Snowflakes Over Holly Cove

by Lucy Coleman

  I nod, surprised that anyone is planning their decorations so far ahead of the event. She returns carrying a large box. I watch as she places it on the coffee table in front of her and eases off the lid.

  ‘Don’t you just love these twinkly lights?’

  Paige holds up a string of little white snowmen sporting jolly smiles. She lays them on the sofa and the next item to appear is a white reindeer, covered in sparkly, pearl-white glitter. It glints a little as she turns it towards me so that I can get a better look.

  Glitter. My worst nightmare. I refuse to buy anything with that awful stuff sprinkled over it. Now I’m sounding like a Christmas grouch and I’m not, but the sparkles stick to everything. If anyone sends me a card with it on, then it goes straight in the bin.

  ‘Lovely. When the photographer calls can you have some of the decorations out on a table or something? If you have a plain tablecloth it might be a fun shot. Do you have anything specifically for the baby?’

  She looks at me as if that’s a silly question and disappears for a few moments. When she sits back down in front of the camera she waggles the arms of an enormous cuddly snowman, which literally spills out over her lap because of her baby bump.

  ‘He’s cute, isn’t he? And I found this mobile for the cot.’

  She moves the cuddly toy, placing him next to her and then reaches into a bag to gently lift out a rather pretty mobile. Hanging down from a plastic circular hoop are six strings. Each one has three snowflakes and at the bottom of each there is a felt snowman.

  ‘It’s obviously going to be a very exciting time. Has Christmas always been a big event for you?’

  Paige settles back down, smoothing her hands down over her bump and wriggling around in her seat until she’s in a comfortable position.

  She shakes her head. ‘No. My Grandma died on Christmas day, eight years ago. It hasn’t been the same since and that’s why this year I’m determined to make it extra special.’

  A lump rises in my throat as I connect with the pain I can see so clearly reflected back in her expression. She takes a deep breath.

  ‘It’s time to make some new traditions, rather than dwelling on how Christmas used to be.’

  It’s all great stuff and I can’t pretend I’m not a little envious of that level of excitement and anticipation. It sounds like it’s going to be the best Christmas ever, for Paige and Darren. Personally, I’m dreading Christmas, but that’s life I suppose. We have no choice but to work with the cards we’re dealt. I guess watching The Holiday last night hasn’t helped, either. Wouldn’t it be great to stumble across someone’s path and suddenly it all begins to kick off? Would I have dragged that mysterious stranger – who looked remarkably like Jude Law – over my doorstep and into my life.

  Unusually for me, I have to keep my mind from wandering throughout the entire interview. I’m glad I have the recording as I’ll have to run through it before I write up my notes, as I’m sure there are things I missed.

  I hear a key in the door and, glancing at the clock, I see it’s Olwen time.

  ‘Hello,’ her lilting voice filters through from the hallway.

  ‘In the kitchen. I’m not interviewing.’

  Olwen’s smiley face appears, although she looks a little bedraggled, with water droplets running down her face. She’s carrying her little trolley to avoid leaving wet tracks on the floor.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come out in this, Olwen. Seriously, there’s nothing that can’t wait.’

  ‘I’d feel guilty not turning up and it’s on my round. I’m doing lunchtime duty at the school today, so I can go straight from here. Do you mind if I dry my coat off a little on the radiator?’

  I jump up. ‘Of course, help yourself. I’ll grab you a towel.’

  I disappear into the bathroom as Olwen drapes her dripping coat over the kitchen radiator.

  ‘Here you go. I didn’t appreciate it was still so wet out there.’

  ‘It hasn’t stopped. Most of this is from the walk down the lane. I saw Max ahead of me and he’s parked back a little from the cottage. He wouldn’t park there, of course, if Nic was around. They don’t get on. I’m not good at reversing, so I parked at the top.’

  ‘To be honest I haven’t seen him for a couple of days and I was a little worried.’

  ‘He’d been shopping by the look of it. He also has a lady friend he visits from time to time. I’m not gossiping, it isn’t a secret, but then I’m not sure what their relationship is, exactly. He doesn’t say a lot.’

  ‘It must be quite miserable for him being on his own in the cabin when the weather is bad.’

  ‘Oh, you haven’t been inside, then. It’s not quite as basic as you might think. One houses a bathroom and bedroom. He recycles rain water and although he doesn’t have plumbing, he has a composting toilet, no less.’

  ‘Ah, I did wonder. What’s in the other cabin?’

  ‘It’s a sitting room and kitchen. He prefers to cook outside whenever he can, but he has everything he needs so don’t go feeling sorry for him.’ Her tone is good-natured.

  ‘I did wonder about the solar panels.’

  ‘He never has power outages when the storms hit because there’s a big unit in his workshop which stores up the power from those solar panels. And I bet his internet is way faster than the service you have in the cottage. He has his own external WiFi Antenna and some fancy gizmo that amplifies the signal. Very clever man is Max. Sound chap. I agree, though, there must be times when a little company would brighten his day.’

  Is she dropping hints? I remember the chicken. I could pop it in the oven and brave my way down to the beach a bit later, to invite Max to dinner. It’s about time I returned his hospitality. It won’t taste half as good as his freshly-caught fish baked on an open fire, but it’s free-range; besides, he might be glad of the company.

  Olwen potters about changing towels and flashing through with the mop. I have my head down, working. Before I know it, an hour has passed and she’s putting on her coat.

  ‘It’s blowing over. At least I won’t get wet walking back up to the car.’

  I see her out and check the sky. It doesn’t look exactly promising but she’s right, the rain has stopped, so I grab some wellies and my thick coat. Pulling my hood tightly around my face I trudge along to Max’s place.

  The wooden steps are surprisingly solid, but then they are built off a very sturdy concrete base. I knock twice on the door. A couple of seconds pass and it swings open. Max stands there looking surprised.

  ‘Hello. It’s stopped raining I see. Step inside.’ I gingerly step across the threshold and stand on a small mat on which Max’s boots are neatly lined up.

  ‘Wow, this wasn’t quite what I expected. What a lovely space.’ I wonder if it’s rude to make that comment. It does tend to indicate I thought he lived in a shack. ‘It’s much larger than it looks from the outside.’ I quickly correct myself, but he smiles knowingly.

  ‘Do you have time to slip off your coat and have a cuppa?’

  ‘No, I was just passing.’

  He laughs at my awkwardness.

  ‘Seriously, I came down to ask if you’d like to join me for dinner this evening at the cottage.’

  Max looks surprised.

  ‘Well, that’s a kind offer.’

  He’s about to refuse, I can feel it, but I give him my best dazzling smile.

  ‘That’s very kind and of course I’d be delighted to join you. What time?’

  ‘About seven. Hope you like roast chicken from the farm at the top?’

  ‘The best,’ he muses, as he follows me out the door. ‘Glad to see you’re well wrapped up. It’s pretty fresh out here.’

  Walking back, the wind is battering against me and I have to lean into it just to make headway. Spring? Call this spring? I mutter, looking up at the sky as I try to pick up the pace and hurry back to the toasty warmth of the cottage.

  *

  My hands warm up quite quickly once they are wrapped
around a cup of hot chocolate. Then I’m head down again, on a mission to finish the task in hand. Finally, gathering together the scattering of notes I push them into the folder and start clearing the table. I want to pop the chicken into the oven by six o’clock, so I head straight up to the shower and change into some clean jeans and a jumper. I pull my hair up into a ponytail and head down to prepare dinner.

  14

  A Little Understanding Goes a Long Way

  When Max arrives, he looks rather smart and on first sight I think my jaw drops a little.

  ‘Come in. Let me take your jacket.’

  He slips off his shoes and I think that’s a rather thoughtful gesture. I do exactly the same thing, when visiting other people’s homes because it’s something I’ve always done. Then I remember that Max was the former owner of the cottage and this could be the first time he’s been inside since the renovation work was carried out. Is this something he finds difficult, I wonder? I have no idea whether it’s a place that holds a lot of memories for him, or whether he never had a real attachment to it.

  ‘Um… chicken is cooking, roast potatoes are crisping nicely. I’ll just pop your jacket on a hanger. I found a rather nice bottle of red wine in the cupboard, courtesy of Olwen. The glasses and bottle opener are on the coffee table if you don’t mind taking charge?’

  Max nods. The warmth in those greyish-blue eyes is genuine, but I can see he is affected by this room. It saddens me as I head towards the kitchen.

  Maybe giving him a few moments alone is the right thing to do. Oh, Tia, what have you done?

  I try to throw off my concerns, as I prepare the meal. I meant well and that’s what counts. The laptop is playing a loop of classical musical, but the volume is low as I wasn’t sure whether Max was a music sort of guy.

  When I start to dish up he appears, a half-filled wine glass in each hand, which he sets down on the table. I reflect that there isn’t anything at all about Max that isn’t gentlemanly, or refined, despite his old sea dog demeanour.

  ‘In my capacity as the honorary wine waiter, I took it upon myself to do the tasting. I can report on the fact that it’s a fine and robust bottle of wine, with hints of cherry and notes of blackberry.’

  I start laughing and as our eyes meet I know he’s forgiven me my faux pas. Perhaps sometimes it helps to face the memories that haunt us, head-on and that’s how we come to understand that trying to hold onto the past is pointless.

  ‘I like what he’s done with it.’ Max turns, taking in the detail.

  ‘It’s pretty great, isn’t it? But now I’ve seen the inside of your cabin I’m envious.’

  Max winks at me. ‘Not bad for an old fisherman, eh?’

  I think I’ve figured him out. He deflects questions by presenting himself as this simple, older guy who has turned his back on the world. As if he never was a part of it and lacks the energy and enthusiasm to get involved. But having read that article, I know it’s not the truth.

  ‘Well, sixty-five isn’t old for a start. And anyone who is clued-up enough to run their beachside home using solar panels, knows a thing or two about twenty-first century living. You’re quite a surprise, Max, and I’m not falling for the old fisherman thing.’

  His eyes widen in exaggerated surprise at being found out and he hangs his head to one side.

  ‘Sorry. It’s just so much easier saying little and expecting nothing from anyone.’

  ‘Take a seat. You have my undivided attention this evening. You gave me the short version, now I want to hear the whole thing.’

  He lets out an exasperated, if somewhat resigned, sigh. ‘On one condition. You have a story of your own and I have a feeling there are many things you’ve chosen not to share with anyone, too. Is it a deal?’

  I nod. ‘You first.’

  It’s a leisurely meal and Max is happy to talk about his time in the Navy, not appreciating that I was already aware of his former career. He doesn’t mention his medal, only shares a few of the stories from his time in service. Then he talks about his involvement with training the cadets. His love of the sea comes across so strongly in the way he talks about the skills a young man acquires during his training. Skills that encompass every aspect of their lives, it seems, and turns them from boys into men.

  ‘The training makes the man, Tia. But the long periods of separation aren’t good for personal relationships and it takes a toll.’

  As I clear away the plates, I can hear the sadness in his voice, even though my back is towards him.

  ‘Did you ever have any children?’

  He glances across at me as I spin my head around.

  ‘Two. But my son and I don’t speak.’

  It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about that and I return to swilling off the plates.

  ‘I have fruit sorbet, or cheese and biscuits. Which do you prefer?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Never had a sweet tooth and that was quite a meal. A home-cooked roast dinner is a rare treat for me these days. I’m a throw it on the fire type of man.’

  ‘And delicious that is, too. So now you’re on your own? And happy, or should I say, happier?’

  ‘I wonder if divorce can ever be amicable. Mine most certainly wasn’t. On paper, it must have looked like we were the couple who had it all. That included a big house near London and a holiday cottage down here with a private beach and woodland. Our son was following in his mother’s footsteps and making a big name for himself in the City. But the truth was that none of us were happy.’

  He stops abruptly and I don’t think he’s going to say anything more. I’m surprised, therefore, when he suddenly picks the conversation up again.

  ‘I wasn’t running away from the responsibility, I was trying to distance myself from the pain. Money and possessions, I came to appreciate, create mistrust and envy. They bring out the worst in people. I have money, more than I need. So, I gave a lot away and that was wrong, according to my ex-wife. I kept some as a nest egg and that was wrong too, apparently. I’m sure my ex-wife continues to be angry at everything I do and the lifestyle I have chosen will, no doubt, be an embarrassment to her. And that’s why my family disowned me.’

  I sit back down, facing Max across the table and trying to swallow the huge lump in my throat.

  ‘But you survived,’ I half-whisper.

  ‘Yes. And it made me see that some people are judgemental and if you don’t conform to their particular standards or ideas, then you become a threat of sorts. Some traits are so ingrained they are second nature and that applies to both sides of the argument. So, I choose to live on the beach and some people choose to see that as a failure that is an embarrassment. My wife is horrified and my son would prefer me to have what he would perceive to be a more acceptable lifestyle at my age. As for me, I’m perfectly happy where I am.’

  He raises his glass in the air and the twinkle is back in his eyes. I raise mine and our glasses chink.

  ‘Now, Tia, it’s your turn.’

  ‘I don’t quite know where to begin and that’s not a stalling tactic. I never intended to be a career woman, well, not to dedicate every waking hour of the day to my job… Shall we take this into the sitting room and make ourselves a little more comfortable?’

  I pick up the wine bottle and Max follows me through. I top up his glass and pour a splash into my own, and then curl up on the sofa, facing him.

  ‘Men have come and gone. I don’t mean hundreds, but a few, and most were a couple of dates and move on. Maybe I get bored easily, I don’t know, but I’ve never met anyone who could hold my interest. It seemed the more I found out about them, the less appealing they became. That sounds sad, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I would say truthful, rather than sad. I think you are being a little hard on yourself, though. You just haven’t met the right person, yet.’

  ‘Ah, a man who still believes in hope. Now that’s comforting, as I thought you might be a little more jaded given the circumstances.’

  The twinkle is b
ack and I remember what Olwen said about Max’s lady friend. Perhaps hope never dies. He doesn’t respond, so I continue.

  ‘OK. Wind forward and I hit thirty and it’s all work, work, work. The only family member I had regular contact with was my mum, but I have a brother, a sister-in-law and a niece I haven’t seen for over four years. Well, except at Mum’s funeral.’

  ‘That’s hard. Death is a journey for both parties; those who pass over and those who are left behind.’

  I sit back, staring at him.

  ‘Do you know something, Max? You’re the first person since Mum died to say something to me that is, actually, meaningful. People can’t handle it, can they? And that includes me. The reason I’m here is that I went to pieces and the doctor gave me some pills. Then one night, instead of taking one, I took three. I keep telling myself I had an allergic reaction to them, but the truth is that I was scared. Alone, and scared. I popped a second pill, then a third and I washed them down with half a bottle of wine. My brother came to the house with some papers that needed my signature. He looked in through the sitting room window and saw me lying on the floor. He called an ambulance and it probably saved my life. And now that’s another thing that stands between us; he accused me of being selfish.’

  Max shakes his head and I can feel his empathy.

  ‘The funny thing, though, was that I wasn’t trying to kill myself, at all. I didn’t want to die; I just didn’t know how to cope with the pain of the loss, or the stark finality of death. I was very young when my father died, so I clung onto Mum. I suppose, with hindsight, my need actually helped her through it. But I never allowed myself to even contemplate life without her. She’s the only person who ever really understood me, the bit in here that you never share.’

  I touch my chest and lapse into silence. A sense of relief lifts my spirits and I’m amazed at how natural it feels opening up to Max. I’m proud of myself, as it’s not an easy thing to admit and the fact that I’ve finally owned up to it makes me feel stronger, somehow. Before, I felt ashamed that I had been so careless and had risked my own life as if it were nothing.