Why should I expect things to go right for me? It’s not as if they ever do. As if I ever get what I want.
I had it all planned out. We would check in and then head for the beach. I thought we could buy what we needed here and then while away the afternoon building sandcastles.
First of all, we couldn’t find the guest house. Carbis Bay is much bigger than I remembered and in trying to follow the directions I had written down, we ended up in a complicated warren of houses on a very steep hill. Amber began to complain within a few minutes of walking. I tried to cajole and coax her with soft words but there was a resolute set to her little jaw and before long she began to wail. The pitch and volume of it was quite extraordinary.
I knelt down before her and tried to get her to pick up Bertie, even though he was frightened by the noise and straining away from me. Her face was turning a deep red and she kept running on the spot, her small feet pounding against the pavement so hard it must hurt.
It seemed to go on and on and several people passing by stared at us, muttering in disapproval.
And then, just to make it even worse, a light rain began to fall. The weather changes so quickly here; I remember this. I looked up at the glowering darkness of the clouds rolling in from the sea and actually prayed for a bit of luck.
Amber stopped crying so abruptly I thought maybe my prayers had been answered. Then I saw that her attention had been snagged by a couple walking by with a toddler in tow and a gigantic white dog that was staring at us with a haughty manner. Some sort of husky, I think. I had a flash of inspiration then and said, gently, ‘Can you see the wolf, Amber? They have friendly wolves here. Did you know?’
She gazed up at me with those blue eyes, clouded by tears now, and shook her head. Her tongue was slightly protruding but she had stopped crying at least.
‘Let’s go and quickly find where we are staying and we can go and see if we can find anymore, okay?’
I held out my hand and she took it with hers, which was warm and sticky. A clear trail of snot ran from her nose to her lip and I got out a tissue to clean her up.
But our troubles weren’t over. When we got to the guest house I was told that they only took pets during the winter season, between October and April.
‘But it didn’t say that on your website!’ I protested, quelling the sudden urge to cry.
The man on reception, who was young and sort of scruffy with a small beard, sighed and tapped away at his screen before turning it to show me. I could see then that the words ‘Off Season Only’ appeared in red next to the words ‘Pet friendly’.
Blinking back tears, I asked him whether he could suggest another place we could stay. He wrote down a few names on a piece of paper and then, at my insistence, rang them to see if they had rooms. The first two were full and despair was really beginning to nip at my ankles, but thankfully, the third, a place called Hope House, had a large room available. He called us a taxi and good job too. It is about as far away from the sea as you can get and I would never have found it.
We are sitting here now. The room is not what I had hoped for. It smells very doggy and there are visible extension cables for the bedside lamps. The glass shades of these are thickly embedded with sticky dust. I think someone has been smoking in this room too.
Still, we are here.
Amber is sleeping on the bed, worn out by the travelling.
I have managed not to think too far ahead yet. It’s amazing what you can put out of your mind if you really make the effort. But for some reason I keep hearing blasted Terry in my head today. I can just imagine what he would make of all this. ‘Oh Hester, what on earth have you gone and done?’ he’d say. Or, ‘Well this is a bit of a mess, old girl. You’re going to have your work cut out sorting this.’
Shut up, Terry, shut up. Wittering on inside my head all the time. Am I never to be free?
I hear a small sound and realize Amber is looking at me. She has her cheek pressed to the duvet, her mouth squished open. One eye regards me and for a horrible moment it feels as though she can see right into my soul. See all the things I’ve done.
I swallow nervously and then force a bright smile.
‘Shall we take Bertie to the beach?’
Bertie, who is curled up in a tatty tartan dog bed by the window looks up at his name. I can’t help thinking there is hope in his eyes that we will go home. I look away from him.
‘I’m hungry. I want Mummy,’ says Amber, as though the two phrases are intrinsically connected. Her voice has that low dangerous quality again, as though she is building herself up for another tantrum. I sag inside.
Why did I think this would be easy?
‘Let’s go and find something nice to eat, shall we?’ I say desperately, attempting to sound chipper. But it doesn’t really wash. This little girl may have special needs but she isn’t stupid. She knows something isn’t right about all this. She knows I’m flailing.
‘Want MUMMY, want MUMMY, want MUMMY,’ she begins to chant and my head feels like it is ballooning inside and I just want her to—
‘BE QUIET!’ I yell and she gasps.
I wrap my hands across my mouth, wishing I could pull the words back inside. I have frightened her.
I have a sense that things are spinning out of my control.
But there’s no going back now.
Things have gone too far. I won’t go back to my life the way it was before. I’ve done too much in these last few weeks to allow that.
I’m in this now and the only way is forward. And I won’t be alone again.
Wherever that takes me. And wherever it takes Amber.