Million Love Songs

by Carole Matthews

  ‘The lemon drizzle is very good,’ I tell them in a voice that comes out too high and makes me sound like a cartoon character.

  ‘Sounds excellent,’ Joe says and, it might be my imagination, but his smile seems particularly warm. Could be nothing more than wishful thinking.

  The kids choose their cakes. The speckled sponge for Daisy and lemon drizzle for Tom. I make sure that they get extra big slices. Then I serve Joe.

  ‘I’ll have lemon drizzle too.’

  ‘A fine choice, sir.’ May as well try to keep it light.

  While I busy myself fussing with the plates and napkins, Joe lowers his voice and, speaking in confidential tones, asks, ‘How have you been?’

  ‘OK,’ I tell him. This is hardly the time and place to fill him in on the intervening months. Then, I can’t help myself and blurt out, ‘I went to Paris to see Take That in concert and didn’t come back for two months.’

  He looks taken aback, as well he might be. ‘With that guy?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Yes. Sort of.’ I’m gabbling. I take a deep breath and try to organise my thoughts. ‘We went out there together but ended up going our separate ways the next day.’ I smile at Joe. ‘It’s a long story, best told over a bottle of wine.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I did have a lovely time in Paris, though. I took in all the sights and fell in love with the place.’

  ‘I’ve never been,’ he admits.

  ‘You should. It’s wonderful.’ I concentrate on not hacking the cake to pieces, then continue, ‘I’m glad I stayed. Then I ran out of money and came home. I couldn’t go back to the pub, so I ended up here.’ I hand over the extra large slice of lemon drizzle. ‘It’s a really nice place to work. Plus Charlie came too, which was a big bonus. I’m really happy here.’ I want to emphasise that. ‘And you?’

  ‘Good,’ he says. ‘All good. The kids have settled down again after Gina … well. You know the rest.’

  I think I do, but I can never be sure. ‘She’s still with her new man?’

  ‘No. That didn’t work out either,’ he says. ‘Another long story.’

  Which, at least, gives us both a laugh.

  ‘It sounds as if we’ve both got long stories to tell each other,’ I venture.

  ‘Yeah. Seems that way.’ He clings on to his cake, awkwardly. ‘She’s got a place on her own now in that big, new estate, Newton Leys. A little terraced house. Bit of a shoebox, really. She seems happy enough though and we’re trying to keep it amicable for the kids. She sees them a lot more now, which is good for them and it means that I’ve actually got a bit of time on my hands.’

  ‘You’re still diving?’

  ‘I haven’t been for ages,’ he admits. ‘I’m hoping to get back to it. We’ve got a dive outing planned for next weekend and I want to make that. Do you think you’ll ever give it another go?’

  ‘Nah. I’m not a natural diver. I think I might try the glamorous world of flower arranging next. That’s more my level.’

  ‘I didn’t have you down as a flower arranger.’ There’s a twinkle in his eye as he says it.

  ‘You never know, I might have hidden talents in the horticultural department.’ Then I realise I’m getting dangerously close to flirting with him and stop. ‘It’s been nice seeing you, Joe. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘You too.’ He takes his cake and goes back to his table.

  I make myself busy so that I don’t follow every crumb into his mouth and, when it’s time to pay, I send Charlie over with the bill.

  A few minutes later, he shouts, ‘Bye, Ruby.’

  When I turn, they’re all booted and suited in their outdoor gear and are heading to the door. The kids wave to me and Joe holds up a hand. Do I see a bit of sadness in his eyes? I’ve no idea. I don’t want them to go, but I can hardly lay down in front of them to stop them leaving. Instead, I make my mouth do smiling and wave back.

  Next to me, Charlie says, ‘Cute. Very cute.’

  I sigh. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You think that you might still love him?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s a total bummer.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you want me to clear their table or do you want to do it?’

  With a heartfelt sigh, I pick up my trusty J-cloth. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘There’ll be other blokes,’ Charlie says with the chirpy optimism of a woman in love. ‘You’ll see.’

  But there won’t. Not like Joe. I know that.

  Chapter One Hundred and Two

  Joe has left the money on the table and a generous tip, which feels a bit weird. Perhaps they enjoyed their cake so much that they’ll come in again and I can go all dreamy over him from afar once more. I hope so.

  Picking up the receipt and the money, I then wipe down the table and head back to the counter, handing the cash over to Charlie to put in the till. She faffs about with the coins, then says, ‘Oh, hello!’

  I glance across to see her holding up the receipt. On it there’s something scrawled in pen. ‘For me?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, it’s hardly going to be for me, is it?’

  ‘Give it here then.’

  Charlie, smiling, snatches it from my reach before, smugly, handing it over.

  On the receipt Joe has written, ‘Call me, please,’ and his phone number. As if I’ve ever deleted it.

  My heart thumps in my chest and I look at Charlie, stricken. ‘What?’ she asks.

  I hand back the receipt and she reads the message. ‘Wow. Nice work.’

  ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘Call him, you muppet!’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now!’

  ‘It’s not too soon?’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t need to say anything at all. Do it, woman!’

  ‘I don’t know. What if it all goes horribly wrong again? What if his wife comes back a second time? What if his kids find out that they really hate me?’

  ‘Then at least you’ll know you tried.’

  I chew at my fingernails, wracked with indecision. This is too important to mess up. Take That come on the iPod singing ‘A Million Love Songs’.

  ‘It’s a flipping OMEN,’ Charlie says.

  The lyrics do seem particularly pertinent and a big ball of emotion lodges in my throat. How can I speak to Joe now?

  ‘If you don’t call him, then I bloody well will.’ She goes to wrest my mobile from my hand.

  ‘I will. I will. I’ll call.’ With trembling fingers, I find his number and punch the button. A second later, his phone rings.

  Instantly, Joe answers. His breathing is ragged, uncertain.

  ‘Ruby?’ he says and there’s a world of hope in the way he says my name.

  I nod, which I realise is pathetic.

  ‘Thanks.’ He lets out a wavering breath. ‘Thanks for giving me another chance.’ I can hear the relief and the love in his voice.

  ‘Me too.’ My eyes fill with tears. We can make it work this time. I know that we can. ‘Where do we go from here?’ I ask.

  ‘Look up,’ he says.

  When I do, I see him standing in the street outside the café window and he’s grinning right back at me. Next to him, the kids are running round, punching the air and cheering. And Gary Barlow sings about love, love, love.