of anger? There’s no on-off switch for something like this.
How can you say, yeah, fine, it was a great idea to dump your kid and do a runner, to not come back. To cause fucking havoc in her life and mess with her head. To make her feel useless and cast aside like some coat you didn’t want any more.
Talk about a dog being for life and not just for Christmas! Just thinking about it is stirring up all the anger and resentment in my chest, all the emotion I try and keep squashed down. I don’t feel self-pity any more, I just try and block it out. And when I can’t do that, I seethe. Maybe that’s what ‘peace’ means for me.
‘I have found peace.’ I say it anyway, to reassure her, ‘I’ve got you, work, everything.’ My life works. I like it. I’m busy and the people that surround me are there because they want to be. And if I ever suspect they don’t want to be, then I move on.
I don’t let my parents mess with my head any more. They’re old news. I’m done with them and all that.
Going to the Shooting Star is about the future, not the past.
Aunt Lynn smiles and pats my hand. ‘Good, well that’s fine then. You know what you’re doing and this can be your first trip representing the agency!’
Oh God, now I’ve got added pressure. I’m not just going to shout at Will Armstrong and inspect his dusty crevices, this is my future well and truly at stake. I need to be even more professional than I was going to be.
‘And while I’m out of your hair seems like the perfect time for an adventure. I’m being a bit selfish as well: that place means a lot to me and I don’t want us to strike it off our list and walk away on a sour note.’ Her voice has regained its normal briskness.
I stare at the sheet of paper again. There is no choice now. I need to go the Shooting Star resort, this is my business at risk.
All I need now is a booking for one, all inclusive. I will experience all the horrors our clients have told us about, a frosty Will Armstrong and a draughty cabin. I will make an objective, professional judgement about whether our clients deserve somewhere better.
The moment I get back to the office that provisional booking is being confirmed.
I’d said to Sam that I’d go, sort out all the issues, confront Will Armstrong, but I hadn’t meant for Christmas. No way. I had never intended to go back for the festive season, to stir up the memories of a time that broke my heart and changed my world. Those bits of me needed to be left untouched, so that I could pick out the nice bits in my head, remember just the happiness and plaster over the hurt.
I’m not sure how this is going to work, how I’m going to feel if I relive that Christmas again. Except I know it will be different. I’ve got to prove to Lynn that I can cope with anything, and I suppose I’ve got to prove that to myself, too. And I’ve got to sort Will Armstrong out once and for all. Whatever Sam said before, this is personal now. Nobody is going to mess up my business. (I quite like the sound of that, my business.)
‘You can do it, love. I know you can.’ Lynn squeezes my hand. ‘Do you remember what it was like? That little log cabin? It was lovely, wasn’t it?’ Her wistful smile is reflected in her voice. ‘And that very nice couple who ran it then, you won’t remember them.’
‘I do. They were like Mother and Father Christmas.’ Warm, cuddly, ever smiling. I’d felt like I’d been wrapped in a blanket of love and protection, and even back then, so young and confused, I’d clung to their kindness.
‘They were sweethearts, but getting on a bit even then. They sold the place a few years ago, to two brothers. It seemed to be much the same for a long time – the younger boy, Ed he was called, was running it. I had some lovely chats with him, but then something happened and his brother took charge.’
‘Will.’ I’m not really listening to her, all I can think about is the last day I was there, at the resort. When I hadn’t wanted to walk away, because how would Mum and Dad know where to find me if I left with Auntie Lynn?
It wasn’t until later that I realised one of them would never be able to look for me, and the other didn’t care.
‘Will, that’s right. Well, he’s a totally different kettle of fish to Ed.’
‘Cold fish rather than kettle I’d say,’ I mutter, but I’m pretty sure she’s heard because she’s giving me her ‘look’. ‘And he’s ruined the place.’
‘Well, we don’t know all the facts, do we, love? And from the brief emails we’ve swapped I’d say there’s more to him than meets the eye.’
Oh God. Emails! Has he said anything to Aunt Lynn about those? Oh shit. What exactly did I say to him? What’s Auntie Lynn said to him?
‘Sarah, are you all right, love? You don’t usually gobble up my cakes like that.’
I swallow hard, and I mean hard – this pastry is quite a challenge. I hadn’t realised I’d been shoving food in my mouth as a stress-reliever. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
How do I put this, without making her snatch my early Christmas present away before it’s made legal?
‘After you saw all those horrible reviews, that made you clean the oven, I emailed the resort.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t cleaning the oven because of the reviews, love. I did it for some thinking time, to work out what to do about Christmas.’
‘Oh. But I thought . . . Well, it is important to you?’
‘Of course, it is. I’ll never forget that first Christmas, Sarah, but it’s all,’ she taps her forehead, ‘up here. I have the trinkets we brought back, and I have you.’ She smiles. ‘The biggest trinket of all. But places change, and we can’t expect a stranger to preserve our memories for us, can we?’
I shake my head.
‘But it was a lovely place, and very popular with clients, so I’m sure if you can chat to this Will and sort it out, it will be wonderful. Otherwise we’ll have to start sending people to see the Northern Lights, won’t we?’ She stands up. ‘Now, I don’t want to be rude, love, but I promised to bake some cakes for the homeless, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, shall I?’ She’s already handing me my bag. ‘Lots to do before I go away. And I’m so pleased you’re keen to go back to the Shooting Star, Sarah. I think it means you’re ready to move on, don’t you?’
In my heart I know what she wants me to do. The thing she’s gently hinted at over the years, the thing the shrink less gently hinted at. She wants me to talk about what happened to Mum, to ask all the questions, to forgive her last actions. And she wants me to talk about Dad. To talk to Dad. To stop harbouring the hate, the mistrust; the feeling in my heart that it’s always my fault, that I can never be quite good enough. That it’s always better to move on before people find out that I’m not the person they were hoping I was and leave me.
She wants me to stop picking boyfriends that I know from the start aren’t within a million miles of being ‘the one’ and to think about the future. Live in the moment has always been my motto. I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with all this responsibility and dealing with the past shit.
If anybody else was asking, I’d be out of here.
