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When Clint wakes up in the smithy, it is to an intense dislike for how his life turned out.
When he was a kid, he baulked at the idea of following in the family footsteps of taking over the smithy. He had bigger ideas. He wanted to be a – well, he actually was never sure and it changed daily, but he knew for certain that he wasn’t going to be working in the smithy in all of the dust, heat and grime, when he turned thirty.
And now, he sighed as he turned over in his bed, the heat from the ever-burning furnace keeping the house at a steady warmer-than-average temperature, even in the depths of winter; thirty.
Here he was. That milestone of a birthday and what did he have to show for it?
Oh yeah, he worked at the smithy.
As a smith.
Just like his father.
And his father’s father.
And his - well, you get the idea.
But maybe this year would be different?
Clint squeezes his eyes shut and tried to manifest a future - one apart from the one he’d had up to now. A partner perhaps? A happy home, a relationship?
Kids, even?
He’d never thought it possible before. It was just a dream. But this vision was so real, it stabbed at his heart. Like one of those dreams that changes your perspective on your whole day. Like waking up happy and stubbing your toe on the bed end, and being indescribably angry and grumpy for the rest of the day.
That kind of real.
Clint got up and was making some coffee when he heard the door of the smithy open with a creak. He peered his head out to spy Emily, neatly wrapped parcel in hand and a smile on her face, approaching the counter.
“Oh Hi Clint!” She spoke out cheerily when she spotted him lurking behind the kitchen door, “Happy Birthday! Got you a present!” She placed the parcel on the counter, still smiling.
And here is where Clint’s day became somewhat discombobulated.
Usually, in the bubbly presence of Pelican Town’s favourite barmaid and parrot owner, Clint became completely tongue tied. His crush overwhelmed him and he could barely string two sentences together.
But today? There was no pounding heart, no sweaty palms, no stammering ardour.
“Oh, hi Emily. That’s very kind of you. I’ll open it later.”
Emily’s face fell, “Oh, right? Okay, um… fine. Well, I’ll just…go then. Bye Clint.”
“Yes, see you later if I pop into the bar this evening.” Clint turned his back on her, heading back to the kitchen, without turning his head.
Puzzled he shut the door behind him. He had felt – nothing. Emily could have been anyone, Pam could have been standing there and he would have felt the same way.
Clint glanced at himself in the tiny mirror that had belonged to his mother on the kitchen wall. He looked okay. He touched his forehead. He felt okay. He stuck out his tongue at himself. Everything seemed okay.
But where had his crush on Emily gone?
~~**~~**~~**~~
That evening, he sat at his usual table in the Stardrop Saloon, to a waiting beer. A present from his drinking buddy, Willy.
“Thank you sir.” He raised the pint glass to the old fisherman.
“Happy birthday!” Replied Willy, before dipping his own nose into his glass and resurfacing at least half the pint later, “You know, thirty agrees with you. You look more, more, um, I dunno, calm I guess? Yes, that’s it. You’re calmer than the Gem Sea on a fine day in summer. Something seems to have settled in ye. It’s good to see.”
Clint grinned and barely looked up when Emily set another two pints on the table. She lingered, but he was too busy talking to Willy to notice.
Marnie bustles up, an excited look on her face. The look she adopted when she had gossip that was far too good not to share.
“Boys!” she always called them that. Clint’s hackles raised at the nickname. Marnie of course does not notice, “Boys! Did you hear the news?”
“Lewis is going to make an honest woman of ye?” Willy sniggers into his pint.
Clint throws him a disapproving look. Which is weird in itself, as whatever off-colour jokes Willy makes, Clint will always snigger along with him.
“Willy, that’s not polite to Marnie, or respectful.” He stared the wiry old fisherman down.
To his surprise, Willy surrendered. “Sorry Miss Marnie. I shouldn’t have said that.” He looked down, suitably cowed, at a ring of beer left by his glass.
“Go on Miss Marnie.” Clint encourages, “What’s your news?”
Marnie smiles gratefully at him, “You remember the old farm? Lewis has got word that someone new is taking it over. The grandchild of the previous owner! They’ll be here next week!”
Suddenly, Clint feels weak. A sheen of perspiration covered his forehead, and he thought he might faint. He loses the ability to put together a cogent sentence.
“Are you alright Clint? You’ve gone awfully pale?” Marnie puts her hand on his shoulder in concern, “Ooh, you’re shaking!”
The vision that he’d had that morning hangs in front of Clint’s eyes so clearly again, that he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating being in the Saloon.
A dog curled by the fireplace, two children who called him ‘papa’. And, a figure, hazy, with no features yet approached him. “Honey, you’re going to be late for work.” The figure kissed his cheek, handed him his lunch and pushed him gently to the door, while his – their? – children clamoured at his feet, wanting to hug him before he left.
It was like he’d been punched. This paradise, this Eden, that he’d dreamt about seemed strangely within his grasp. Everything he’d wanted, but never been able to articulate, not even to Emily. It was right there. So easy, so effortless.
Love
A family.
A home.
He couldn’t wait to meet the new farmer.