that.

  ‘I said I’d make myself useful, didn’t I?’

  ‘It can wait. Honestly.’

  Nick pointed at the padlock. ‘Your past stops there. Exes! Who needs them?’ He wanted her to feel better but he was at a loss when it came to a broken heart.

  ‘For someone who doesn’t need exes, you’ve got enough of them. Allegedly!’

  Despite the obvious humour in her tone, the remark stung. It hit a nerve. He didn’t usually care about the truth. But lately the blurriness of ten years’ worth of indeterminate relationship status had swum into sharp focus. He snorted. ‘So I should know, right? You go on home. I’ll see you back there.’

  Intensely wound up, he marched down the lane like he was going into battle.

  Chapter Five

  Layla arrived back at the cottages to discover that her dad had at last turned up to take a look at the broken immersion heater that supplied Maggie’s shower with hot water. He’d squeezed his white van into the parking space next to Nick’s flash sports car. Sporting a hi-vis orange vest over his white overalls, he leant against the van, arms folded across his chest.

  ‘Hi Dad.’

  He threw a not unimpressed look at Nick’s hire car. ‘I gather you’ve got company. Don’t take any nonsense from him. Maggie got the nice brother, or so I hear. That one’s nothing but trouble. I’m telling you. Caps lock sty
le, TROUBLE. You watch yourself there.’

  Ignoring the embarrassing dad warning she looked him up and down. ‘Interesting look you’ve got going. Not unlike a giant traffic cone.’

  ‘Hey, less of the cheek, you.’ He performed a mock bow. ‘Mr Fix-It at your service. What kept you?’

  An irritated shiver ran down her spine. Concerned father patter and stabs at humour apart, they both knew they were on eggshells still. ‘What kept me? Where in the name of Cornish pixies have you been dressed like that?’

  ‘I’ve been up a ladder.’ He opened the van and took out his toolbox. ‘Clearing some blocked guttering at one of the holiday lets. I wanted to make sure everybody could see me. Didn’t want some plonker walking under the ladder and sending me flying.’

  ‘Nobody walks under ladders Dad. It’s bad luck.’

  ‘Bad luck for the poor so-and-so on the ladder.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you for days.’ A wince of embarrassment lanced her realizing that she could have asked her dad for help with the padlock instead of getting Nick involved. ‘You’re like the invisible man.’

  He pulled a face and she had to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement given his hi-vis get-up. ‘Well I’m here now.’ He threw a look at the bedraggled dog. ‘What’s she been playing at?’

  ‘Rolled in a puddle.’ She closed the gate to stop Ophelia from escaping and running off, and pulled a bunch of keys out of her pocket. Fidgeting more than necessary over fitting the right key in the lock she opened up. As she burst through the door, avoiding her father’s concerned look, she bent down and scooped up the handful of junk mail from the doormat.

  ‘I popped by earlier and things were rather quiet.’

  ‘I was at the kiosk,’ she said, finally meeting his eyes, ‘keeping things ticking over for Mum.’

  ‘It’s high time the three of us sit down and take a look at all this. You’re working too many hours. It can’t be good for you.’

  Her parents had split their assets in the village fifty-fifty. They’d built up a portfolio of properties in the area running them as holiday lets. When her grandmother died they’d converted her lovely rambling old house into a boutique B&B. In the divorce settlement her dad got the cottages and her mum the house.

  That left the Kandy Shack. The beachside kiosk was a popular landmark and her dad was excessively proud of it. He’d bought land from an elderly fisherman, demolished the run-down boathouse on the plot and built the Shack. Her mum was attached to it too and they hadn’t been able to agree on who should keep it. Although it had started life as his idea, her mum had taken charge of the business, made a success of it.

  She suppressed a flicker of reaction sensing that what was really bothering him was not knowing how to broach the topic of Joe. Swiftly she changed the subject. ‘Come see.’ She closed the door to keep Ophelia in the tiny front garden. ‘I’m ready to start the mural. I’d appreciate your advice on which colour blue to go with.’

  Upstairs she opened a window and bobbed her head out to check on Ophelia while Ralph stared at the paint tester colours on the wall. ‘The lighter of the two,’ he said, ‘but you don’t need me to tell you that.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Listen. This business with Joe. It should have been you, Layla love. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say. We’re finished. He’s with someone new.’

  ‘Still. You’re bound to be upset.’

  ‘Nope.’ She crossed her arms tightly. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Right.’ He nodded and opened his toolbox to take out a screwdriver. ‘I’ll see to that shower then.’

  A bundle of awkwardness and avoidance, she made to scuttle off. ‘I’ll be next door. Bathing the dog.’

  ‘Hang on a second. I need you to turn the power off at the mains.’

  Feeling fragile and determined not to let it show she went down to the cupboard under the stairs and flicked up the switch in the box in the cupboard under the stairs.’

  ‘Done,’ she called out. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Don’t go yet.’ Her dad’s head leaned over the bannisters and he shouted into the stairwell. ‘This won’t take a minute and there’s something I need to speak to you about.’

  ‘There’s really no point Dad. I told you. As far as me and Joe go the subject is closed.’ She groaned and plodded unwillingly back upstairs.

  ‘It’s not about that.’ He stuck his head in the airing cupboard and got busy unscrewing something. ‘The timing’s terrible. And Jasmine says we should leave it a few days. But I don’t want you hearing from someone else, so …’

  ‘Leave what?’

  He shuffled backwards out of the airing cupboard and stood up. ‘That thing’s as old as the hills. It’s completely knackered. I’m amazed it’s lasted this long to be honest. I’ll price up a new hot water tank for Maggie and you can run it by her. I won’t charge for labor, obviously.’

  ‘Hear what Dad?’

  All her life her dad had been busy with this and that. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she’d ask her mum when she was too little to understand much of anything. ‘He’s off gallivanting,’ she’d say, a euphemism for his womanizing. At some point, she wasn’t sure exactly when, she’d learned not to ask. Now he was here, talking about Joe when she didn’t want to, and he looked hassled and it felt like it would be best if he would just leave.

  ‘You haven’t heard already, have you?’

  ‘Blast it, no. What haven’t I heard?’ she demanded.

  He looked down at his feet. He dug his hands in his pockets and pulled them out again not knowing quite what to do with himself. He looked at his watch, although he patently didn’t need to check what time it was. ‘Here goes. It’s like this …’ He sucked in a gulp of air. ‘Jasmine made an announcement last night.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’ Layla almost laughed.

  ‘She proposed,’ Ralph blurted.

  ‘Why? It’s not a leap year! Anyway, February was months ago.’

  Her dismissiveness masked the fact that she didn’t want to deal with this news, let alone predict the fallout. Since the accident her parents had put any decision-making about the Kandy Shack on hold. She had a gut feeling that a new round of wrangling over the shared ownership was on the horizon. Her dad shuffled from one foot to the other. His blank expression gave the impression that the proposal hadn’t sunk in yet. ‘Jasmine’s pregnant. We’re getting married.’

  ‘Ohhhh!’ Her exclamation drifted out through the open window into the garden and Ophelia gave a yelp at the sound she’d learnt to recognize as her name. ‘That’s – terrific. Congratulations.’

  * * *

  Nick had come to Cornwall to hide, not from the paps and the journalists, not from anyone but himself. Porthkara was just as he’d remembered it – tranquil and beautiful. Even now at the height of summer when the place was a hive of activity, the pub and restaurant buzzing and the beach alive with people and surfers galore, there was a sense of calm about the place that he loved. And the weird weather was really something else. He’d just walked past a house that looked like something straight out of Poldark, only it had a palm tree growing in the front yard.

  Heading back up the hill towards the bridge he smiled and tried to look nonchalant as a family of holidaymakers rounded the hairpin bend. They were the whole enchilada, mum, dad, and three kids of varying sizes, topped off with a baby in a buggy. The sight of them spooked him.

  ‘Hey!’ Nick said, waving and trying to look like he belonged. It was difficult to blend with the scenery sporting a hessian eco shopper bearing the message ‘I Heart My Old Bag’ in big green letters.

  The couple gave him a funny look. It was one he recognized. Such looks often came accompanied with words along the lines of ‘I know who are, but I can’t quite place you. Have you been on TV? It’ll come to me in a moment.’

  His heart twisted wondering if he should bring Layla up to speed with the reasons he’d decided to spend some time
in Porthkara, or whether to keep her at arm’s length. She was nice and she had the problem ex on her mind. Best keep his baggage to himself and spare her the details.

  He and Fran hadn’t lasted long. That didn’t mean she hadn’t mattered. He couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment when the hurt had gone. Her email all these years later had hit him like a lightning bolt. Meeting her had turned him upside down.

  He’d fathered a baby. It hadn’t sunk in at first. He’d wanted to believe it was a mistake but reality had hit him square on the jaw when they’d talked. She wasn’t lying. Why would she? The dates, the timing, the photos of a child who tangled up his heartstrings, it all added up. Fran had seen no point in telling him about the pregnancy. He was in LA, and she was in the UK, focused on her career, determined to make a success of being a single mother. He had to hand it to her. Her career was on fire, her daughter was amazing, and he felt like a third wheel. The emptiness was terrible. He’d been a dad without knowing it and no amount of regret would bring the lost years back.

  For years, pretending to be his co-star Ella Swift’s lover for the cameras and for the publicity had given him carte blanche to do what he wanted, with whoever, whenever. It was PR perfection, got lots of attention for the show, and kept the team in the press office happy. In the world-according-to-Nick his thing with Ella Swift was fake, the women he hooked up with were on the same strictly-no-strings page as him, and he wasn’t harming anyone.

  Or so he’d thought. The notion of his cheating-player-love-rat image affecting his tween daughter’s view of him was nowhere on his radar. Until now. It was one thing acting for a living. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. It was who he was. But he’d carried it over into his personal life, and a publicity stunt that had started as harmless fun had gone way past its best before date.

  Back at the bridge, tugging on the unwanted lovelock, he had a sense of déjà vu. He’d give anything for his life to be like one of those movies where time keeps repeating over and over. They’d done an episode like that on Vampires. He looked about almost expecting to see a crew ready to shoot.