‘This place is going to be heaving in summer,’ Lottie said as they wandered from shop to shop, peering in the windows, zigzagging across the narrow main street which ran through the centre of Fowey. They had had to take a little car ferry to get there, which Lottie loved. She loved the fact that the man in the peaked cap who took your ticket charged you ten pence more if he thought you were a tourist. For the first three trips, before Lottie had arrived, Sara had been charged two pounds and twenty pence, but then on the fourth trip the charge had mysteriously fallen to two pounds ten pence.
‘That means you’re being accepted,’ Lottie said. ‘You’re a local yokel.’
As they floated slowly across the narrow estuary, Lottie wound down the passenger window, resting her elbow on the top of the car door. To her right a huge grey metal ship was moored, a freight liner, with vivid orange stains running down its prow. Beneath the towering keel bobbed several motorboats, anchored to yellow buoys, rising and falling with the tide. The air smelt of salt, and fish, and overhead the gulls wheeled, calling. Small sailing boats chugged up and down the narrow channel, and a sight-seeing passenger boat steamed past the ferry, the cabin crowded with people. A group of teenagers waved at the ferry from the car park on the opposite bank, as they drew near. Lottie waved back.
‘This is, without a doubt, my favourite place,’ she said, ten minutes later, licking clotted cream from the top of a vanilla cone. ‘The other seaside towns round here are a bit “kiss me quick” for my taste.’
‘You’re becoming a dreadful snob. Look out,’ Sara said, as a car inched past them.
At first she had thought that cars were banned from the town, as the roads were barely a car’s width, but already a steady stream of vehicles had passed them, meaning that the pedestrians had to press themselves up against the walls. ‘I wonder how many people get their feet run over?’ Sara said.
‘I think you need to get out more,’ Lottie said. ‘Come on. I want to show you this really wicked shop I discovered when you were getting the ice-creams. I’m sure it’s going to have something even you will like.’
The shop in question had a gaily-painted front window, full of the kind of clothes Lottie loved – strappy little tops, baggy shorts, mini skirts designed to hang low on the waist, brightly coloured flip-flops and cheap, colourful jewellery. Clothes for teenagers and twentysomethings to hang out in, surfer summer clothes for the beach.
‘This isn’t my kind of place,’ Sara said, looking in. ‘Far too young. It’s great for you, though.’
‘Nope,’ Lottie said. ‘This is your missed birthday, not mine. They’ve got some clothes for the more mature lady at the back.’ Sara punched her lightly on the arm.
On racks at the back of the shop were, indeed, some more expensive-looking and generally more subtle clothes. The majority were made of linen, in washed greys, pale oranges and blues, Sara’s favourite colours. Hesitantly, she fingered the material of a pair of wide linen trousers. She realized she hadn’t bought herself anything at all to wear since she had left Matt. She hadn’t cared in the slightest what she looked like, just pulling on whatever was nearest and vaguely clean, usually the same pair of jeans, teamed with a baggy T-shirt or sweatshirt, depending on the weather.
One thing she had noticed recently, however, with a sense of pleasure, was how loose her clothes were becoming. Walking Hector every day on the cliffs, she found she could climb far more easily – reaching the top of the hill, which had left her exhausted and breathless in the first few weeks at the cottage, now barely seemed an effort, and she was rarely out of breath during the entire walk. Nor was she snacking in the way she used to – initially, she had had to force herself to eat, because it seemed so pointless and she had no appetite. Now she was beginning to enjoy her food again – the halibut Lottie had grilled last night had been delicious. But she had lost that rather greedy anticipation of food she used to have when she was living with Matt, when she would wake each morning, and lie in bed for a few minutes planning what they were all going to eat that day. Being at home, pottering around the kitchen so much of the time meant that she seldom passed the fridge without peering in, popping a ball of ham into her mouth, or lifting the lid off the biscuit tin in one of the cupboards, when she sat down to have a coffee. Matt loved good food too, although he never ate puddings, and didn’t put on weight because he had such a fast metabolism and went jogging most mornings. But just looking at a carbohydrate seemed to make her fatter, especially in the last ten years, or so. Growing old, she thought, wasn’t fair at all – food made you fat, coffee gave you a hot flush and just a few glasses of wine produced a hangover.
The linen trousers slid easily over her hips. Fastening the zip, she realized they were far too baggy. ‘Look at this,’ she called to Lottie, having put her head around the changing-room door. Lottie, who was holding a little white top decorated with pink roses against herself, put it back on the rail, reluctantly, and walked over. ‘What?’ She slid into the changing room and closed the door behind her.
‘Too big!’ Sara said, with some pride, holding the waistband inches away from her stomach.
‘Blimey, Mother,’ Lottie said. ‘So they are. I’ll get a smaller size.’
Sara could not remember having been a smaller size for – what – five years? Ten? More? Sliding the trousers off, she looked at herself, critically. In the unforgiving neon light her thighs were still dimpled with cellulite and there was a pad of fat above each knee, but her thighs were definitely slimmer, and her stomach was flatter. She stood up straighter, pulling in her stomach muscles. Goodness – it was nearly flat. She could never remotely be called skinny, but she looked strong, and healthy. She leaned forward, and examined her face in the mirror. Her skin was lightly tanned and freckled, the slight colour making her wrinkles less obvious. She smiled, and the skin at the sides of her eyes creased into crow’s feet, but the skin beneath her eyes was definitely less baggy. She did look better. She ran a hand through her hair. She ought to get it cut, it was falling past her shoulders. Then she thought, I suit it longer. She had always told herself that long hair was for younger women but now she could see that it softened her features. It did need more shape, though – she’d like some layers at the front to frame her face. I’ll book an appointment, she thought. I know exactly what I want.
‘Try these.’ Lottie’s disembodied hand appeared around the door. Sara slid the smaller size pale grey trousers over her hips, and could have cheered as she pulled up the zip without difficulty.
‘Are you decent?’ Lottie asked, through the door.
‘Yup.’
Lottie pushed it open, and she stood with Sara, looking at her reflection. They both smiled. The trousers were definitely flattering, if rather too long.
‘They’ll be OK in heels,’ Lottie said. ‘You always wear your trousers too short. That’s an old-person thing to do. They ought to brush against the ground.’
‘But then they fray.’
‘Get a life. Who cares? It’s better than having them swinging around your ankles like a granny.’
‘Who indeed cares?’ Sara said, her head on one side. ‘I like these. Do they have any in blue? Don’t worry, I’ll pay.’
‘You’re paying anyway,’ Lottie pointed out, sliding out of the changing room. ‘If you get two pairs of trousers,’ came the sound of her voice from beyond the door, ‘I get that pink and white top.’
‘Deal,’ Sara called, smiling. ‘Are there any shirts which would go with these trousers? Something plain?’
‘I’ll have a look,’ Lottie called back.
‘I can’t wear that,’ Sara said moments later, looking in surprise at the pale blue linen top Lottie was holding up in front of her. It had long sleeves, which was good, but it also had a big ruffle down the front, which was not. ‘It’ll make me look like a lizard,’ she complained.
‘It’s fashionable,’ Lottie said, exasperated, shaking it. ‘Just try it on, you old fossil. You don’t know what’s going to suit you until you try. Honestly, you seem to have lived in the same boring clothes for twenty years. Live a little. Try something new.’
‘I’ll try it on,’ Sara said. ‘But I won’t like it.’
But she did. Instead of making her look ridiculous as she had expected, it actually suited her. It looked – and she had to concentrate hard to get her mind around this concept – it made her look pretty. Both feminine, and pretty.
‘Wow,’ Lottie said disbelievingly. ‘That does suit you.’
‘I’m going to buy it as well as the two pairs of trousers,’ Sara said, faintly dizzy with pleasure. ‘How extravagant can you get?’
Handing over her credit card, she found herself smiling. It was such a long time since she had enjoyed shopping for clothes – the last time she had bought anything was the black dress for Matt’s fiftieth birthday party, and she had not enjoyed that shopping trip at all, it had been more like a duty than a pleasure. For a moment, she stood stock-still, by the counter, as the shop assistant put her clothes in a carrier bag. That seems a lifetime ago, she thought. I’m not sure I am even the same person. The dress hadn’t suited her so much, certainly nothing like these outfits – but Matt had said she looked beautiful. She glanced sideways at herself in the mirror between the rails of clothes, as the assistant pushed her credit card into the chip-and-pin machine.
‘Would you think I am beautiful, now, Matt?’ she wondered, staring at her reflection. Or did you only say that at the time because you felt so guilty? Had I long since ceased to be beautiful to you? Did you compare me to Karina?
Twenty-five. She had been beautiful, at twenty-five, the year after she had married Matt, the year before she was pregnant with Emily. She would never be so beautiful again.
‘Can you put your number in?’
What is my number, she thought. Her heart started to beat faster, and a sensation of panic and confusion rose in her throat. My number, my number. Come on. I use it nearly every day. Work, brain. She turned, to see Lottie standing next to her.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’
‘I can’t remember my pin number,’ she said, and for an awful moment, her eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Lottie said. ‘Move over.’ Swiftly, she punched in the four digits.
‘It’s a good job I know it, isn’t it?’ She smiled apologetically at the shop assistant, shrugging her shoulders as if to say ‘senile’, and then turned back to Sara. She stopped as she caught her expression. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Nothing,’ Sara said hurriedly. ‘I just need some fresh air. I’ll see you outside. It’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?’ She felt the beginnings of a hot flush, her internal thermostat rising, as sweat prickled her upper lip. Clenching her fist, she thought, I must get out of here, or I will faint.
Outside, she stood on the pavement, breathing in the fresh, cool air, feeling her body temperature beginning to drop and her heart rate returning to normal. These hot flushes had been coming for several weeks now. Marvellous. On top of everything else, she had hit the menopause. Not only had she lost her husband, her hormones were in the process of doing a bunk as well.
Opposite her a small line of people were queuing for pasties outside a bakery. She looked briefly to the right, and stepped forward. She would buy Lottie a pasty for her lunch.
‘Look out!’
A pair of strong arms grabbed her shoulders from behind as a car appeared from out of nowhere, travelling far too fast on the narrow, busy street. She was pulled back sharply.
‘Bloody idiot,’ said the voice, just above her head, as the car rattled past, only inches from her. The voice was deep, masculine, young, with a pleasant West Country inflection.
‘Do you mean me, or the driver?’ Sara said, spinning round. Behind her stood a young man, about in his late twenties, she guessed. His hands remained on her shoulders, even though she was quite safe on the narrow pavement. He smiled at her, his dark brown eyes gleaming in amusement. He had long wavy dark hair, very tanned skin, and was wearing a faded blue T-shirt over baggy shorts. Around his neck was a gold cross, and twined around his left wrist, which was currently resting on her shoulder, were a tangle of love beads and a copper bracelet. ‘Both of you, I guess,’ he replied, grinning. ‘You OK?’
Sara smiled, embarrassed. ‘Just a bit shocked. I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘Happens to people all the time,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s amazing we don’t kill more tourists.’
‘I live here,’ she said quickly, and then felt rather foolish. ‘I mean, I’m not a tourist. I need to get used to it, I’ve just moved to this area.’
‘It’s a great place to live,’ he said, casually, smiling at her. She felt the most remarkable frisson of – what? Attraction? That was so silly. Flustered, she glanced down at her feet, and then back up at him.
‘You take care,’ he said, dropping his hands from her shoulders, and stepping backwards, he moved away from her. ‘Crossing the road’s quite easy, really – you just look left, and then right.’
‘The green cross code?’
‘What?’
‘Before your time.’ She smiled.
He raised an eyebrow at her, and then turned, strolling away down the street. Feeling rather stunned, Sara watched him go. What a gorgeous, gorgeous man, she thought. Or boy, rather. Then she shook herself. You silly woman, as if he would flirt with you. She must have been imagining it. But how confidently, how easily he had touched her, letting his hands rest on her shoulders, a fraction longer than had been necessary. And how lovely it was to be touched by a man, no matter how briefly. She stood there, watching him walk away, before realizing this could be construed as gawping, and glanced back into the shop, to look for Lottie. When she glanced back down the street, he had gone.
‘What’s up with you?’ Lottie appeared out of the shop, laden with carrier bags. ‘You’re all red.’
‘I’m fine,’ Sara said laughing, suddenly filled with an absurd sense of joy. ‘The most extraordinary thing just happened. I nearly got run over and this man – boy – saved me.’
‘You really aren’t fit to be let out on your own, are you?’ Lottie said, shaking her head. ‘What with feeling faint in shops, forgetting your pin number and then stepping out blithely into the road, regardless of traffic. What was all the weirdness in the shop about, as well?’
‘Nothing. I was just upset at forgetting my pin,’ Sara admitted. ‘It’s so silly, you wouldn’t understand. I hate that feeling – I try to think of something but it’s gone, there’s just a blank, and the harder I try to think the more I can’t remember. So annoying.’
‘Alzheimer’s,’ Lottie said succinctly. ‘Only a matter of time before you’re sticking post-it notes to the kettle to remind you what it is.’
‘It isn’t funny,’ Sara said crossly, then started to laugh. ‘Oh, maybe it is. I’ll have to write my pin number down. What if I was on my own? It would be so embarrassing. I can’t go around forgetting things like that. Really, people should have thought about menopausal women when they brought in these blasted pin numbers. At least you can normally remember your own name.’
‘Come on,’ Lottie said. ‘You can buy me some lunch.’
‘I was going to buy you a pasty before I nearly got flattened.’
‘Gross.’ Lottie made a face. ‘Glad you didn’t. I’d much rather have a prawn salad or something. There’s a really nice café I spotted just down the road.’
Sara followed her, carefully keeping to the narrow pavement. Maybe she was becoming senile. Maybe that was why she kept getting the night-time panics and feeling she didn’t know who she was. Excellent. Senile and menopausal. She was only fifty, for God’s sake. What else did she have to look forward to? Unwanted facial hair? Unexpected flatulence? Gout?
‘Here it is,’ Lottie said, pausing in front of a door which was painted a shocking pink. Nailed to it was a blackboard menu which announced, ‘Fresh fish today!’ beneath which had been chalked a list of appetizing dishes such as crab claws and king prawns in garlic. The name of the restaurant, ‘Pip’s’, was emblazoned in vivid green lettering across the window. Another blackboard, propped up against the wall on the pavement by the door, said, ‘LIVE MUSIC! THURSDAYS.’ Lottie pushed open the door.
Inside, Sara was surprised to see that every table was full, and there was a little group of people standing at the bar, at the back of the room. The café was smaller than it looked from outside, the tables crammed closely together, with an assortment of non-matching wooden chairs and benches. On the walls hung posters from old films, and signed photographs of rock bands. A green T-shirt, with the name ‘Pip’s’ across the front was pinned above the bar. Two young waiters, wearing T-shirts with the same logo over baggy shorts with black aprons tied around their waists, scooted about carrying overloaded plates of seafood and salad.
‘I don’t think there’s going to be . . .’ Sara said, loudly, above the pounding rock music.
‘What?’ Lottie said, turning to her.
‘There isn’t going to be a table,’ Sara shouted, just as one of the waiters stopped in front of her, his dark hair tied back in a ponytail.
‘For two?’ he mouthed.
‘Yes. If there is a table,’ Sara said, loudly.
‘I’m sure I can find you something,’ he replied, smiling into her eyes.
Lottie raised her eyebrows at Sara. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Sure. This table here’s about to leave, aren’t you, guys?’ A group of teenage girls smiled flirtatiously up at him. ‘There you go. Wait just one minute. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Two glasses of white wine,’ Lottie said, holding her mother firmly under the elbow, propelling her towards the bar.
‘At lunchtime?’ Sara said faintly.
‘It’s your birthday,’ Lottie replied. ‘Kind of.’
‘Why not?’ Sara experienced the same mildly reckless feeling she’d felt in the clothes shop. Why not, indeed? She found herself smiling. The sun was shining, she’d bought two pairs of trousers and a ridiculous ruffled top and she’d recently been rescued from being squashed in the street by an exceptionally handsome man. She felt decidedly happy. Lottie looked at her, closely, as she lifted her glass to her lips. ‘What are you grinning about?’
‘The man who saved me in the street. He was quite, quite beautiful.’
‘Mother!’ Lottie was genuinely shocked. ‘You can’t go about calling young men beautiful, not at your age. How beautiful?’ she added, leaning forward.
‘Very. Long dark hair, soulful eyes like a spaniel, a wicked smile. Broad shoulders, too.’
‘I’m beginning to worry about you, picking up men in the street. Bloody hell,’ she said, looking over her mother’s shoulder. ‘Don’t turn round now, but you think you saw a gorgeous man.’
‘Calamari, scallops or can I tempt you with our fabulous garlic prawns?’ he said, a few minutes later, his pencil poised against the pad, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looked down at her, apparently enjoying her confusion.
‘Scallops,’ Sara said firmly, putting the menu down on the table with a definite air. She was really not going to be made to feel so foolish by an attractive young man. This was ridiculous.
‘And for you?’ he said, turning to Lottie.
‘What?’ Lottie said, stunned. ‘Oh, um, whatever. The prawn thingy.’
‘And some wine?’ he asked.
Sara looked at her glass. It was still half full. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Some water. Still, please, not sparkling.’
‘Live a little,’ he said, grinning. ‘What’s the harm? Have half a bottle. Or you can order a bottle and then just leave it. We’ll owe you one next time.’
‘Next time?’
‘You live here, right?’ he said. ‘You’ll be back. We’ve got the best food and at night this place really rocks.’ From the kitchen came the sound of loud singing, vaguely in tune. He smiled. ‘The chef. He’s a frustrated pop star.’
‘I bet it’s great,’ Lottie said. ‘We’ll have to come along, won’t we, Mum?’
‘Possibly,’ Sara said, primly.
‘I hope you do,’ he said, turning athletically on his heel, and walking away.
‘Oh God,’ Lottie said, sinking her head into her hands. ‘I said I would come to a place full of the most devastating men I have seen in a long time with my mother. What will he think? That I have no friends?’
‘I did tell you he was lovely.’
‘You didn’t say he was a waiter, though.’
‘How would I know? I only saw him in the street.’
‘Bit humble, isn’t it, a waiter?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘He can’t be all that bright.’
‘Maybe it’s a holiday job,’ Sara speculated. ‘On his gap year. He might be studying nuclear physics or something like that.’
‘He looks a bit older than a student. And not, I would say, like a nuclear physicist. Surfer, yes. Boffin, no.’
‘Adult gap year. Who cares? It’s just nice to be flirted with.’
‘He wasn’t flirting with you,’ Lottie said, taking a sip of wine. ‘He was obviously flirting with me. He’s only being nice to you because you are my mother and he wants to make a good impression. But you do look quite reasonable, today, actually.’ She stared at Sara, her head on one side. ‘Younger. More relaxed. You always seemed so stressed out at home.’
‘Did I?’ Sara was surprised. ‘I always thought I was a very laid-back mother.’
‘Hardly. You were always so busy, so many things to do, you never stopped. You had this little worried frown,’ she reached forward, touching Sara gently between her eyebrows, ‘just here. It’s gone.’
‘See you soon,’ he said, an hour later, holding the door open for them. ‘Ciao.’
‘Ciao?’ Lottie said, as they walked away up the road towards the car park. ‘Cheesy. I bet he’s like that with all the women. He probably gets a flirt bonus. Women will leave more tips.’
Sara smiled. She felt light-headed from the wine, fuzzy and irresponsible. He had been right. The food was delicious.
‘What shall we do at home?’ she said, linking her arm through Lottie’s.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Lottie said. ‘But I’m going to snooze in the garden and improve my tan.’
‘I need to take Hector out. I’ll just take him up the cliff, and then I shall join you in the garden. What shall we have for dinner?’
‘Let’s eat out again,’ Lottie said, smiling, holding her mother’s arm close to her side. ‘It’s still your birthday. Kind of. Come on. Like the man said, live a little.’