My eyes are red, my hair is stuck to my face, and there is dried dribble on my chin. My tan seems to have all but disappeared. This is not a good look. I head to the kitchen and get two glasses of cold water, taking them in to Julie’s room.
“Budge up,” I say, sitting on her bed.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes!” I sip at my drink, resting my head against the wall and willing myself to feel better.
“Good night, though, wasn’t it?” Julie says.
“I… think so.”
“Weird, seeing Sam and Luke again.”
“Yep.” I keep replaying the scene of bumping into Sam, but there really wasn’t much to it. What did he say to me? I can’t believe it’s you. That had seemed fairly promising. That made it sound like he was pleased to see me. But why hadn’t he come back? He’d told us to stay put. Maybe he’d just wanted to reunite Luke with Julie.
“Luke was looking fiiine…” Julie croaks.
“Julie,” I say warningly.
“What?”
“It’s Luke!” I say. “Not some holiday-maker who’s going to be gone within the week. And his mum’s ill. He’s… vulnerable.”
“I know, I know. Maybe I can make him feel better?”
“I really don’t think you can make up for his mum dying of cancer,” I say.
“Alright, I’m just messing about. You’re just pissed off because Sam didn’t come back.”
“So what if I am?”
Now we’re both annoyed with each other. These things don’t tend to last long, though. “Come on,” I say, “we’re both hungover, and we need some breakfast. I’m going to jump in the shower and hope that I’ve seen all I’m going to see of last night’s chips.”
“OK,” Julie says. “I’ll wake up properly now.” She closes her eyes.
“You’re going back to sleep!”
“No, no,” she murmurs.
“Well I’m getting up, and I’m going to get some breakfast. You’re welcome to join me if you want.”
“Yep, just coming…” she is unconvincing. “Sorry about Sam…” she manages to say before she’s snoring softly again.
Back in the bathroom, I put some bleach down the toilet to see off any lingering hangover germs. I put the shower on, fast and hot, and soon the room is filled with steam so I open the porthole window, panicking a gull who must have been perching above it. It chatters at me, annoyed.
“Sorry!” I say. I can see the sky is a deep blue and I am longing to be out there. The shower does a great job of seeing off much of my hangover; I am left with a gentle, throbbing headache so I take a couple of Anadin and I go into my room, pulling out a bikini, cut-off shorts, and a wide-necked t-shirt.
My hangover is usurped as I feel engulfed by a rush of love for the summer, and just for being here in this brilliant place. With a bit of time on your hands, you can wander the streets, and there is no option but to feel relaxed. It does help that the majority of people you pass are on holiday and treating their days accordingly. It’s just such a contrast to being back home, sitting (or, often, standing) in a packed bus, then joining the streets full of people heading this way and that to sit for a whole day in a stifling, air-conditioned office.
When I’ve voiced this to people, they tell me I feel that way in Cornwall because I’m on holiday. And yes, I know they’re right to some extent – but actually, I’m not fully on holiday. I am working. It’s a different kind of work, and it’s certainly less well-paid, but the pay-off for me is just being here.
I have a spring in my step as I wander out of David’s dark, cool hallway and into the fresh sunshine of the street. Families wander along, parents hand-in-hand with children. Of course it is not all perfect. There is a mum trying to calm her toddler down about something or other and he is having none of it. They are standing in a shop doorway. She has a bag at her feet, with a plastic spade protruding from it, and a picnic bag on her back. He hits her and she looks thoroughly flustered. I try to offer a sympathetic smile but she doesn’t see me. Further along the street, a young girl is telling her dad that he’s so mean and he is gently explaining to her that he can’t just buy her a surfboard, that they cost lots of money and anyway, she can’t surf. She shouts at him that yes, she can surf. If she just had a board she could show him. I have the feeling he is losing his cool but is aware of the people passing by.
Still, for the most part, people are happy – and I know these things are the stuff of everyday family life. They will be sorted out and forgotten in minutes, arguments disintegrating and dissolving in a day of freedom, sunshine and sea air. I feel lucky, though, being unencumbered as I walk along the cobbled street that leads down to the harbour. I know a great place where I can get my breakfast and sit and people-watch.
However, as I approach Joe’s, I see this is not going to be possible. It is packed, and the tables outside are all taken. I walk past one where a couple sit reading a paper. They have a golden retriever, who rises and sniffs at my feet as I stand looking at the menu. It seems that the price structure has changed somewhat in ten years; in fact, the whole place looks different; dark, cool and stylish, with a contrived surf-shack feel that just doesn’t seem authentic, somehow, and some kind of Ibiza-style club music playing on the sound system.
I’m in no hurry, although I think that the sooner I eat, the more quickly I will see off the last of this hangover. As all the places around the harbour are more upmarket now (for ‘upmarket’ read ‘expensive’), I move into the rabbit warren of narrow streets, and make my way to the same beach where we spent last night.
As I turn the corner and the vast stretch of sand reveals itself, I am hit by a blast of cold, salty wind, straight in from the sea. There are numerous surfers making the most of the open, unsheltered water, and it looks like a different beach. I am impressed that there is little, if any, litter from the parties; the only real sign of them the circles of rocks which encased the fires.
I buy a fried-egg sandwich, a large latte, and a freshly-squeezed orange juice from the much more reasonably priced shack on the beach. Taking off my sandals, I wander along to the cluster of rocks which protrude from the middle of the beach at low tide. I carefully climb up, trying not to spill my drinks, and feeling the rough surface scratching against my bare skin. Once atop the largest rock, I pull my hoodie on against the chill of the sea breeze and settle down to watch the surfers, draining my orange juice cup in seconds. The fresh, sharp juice and pulp invigorate me and I feel myself coming to life. I sit a little straighter and unwrap my egg sandwich, eating it guardedly against the scavenging gulls, who would think nothing of taking it clean out of my hand if they could. Soon, I am feeling human once more and I can sip my coffee leisurely, enjoying the luxury of time and space and fresh sea air. In my bag I have a beach towel and a change of underwear and in a while I might head round to the more sheltered beach on the other side of town for a swim but right now I am happy here. I can’t even be bothered to read my book. I can just lean back against my jagged seat, using my hoodie to soften the surface, and observe.
There are families out for a Sunday morning walk; children in swimsuits, bikinis, or nothing at all, splashing in and out of the waves. Couples walking hand-in-hand along the shoreline. Determined, experienced surfers far out where the waves start to form; less confident novices trying to catch already-broken waves closer to the shore.
I let my mind wander back once more to the meeting with Sam. I can’t believe I saw him like that. I know I’ve been looking out for him but I really did think he would be long-since gone, he was always so adamant there was nothing to stay for in Cornwall. Maybe he’s just back visiting, like Luke? I smile at the thought of Sam’s friend; despite his evident success, and his beard, he hasn’t changed at all. He’s one of the friendliest, most open people I have ever met. I’m so sorry for him and his family that they are having such a hard time. Maybe he will be able to throw some light on the Sam situation; well, undoubtedly he will, if I can
summon up the courage to ask him. Or maybe Sam will come out with us for dinner tomorrow night, like Luke suggested. I can’t tell if that idea excites or scares me. Probably both.
I just hope Julie steers clear of Luke. He’s in a vulnerable position at the moment and actually, for all her bravado, so is she, so soon after her break-up with Gabe. However, it is none of my business, really. We’re all adults now, or at least doing a reasonably good job of pretending to be.
I put the wrapper from my sandwich into my now-empty coffee cup and pull my hoodie up so it half-obscures my eyes. Despite the coffee, and the sharpness of the juice, I feel tired again. Maybe there’s time for a little snooze.
Chapter Six
I am rudely awakened by a sudden drenching. I sit up quickly, pushing seaweed out of my face, to the sound of a little girl saying, “I am so sorry. I slipped. I’m really sorry.”
It takes me a moment to collect myself, and come round enough to say it’s fine, although I’m not yet sure if that is the correct answer.
“Are you OK?” The girl looks about nine years old, though to be fair I am no expert, and she’s peering at me from under the rim of a wide-brimmed, yellow sun hat. I’m convinced by her look of concern that she really is sorry and it was a genuine mistake.
“It’s OK,” I say, “really!”
I smile and she looks relieved. I see the figure of a woman, laden down with bags, running along the beach towards us.
“Oh my god!” she pants, out of breath, as she gets to us. “What happened? Sophie, what did you do?”
She looks from me to the girl, and the girl and I both burst out laughing.
“I think she decided I needed waking up,” I say. “The tide’s coming in, after all. She probably saved my life.”
Sophie gives me a grateful smile. “That’s it.”
“Sophie…” her mum says in a warning tone, but she’s grinning. “I said to wait for me before you started rock climbing. Honestly,” she turns to me, “she doesn’t listen to a word I say.”
“No harm done,” I say, “really. And I probably really did need to wake up. I hadn’t actually planned to fall asleep in the first place. Do you happen to know what the time is?”
The woman, who, with a full face of make-up, is looking very glamorous for an afternoon on the beach, looks at her phone. “It’s just after twelve.”
“Wow, then honestly, I think it’s a good thing that you woke me!”
“Well, thank you, for being so understanding.” I’d say she is a little older than me. She has a proper Cornish accent, and bare, tanned arms and long legs, one of which is on display through the gap in her sarong. I notice her perfectly painted toenails. I want to curl my toes under so she can’t see the chipped mess my own nails have become; I haven’t bothered to redo them since coming down here.
“Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee to say sorry?” she asks.
I’m about to say no when I think, actually, I’d love one. “That would be great. Yes, please. Can I have a cup of tea?”
“Of course! Sophie, you come with me and we’ll bring this lady a cup of tea back.”
“Will you watch my bucket for me? There’s a crab in there.”
In that case, I’m grateful that the whole contents weren’t emptied over me. “Of course.”
“Thanks!” The girl skips off with her mum, and I allow myself to wake up a little more in my own time. They return with not just a cup of tea, but a KitKat.
“Thank you so much!” I say.
“It’s no problem,” Sophie’s mum says. “Sorry again!”
She takes Sophie’s hand, and they wander off towards the rocks at the far end of the sand. “See you later!” Sophie waves at me and I wave back.
A sip of my tea scalds my mouth. It’s much too hot to drink and it will be for some time. I decide there is only one thing for it. I must swim. There is a gap between the surfers and I decide to take the plunge right here and now. I peel off my clothes, feeling slightly self-conscious in my bikini but I chastise myself for being so silly. Who cares? Half the people here are dressed as shiny seals, in their wetsuits. Nevertheless, I shove my clothes into my bag and I tuck it into a hollow on the rocks. I’m not planning to swim for long and I will keep an eye on it from the water. I don’t think it looks particularly nickable, anyway.
The water is so cold but I suppress a shriek, pressing determinedly in until the waves are pushing over my shoulders and I may as well take the plunge. I duck my head under the water and bring it back out again, shaking the salty sting from my eyes. I laugh out loud. There is nothing like this feeling; nothing. And although I know how beautiful it is swimming in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean, for example, there is something about this biting Cornish sea which brings me to life. It makes me want to jump for joy. However, I have appearances to keep up so I restrain myself, instead dashing back and forth in short, sharp bursts of front crawl, and occasionally plummeting under the waves then slowing down to a more relaxed breast stroke. I stay in the water far longer than I meant to but I think that seeing as I’m here, and my body’s acclimatised, I might as well make the most of it.
I lie on my back for a while, my ears submerged in the water, so my view is of the sky and the fast-moving, barely-there clouds. This is one of my favourite things to do. Shutting out the world and listening to the bubbling voice of the sea. A seagull comes into view and is as soon gone from sight. I know there are surfers nearby so I need to be careful; I really don’t fancy getting run over by some over-enthusiastic surf dude and their board, but just for a few moments it is just me, the sea and the sky. It is bliss.
Soon enough, I right myself, and think of my cup of tea getting cold. And the KitKat! I am suddenly ravenously hungry. I half-reluctantly swim to shore, moving as gracefully as I can onto my feet and splashing through the shallows, where the water seems far warmer now. I watch the rainbow of sea spray caught in the sun’s lights, with each kick of my feet. I remember this from my childhood. I love the feeling of it now just as much as I did then.
I head off to the rocks to dry, noting that the tide is much further in already. It’s moving fast now. I allow myself to dry on the rock while I drink my tea, although it is disappointingly much cooler than I had hoped. The KitKat does not disappoint, though.
Then I gather up my things and I pull my clothes on over my still-damp bikini. I can’t be bothered to change properly; once I’m in a more sheltered spot the sun will soon have me dry. I’m thinking what to do, trudging each footstep carefully through the sand, when I feel a tug on my top.
“Look what I found now!” It is Sophie, the little girl who half-drenched me earlier.
I smile. She is very sweet, though I don’t think I’d have been half as forward at her age – or any age. And I’m surprised her mum doesn’t mind her just accosting strangers like this. But I can see her mum a little way away, talking earnestly into her phone, and seemingly not paying attention to what her daughter is doing.
“What is it?” I ask, peering into the bucket.
“This,” she says proudly, “is a starfish.”
“No way!” I am genuinely impressed, and I let her prod around in the bucket until she finds what she’s looking for. She gently lifts it, on its shell bed, from the water, for me to have a quick look. “Can’t keep it out of the water too long,” she says, “and I have to put it back before I go. Dad says whatever I catch, I have to put back.”
“I totally agree,” I say, and take a look at the tiny star-shaped creature. It’s beautiful. And tiny. Its dark skin is patterned with cream and orange shapes, which look like tiny stars themselves.
“It’s a Asterina phylactica,” says Sophie.
“Is that right?”
“Yep,” she places it back in the bucket.
I notice her mum, who has finished her phone conversation, looking round the beach, and I wave to get her attention. I really don’t want her thinking I am trying to steal her daughter. She comes jogging up, still
managing to look lovely as she does. No accidental falling into a hole for her. “Oh, hi again,” she says as she recognises me.
“Hi,” I say, trying to look as harmless and non-child-stealer-like as possible.
“Sophie, I said to just stay still,” she admonishes the girl.
“Yeah, but you were on the phone for ages,” Sophie rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I saw…”
She looks at me, obviously expecting me to fill in the rest of the sentence.
“Alice,” I oblige.
“Alice over here, and I knew she’d like the starfish.”
“Sorry!” Sophie’s mum says to me again.
“It’s fine,” I reassure her, “I do like the starfish.” I smile at Sophie.
“See?” Sophie looks triumphantly to her mum. “Was that Dad on the phone?”
“Yeah, he’s just coming into town now. We should go and meet him, I guess.” Sophie’s mum turns to me. “Are you on holiday here?”
“No, well not really. I’m… working for the summer. Seasonal work, you know.” I feel suddenly embarrassed, like I am far too old to be doing summer work.
“Oh, OK,” Sophie’s mum doesn’t seem bothered.
“I mean, I’m on a, I suppose a career break.”
“Well, good for you. I’ve been on a few of them myself!” she smiles. “Well, you might be interested in this class I’ve just set up. Pilates. On Monday nights, at the church hall.”
“Really?” I say. “That sounds great. I was looking for a Pilates class, believe it or not. Or at least I was going to look for one. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, to be honest, I hadn’t quite got round to it.”
“Brilliant! Well, that’s sorted, then. Here, let me give you a card. In fact, would you mind taking a few? Handing them round, maybe at work?”
“Oh, OK. Sure.” I don’t see a problem in doing that but I can see where Sophie gets her forwardness from.
She hands me a few A5-sized cards. ‘KC’s Pilates, 6-7pm’. “And can you fill in one of these forms for me, so I know if you’ve got any medical requirements?”
A Second Chance Summer Page 4
