C.J. Skuse - In Bloom

This remark seemed to trouble Marnie all afternoon. She brought it up several times as we were wandering round but put it down to the whole Craig-being-in-prison and not-having-a-baby-daddy-around thing.

After the gift shop – where Marnie again noted several things she liked but wouldn’t buy – we went over the road to Rocotillos where me and Joe Leech ate short stack pancakes and shakes for breakfast, and dared each other to blow cold cherries at the waiters. We sat on stools overlooking the street outside. Marnie said she wasn’t hungry but I ordered her chocolate brownie freak shake with whipped cream and salted caramel sauce, same as me, and she ate every bite. The sky darkened and rain began spattering the window.

She sucked her straw in ecstasy. ‘Mmm, I’d forgotten what chocolate tastes like. It’s not good for you, too many sweets.’

‘Is Tim afraid you’ll get fat?’

She nodded, seemingly forgetting herself as she chewed the tip of her straw. ‘He’s worried about diabetes, that’s all. He doesn’t think it’s good for me to gain too much fat.’

‘No, I suppose it absorbs the punches too well.’

Marnie rolled her eyes like she’d known me for years and this was something ‘typically Rhee’. ‘Things change after you have a baby. Men can… stray. That’s what I’m most afraid of I guess. I couldn’t handle that. My dad cheated on my mum and it broke her heart and mine.’

‘So if he cheated on you, you might find the strength to leave him?’ A little thought owl flew into my mind.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d never forgive you.’

My thought owl flew out again. ‘I’d like to meet Tim.’

‘Why?’

I spooned some cream from my shake. ‘Just to be sociable.’

‘You’re not sociable though,’ she chuckled.

‘I’m out with you, aren’t I? What more do you want?’

She looked out of the window but I knew she didn’t want to look at me. ‘He’ll be coming to Pin’s cheese and wine. And she’s planning a big fireworks party in November for her birthday as well. No expense spared.’

‘Oh Christ,’ I groaned. ‘She’s not going to invite me to those, is she?’

‘Of course she is,’ said Marnie. ‘You’re one of the gang now.’

‘Ugh. I need that like a hole in the womb.’

‘Pin’s house is amazing. They’re millionaires.’

‘Whoopee shit.’ I blew a cold cherry at a passing waitress. It missed.

Outside it was raining hard. People rushed past the window with briefcases on their heads and newspapers folded over like makeshift hats. ‘What do you want to talk about then?’ I asked. ‘You choose. Ask me anything. Any question you’ve always wanted the answer to. Priory Gardens, Craig, you name it. Open season.’

Marnie stared at the window and took two bites before answering. ‘If you counted every raindrop as it fell, how many raindrops would there be?’

‘Huh?’

She laughed. ‘I like those kinds of unfathomable questions, don’t you? Makes me feel so small in the world. Like, how long would it take for you to count every single grain of sand on Monks Bay beach?’

‘You must be the only person in the country at a private audience with me who doesn’t want to ask me questions about Craig.’

‘It’s none of my business, is it?’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘I’ve got another one,’ she said, the light flicking on behind her eyes. ‘How do you know you’re a real person and not in someone else’s dream?’

‘Isn’t that a Take That lyric?’

Below the bench we were both swinging our legs beneath the counter, like we were children again. I wished we were.

I don’t know how long we sat there – enough to share a cherry Bakewell freak shake between us and two slices of blueberry pie – and our questions kept on coming.

‘Why is the sea salty?’

‘Who picks up a blind person’s guide dog poo?’

‘Can you remember when you stopped being a child?’

‘What was the first word ever said?’

‘Do you ever hear your baby talk to you?’

Of course I said ‘No’ to that one. It wasn’t time to play the ‘mad’ card.

‘What’s the best advice you could pass onto your child?’ Marnie asked.

‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘Mind’s gone blank.’

‘I like “Find your bliss”,’ said Marnie. ‘I heard someone say that once and it stuck with me. What’s your bliss?’

‘Don’t know. Haven’t found it yet.’

‘You said in the museum you weren’t as happy now as you were when you were a kid. Maybe it’s having kids? Maybe that will make you happy?’

‘Mmm. Life’s full of maybes, isn’t it? You never know for sure.’

‘Maybes and babies,’ she smiled.

‘I still feel like a kid myself.’

‘You’ll be okay, Rhiannon. It’ll all fall into place. It’ll click, all of a sudden. And then you’ll know who you are for sure.’

I smiled like my face meant it. Would have been much easier if it did.

Tuesday, 31st July – 12 weeks, 2 days

1. Grown adults who are afraid of dogs. Strap on a pair, FFS .

2. Pop up advertisers. In fact anything that ‘pops’ at all .

3. Woody Allen .

‘I can’t understand it,’ said Jim, crunching through his All Bran. ‘No bookings at all?’

‘Sorry.’ I packed my face with as much humility as it could muster.

‘No it’s not your fault, love. If you ask me the tourism board has a lot to answer for. This isn’t a destination area anymore. Nothing for the kiddies. The funicular hasn’t had a lick of paint for decades. Council keep putting up the rates so the little independent shops can’t afford to stay put, and that new leisure centre’s still not finished. Six years they’ve been promising that.’

Note: I don’t get an iota of blame. Note: he doesn’t check Airbnb himself. Trust, you see. Complete and total trust. I can’t help finding Jim almost unbearably sexy sometimes.

Another dizzy spell on my way back upstairs – it’s altitude that seems to affect it. I had one yesterday on my way up to the Well House. I lay on AJ’s grave for a full half-hour until it passed. Something to do with my blood pressure. I’m going to have to start carrying around emergency chocolate with me like a St Bernard.

I checked out Tim Prendergast’s social media to get the measure of the man. His avatar is a pic of himself in one of those seaside cut-outs – a fat man in a stripy bathing suit wearing a Kiss-Me-Quick hat.

What a wit.

His eyes are blue with ice splinters in them. I don’t even have to meet him to know he’s a fungus-addled prick of the highest proportions. And for a self-confessed ‘outdoorsman’ who loves hill walking, he doesn’t half spend a lot of time tweet-stalking celebrities. You know the type of thing – RTing how good their books/films/TV shows are. Incessantly @ing them in, saying Good job on The One Show tonight … or Loved your movie – what a talent you are ! We’re lucky to have you , and asking them for shout outs and free tickets. The worst part about it is he gets replies. He trades on that tried and tested logic – people will believe anything if it’s a compliment. And it works.

I honestly don’t know what Marnie sees in him.

Talking of her, I haven’t heard anything since Saturday. Two texts so far have gone unanswered. I wonder if he’s throttled her. I wonder if I should go round there. I know where she lives – in one of the new houses in Michaelmas Court. She mentioned it at Pudding Club as the number was the same as their anniversary – the fifteenth.

The Plymouth Star guy was back on the doorstep today, along with several others from the tabloids. He is such a snack, honestly, and it thrills me to wind him up – to play the part of forbidden fruit now I know he wants to eat my ass so badly. I felt quite sorry for him, jostling to be the first to hound me as I sashayed down the front path in my heels and swishy top, like I was at Paris Fashion Week.