New Beginnings at Seaside Blooms

by Jessica Redland

Elise shuffled forward in her chair. ‘Spill.’

  ‘I know I’m probably being really silly about it but I’m a bit embarrassed about the idea of dating when I’m living with Mum and Dad, especially when everyone I date will be called Steven. In time, if – when – I meet the Steven, I’ll tell them the whole story, but, for now, I don’t think I want anyone else to know.’

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly. ‘You told your Auntie Kay. Won’t your mum be hurt that you opened up to her sister and not her?’

  I bit my lip. I hadn’t thought about that. ‘I asked her not to say anything and I don’t think she will. And telling her is different to telling my parents. She’s about to leave the country so she won’t be watching my every move, but I’m living with Mum and Dad. If I don’t meet Steven straight away, I don’t want them to think I’ve turned into some sort of serial-dater. I think I’ll wait till I’m settled with the shop, then look for somewhere to rent in the New Year, then register.’

  ‘Then you’ll be packing to move out. Then unpacking. Then it will be Valentine’s Day then Mother’s Day so the shop will be busy, then wedding season and, before you know it, Christmas again. There’ll never be a right time.’

  True. I looked at the clock and realised we’d been yakking for two hours. ‘It’s half seven,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you meant to be having dinner with the mother-in-law?’

  Elise gasped. ‘Oh crap! Trust me to give her more ammunition against me.’

  ‘Is she really that bad?’

  ‘Worse. Give me five minutes to get changed then I’ll drop you off on my way. Gary’s meeting me there.’

  ‘I hope you’ve got your best twin-set and pearls ready,’ I shouted after her as she ran up the stairs. Elise’s husband, Gary, is lovely and very down-to-earth, but his mum is posh. Or rather she likes to think she’s posh. She polishes the silver, uses the Royal Doulton dinner service and constantly name drops, which would be great if she actually knew anyone famous. However, her elite circle consists of the vicar, the Mayor, the Chair of the Rotary Club and Vera Hainsworth who got a recipe published in Woman’s Weekly in 1982. Not exactly A-list.

  I’d been joking about the twin-set but when she re-appeared five minutes later, Elise’s attire wasn’t far from it. My eyes widened as I took in the beige ballet pumps, tan tights, beige knee-length pencil skirt, fussy white blouse and Elise’s beautiful auburn hair tied back in a plait, secured with a yellow ribbon. ‘Who are you and what have you done with my friend Elise?’

  Elise closed her eyes and gave a little shudder. ‘Don’t even go there,’ she muttered. ‘All I can say is that, when faced with a mother-in-law like mine, it’s a good idea to pick your battles. Are you all set?’

  During the five-minute drive from Elise’s house to Mum and Dad’s, I tried to explore what she meant, but she just sighed and said, ‘It’s a long story and not a very interesting one. Once you’re all settled and the shop’s opened and doing well, we’ll go out for cocktails and I’ll tell you everything. For now, I’m more interested in you and this online dating idea. Are you going to register tonight or not? There’ll always be excuses but the Steven’s out there and procrastinating isn’t going to help you find him.’

  I blew on a mug of tea as I sat at the dressing table in my old bedroom and stared at my laptop screen two hours later. Bowing to peer pressure, I’d found an article on the ten best dating sites, which helped narrow it down although my mind was still in a whirr. Which site? And, even before that, did I really want to go down the online dating route? I knew the stargazer lilies fantasy was something that would only happen in the movies, but I still preferred the romantic ideal of the Steven appearing out of the blue rather than finding him online. I also knew that Clare was right, though; I would tie myself into knots waiting for him to appear, jumping every time I heard someone say the name ‘Steven’. Would I tie myself in knots any less if I registered with an online dating site? What if I messaged half a dozen Stevens and none of them responded? Would making contact and having it ignored be worse than just not knowing when the Steven would walk into my life? Argh!!! My head hurt just thinking about it.

  I clicked onto my emails instead. There was one from Andy with the intriguing subject line of, ‘Have I Got BIG News For You’. My stomach did a flip. Even after all these years of just being friends, I still had a physical reaction each time I heard from him.

  Andy Kerr had lived in the same halls of residence as Clare and me in our first year. We were friends at first but I found myself increasingly attracted to him as the first term progressed. I had no idea whether he felt the same until he steered me towards a bunch of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling at the Christmas Ball. We were inseparable for the last week of term but I was worried a month apart over the Christmas holidays would be too much. He’d returned home to Bournemouth and we’d both lined up part-time jobs so meeting up over the break wasn’t an option. Fortunately, it turned out that absence really did make the heart grow fonder and, as soon as we got back in January, we officially became a couple, very much in love.

  I hesitated before I opened Andy’s email message. What if the news was that he’d finally proposed to Kelly after a two-year on-off relationship or he was going to be a daddy? My hand shook slightly as I clicked on the message.

  Hi Sarah

  Sorry it’s been a few months. How’s it going? How’s work? How’s Jason? Just a quickie to ask whether you’re free any time mid-December. My contract in Dubai is finally at an end and I return to the UK for good around then. I’m dying to see you again. Can I take you out for a meal and catch up on all your news? Let me know a date that suits you around all the office Christmas parties etc.

  All the best

  Andy xx

  Hmm. No mention of Kelly or impending fatherhood. Phew.

  Hi Andy

  Good to hear from you. Great news about your return to the UK. Is Kelly coming back too? No work Christmas parties for me – I’ve left work! But I’ve also left London. I’m living back home and have taken over Auntie Kay’s shop. I’m re-opening at the end of November and I’m expecting December to fly by in a blur. I’m afraid there’s no chance of me coming to London, but if you ever fancy a trip to North Yorkshire…

  Sarah xx

  * * *

  From Andy:

  Here was me thinking I was about to go through a major upheaval leaving Dubai after three years but I think you’ve just trumped me! Kelly’s staying in Dubai. Has Jason moved with you?

  * * *

  To Andy:

  Jason and I have split up

  * * *

  From Andy:

  Sorry to hear that. Hope you’re not too upset. Good luck with the shop opening. I’ll get in touch when I’m back and we’ll find a way to catch up properly. Take care x

  I smiled as I logged off my laptop. I always felt warm and fuzzy with nostalgia after hearing from Andy, even if it was only a brief email exchange. I reached behind the dressing table to draw the curtains, pausing to stare for a moment into the inky blackness. The wind had picked up and the sounds of the approaching storm echoed round my bedroom: a garden gate crashing, a dog barking, trees creaking. I shivered. Storms weren’t my friend. They transported me immediately back to Uncle Alan’s flat and the flash of lightning that revealed his decomposing body. Another storm had raged on the night of his funeral. I could vividly remember backing myself into a corner of my room after he was cremated, clutching onto Mr Pink, and sobbing for Uncle Alan’s lonely soul.

  Why had Mum and Dad gone out tonight of all nights? I didn’t want to be alone. I leapt as a burst of rain pelted the window. Yanking the curtains shut, I dived under the duvet fully dressed, curled up in a foetus position, and hugged Mr Pink tightly, willing the storm to end.

  Think nice thoughts. Think about Andy and the good times we had. But a storm had also raged the night that our relationship ended and, as my bedroom lit up with lightning and the thunder crashed, I felt the pain of goodbye all o
ver again.

  Andy was my first in every sense of the word and I really believed I’d found The One. Our three years together at university were so happy and after graduation we jetted off for a week’s holiday in Rhodes. It was an incredibly romantic week, but also an emotional one as we prepared to face our toughest challenge yet: embarking on our new careers two hundred miles apart. I’d secured a job in Manchester but Andy’s job was in London. We knew it wouldn’t be easy but we’d already experienced the challenges of a distance relationship each university holiday when we both returned home to our families. Having survived that greater distance, we were confident that London to Manchester wouldn’t tear us apart.

  The first few weeks were fine. We’d already decided we wouldn’t meet up as we had new homes and jobs to settle into and new friends to make. We spoke regularly on the phone and talked about how much we loved and missed each other.

  Then things changed. Andy began sounding irritated each time I phoned. He only managed the occasional one-sentence email in reply to the reams I’d write to him, saying he was too busy with work to write more. We made arrangements to meet on three occasions and, each time, he cancelled.

  I started to wonder if he’d met someone else. Once the idea popped into my head, I couldn’t shake it. After the third cancelled weekend, I caught the train to London anyway. I phoned Andy from outside his office, desperately hoping he was there and not out with my replacement. It was half eight on a Friday evening but he was still at the office. Feeling relieved – but scared as he didn’t sound at all pleased to hear that I was outside – I asked him to come down for ten minutes. The cold look he gave me as he burst through the revolving doors was a far cry from the emotional reunion I’d imagined on the train down. I’d naively thought that, if I could just see him, everything would slot into place.

  I asked if we could go for a meal and talk. He refused. ‘I told you I was busy, so I don’t know what you’re playing at by coming here and making a scene.’

  ‘I’m not making a scene,’ I protested. ‘I was worried about you.’ I reached out to take his hand but he took a step back.

  I saw his eyes flick to the overnight bag beside me on the step. He sighed then reached in his pocket, pulled out his keys and dangled them in front of me. ‘I hope you’ve got a good book in there because you’re going to have to entertain yourself all weekend. I told you I was busy. I’m working. We’re at a critical stage in this project. It’s more important than…’

  It would have killed me to hear the end of the sentence. I remember staring at the keys then at the face of the man I’d thought I’d be with forever. As he stared back at me, dark eyes flashing with what seemed to be contempt, I couldn’t see anything of the Andy I loved. I gently pushed the keys away, shook my head then said, ‘And here was me thinking I was the most important thing in your life.’

  ‘My career’s important,’ he snarled. ‘I told you not to come. Why didn’t you listen?’

  ‘I did listen. But I stupidly thought you might be missing me as much as I was missing you.’ I swallowed on the lump in my throat as I willed him to take me in his arms and say, ‘Of course I miss you. I’m glad you came really.’ Instead, he just put his keys back in his pocket, looked at his watch and tutted. The sound pierced through my heart.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t waste more of your precious work time. If you haven’t got the time to see me or speak to me, what’s the point in being together anymore?’ I paused, hoping he’d say something to convince me there was still hope for us but he just stared back, frowning. I picked up my bag. ‘I’ll be off, then. I hope you and your career will be very happy together.’ It was a stupid line but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. ‘Goodbye, Andy.’ I paused again, my eyes pleading with him to recover this. Silence. With shaky legs, I walked back towards the underground, head held high, tears streaming.

  My resolve crumbled within about ten paces. I stopped and turned around, half expecting to see Andy slumped on the steps, crumpling with regret, or – even better – chasing after me and begging me to take him back. Instead, he’d gone inside, presumably back to his ‘important’ work. The knife twisted deeper. In a daze, I caught the tube to King’s Cross and boarded the next train to York, anxious to be surrounded by people who really did care about me. I was too late for a connection to Whitsborough Bay, but my parents drove to York to collect me. Mum sat in the back and cuddled me like a child while I sobbed all the way home.

  It had taken two years before I felt strong enough to compose an email to Andy. At a loose end one weekend, I’d decided to sort through a box of photos and put them in albums. I came across the one of Andy and me in Rhodes that I used to have stuck on the fridge. Tanned and radiating with happiness, I’d thought it was only a matter of time before he proposed. I’d never have predicted that we’d split up by the end of the following November.

  Looking at the photo, I realised I didn’t feel angry or hurt anymore. Instead, I felt happy with nostalgia so I sent a quick ‘hi-how-are-you?’ email. Andy replied immediately saying it was good to hear from me. The emails got longer and more regular and the friendship was gradually restored, our messages even becoming quite flirty. I was convinced that we’d get back together one day, when the timing was right.

  It was a year before we broached the subject of meeting up for a drink, but by the time we finally co-ordinated our diaries, I’d met someone else and he’d been offered a short secondment overseas – the first of many. And so began the pattern of it never being the right time to try again.

  ‘And now he’s finally coming back to the UK for good and I’m single,’ I whispered into Mr Pink’s fur, ‘but I don’t know if he’s single or still with Kelly. Or someone else. And anyway, I’m not exactly local. It would never work.’

  Even if he was single, was it too late to try again after all these years? Eight years was a hell of a lot of water under the bridge.

  I reached out and switched off my bedside lamp. ‘Location isn’t the only problem,’ I whispered to Mr Pink. ‘He isn’t called Steven.’

  13

  I had a fitful night’s sleep and was wide awake shortly before half six. My head felt hangover-fuzzy yet I hadn’t touched a drop. Drawing back the curtains, it was still dark but, from the tranquillity, I knew the storm had passed… for now. The sun would be rising within the hour: a stunning spectacle. There was nothing I loved more than being on the beach when the sun peeped over the horizon then steadily rose into the sky behind Lighthouse Point. It was a sight that was way overdue for me.

  Twenty minutes later, I steered Mum’s car down the approach road to South Bay. The gradually lightening sky was speckled with pink and orange in stark contrast with the silhouette of the lighthouse and harbour. To top off the picture-perfect scene, lights twinkled around the curve of the bay. Absolutely beautiful. Why had I traded this for big cities for so many years?

  I parked the car on the seafront and headed down a few steps onto the sand. Seaweed and driftwood strewn across the beach and promenade hinted at the storm that had raged hours earlier, but all other signs were gone as the gentle waves lapped onto the sand a few hundred metres out. I perched myself on the edge of the beach wall and inhaled the salty air.

  Soon after, I was treated to an orange arc peeping over the horizon, casting a welcoming glow across the calm sea. Sunrise on the beach: stunning. Absolutely stunning. And suddenly I had an overwhelming compulsion to run. Me. The person who’d shunned exercise for a year. It was going to hurt but I wanted to do it.

  I had the beach almost to myself as I jogged slowly along the hard sand, dodging round lumps of seaweed. I could make out the silhouettes of a couple of people walking dogs and two more runners in the distance. The peace gave me time to think and, by the time I’d made it back to my starting point, I’d reached a decision. I was definitely going to give online dating a try. Targeted online dating as Clare suggested: only Stevens. Andy returning to the UK and us bot
h being single could have meant something if I’d still been in London, but my present circumstances made it a non-starter. So we’d just continue as friends who occasionally emailed each other and I’d bury any thoughts of it finally being the right timing for us – since it clearly still wasn’t. If I was ever in London, I’d look him up, but with a business to run and weekends committed to doing that, me being in London was a very unlikely scenario.

  Bending over, hands on my thighs, I gulped in deep breaths of cold air while my heartbeat steadied. I sat down on the cold sand and smiled as I drank in the blazing ball of fire behind the red and white striped lighthouse.

  With another deep breath, I lay back on the sand, eyes closed, feeling trickles of sweat run down my hairline and into my ears. How very attractive. I hoped none of the joggers or dog-walkers were Stevens because sweaty, beetroot-red, and breathless wasn’t the most alluring of looks.

  I lay there for a few minutes listening to the distant waves, the cry of gulls, and feeling the slowing of my heartbeat. Despite the physical exertion, I felt more relaxed than I’d felt in a very long time.

  ‘Sarah? I thought it was you.’

  Nick? I snapped open my eyes. He was silhouetted against the sun, but it was definitely him. My heart began beating faster again as I propped myself up on my elbows and put my hand up to shade my eyes as I squinted at him. ‘Hi. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Same as you by the looks of it.’

  ‘Sweating buckets and having a coronary on the beach?’

  Nick laughed and reached his hand out to me. ‘Want a hand up?’

  I nodded. ‘Your hands are very warm,’ I said as he pulled me to my feet. And very soft. An image filled my mind of those hands cupping my face, and then his fingers running through my hair as he kissed me. Whoa! Where did that come from?