by Sue Watson
Through my mists of embarrassment, I was aware that Emma then asked him to join us, which I wasn’t ready for.
‘Thanks... if that’s okay...’ He looked at me. I nodded, my macchiato insides now swirling. ‘I’m waiting for a friend,’ he said, taking a seat.
‘So how do you two know each other?’ Emma asked. I almost choked.
She was quite charmed by this handsome Aussie, and giving him her full attention, which made me feel uncomfortable on so many levels. What if he fell for her and became my son-in-law? I was going mad... I always had to think ahead, worry about stuff that hadn’t and wasn’t going to happen. I tried not to analyse or predict the next twenty years and concentrated on the conversation so I could intercept at any time if things got tricky.
I could see by Emma’s face she was intrigued; he wasn’t the usual type of ‘Mum’s friend’—he was a younger, cooler, good-looking, male and from another country. I smiled to myself as the conversation moved easily, if superficially, along.
‘I see Dan at the deli... when I say see him, I mean I... he serves me, we say hello... I buy what I need then I leave, that’s all... there’s nothing...’
‘I work in the deli,’ he butted in before I went too far. ‘Your mum’s one of our best customers.’
I nodded in reluctant agreement, thinking this made me sound like my huge appetite required frequent visits to the deli for ‘refuelling’... not quite the image I’d been hoping to cultivate. I’d rather he’d said, ‘Your mum’s one of our sexiest customers.’ Then again, it wouldn’t have been appropriate and poor Emma wasn’t ready for that.
‘She has a weakness for goats’ cheese,’ he continued, like it was a medical condition and I was some old lady who couldn’t speak for herself.
He just kept smiling, and looking at me, genuinely pleased to see me.
‘Dan was a chef back in Australia. He knows a lot about food.’ I tried to put on my authoritative Mum voice, which I wasn’t comfortable with in front of Dan. With him I always felt younger than I was, but with Emma here, it wasn’t working. I was her mum, not Dan’s potential girlfriend, and it was weird having to be two people at the same time.
‘Faye is... I mean, your mum ... has a very good palate.’
‘Yes. The other day, Dan wasn’t sure what to order and asked me to taste three kinds of German sausage,’ I said, trying to show Emma how sophisticated I’d been while she was away, though I’m sure a student of Freud would have had their own theory regarding my subconscious.
She looked at me incredulously. ‘German sausage?’
‘Yes... It’s not a euphemism,’ I said.
‘I didn’t think it was,’ she snapped, clearly horrified at the thought. ‘It’s just that you don’t like sausages or anything spicy...’
‘I do now. I like spicy sausages... well, any sausages since I tried Dan’s...’ I stopped myself just in time, but I could sense Dan’s amusement from the twinkle in his eyes.
Emma gave me an unfathomable look.
‘I thought you had a chicken pasty from Greggs every day for your lunch?’ she said, like a bloody pastry detective.
‘I reckon she has those too, Emma,’ he teased, calming any potential friction that might be emerging over Emma’s pasty accusations and my new sausage love. For God’s sake, she was as bad as Craig who used to tell me I should have a pasty for lunch instead of fancy ham and tasty chorizo. Why was everyone hell-bent on me eating bloody pasties? This was a new improved Faye, and if she wanted a big spicy sausage for lunch she would damn well have it.
His eyes caught mine and rested a while. ‘Faye’s my favourite customer. She brightens my day,’ he smiled like he was saying it to himself almost. I brightened his day. Did he really just say that?
He made me feel attractive, vital, like I had something to say and someone was finally listening. But most of all, he made me want to stand on the table there and then and break out into a gutsy rendition of Beyonce’s Single Ladies, with all the accompanying dance moves. Fortunately, I couldn’t get out from behind the table, which was a blessing if only for the fact the nearby table of teenage girls were still fascinated by me. They were too young to witness the spectacle of a middle-aged woman attempting that vigorous and unforgiving routine on top of a table in a high street coffee shop.
‘Everything’s changed for me, since I became single—even lunch,’ I said, feeling suddenly confident and thinking, watch your mum go, Emma.
‘Yes, well, stick to the pasties, Ma,’ she smiled. I know Emma was joking, but that smarted a little. I acknowledged and respected Emma’s maturity and change, and I wished she’d recognise and respect the changes in me. But I suppose it’s a bit unnerving to come back from uni and discover your mother’s forsaken pasties at lunchtime for spicy German sausage with a younger man.
Dan was staring at us both, smiling. ‘You don’t look old enough to be Emma’s mum,’ he said.
I appreciated the gesture, but with Emma there analysing it, I felt too self-conscious to accept his compliment gracefully, so gave him a mock-chastising look.
He laughed. ‘As always, this woman sees right through me,’ he said slowly wiping his finger along the rim of his cappuccino cup and sucking slowly on the froth. I watched, fascinated... and he watched me back. And Emma was watching him watching me... equally fascinated.
‘So, what are you ladies doing for the rest of the day?’ he asked, still licking froth but not taking his eyes from mine. I had to look away, aware of a change in temperature as Emma looked at me, then back at him. I guessed the penny was dropping; her brow furrowed and she suddenly became very businesslike. ‘We’re going shopping. And we need to make a move if we’re going to book that hair appointment. Lovely to meet you, Dan.’
‘Of course. Yes, we’ll get off...’ I said, reluctantly, dragging my eyes from his. I wanted to watch his finger run along the cup rim until it was completely devoid of all froth. I then wanted to watch as his finger went slowly into his mouth and came out again. Then I wanted him to put his finger in my mouth so I could suck it and roll my tongue around it... and call me psychic, but I knew Emma wasn’t ready for that display. So, before I lost all control, I picked up my bag and made to move.
‘Oh, here’s my mate now.’ He started waving across at a younger man in a baseball cap who waved back. He stood up, but before leaving leaned over to me. I felt his breath in my hair. ‘Come and see me,’ he whispered. ‘I’m lonely without you.’
I couldn’t speak, because my heart had burst and flooded all over the table like hot coffee. I looked down to check, but it was just the remains of my spilled macchiato dripping through the groin of my white linen trousers. Nice.
When I looked up he’d gone.
‘Did he just whisper something to you?’ Emma asked under her breath. I could tell she couldn’t quite put her finger on what had just happened and was about to quiz me.
‘Oh, no. He’s always kidding around,’ I stammered, emptying the dregs of my already empty cup, and almost choking—my heart was still lodged in my oesophagus.
‘Hey, is something going on between you and him?’ she said, glancing over to where he was now sitting with his friend.
I nearly collapsed, but wasn’t giving the teenage girls on the next table that little feast for the eyes. ‘Me and Dan? Give over, Emma. There’s nothing going on.’
We left Costa and walked towards the Bullring where Selfridges and a feast of fashionable delights awaited us. He was lonely without me. He said so. It made my legs weak to think of it.
‘Mum, I hope you haven’t got any ideas where Dan’s concerned.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah... cos I hate to tell you, but you’re barking up the wrong tree there...’
‘Oh, I’m not barking up his tree, love... I mean, Dan’s a nice guy,’ I said, trying to sound matter of fact. ‘He’s from Australia, you know.’
‘Yeah. So I gathered.’
‘He’s very talented...’
&
nbsp; ‘Look, Mum. I know what you’re up to...’
‘I’m what? I’m not up to anything... Nothing has happened, honestly...’ I had to stop before I said anything I shouldn’t, so busied myself pretending to check for messages on my phone, knowing my red face would betray me.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’ Emma grabbed me and manhandled me down the road.
‘I’m fine, Emma—I just don’t want you to think anything about Dan...’
‘I wasn’t, Mother, but you clearly were.’
‘I wasn’t...’
‘You must think I’m stupid not to realise...’
I almost died. She’d found me out. My daughter knew me so well and she’d seen it all for what it was: just weeks after abandoning her father, her newly single mother was making a fool of herself over a younger man.
‘It doesn’t mean anything... it’s nothing,’ I insisted.
‘Hmm, and as long as I’m away at uni, it will stay as nothing... I know your game.’
‘I’m not playing games... I...’
‘Yes, you are—and it’s not the first time.’
‘It is the first time. I’ve never... and, Emma, I know it might be a big mistake but I can’t help it. It’s just something about him.’
‘Yeah, there is something about him. He’s a crusty old hippy and I don’t care what you say—I will not go out with him.’
‘You won’t?’
‘No. Jeez, Mum, I can get my own boyfriends you know. And no offence, but they dress better. So please, just stop matchmaking.’
‘Oh... okay then,’ I gasped with relief as we carried on walking.
‘Do you really think he looks like... a crusty hippy?’ I asked, once I’d calmed down.
‘Yeah... in his old jeans and his long, straggly hair and his old coat... Nice guy, but, God, I wouldn’t be seen dead.’
I smiled to myself. Funny how what I perceived to be young, sun-kissed and sexy looked to Emma like a crusty old hippy with straggly hair.
‘I reckon you’ve got your wires crossed with that Dan anyway, Mother.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, all the time you’re sizing him up for me... and I reckon he’s got a bit of a thing for you.’
‘Me?’ I feigned surprise and had to look away to hide the smile on my face and stop my inner Beyonce rising in my throat again. This time she would sing with gusto... and dance wildly, in the middle of Birmingham City Centre... She had to be stopped.
‘What makes you think he’s got a thing for me?’ I said ‘thing’ with an excited catch in my voice so had to turn it into a cough to hide the thrill.
‘He kept looking at you... in that way, you know?’
‘I can’t believe you’d think Dan would be interested in me,’ I said, like it had never occurred to me and I didn’t care anyway—but my heart was doing a happy dance. I had hoped he liked me, after all, we had kissed, but the old Faye always harboured doubts. It was good to have my hopes confirmed by Emma who had picked up on it from just a few minutes’ conversation.
‘I don’t think you realise how attractive you are, Mum. But you must be careful being single now isn’t like it was when you were younger. Some men expect sex very early on in a relationship.’
Oh, I do hope so, I thought.
‘Now, hurry up. I have to try those shoes on in Selfridges... and I’ve seen a great handbag too.’
‘Oh, it’s all about you isn’t it?’ I smiled, linking her arm. But if it can’t be all about you at nineteen, when can it be all about you? Because as you get older it becomes less about you every year. And if you don’t make the effort and make it about you, then you start to disappear.
11
SANGAS ON THE BEACH AND SEX UNDER THE STARS
Later that week, Emma went off to see her friends for a couple of days so, as I was off work and had all day free, I walked into town. I was soon drawn into the deli and those blue eyes. The weather was lovely and Dan looked blonder from the sun; he was all stubble and sunshine and I wanted to run my fingers through his hair. I tried not to think about kissing him and concentrated on sun-dried tomatoes instead.
‘It’s a beautiful day,’ he said, slicing feta onto walnut bread.
I nodded, pretending to be engrossed in spicy sausage, but sneaking a peep at him every now and then.
‘Are you enjoying your week off, Faye?’ I loved the way he spoke, the way his mouth caressed my name—Faye?—the raised inflection made it sound soft and rounded and delicious. I’d never liked my name until Dan said it. When Craig had said ‘Faye’, it was spiky and short, like a chopping sound, no undulating curves, no gentle upward inflection at the end, no affection.
‘Yes, it’s been lovely spending time with Emma.’
‘You should go out and enjoy the sunshine... get some fresh air.’
‘Yeah, I think I will.’
‘Jen’s in today so I can have a break. I thought I might have my lunch at the park?’
There was the inflection again. Or was it a question? Was I supposed to say I’d like to join him? I was very rusty at this flirting thing and, though I didn’t want to misread the signals, I didn’t want to ignore them either.
‘That sounds nice... the park in the sunshine,’ I tried.
‘Great—you have to make the most of it; you don’t get too many sunny days in the UK.’
He was right and I spent most of my days breathing in hairspray and scandal, so we left the deli together and headed for the park. It felt good to walk with him; I was proud to be seen with a good-looking younger guy. I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but it seemed sunnier than it had before. Even the charity shops looked appealing and I lied to myself that it was the sun making everything so much brighter, happier... but I knew the truth really.
When we arrived at the park, I walked towards a bench, but Dan wanted to sit on the grass. ‘I want a real picnic,’ he said in mock petulance, ‘and that means on the grass.’
I giggled. ‘Okay then, we’ll do it your way.’
‘When I was a kid we had picnics every day. It didn’t matter where we were; Mum would set up a tablecloth and we’d have sangas on the beach or back garden if we were home... sangas are sandwiches in Australian, by the way.’
‘Thanks for translating... I thought all you Aussies ever did was throw a shrimp on the barbie?’
‘That too,’ he smiled, ‘when we’re not eating sangas by the sea.’ I could almost feel the sea breeze on my face, the way he said it.
‘Mum would take us down on the beach with a picnic and we’d run in the sea, and she’d roll up her jeans and wade in with us...’ He started to pluck the grass, his head down.
‘You still miss her, don’t you?’
‘Yeah... she was special.’ He looked up, his eyes even bluer than I remembered. ‘Of course everyone’s mum is special, but when she died, it was like a light went out. She was always baking, and when she’d gone, I missed the fragrance of her lemon cake... a constant reminder she wasn’t there anymore.’
Like Mandy, here was another motherless child whose life had been blighted. I understood how they felt; I’d never missed my mum as much as I had in the last few months. Leaving Craig and starting afresh was scary and I often wondered what Mum would have thought of it all.
‘So... the lemon cake is very special to you...?’
His face changed for a moment. ‘Well, that’s kinda bittersweet. Mum always made lemon cake for my birthday because it was my favourite. Whenever I smell lemon zest, I’m right back there in our kitchen in Sydney. The sun coming through the window, scrubbed kitchen table, Mum in her apron. I was always excited; it was my birthday and the kitchen was filled the scent of lemons, but sweeter.’
‘That’s such a lovely memory,’ I whispered to him.
He put his hand on mine.
We talked for an hour. He told me about his childhood in Sydney in the suburbs not far from Bondi, in a big house with a big pool. ‘It was idyllic,’ he said
, with a faraway look in his eyes.
He told me his father was alive and well and still living in Sydney, where his brother, wife and two children lived. ‘I love my niece and nephew so much,’ he smiled. ‘And my bro—but as I said, I haven’t seen too much of him.’
‘It might heal both of you to spend time together. He probably has memories of your childhood that he can share with you. When someone dies, those memories die too,’ I said, thinking of my own mother.
‘I can’t face it yet, but what you said the other night about getting in touch with him made me think... and I called him.’
‘That’s wonderful, Dan.’
‘Yeah... and you were right; it has made everything feel so much better. I told him I’d see him as soon as I get back home. After talking to him I don’t feel so guilty, and John said it made him feel really happy that I called.’
I was delighted he’d taken my advice. It was obvious but sometimes we needed others to point these things out to us. He was smiling, but looked almost tearful when he spoke about home and his family.
I opened my feta, tomato and black olive sandwich and took a bite. ‘Ooh, the sweetness from the sun-dried tomatoes up against that tangy salt from the feta is delicious,’ I said through crumbs.
‘Hey, you’re starting to sound like me,’ he giggled. ‘I love combining flavours—though some don’t always work... I had a tough time with mint and beetroot earlier in the week,’ he smiled, biting into walnut bread with blue cheese and bacon.
I offered him a bite of my sandwich—after all, it was his creation. ‘Aren’t you just loving the way the smoky olives are playing footsie with that feta, Dan?’
He laughed. ‘You bet, babe!’
For a while we stayed silent, just the birds singing, the sound of toddlers playing in the nearby sandpit and a blue, blue sky decorated with a couple of tiny white frothy clouds.
‘I hope we have a good summer,’ I said eventually, looking at the sky, basking in the gentle spring sunshine warmth on my face.
‘Oh, it will be. It’s got to be,’ he sighed.
I finished my sandwich and lay down on my side, resting my head on my elbow in the grass. He was close, doing the same, facing me... I didn’t care how it must look to anyone passing by.