Page 52 of Carry Me Home

She’s not wrong. She’s terrifying, but she’s not wrong.

Mum laughs, delighted, and I catch her eye across the stall. She came down yesterday, just for the long weekend – ‘To see the fete, to see you, to make sure you’re actually eating properly and not just feeding everyone else.’ We’d stayed up late in my flat, drinking wine while Chips snored between us, and she’d looked around at the café, at my life, at the pictures on the wall and the penguin magnet on the fridge, and said, ‘You seem better, love. Settled.’

I hadn’t known what to say to that. Better than what? Settled compared to when?

But something has shifted. I don’t know when. The café feels like mine again. The grief feels different – still there, still real, but less like drowning and more like weathering.

And then I glance across the sand and see a tourist walking past, same height as Peter, same loose-shouldered walk, and my stomach folds in on itself so fast I have to grip the edge of the stall.

A breath. Two. The man turns and he’s nothing like Peter – wrong face, wrong everything – and the wave passes, and I’m still standing, and the coffee machine is hissing, and Maisie is arguing with a tourist about jam.

I’m still standing. That’s something. Three months ago, that would have been the floor.

Maisie tugs at my sleeve. ‘Nina. There’s a situation.’

‘What kind of situation?’

‘Jude’s trying to win the big bear. He’s been at it for ages. It’s getting sad.’

I look over at the coconut shy. Jude is indeed there, ball in hand, face set with determination. Brynn is standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with an expression that’s trying very hard to be unimpressed and not quite succeeding.

‘He’s been trying for twenty minutes,’ Maisie reports. ‘Tom says his technique is all wrong. Jude says Tom doesn’t know what he’s talking about. They’re arguing about physics.’

‘They would be.’

‘What’s physics?’

‘The science of things moving. Or not moving, in Jude’s case.’

Maisie considers this. ‘So Jude is bad at physics.’

‘Jude is bad at coconuts. It’s not the same thing.’

I leave Mum in charge and make my way through the crowd. The beach is packed. Kids everywhere, sandcastles in various states of construction, the brass band doing something enthusiastic and slightly off-key near the water’s edge. The air smells like salt and sunscreen and frying onions.

‘—trajectory is wrong,’ Tom is saying as I approach. ‘You’re throwing too high. You need to hit the base, not the top.’

‘I’m hitting the coconut. That’s the point.’

‘The point is to knock it off. Which you’re not doing. Because your trajectory is wrong.’

‘My trajectory is fine.’

‘Your trajectory is why you’ve spent four pounds and won nothing.’

‘That’s very supportive, Tom. Really feeling the team spirit.’

‘I’m not on your team. I’m running the stall. I’m professionally neutral.’

Brynn catches my eye and shakes her head. ‘They’ve been like this for half an hour. It’s exhausting.’

‘Why doesn’t Tom just win it for you?’

‘I suggested that. Jude said it would be cheating. Then he said it would be emasculating. Then he threw another ball and missed.’

‘Sounds about right.’

‘I don’t even want the bear,’ Brynn says, but she’s smiling. ‘It’s enormous. It’s taller than Maisie. Where would I put it?’