The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘They’re why you ran away with the circus in the first place?’ I let my fingers keep gently brushing his shoulder, hoping he might answer in his own time, like he did before.

  ‘My father is very … academic. Like I said, both my parents had important, powerful jobs, and I was coached to follow in their footsteps, and that’s just not me. I hated school. I hated people telling me what to do and being stuck inside all day. I hated being expected to be something I wasn’t. So in my infinite wisdom as a teenager who thought he understood the world better than he actually did, I decided to prove to my father that I wasn’t cut out for a career in academia by deliberately failing my GCSEs. I thought it would make him leave me alone.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  He does a soft snort. ‘What do you think? ’Course it didn’t. It made him go nuclear. I had to retake the exams, and he actually took time off work to stand over me and make sure I wasn’t slacking off in my studies, and I couldn’t take it. Having someone who unashamedly hates you breathing down your neck all day is soul crushing. The circus was in town that summer – it’s one of those travelling fairs that moves to a different town every season so it’s in place for a couple of months before it moves on again – and I took refuge there. He’d be driving around in his flashy car looking for me, shouting my name and showing people a picture of me like I was a missing pet. The owner of the fair had seen me a few times by that point, noticed the extra bruises after my father had inevitably caught up with me, and he let me hide.’

  My fingers tighten on his shoulder so much that it might actually start hurting him, so I slide my hand across his chest to his other shoulder, trying to give him a one-armed hug with quite a bit of space and two duvets between us.

  His hand comes up and covers mine. ‘You don’t have to worry about the shoulder. Honestly, Ness, it was five years ago – you’d never know there was anything wrong with it now.’

  Instead of pushing my hand away, his fingers intertwine with mine and he holds it there. He throws his left arm wide across the pillow towards me and inclines his head, a clear invitation, and I shift over until I can rest my head on his upper arm, and his arm goes around my back and pulls me in to his side. I nestle my head against his left shoulder, and his hand comes up and strokes through my hair, flattening out the smooshed-up parts where it’s been pressed against the pillow, his fingers playing in the split ends.

  And it takes all I have not to let out a sob, partly because of how much he’s just opened up, and partly because of how special he makes me feel. No one has ever touched me with the gentle, almost reverent touch he’s got. No one has ever got me the way he does. No one has ever seen me first thing in the morning and not recoiled in horror.

  I look up at him and he looks so peaceful, his eyes closed, his fingers stroking up and down my fingers where they’re resting on his right shoulder, his other hand still playing in my hair. It’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, because he always seems to be aware of protecting himself, just slightly on edge, hiding behind the trust issues he’s mentioned a few times, and I think about that remark on the way up the cliff the other day. ‘You never told anyone how much pain you were in.’

  He glances down at me with a raised eyebrow. ‘I think you’ve got the same mind-bending powers your mum has got. I’ve never, ever told anyone any of that before, but I think you touch my shoulder and put me into a trance or something.’ His eyes drift shut as he exhales slowly. ‘I was broken in all the ways you can imagine. But being able to get back to work within a couple of weeks, being able to sit and paint horses and put my headphones in and blast music out loud enough to drown out my own thoughts … that carousel saved me. That’s why they mean so much to me now.’

  I squeeze his other shoulder again and his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer even though we’ve still got two duvets between us.

  ‘The accident was my own fault. I knew health and safety regulations and I went against them. Apart from physically being able to work again, I wasn’t sure I’d still have a job to go back to, but my boss was brilliant. He should have given me at least a formal warning but he let it go because he knew I’d learnt my lesson. It might sound strange but it changed my life for the better. Obviously I didn’t think that at the time, but I see it now. It knocked my confidence a lot at first. I couldn’t do any of the things I usually did at work. I started to hate being out in crowds. I was on a packed train once while it was still healing and I got shoved and it tore something else and put the healing back by a couple more months. I still hate crowded places.’

  He’s turned away and his eyes are shut again. ‘I was held together by pins, bruised for months, right the way down my arm and across my chest. Every breath hurt because it moves the chest wall and that shifts the fractures. Even now, I don’t like taking my shirt off because you can still see the surgery scars and my shoulder looks all weird and misshapen.’

  It makes me want to rip his shirt off and tell him he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and it has nothing to do with his scars. I settle for turning my head and pressing a kiss to his shoulder, letting my lips linger against his T-shirt for longer than strictly necessary.

  His breath hitches and my arm automatically tightens across his chest. I let my hand drift up until I can run my finger down his jaw, urging him to turn his head towards me, and he lets me manoeuvre him, but his eyes stay shut.

  ‘Why don’t you ever open your eyes when you’re talking about something that hurts you? It’s like you’re trying to shut old ghosts out or something,’ I whisper, wondering if this’ll be the one question that pushes him too far.

  His eyelids lift and he looks me directly in the eyes. ‘Because I’ve never talked to someone the way I talk to you. You touch a part of me that’s been closed off for many years. You make me feel so comfortable, so unafraid to be myself, and if you believe honesty is the best policy, then I’m afraid of falling for you.’

  It takes a few moments for the weight of those words to sink in, but when they do, I’m barely even aware of the huge smile creeping across my face. ‘I’ve always been afraid of falling too, but I’m not with you.’

  ‘Because you find me so hideously unattractive that there’s no possibility you could ever like me?’

  I grin and smack his chest. ‘Because it doesn’t seem scary with you.’

  He smiles and pulls back a bit before twisting around and lowering his head, and I lift mine, not even feeling self-conscious that our first kiss will be when my hair’s all matted at the back and there’s a pillow crease across my cheek.

  Well, maybe a bit self-conscious.

  I push myself up on an elbow and his forehead rests against mine, and I wet my lips and pray that my morning breath isn’t too bad. This kissing in the morning thing is nothing like it is in the movies, when people wake up looking perfect with a full face of make-up and minty-fresh teeth.

  He breathes a contented sigh as his lips lower to mine, and I’ve gone from relaxed in his arms to my heart hammering at ninety miles per hour, and I can feel the scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his breath, the heat coming from his lips as they’re just a breath away from mine …

  ‘Coo-ee! Only me!’ Mum opens the door without knocking and we jump apart like naughty schoolchildren.

  I drop my head back against Nathan’s arm and sigh in frustration, my heart thumping with adrenaline from the shock of my mum walking in rather than from the prospect of kissing Nathan, which seems increasingly destined not to happen. ‘Mum!’

  ‘What? I heard voices – you were obviously awake.’

  ‘We could have been having sex for all you knew!’

  ‘I heard voices, not moaning. Besides, Daphne said it’s been so long for Ness that the creaking would’ve been audible. How about you, Nathan?’

  He gives her his most charming smile. ‘It had been a while for me until I ravished your daughter last night. Many ravishings, actually. Probably won’t be able to walk st
raight this morning.’

  ‘Nath!’ I protest, wondering which one of them is worse.

  Most mums would probably be embarrassed by this, but mine nods approvingly. ‘Good good. Have you checked your cycle, Ness? Are you ovulating? I must pop out and buy a pregnancy test, just in case!’

  I throw a pillow at her and she giggles, already backing out the door. ‘I only came up to say breakfast’s ready. You get back to whatever you were doing!’

  I don’t think there’s much chance of that, unfortunately. My sixty-eight-year-old mum bursting in mid-kiss kills the atmosphere a bit.

  ‘Sorry.’ I bury my face in Nathan’s shoulder when I’m certain she’s out of earshot, having conveniently left the door wide open so picking up where we left off is out of the question.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s great. I wish I had a mum like her.’

  ‘What’s your mum like?’

  He closes his eyes again and he’s quiet for so long that I think he might be trying to go back to sleep and ignore me.

  ‘Cold,’ he says eventually.

  ‘That’s an interesting choice of words,’ I murmur, mainly because of how long it took him to settle on that one.

  ‘She’s … a professional.’ His voice is low and right next to my ear. ‘When she was married to my dad, she walked a strange line between trophy wife and her massively successful school governor job. She was all about never doing anything to get her designer dresses dirty, nothing that might break a nail extension or leave a pristinely styled hair out of place, and I was the kid who went looking for puddles to jump in, frogs to catch in swamps, and stagnant ponds to fall in, so we weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. Now she’s remarried to Alan, she’s exactly the same, but when I fall in ponds these days, I don’t rely on her to clean me up.’

  ‘Do you fall in a lot of ponds?’ I say with a giggle.

  ‘A surprising amount. It’s an unexpected hazard of adult life.’ He laughs too. ‘I think your mum’s just about adopted me anyway. She asked if there was any laundry she could do for me yesterday, then she tried to mend the holes in my work dungarees, and she’s obviously made us breakfast this morning.’

  ‘She’s probably caught sight of the Coco Pops in the cupboard and started worrying they might affect your fertility.’

  He laughs but I want him to keep talking. ‘So that’s who Alan is.’

  ‘Yeah, and I admire your restraint in not asking before now. And no, we don’t get on. She divorced my father a few years ago and basically married a younger version three months later.’

  ‘Do you still see much of your parents?’

  ‘Yeah, of course, they’re my parents. I don’t hold anything against them. I see them at family gatherings and stuff. Christmas, birthdays, weddings, funerals, the usual. Mum sends a round-robin email once a month listing all their achievements. But I’m under no illusions. Their love is conditional and I don’t meet their requirements.’

  The words hit me like a punch in the gut. No child should ever feel like that, and I’m suddenly incredibly grateful for my meddling, interfering, frustrating mum who’s got nothing but good intentions really. My mum, who keeps a copy of every issue of Maîtresse just because I work there, who constantly nags on the phone to see if I’m eating right, drinking enough water, and getting enough sleep, who phones to see if I’m okay every time she sees something bad about London on the news, who I should appreciate much more than I currently let her know I do.

  He suddenly jumps upright and bolts from the bed. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.’

  His feet tangle in the duvet and he stumbles into the wall. ‘Breakfast! Our bathroom will be getting cold! Er … did I say that the wrong way round?’

  He chucks the duvet back towards the bed but I dodge it and scramble after him. ‘Wait!’

  I’m not that coordinated first thing in the morning, so I fall into him and end up crashing us both against the wall, but I get my arms around him and pull him tight to me, no duvets between us now, only old holey pyjamas. Which, really, would’ve been a bit sexier if I’d have known I’d be sharing a bed with a gorgeous man.

  I wasn’t sure how he’d react to being forcibly hugged, but I had to do it because it’s not right for someone to talk so openly about something that’s clearly affected him so much, and not have a hug afterwards, but his arms come up and wrap around me too.

  ‘What’s this for?’ he murmurs, his chin resting on the top of my head.

  ‘Because no one should ever, ever feel like that, Nath. You do a job that makes you happy. Nothing else should matter.’

  ‘I didn’t say any of that because I want you to feel sorry for me. For some reason, I just want you to understand why I’m like I am, and I’ve never felt like that before.’

  I squeeze him impossibly tighter, trying to find the words to tell him how much that little bit of trust in me means, but Mum yells from downstairs about breakfast getting cold, and I reluctantly pull away, and watch as he disappears into the depths of the landing. I wish I had the courage to say what’s in my head. I think you’re quite possibly the best person I’ve ever met. If you were the hero in a romantic movie, I’d laugh at how unrealistic you were. Me and Daph would poke fun because men like you don’t actually exist, and yet, here you are, standing right in front of me.

  Chapter 18

  As with most things, Mum gets overexcited about Pearlholme’s gardening competition, and she drags me outside to have a look, sending a flurry of birds scattering from the feeding table.

  The shell Nathan picked up for me on the beach is sitting in the centre of the garden picnic table, and I explain my idea of using it as inspiration and digging Camilla’s flower patch into a circular shell shape and planting flowers in rounded lines of pink and white to recreate the pattern. Nathan’s going to cut the hedge into a wave shape, and we’re going to fill the edge borders with blue flowers to represent the sea. He’s even suggested laying something beige across the grass to make it look like sand, but neither of us have come up with what to use yet.

  ‘I know exactly what flowers you need!’ Mum squeals. ‘Garden Pinks in white and pink, and blue petunias, and meconopsis poppies! You get your dad and your boyfriend; I’ll get the car! The garden centre awaits!’

  ‘He’s not my—’

  ‘Yes, I was there when you were conceived, he’s definitely your dad!’

  ‘I didn’t mean him, Mum,’ I say, knowing she knows full well who I meant and what he isn’t.

  ‘Oh, joy,’ Dad says when I find him trying to hide in the broom cupboard. ‘An afternoon at the garden centre, where every other person in the universe will have also chosen to spend their sunny summer Sunday.’

  ‘Nice alliteration,’ Nath says, actually looking thrilled at the idea of going out with my parents.

  ‘At least if we all go, we triple our chances of finding your mother again. Last time we got near a garden centre on a weekend, she was MIA until the Wednesday.’

  Nathan laughs like he thinks Dad’s joking. He really doesn’t know my mum well enough.

  * * *

  ‘Don’t forget I’m cooking tonight,’ Mum says when we get in. ‘I thought it’d be nice if we all sat down and had a meal together. Camilla’s given me a lovely recipe for a pasta bake that I can’t wait to try.’

  ‘When have you spoken to Camilla?’

  ‘I was out and about exploring the village while you two lazybones were still in bed this morning.’ Mum waggles her eyebrows at the implied suggestion. ‘I had a lovely chat with her and Charles, and that darling woman who works in the shop, and the lady from the pub. They were very informative.’

  Three guesses what they were informative about. I get the feeling she’s got an hour-by-hour spreadsheet of mine and Nathan’s movements in the past two weeks. He catches my eyes across the hallway and raises both eyebrows and it makes me grin because he’s clearly thinking the same thing.

  Nathan and I unload the plants from the car,
while Dad settles himself in front of the Sunday afternoon sport on the telly, and Mum commandeers the kitchen and shoos us all out.

  It’s gone six p.m. before she lets us back in and the place smells of herbs and spices, the sink is piled high with saucepans, and there’s veggie sausages in a tomato sauce bubbling away in the oven, the cheese on top just starting to brown off.

  ‘Now you sit there.’ Mum physically manhandles Nath into a chair at the four-seater kitchen table and pushes me down opposite him. She lights a candle between us and opens a bottle of wine, filling two glasses to the brim and setting them in front of us, before she starts dishing up.

  Just as she puts the second plate down, my dad appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking smartly dressed. ‘Ready?’ He asks Mum.

  I look at him in confusion. ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘We’re off to the pub with Charles and Camilla,’ Mum says. ‘Oh, if my book club friends could hear me saying that, they’d wet themselves. When we get home, I might not tell them it wasn’t the real Charles and Camilla just for a giggle.’

  ‘But I thought you were cooking for all of us?’

  ‘No, dear. Camilla invited us this morning, didn’t I tell you?’ She tries to do the exaggerated wink thing like this is a secret we’re in on together.

  ‘No, mother dearest, you didn’t. As you know because you’ve spent all afternoon saying how nice it will be for the four of us to sit down together and have a family meal.’

  The selective hearing kicks in again as Mum whips off her apron. ‘Cheerio! There’s plenty more if you want seconds. And I’ve hidden ice cream in the freezer for afters. Why don’t you two polish off this wine and have an early night? Don’t wait up for us old fogies!’

  She flips the kitchen light off, leaving us with only the flame of the candle, and within a matter of seconds, they’ve disappeared out the door and down the street.

  ‘What just happened?’ I say, feeling the tailwind of that passing tornado again. ‘And why has this become such a common question since my mum arrived?’