“More than you can possibly imagine,” I reply, laughing and crying at the same time. “Tell me more about the village. Why isn’t it on the map? Why isn’t it full of tourists? How many people even live here?”
“Right. All good questions. Let me whip up another round first.”
I know he is only doing that to give me a break, to allow me the dignity of getting myself back under control, and I am grateful. Larry trots away after him, and I suspect he is on the lookout for crisps.
Sure enough, he returns a few moments later licking his lips, looking very pleased with himself. I see Jake check in with the Springer Spaniels – or possibly their owners – and then head back to the snug with another Starshine Special. This, I tell myself, will definitely be my last one. Tomorrow is going to be challenging enough without a glittering hangover.
“So,” Jake says, settling himself down, “I think somewhere in the region of a hundred people live here. There are more houses, set further back from the green, roads that straggle through the woods. Some come and go; others are here all the time. Some, like Trevor and the Betties, have been here all their lives – others are new arrivals. And they still count Connie as new, by the way, even though she’s been here a couple of decades.
“As for why it’s not on the map, I have no idea. Maybe it didn’t exist when the maps were drawn up, and it’s never become big enough to make it. Maybe it’s deliberate. Maybe we’ve actually imagined the whole place…”
I laugh loudly, and look at him with delight – a smile that, I think, goes all the way to my eyes.
“I was thinking exactly that a bit ago! What if it’s all a hallucination? What if someone spiked my Costa with acid at the last services? What if I’m in a coma and creating my own nether-world?”
“Yeah, what if?” he answers, grinning at me. “Well, all I can say is if that’s the case, it’s you and me both. But if we work on the assumption – far less likely, I know – that this place is real, then it is a bit of a secret. But not a complete secret – there are families who have been coming here for years, even the grandchildren of people who’ve been coming here for years. Other people find it by accident, like us. But it never gets rammed, it’s never too busy – it’s usually just right.”
“And the tourists, the business from them, it’s enough to support everyone? I mean, I’ve seen some run-down little seaside towns in my time, but this one is perfect – everything looks in great shape, the gardens are something else, all the shop-fronts are nice, nowhere is boarded up or empty…”
“That’s because of the other big secret about Starshine Cove – it’s a hotbed of entrepreneurship.”
“Really?” I say, trying to imagine a group of people who chuck jelly at each other as corporate masterminds. And failing.
“Really. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of the people who live here have ordinary jobs – they commute to the towns or work from home, and there are civil servants and factory workers and farmers and all the usual stuff you’d expect. But there’s also the other side of it. Like the Betties.”
“What about them?” I ask, calling to mind a pair of healthy but ageing women.
“Well, the Betties don’t just bake for the village – their cakes and biscuits are stocked in all your fancy supermarkets, all over the UK. And George might be a retired teacher, but he also has an impressive stock portfolio. Connie…well, yes, she runs a successful café. But before she crash-landed here – and I mean that literally, I’m sure she’ll tell you the story – she was a high-flying chef at a restaurant in London. The kind with Michelin stars.
“Every few months, she hosts gourmet nights at the café, charges a fortune, and they’re sold out a year in advance. And Daisy – she’s away at the moment – uses the rock from the caves to make jewellery and art, and she can’t make enough to meet demand. But while they might be making money, there’s also a bit of an unofficial socialist vibe – everyone pays a tithe to the village council, which is why everything looks so good, why there are so many facilities, why everyone is so well…looked after, I suppose you’d say.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you still wheeling and dealing?”
“Little bit,” he replies, grinning. “I still own properties, here and elsewhere. I’m just less hands on than I used to be.”
The Springer Spaniel couple momentarily interrupt us, telling Jake they’re turning in for the night and arranging a time to come down for breakfast. While he makes conversation with them, I ponder what he’s told me – and the bit that I still don’t understand.
Once they’re gone, I ask: “What do you mean? The rock from the caves?”
He is silent for a moment, one corner of his mouth twitching in a mischievous smile.
“Ah. You’ve not been there. It’s probably easier to show you,” he eventually replies. “Are you and the dog—”
“Larry,” I interject.
“Are you and Larry up for a little walk?”
ChapterEight
He lends me a fleece that is way too big for me and smells of his aftershave, grabs a large torch, and the three of us head out. I notice that he doesn’t lock any doors, and remember that the café was left open too, and wonder what kind of place I have landed in. It ain’t London, that’s for sure.
The three of us head around the side of the car park, and Jake leads us to a wooden staircase that winds its way down to the beach.
The sun has completely set now, but it still isn’t dark – the stars are crystalline jewels in the purple-black sky, and the moon is hanging, almost full, round and pale, admiring its perfect reflection shining in the mirror of the sea. All I can hear is the sound of the waves sucking and hissing onto sand, and the occasional call of an owl in the distant woodland. It is peaceful, calm and still, and utterly magical.
We don’t talk as we walk, and that suits me just fine. It would almost feel rude to talk, to interrupt the serenity of the scene. I’ve never imagined my happy place at night before, and I think I like it even more like this – it feels private, special, like a late-night show being put on for an exclusive audience.
I walk at Jake’s side, the moon so bright that we even have shadows, Larry scooting around in zig-zag lines finding interesting smells but never straying too far. After a few minutes, Jake stops, and gestures to the caves I’d spotted on the other side of the horseshoe-shaped cove when I first arrived.
