She nods, and smiles gently, and says: ‘Nobody does. I didn’t with Van. But sometimes you have to go through the messy to find the good. I’m not saying that you should be with Seb – only you can make that decision. But being scared of messy probably isn’t a good motivation for staying with Finn either.’
She makes it sound so simple when she puts it like that – as though Finn is the straightforward one, and Seb is the chaotic one, and they’re both different facets of my personality. Of course, she is unaware of Finn’s history – and the glimpse I saw of it in him tonight. That’s not Katie’s business, and not my story to tell, so I stay quiet – but I do know that Finn is far from straightforward. He brings his own share of messy as well, as we all do.
I’m saved from continuing the conversation – which is both useful and alarming – by a sharp tap on the window. I look at Katie, and she shrugs.
‘If that’s Van,’ I say, ‘expecting you in a negligee, he’s going to be totally freaked out when his sister answers the door.’
‘At least you’re not in a negligee,’ she replies as she stands up, taking a sneaky peek through the curtains.
‘Nope,’ she announces. ‘It’s not Van. It’s for you.’
‘Aaaaagh. Which one?’ I ask.
‘Which one do you want it to be?’
‘Edie.’
‘Tough luck. It’s Finn.’
I let out a groan, and wipe my eyes with my fingers – they seem to have been a bit leaky at some point – and drag myself up from the warm embrace of Katie’s couch. I feel about seven hundred years old right now, and would quite like to go and live in a nunnery and learn how to churn butter.
‘Okay. I’ll talk to him outside, I don’t want to wake Saul up. Will you let me back in after?’
‘I will,’ she says kindly. ‘And I’ll put the kettle on.’
I nod in thanks, take a deep breath, stand up tall, and walk to the front door. I let myself out, and close it quietly behind me.
It’s a beautiful, clear night, the stars bright in the sky, and Finn looks just as beautiful standing there in the moonlight. He has his hands in his pockets, and seems sad. I hate that he’s sad. I hate that all of this is happening – but I also know that the only way we’ll have a future together is if our foundations are solid. I can’t skip this stage and tell Seb to clear out and hope for the best – what little wisdom I’ve gained as I’ve blundered my way through life tells me this.
‘Hi,’ he says quietly. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah,’ I reply, keeping my voice low. ‘I had to leave. I was getting too aroused by all the alpha male big-dog action in there. How did you find me?’
‘I had you fitted with a tracking device.’
My eyes pop open, and for a second I believe him. Nobody else would, but last year Tom managed to successfully fit my mother with one via a cleverly designed pendant, so it’s not unheard of in Budbury.
‘I didn’t,’ he adds quickly, seeing my response. ‘I saw you head here through the window in the pub. Everyone else thought you were having digestive issues.’
‘That’s good to know. The whole village will be talking about my bowels tomorrow.’
‘Ummm … no. They probably won’t be. They’ll probably be talking about you and me and Seb, and what massive tits the two men in that equation made of themselves tonight.’
I pull a face, and reply: ‘I can’t argue with that description. In fact it’s doing a disservice to tits. Look … I realise that he provoked you, Finn. But that didn’t make it any easier to handle. I just … I don’t like what this is doing to us.’
‘Me neither,’ he says, nodding. ‘That wasn’t me back there … Well, it was me. A part of me I don’t especially like. But it is what it is. I just wanted to apologise. We acted like you weren’t even there, like it was all about us.’
That’s very true, and very annoying – but I don’t expect perfection from Finn, when I’m so far from it myself.
‘Well. It’s done now. And thank you for apologising. It’s okay – maybe one day, I’ll even consider it as flattering.’
He thinks about this, and answers: ‘I suppose it is, in a way, and some women might even enjoy having men fight over them. But not you – and I don’t want to be that man either. I want you to be with me because you choose to be with me, not because I knocked Seb out.’
‘You didn’t, did you?’ I ask, momentarily alarmed. I glance over at the pub, and see no signs of ambulance lights or broken windows.
‘No,’ he says, laughing. ‘But I kind of wanted to, which isn’t a good thing. So. I suppose I’d better get going. Unless … do you want me to walk you home?’
It sounds so old-fashioned and gentlemanly, I’m almost tempted.
‘Thank you, but no. Not tonight. I think maybe we all need to catch our breath and calm down.’
He shrugs and looks disappointed but resigned.
‘All right. I understand. My own fault for imposing the sex ban, I suppose. Anyway … I’ll speak to you tomorrow, then. I’m off to that conference on Tuesday as well, so you’ll have plenty of time to … catch your breath, like you say. Maybe when I come back, we can see where the land lies.’
I nod, and reach up to caress his face. He rests his cheek in my palm, then gently kisses my fingers.
‘Goodnight, Auburn. I love you.’
I lean up and give him a quick kiss on the lips.
‘I love you too,’ I reply, watching as he walks away, up the moonlit street and towards the hills.
I do love him. I really do. But I’m not quite sure that’s enough. I could march over to the pub right now, order Seb to pack his bags and head for the hills, and pretend none of this ever happened.
I could remove Seb from my life – but could I completely remove him from my heart? I’m beginning to suspect that he’s been lurking there for a very long time.
Chapter 21
I spend the next couple of days throwing myself into work. Cherie has been busy with Sandra and Willow, putting together the Comfort Food Café care packages, and today is the day I am going to start distributing them.
Finn seems to have gone into some kind of self-imposed exile at Briarwood, and Seb has extensively and fulsomely apologised for his behaviour on the night in the pub. He seems to really mean it, as does Finn, and I do believe them. It doesn’t necessarily follow that it wouldn’t happen again, but I do believe them.
The whole thing has shaken me up, and also left me feeling trapped – our mama didn’t raise us girls to be supporting players in any man’s life, and that’s kind of how it made me feel. So instead, I’m concentrating on my job, and my friends, and doing the things that matter in my own world. Things I’d be doing regardless of Seb or Finn.
I arrive at the café on a Saturday morning to find it an absolute hive of activity. The weather isn’t brilliant this morning, as though it wanted to remind us that this might technically be early summer, but we’re still in England after all. There’s been a steady drizzle blowing in from the sea in cool gusts and the sky is a flat grey, so the beach is a lot less busy than usual – which in turn means the café is short on paying customers.
What it’s not short on is boxes. Big boxes, all in pretty pastel shades, and printed up with the café’s logo on the side. The café didn’t have anything as fancy as a logo until Lizzie got to work – but her budding marketing genius has resulted in a pretty little design that mimics the sign at the top of the steps, the wrought-iron roses announcing their welcome to the Comfort Food Café.
She’s also whipped up flyers to go inside the boxes that basically ask for feedback – for the recipients to go online and leave reviews, to send comments via the Facebook page, to tweet about it. None of this is remotelyimportant to Cherie, who always seems happy enough to let the café business expand or contract organically, but it’s quite clever – it allows my merry band of customers to enjoy a box full of goodies without feeling like they’re charity cases, and will also help
sell the café. Lizzie is a clever little minx.
I’d pointed out that some of these people might not have access to the internet, or be savvy enough to use it – I can’t see Mr Pumpwell trending on Twitter or posting on Pinterest – so she’s also added a blank section for them to fill in hand-written comments, which they can send back via snail mail, or in person.
At Cherie’s prompting, there’s also a questionnaire, asking what kinds of events they’d like to see happening in the café and in the village, and what would encourage them or prevent them from coming along. She’s suggested a few things – parent and baby mornings; yoga classes for the over-sixties; a tour of Frank’s farm; arts and crafts groups, and a get-together for people and pets, which is also open to those who don’t have pets but would like to spend some time with them. All good ideas.
By the time I get there, with Lynnie – who suggested the yoga classes, naturally – they’re packing the last few items into the ten boxes we’re starting with.
I can smell the lemon drizzle cake, and a quick peek inside one also reveals some pots of home-made jam, baskets of fresh scones, bottles of cloudy lemonade, bags of Laura’s cookies, and a selection of nuts and candies. Yumlicious.
Lizzie is overseeing all this activity, standing off to one side with a clipboard and pen, her blonde hair bobbing in a ponytail. Laura is still in hospital with the twins, but hopes to be out on Monday – and in the meantime, Lizzie seems to have grown up into a mum herself. She’s happily bossing everyone around, and I suspect Nate’s life back at the cottage has been pure hell.
Midgebo is fascinated with the whole thing, his big black nose doing overtime as he sniffs around the place, a frustrated look on his doggie face that says he knows there is food around, but the pesky humans won’t let him get at it. Bella Swan, our dog, is too dignified for such things, and has curled up in a watchful ball by the bookshelves.
Seb is here too, having become quite the regular at the café, helping to fill the boxes and posing happily when Lizzie wants to take photos. He looks especially exotic next to Edie, who is dressed head to toe in beige – cardigan, skirt, tights, shoes.
Lynnie narrows her eyes at him and mutters something under her breath, then takes herself away to a corner in a huff. I see her lips moving at a distance, and wonder if she’s uttering the words to some ancient Druid curse.
‘Good morning, Budbury!’ I say grandly. ‘Are we ready to rock?’
Edie cackles and makes that weird two-fingered salute I associate more with Ozzy Osbourne than a spinster in her nineties – but what do I know? The secret to her long life could be biting the heads off bats in the privacy of her own home.
‘Just the ribbons to go,’ replies Lizzie, bustling around and handing out strips of brightly coloured fabric. She has very specific ideas about how the ribbons should be tied, and there are a few false starts before the sergeant major is satisfied. Seriously, she’s so bossy, I half expect to be told to drop and give her fifty push-ups when I get it wrong.
I have to admit, though, that by the time we’re done, all of the boxes look splendid. Seb and Frank are given the job of loading them into my van, which takes them a few trips up and down the hillside, and eventually we’re ready to go.
Lynnie stays at the café with Willow and Bella Swan, and Seb announces that he will be coming with me.
‘When was that decided?’ I ask, hands on hips in the car park, fine rain managing to soak me through within minutes.
‘Right now,’ he replies, grinning at me. ‘You need some help, and I have nothing else to do. I checked with Lizzie and she said it was fine.’
That makes me laugh out loud – this, of course, has nothing to do with Lizzie. And Lizzie is a teenager. But for some reason, she’s managed to convince us all that if we get her permission and approval, everything will be all right. She’s going to run the world one of these days, and probably a lot more efficiently than the people currently running it.
Seb has kept things light between us since Pub Gate. He’s done it on purpose, and he’s wise to. We’ve seen each other at the pharmacy, and we’ve been for one pub lunch, and we’ve been for a walk with Bella Swan on the beach.
On each occasion, he’s been charming, and funny, and interesting, and generally good, easy company. I can see he’s making the effort to do that, and can follow his reasoning – to show me how well we get on. How much we enjoy each other. How simple and easy and pleasurable time spent together can be.
I know he’s doing it on purpose, but he’s also right. With all the intensity that’s been suffocating me recently, I needed some light among the shade. I needed some fun, and bad jokes, and simplicity. I’m not a complete idiot – I’m well aware that things are not as simple as they seem – but all the same, I take it gratefully.
Finn has gone quiet on me, which again I understand. He needs to regroup as well, and he’s dealing with things that aren’t just about me. He’s dealing with his own issues, his own demons. Between the three of us, in fact, there are a lot of demons to go around – we’re all so messed up that hell must be entirely empty.
I’m not shallow enough to forget Finn simply because he’s retreated a little – you don’t stop loving someone when they have problems. You try and help them through their problems instead. But now more than ever I realise that what Finn and I have is new. New and untested and as yet unproven. I don’t want to think that Seb being here, and Seb being on a charm offensive, can break it – but if it’s actually that fragile, then it probably wouldn’t last anyway.
Even thinking that sends a spasm of pain shooting through my chest, as though it might induce a panic attack, or a cardiac event. I don’t want to lose him – but at the same time I don’t want to keep him if it isn’t right between us.
Normal people always face challenges in their relationships. There are arguments and problems and fights about trivia and fights about big stuff and fights about the things in the middle. There might be children in the mix, or long distances keeping them apart, or money worries, or even political or religious differences.
Normal people face these challenges as they go – and sometimes it makes a relationship, sometimes it breaks it. Laura had to find a way to put her past with David behind her before she could move on with Matt. Willow had to find a balance between caring for Lynnie and being with Tom. Zoe had to get over her friend’s death, learn how to be a mum to Martha, and open up before she could accept Cal into her life.
Every single one of them has faced big tests. Every single one of them has come through it. Maybe, I tell myself, as I watch Seb slam shut the van doors and walk back around to me, Seb is merely the ultimate test for me and Finn. And hopefully we’ll come through it too.
Or maybe, an annoying little voice adds as I climb into the driver’s seat and click on my belt, maybe this life – here in Budbury, with Finn – was a test of how I truly feel about Seb.
I scowl at him as he clambers in beside me, and he looks confused.
‘What?’ he says innocently, holding his hand over his heart. ‘What did I do now?’
‘Nothing,’ I reply, concentrating on starting the van up instead. ‘You just exist, and it’s annoying.’
I give the van horn a few toots as we drive off, and Cherie and the gang wave as we drive away off up the coastal road. There’s usually a lovely view from here, but today it’s dull and grey and covered in sulky-looking clouds. I think I may have affected the weather.
‘Would you prefer that I don’t exist?’ he asks, half smiling at me as I drive.
‘Sometimes, yes, frankly,’ I say. ‘Or that maybe you existed in a parallel universe.’
‘Right. Well, what about the times you don’t wish that? What about the times you’re quite happy I exist?’
I ponder that one as I build up some speed, overtaking an ice-cream van that’s probably decided to call it a day, and settling onto the dual carriageway.
‘I suppose,’ I reply, ‘that you’re not always a
wful. You’re good at cooking tapas. You’re good at giving pregnant women massages.’
‘Not just pregnant women,’ he interjects, his tone flirty. ‘All women. In fact, I specialise in over-worked pharmacists with attitude problems. You only have to say the word, and I could massage all your stress away …’
‘Ha!’ I snap back, pulling into fifth gear with way too much force, ‘I don’t think so! I think that might unleash a whole new world of stress …’
‘It could unleash a whole world of other stuff too, couldn’t it?’
I ignore him, and concentrate on driving. Of course, that’s exactly what I’d be afraid of – no matter how much I tell myself I won’t be falling for this man again, and no matter how much I love Finn, there is no way in a million years I’d let him near me with a bottle of almond oil. I’m only human, and he already knows his way around my libido a bit too well.
He seems to realise that the topic is now closed, and we both stay quiet for a while. He’s probably planning his next move, and I’m waiting for my heart rate to settle.
Eventually, he changes the subject to safer ground, and starts to ask about the people we will be visiting. I fill him in on the various patients and their lives, careful to blank out any medical details to protect their privacy, and he listens well. This is another aspect of the new and improved Seb that has constantly surprised me.
The old Seb was a bit haphazard when it came to listening. Sometimes, he’d be amazing, and we spent so many nights pondering the meaning of life and soul-searching in that way you only do when you’re young and in love. When you’ve fallen hard, and think this is the only other person on the planet who could possibly understand you.
Other times, especially when he was artificially stimulated, he would literally only let people talk long enough to give him an excuse to start. Every conversation was one way, every chat was a performance, every dinner out was a new instalment in the Seb Show.
A Wedding at the Comfort Food Cafe Page 20