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

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.

      ‘I didn’t realize.’

      She looked at her feet and dug her toes into the sand. With all the courage she could muster she said, ‘It’s difficult when one of you is moving forward and the other is staying still.’

      ‘Don’t I know it?’

      The last blink of sun disappeared into the darkening horizon. Perhaps he didn’t understand, or chose not to, but one way or another he had failed to acknowledge the impact that all his years of unfaithfulness to her mother had had on her. He had a frustrating ability to sympathize with friends, neighbours, strangers, all the while blind to her take on things so much closer to home.

      They polished off the chips in complicated silence and stood up together to go. Instead of challenging his self-pitying response to her comment she back-pedalled. ‘Look, it’s okay. Forget I said anything.’

      ‘Give you a lift home?’

      ‘No thanks. I’ll walk, take the cliff path.’ She smiled tightly and hugged her arms across her chest. ‘Brr. It’s chilly now the sun’s gone.’ He moved a fraction towards her, his internal choreography programmed to hug his daughter, but she flinched, stepped back from him and bent to pick up her flip-flops. ‘Bye Dad. See you in March.’

      ‘You take care, love. And send me postcards.’

      A nervous laugh escaped. ‘Check my social media, you’ll catch up with me there.’

      Half an hour later, back home at the cottage she shared with Joe, Layla took the cup of tea she’d made into the sitting room and sat with her legs curled up on the sofa, still uneasy after the tense moment at the beach. Strings of words rattled in her head. Her dad didn’t want to drive her away? Weirdly that’s exactly what he’d done. She craved space, freedom, time out. Hopefully some distance would give her a fresh perspective, soften her attitude.

      It hadn’t occurred to her that something might happen while they were away, or that they might stay away longer, or not come back at all. She pushed the thought away, turned up the volume on the music in her earbuds, feeling sorry she hadn’t hugged her dad and sad that no matter how many miles away she went the real distance was right here in the gulf between them.

      As she put her mug to her lips the door opened and Joe lolloped in the worse for wear.

      ‘Crikey! How many pints have you had?’

      ‘Three or four. Or five or six. I lost count. And shots. They all bought me vodka shots.’

      ‘You didn’t have to drink them.’

      ‘Rude not to,’ he slurred, staggering into the kitchen.

      Only Joe could come back this drunk on such an important night. She closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears to the sound of him throwing up into the washing up bowl. She was too disappointed to be angry. He’d have a hangover and be as cranky as hell for the next day and a half. He lay down in a sorry heap on the sofa. Resigning herself to the task in hand, and making a mental note to bin it in the morning, she went