Kathy Jay - Reach for the Stars - A feel good, uplifting romantic comedy

Layla bristled. The conversation had taken a very unwelcome turn.

‘Nothing’s been discussed. We’ve not made plans or anything.’

The door jingled and a couple more customers barged in loudly, cutting the interrogation dead, to Layla’s relief. Weddings weren’t Joe’s favorite subject. He liked things the way they were. By the time the newcomers had made up their minds on what to have and Rosie had taken their orders, Layla’s chips were ready. She shoveled out a generous portion, balanced a teeny pot of ketchup on top, and neatly wrapped them in paper. Layla paid quickly and escaped without further questioning.

‘Have fun,’ Rosie shouted over the jingle of the doorbell. ‘Post loads of photos on your timeline, I want to know everything.’

Outside, in the long shadow of the lighthouse, Layla paused for a few seconds to take it all in; the general store, the church, the chippy. The police station had been moved and the old building sold. The new owner had transformed it into an Italian-style ice cream parlour with a cheerful striped awning. Other old buildings had been repurposed too, housing a small gallery showcasing local artists, a gift shop, and a place selling an array of vintage, with a ship in a bottle, an antiquated teapot and a starburst clock in the window. On the end of the terraced row a former cottage with a ‘sold’ sign outside was reported to be opening soon, reinvented as an old-fashioned sweet shop doing homemade Cornish fudge in every flavour imaginable from traditional to chocolate orange, marshmallow and banoffee. Rumours abounded about a secret recipe and a luxury specialty fudge made with locally-sourced clotted cream and laced with ‘ye olde smugglers’ rum’. She’d have to wait until spring to try some.

Having well and truly memorized Porthkara harbour, Layla headed to the beach. At the top of the stone steps she kicked off her flip-flops and inhaled the salty air. She loved everything about the Cornish fishing village she’d grown up in, especially its own brand of ozone. She stared out to sea watching the gentle even breakers roll in, feeling the wind on her face, the sand powder-soft beneath the soles of her feet. Overhead the gulls soared, glided and swooped. A blazing circle of red, the sun cast a beautiful light all around and turned the white clouds pink.

For a second Layla’s heart wobbled and she wondered why she’d agreed to go travelling with Joe. She loved him here at home; but could she rely on him when it was just the two of them on the other side of the world?

Warmth seeped into her hands. She sat down, unwrapped the hot, golden chips and waited for them to cool enough to eat. Cross-legged she balanced her food in her lap and opened the ketchup, trying not to get sand on her fingers and replaying the conversation from the chippy in her head.

She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of sea air in an effort to shake off her apprehension. She’d spent all afternoon finalizing her packing, obsessively putting things in her rucksack, taking them out again, and then putting them back in. Mentally she went through her checklist, knowing she’d double and triple ticked off everything on the to-do list.

‘Layla!’

Just as she dipped the first chip in ketchup and popped it into her mouth a deep voice she recognized startled her.

She turned her head in the direction of her name. ‘Dad!’

‘Hello, stranger.’

She’d been avoiding him. Things had been difficult before her parents had divorced, but since the split had been finalized a new awkwardness had settled in. ‘I had a feeling I’d find you here. I just wanted to wish you and Joe well.’ He looked up and down the beach, and cleared his throat, failing to disguise his surprise at finding her alone. ‘Say bon voyage and safe travels and all that for me. First stop Paris, eh?’

He’d touched a nerve. She’d been expecting Paris to be the first stop on the itinerary. It had been part of the original plan except Joe had contrived to veto it in favor of places he’d rather see.

‘We’re skipping Europe, flying to Australia first. I thought I told you.’

He shook his head. ‘Shame.’

‘I know. I’d have liked to visit art galleries and stroll along the Seine.’ She felt a bit peculiar. When Joe’s plan to travel had been suggested she’d made no secret of the fact that she’d love a romantic proposal in Paris and a bohemian beach wedding just for two on an island. With palm trees. Joe had other ideas.

‘Amazing sky.’ Her dad sat down beside her, stole a chip and dunked it in ketchup. ‘A sky so stunning has to be a good omen.’

‘What was it Granny Rivers used to say?’ She offered him the chips.

‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.’

She shivered. ‘That’s it. Night. Delight. Morning. Warning.’

He nodded. ‘I love Porthkara. Haven’t ever wanted to leave.’ Falling into a pattern of sharing the chips they looked at the sea, not each other. ‘I regret not fulfilling your grandmother’s ambitions – for her, not for me. The things she wanted weren’t the same things I wanted.’ Layla didn’t really know what to say. Her dad filled the silence. ‘Things are better between me and your mum since the divorce. It can’t be easy for you – what with all of us living in the village and me getting together with Jasmine. At the end of the day I want you to know that I’m happy with my lot in life, and, well, I hope you – and your mum – will be too.’

It was hard to forgive him for the years of hurt that her mother had tolerated, for the damage it had done.

‘I’m fine. Mum’s fine.’ The night before she set off for the airport was a funny time for a father-daughter heart to heart. They hadn’t spoken about his relationship with the owner of the Porthkara gift shop before. Rumour had it they’d fallen in love during the shop’s refit. Ralph Rivers was a whizz with all things building related.

‘I know Joe has itchy feet, and you two have to see a bit of the world. It’s natural. But I’d hate you to think I’m pushing you away.’

Did everything always have to be about him? ‘Dad, I don’t think that.’

‘Your mum and I would be gutted if you stayed away for good.’

‘I know that.’

‘I don’t know how we’ll manage without you.’

Her chest tightened. Sometimes her love for Porthkara felt like a stranglehold. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a couple heading for the Lobster Pot Restaurant with its whitewashed walls and blue-painted window frames. She swallowed a chip, biting back her feelings. She and Joe had worked their last shift there at lunch time. All things considered, pitching in and waitressing at the beachside restaurant, away from her parents and their troubles, and loved by Joe’s family, had always been a welcome escape from playing a perpetual game of piggy-in-the-middle.

Her dream to set up a small business painting murals – the thing she liked most and did least – had been on hold while she saved for the trip. When Joe had come up with his travel plan her ambitions had been pushed aside. She’d have to save up again and resurrect them at some point.

‘The season’s winding down. We’ll be back by the time things get busy again in the spring.’

‘You’ll be missed.’

‘I’ll miss … home too.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘you’. After all, they managed to live in the same village and barely ever run into each other. He was respected in the community. He’d do anything to help anybody, fix things that needed mending. He was a great surfer, played guitar in a folk band on Saturday nights at the pub. She’d never spoken her mind, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to explain how she felt but she had a sense that it was now or never. The sadness, disappointment and resentment she’d been keeping in for much too long fulminated. ‘You’re a great dad, but you weren’t a good husband, and the thing you don’t get is that that was the part that hurt me the most.’ Her words spilled out in a jumble and her dad looked confused and sad. She felt bad, immediately wishing she hadn’t said anything.