by Heidi Swain
‘Nothing!’ Jemma’s voice was still an octave too high to quell my suspicions.
‘Jemma!’
‘Oh all right! The boys couldn’t get the boiler going today so there’s no heating yet, but that’s all.’
‘Really?’
‘Really! I mean, the décor leaves a bit to be desired and the damp needs sorting in the back bedroom but apart from that it’ll be fine once you’ve stretched your creative muscle.’
There was something about the way she carried on fiddling at the table that warned me that perhaps the flat wasn’t going to be quite as welcoming as I’d originally hoped.
I remembered the consequences connected to another time she had been cagey about something and hoped this time around things wouldn’t be so problematic. Years ago she’d borrowed my first pair of designer leather boots without asking, for a secret date with Tom and somehow snapped the heel off. Consequently I’d looked a right prat when I marched, or should I say hobbled, back to the store shouting about shoddy workmanship only to be told that the heel had been broken before and glued back on.
‘Look, I know what you’re thinking.’
‘No you don’t!’
‘Yes I do, you’re thinking about those bloody boots!’
We both burst out laughing and the atmosphere that only seconds before had been heading towards fraught had dissolved.
‘I promise we’ll go first thing in the morning,’ Jemma said, ‘tonight I’ll just set up the sofa bed. I’m sure Ben wouldn’t mind moving out of the spare room for one night.’
‘No,’ I insisted, ‘the sofa will be fine for me. It’ll be a treat with the fire still lit, really snug and peaceful.’
‘OK,’ Jemma smiled, ‘as long as you’re sure. Then a fresh start tomorrow, yes?’
‘Yes,’ I tried to smile back with more confidence than I felt, ‘a fresh start tomorrow.’
By the time Ella had finally decided it was time to stay in bed and go to sleep and Tom and Ben had unloaded the dishwasher, I was more than ready to hit the sack. Jemma had closed the sitting-room curtains and thoughtfully warmed up the makeshift bed with Ella’s penguin-shaped hot-water bottle. She threw a final log on the fire and told me to help myself to anything I wanted from the kitchen.
‘We’re so pleased you’ve come back,’ she said kindly, as she wrapped me in a comforting embrace.
‘So am I,’ I whispered.
‘I couldn’t have done it,’ she admitted, releasing me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come back on my own,’ she confided, her body emitting a little tremor, ‘I would have gone anywhere but here, anywhere other than where everyone knows me.’
She gave me another quick hug and it suddenly dawned on me that, for the next few weeks at least, my private life was going to be very public. I’d been working in the pub when Giles burst on the scene and there was barely a resident left in the town that my mother hadn’t bragged to about my ‘high flying’ job and well-bred boyfriend. I shrugged my shoulders, thinking it was too late to worry about any of that now. I was here and I was safe amongst friends who had offered me a refuge and a lifeline.
‘We’ll brazen it out together,’ I told her firmly. ‘This time next week I’ll be old news.’
As I lay alone that night listening to the comforting crackle of the fire, my mind flitted back to Giles and what he had done when I left him at the bar. Had he scooped up the junk I’d dumped on him or had he left it all there? Had he abandoned the mess like he’d abandoned me, on the expectation that someone else would clear it all up and make it presentable again?
I thought about what Ella had said as well. Watching Jemma and Tom in the kitchen brought home to me how ‘grown-up’ and sensible my relationship with Giles had been. There was no denying the sex was always phenomenally satisfying and well, sexy, but we’d never really messed about or laughed uproariously, never chased each other around the flat or gone in for demonstrative public displays of affection. As I eventually drifted off to sleep I couldn’t help wondering if our ‘big’ relationship had really been worthy of the pedestal I had so readily put it on.
Chapter 6
It was comforting to wake up to the noise and bustle of a house full of people. The building that housed the flat that Giles and I had shared always struck me as exclusive and extravagant with its river views and concierge, but it had no soul. My heels had always sounded hollow on the polished floor and our voices echoed off the empty walls and high ceilings. There was plenty of style attached to the sought-after postcode, but little in the way of substance.
‘I’m sorry that Jemma gave you the impression that I wouldn’t recognise you, Ben,’ I apologised, as I passed him the coffee pot.
I knew it wasn’t really necessary to bring the subject up again but to me it still felt like unfinished business and after the humiliation of the beer-bubble snorting and Ella’s little faux pas, I just wanted to start our relationship over, wipe the slate clean and get off on the right foot. It was inevitable that we were going to be spending a fair bit of time together over the coming weeks and after the complications I’d left behind in London I was feeling determined to keep life in Wynbridge as simple as possible.
‘It’s OK,’ he shrugged, staring down and pinning me with his seductively dark gaze, ‘I’ll let you in on a little secret, shall I?’
‘What?’ I breathed, my stomach turning over as I stared back full of hope that he was going to enlighten me as to what he and Tom had been whispering about.
‘It was actually more likely that I wouldn’t recognise you!’
‘What, when I arrived you mean?’
‘No,’ Ben smiled wryly, ‘with your trademark hair and freckles it could only be you! I meant from the photographs Jemma showed me.’
‘Oh,’ I said, my eyes now firmly focused on my coffee cup. I was flattered he had remembered something about me, but it was hardly a compliment; my so-called ‘trademark hair and freckles’ turned out to be more trouble than they were worth as a rule. For once it would have been nice to be remembered for just being me, for my sparkling conversation and razor-sharp wit. Yeah right. Who was I kidding?
‘You looked very sleek and sophisticated,’ Ben continued, ‘not at all like the girl I used to see around school and working in the pub.’
‘Oh,’ I said again, my already crushed confidence taking another knock. At least he’d ‘seen me around’ but how exactly had I looked then: dull, dowdy, desperate?
Ben took a swig of coffee then banged down his mug.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, ‘sorry, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean you didn’t look good before. Sorry, what I meant was . . .’
‘It’s fine,’ I interrupted. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
I felt even more awkward having guessed which photographs Jemma must have shown him. They were doubtless the set I’d sent her from the company Christmas ball and Ben was right, I had looked sleek and sophisticated. My hair was smooth and straight, my nails polished and my elegant jade dress and matching Jimmy Choos, which had carried a jaw-dropping price tag, immaculate.
‘Well, I’m back to my old self now,’ I shrugged, tucking my hair behind my ears and desperately trying not to think about anything that was connected to Giles.
‘Good,’ Ben nodded. His expression was deadly serious as he took in my sloppy pj’s and dishevelled curls. ‘It never works, does it? I’ve discovered that for myself recently.’ His tone was suddenly bitter and sounded far less friendly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Trying to pretend to be someone you’re not. It never turns out how you think it will. There’s a time limit on pretending. It simply isn’t possible to live a lie for long.’
I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t find the words. I was only just beginning to come to terms with how much Giles had changed me and my appearance during the course of our relationship and I certainly didn’t need someone I barely knew nudging me to think abo
ut all the reasons as to why he might have done it.
‘I’m going for a shower,’ I mumbled, quickly slipping out of the room and wondering if it was really possible for me to just turn back into my old self. And more importantly, did I actually want to?
‘Just remember,’ Jemma smiled nervously, ‘it isn’t as bad as it looks and there’s nothing we can’t fix, OK?’
‘That’s it, love,’ Tom laughed, giving his wife a gentle shove, ‘keep going, you’re really selling it to her now! I wish you sounded as confident about overhauling the Café as you do about the flat.’
We rounded the corner, having dropped Ella at her ballet class, and there it was, The Cherry Tree Café or perhaps I should say, the shell of what had once been The Cherry Tree Café.
‘So as you can see, the outside needs a bit more work,’ Tom faltered, pulling off his hat and scratching his head as we crossed the icy road. ‘But Jemma’s right, Lizzie, it’s not actually as bad as it looks.’
Everything was pretty much as I remembered it. The cute picket fence and cherry tree that covered much of the forecourt was still in situ, only now the fence sported more rot than paint and the once lovely tree looked as though it hadn’t been pruned in years.
‘We’ll go round the back,’ Tom suggested, as he took in my expression, ‘just focus on the flat for today. Ben’s here already. He’s gradually working his way through the list of jobs you gave him, isn’t he, Jem?’
‘He certainly is,’ Jemma said, smiling again, ‘I’ve already told Lizzie how hands on he is.’
‘Um,’ Tom smiled back as he tickled his wife in the ribs, ‘I bet you have. Anyway, we won’t disturb him for now. Let’s go straight up to the flat and look in on him after.’
After our earlier conversation I didn’t want to look in on him at all but I was curious to see how the old place was shaping up. I still hadn’t worked out if Ben had been having a dig at me back at the house but I was going to have to get over it. I was desperate to get on and start moving my stuff up to the flat, but I wanted to have a look around the Café first, even if Ben Fletcher was there wielding his hammer. Before I could stop them, however, Jemma and Tom had set off down the little path that ran along the side of the building.
‘Hey, hang on, guys!’ I called after them, ‘I want to see the Café first. It can’t be that bad surely!’
They walked slowly back and Jemma tentatively reached for the handle and pushed back the door.
‘In you go then,’ she said nervously, ‘see what you make of it. Is it how you remember it?’
I stepped across the threshold and blinked as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom.
‘Well?’ Jemma whispered close behind me, her change in tone stamping all over her previous enthusiasm about fixing up the flat. ‘Oh god, we don’t stand a chance, do we?’ she groaned.
I spun round to face her as Tom flicked on the lights.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a disaster, isn’t it?’ she sobbed. ‘A dark, dingy nightmare! No one will ever want to eat in here again!’
‘You silly sod!’ I laughed, wrapping my arms around her. ‘It’s brilliant, exactly as I remember it, but with bags of potential. You’re going to make it so much better than it was before.’
‘You really think so?’ she sniffed.
‘I really do!’
I stepped further in, refusing to see the place as Jemma currently did. I walked the length and width of the Café floor thinking of ways the space could be quickly and cleverly repackaged and relaunched.
The tiled floor was sound and the walls down here at least didn’t appear to be damp. A lick of paint, some fresh curtains, one hell of a clean and the place would be back in business.
‘Have you thought about a colour scheme?’ I asked, lifting down a couple of the chairs that were stacked on the tables.
Jemma opened her mouth to answer but was stopped in her tracks by a barrage of expletives coming from the kitchen.
‘Tom!’ Ben hollered. ‘Is that you? Get your arse in here quick!’
We all dashed around the counter and into the kitchen to find Ben hunched on all fours with his head in a cupboard and a puddle of water spreading with alarming speed across the floor.
‘Give us a hand, would you?’ he shouted. ‘My hands are so cold I can’t feel my fingers any more! I think it just needs one more turn.’
He leapt aside and Tom dived into the cupboard and fiddled with something before reappearing shaking his head.
‘Just a bit of a leak,’ he said, purposefully keeping his tone light as he spotted Jemma’s worried expression. ‘Nothing we can’t sort, hey, Ben?’
‘Absolutely,’ Ben nodded, his teeth chattering as he rubbed his hands together, ‘just thought it best to turn the water off as a precaution. I’ll have it sorted by the end of the day, no problem, and the shelves will be up as well so don’t worry, Jemma.’
‘Assuming you haven’t died of hypothermia, of course,’ Tom grinned.
‘You better get that shirt off,’ Jemma said, shaking her head, ‘give him your jacket, Tom.’
I turned away as Ben stripped to the waist but not before I’d caught a glimpse of his toned and tanned torso.
‘Come back through to the Café with me,’ I said to Jemma as I quickly turned and walked away, ‘and tell me what you’ve got planned décor-wise.’
‘We haven’t got that far,’ she admitted as she followed on behind me, blissfully unaware that my insides felt as if they had turned to marshmallow.
‘To be honest, Lizzie,’ said Tom, following on with Ben, ‘we haven’t got any idea about how to make it look good. All the money we’ve saved has been sunk into buying the place and sorting the kitchen and loos and now we can’t see the wood for the trees when it comes to making it look appealing. With the constraints of our bank balance, image- and design-wise we’ve drawn a blank.’
Jemma nodded despondently at his side and Tom took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
‘Well,’ I said, brushing down the table I had cleared of chairs, ‘if it’s saving money you need to be thinking about, then I would definitely re-use everything you’ve already got in here.’
‘Really?’ Jemma and Tom chorused.
Ben stood and shook his head as he blew on his numb fingers.
‘Of course,’ I carried on, ‘you can up-cycle all these tables and chairs for a start. Give them a rub down and a fresh lick of paint and they’ll be as good as new, better in fact because they’ll be a nod to the past but very much about the Café’s future. The old clientele will love that.’
Ben thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and began moodily kicking the floor.
‘And the counter,’ I continued, determined not to be put off by his apparent scepticism, ‘that can have the same treatment so it will all match. You need to come up with a design that will complement Jemma’s amazing baking of course, that will bring it all together . . . what?’ I shouted, as Ben let out a shuddering breath.
‘Oh nothing,’ he said breezily, ‘you just carry on.’
‘I take it you don’t agree?’ I snapped, wishing I’d been privy to his caustic comments and presumptuous personality years ago. I could have saved myself years of yearning. ‘You probably think they should bin the lot and start again, is that it? Take out a huge loan and fill the place with brand new soulless stuff instead!’
‘Um, not exactly.’
‘Well, what then?’ I demanded. ‘If there’s no money left and even less time, then I can’t see the harm in using what’s to hand . . .’
‘Neither can I,’ said Ben defiantly.
‘What?’
I frowned at Jemma and Tom who stood together looking shame-faced. Tom self-consciously cleared his throat, but it was Jemma who finally answered.
‘Ben’s been making the same suggestions as you, Lizzie, practically ever since we picked up the keys, actually.’
I sighed and threw my hands up in the air.
‘I guess we couldn’t really see it,’ Tom admitted. ‘But the kitchens and loos are beginning to look tip top! They’re almost there actually.’
‘Well, that’s great,’ I nodded sarcastically, ‘you’ll have all the appropriate licences to hang on the walls, but what’s the point if you can’t tempt people in to eat?’
‘She’s got a point,’ Tom whispered to his wife who finally looked as if the penny was about to drop.
‘I’ve been so preoccupied with thinking about all the food I’ll be able to bake that I kind of got side-tracked. I guess I hadn’t really thought about all this,’ she gestured, indicating the Café shop floor. ‘But you’re right, Lizzie; if we can’t get customers through the door then no one’s going to know how great my cupcakes are, are they?’
‘Exactly!’ I laughed. I knew how much Jemma’s cooking and baking meant to her, but to me the image of the Café would have been of equal, if not higher, priority.
‘Sorry, Lizzie,’ Jemma smiled, sounding disconcertingly like her daughter.
‘Never mind me!’ I scolded. ‘What about Ben? By the sounds of it he’s been talking to a brick wall for the last few weeks. Where’s his apology?’
I couldn’t help thinking that I owed him one as well. Just as well he hadn’t been privy to my peevish thoughts.
‘Sorry, Ben,’ Jemma and Tom muttered in unison. ‘We should have listened to you, mate.’
‘Oh don’t worry about me,’ Ben rumbled, evidently not seeing the funny side. ‘I mean, given my track record, I can understand why you’d think I was talking crap and there’s nothing unusual about me not having a say in things of importance, is there?’
‘Oh come on, mate,’ said Tom, crossing the Café floor and throwing his arm around Ben’s shoulders, ‘I thought you’d moved on from all that.’
I looked to Jemma for an explanation but she just frowned and shook her head. Clearly there was something I didn’t know about our bearded companion, but I wasn’t going to find out what it was from her.