‘Running the bookshop?’
‘Yep. It’s good. I get to sell a few books, read a few books. Maybe one day I’ll even write a book, who knows?’
‘You could!’ chips in Laura, sounding excited at the prospect. ‘You could set it in a little café by the beach, and make it all about the wacky-yet-lovable characters who live here …’
Zoe rolls her eyes, and steals a piece of Laura’s scone.
‘Not my scene,’ she answers. ‘More likely to make it about a serial killer who hides out at the llama farm and kills us all in our sleep. But hey, that’s just me. So, Tom, how are you settling in? And have you remembered all our names? Took me days …’
He glances at me to check it’s okay to spill the beans. ‘That’s what this “house” business is all about,’ he says. ‘It was Willow’s way of helping me settle in. She did me a fact-file on all of you.’
‘Did she now?’ replies Cherie, looking at me through narrowed eyes. It’s her ‘one tough mama’ look, but it doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. She’s about as tough as Blu Tack once you get past the Amazonian appearance.
I give her a no-big-deal shrug and say, ‘It was the only way I was going to get him out of his pit of solitude. Really, you should be thanking me – without my intervention, you’d never have found out anything about the man who bought Briarwood.’
‘Yes I would, my love,’ she replies, grinning. ‘You should know me better than that. If all else failed, I’d have just ordered a drone flight over the house, wouldn’t I? Or sent Lizzie up there with a long-angle lens. So … what was in this fact-file, then, Tom? All our dirty secrets, was it?’
‘Nope,’ he says simply. ‘Just the facts, ma’am. Plus a load of Willow’s views about how wonderful you all are. It’s sweet, actually.’
‘We should get a copy printed off,’ adds Laura straightaway. ‘Get it framed and put it up in the café. Or give it to Zoe so she can turn it into a best-selling bonk-buster about sex and secrets on the Jurassic coast …’
Zoe snorts with laughter, which wakes up Rick Grimes and possibly people in the next county.
‘That could work,’ she says, obviously giving it some thought. ‘It might be worth doing just to completely and utterly embarrass the kids. Can you imagine? Nate and Lizzie and Martha reading lurid sex scenes about bodices getting ripped off?’
‘I’ve never had my bodice ripped off …’ replies Laura, looking slightly sad about that fact.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ says Cherie, giving her a nudge. ‘I’ll have a word with Matt next time I see him. I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige. Anyway … did you include yourself in this here fact-file, young Willow? Was there a chapter on House Longville, or was it just us lot?’
Chapter 9
She has a point, so I keep myself busy by eating yet more cake. It’s a good job I inherited my mother’s metabolism or I’d be waddling around like a sumo wrestler.
I hadn’t included a section on House Longville, no. Partly because Tom already knew me – kind of. In fact, if I was being pedantic, I could claim to have known him since I was eight – even if our conversation was limited to one huge scream and me slamming the door in his face.
But partly, I simply didn’t want to lie – and a section on House Longville wouldn’t have been complete without reference to the reality of my mum’s condition, and my glamorous life. Maybe I just didn’t want to face up to it all myself, who knows? If I made myself sit down and really, truly think about everything, I’d probably end up miserable instead of just tired.
Tom, though, is now looking at me with interest – as though he was wondering the same as Cherie, and trying to piece together my fact-file.
‘She didn’t include that, no,’ he says, smiling gently. ‘Maybe you ladies can fill me in on everything related to Willow.’
‘Be kind,’ I add quickly. ‘Or I’ll curse you with my ancient Romany blood.’
‘You don’t have ancient Romany blood,’ replies Cherie.
‘Or do I?’ I ask, making my voice ominous, waving my hands and making woo-woo-woo sound effects to give it more mystery.
‘Okay – I’ll start!’ pipes up Laura, who has clearly decided this will be a good opportunity to find out more. ‘She’s called Willow Cassandra Longville, and she’s 26. She has … um, three brothers and sisters?’
I nod, to show that she’s on track so far.
‘Oh no! I don’t actually know their names …’
‘I do,’ says Zoe, holding up her hand like she’s in school. ‘Willow’s mum named them all after their characteristics when they were born. So there’s Willow, who was long and lean; Auburn, who – like all God’s best children – has red hair; Van, who had a funny ear; and Angel – who looked like a little blonde cherub. Ten points for me. I don’t know where any of them are though …’
All four of them are looking at me now, as though waiting for an explanation. Abridged version ahoy.
‘Neither do I, really. Van, I think, is living in Tibet somewhere, halfway up a mountain in a Buddhist community. Auburn, last time I heard, was living on a cannabis farm in Peru, although that might have changed. Maybe she’s upgraded to a cocaine farm in Columbia. Angel … well, he’s the black sheep of the family. He changed his name to Andrew, and he’s a biology teacher in Aberdeen. I haven’t seen any of them for quite a long time.’
Tom is looking fascinated – or maybe just relieved that someone else has been thrust into the spotlight – but Laura is looking thoughtful. Like she’s turning this new information over in her mind, and she’s not altogether pleased with the picture it’s painting.
‘But why?’ she asks eventually, frowning. ‘Wouldn’t it be … helpful for you, if you weren’t doing everything on your own?’
Everyone else here knows, of course, about my mum. Everyone apart from Tom – and it’s probably about time I told him. I don’t know why I’ve avoided it. I think maybe I was enjoying spending time with someone who just saw me as Willow – not poor-love-she-has-such-a-lot-to-deal-with-Willow. But if he’s going to stay, he’ll need to know – just in case she turns up at Briarwood and puts him in plank position.
I turn to face him, and say: ‘My mum has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t actually look that different from when you used to know her, but she is different. Sometimes. Sometimes she’s the same. What can I say? It keeps life interesting.’
I’m pretending it’s not a big deal, which isn’t like me at all. I don’t usually pretend anything. I’m feeling nervous and jittery, and wondering how Tom will react. It shouldn’t matter – but for some reason, it does. I’m staring at the coffee pot, because it’s much easier than meeting anybody’s eyes right now.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Tom says quietly. He reaches out, and touches my hand gently beneath the table. My fingers find themselves tangled in his, and I’m horrified to realise that my eyes have sneakily filled with tears.
I’m very confused by all of this. I might not have my family with me, but I am surrounded by wonderful friends who offer me all the support I could ever ask for. I’ve never been aware of feeling alone or isolated – but somehow, the touch of Tom’s strong hand on mine tells me I have been. It’s overwhelming, and I don’t know quite how to react.
I’m aware of the silence that’s fallen over the table, and that adds to the sense of weirdness. These women are so rarely silent – they’re always laughing and joking and sharing stories and winding each other up. Now, though, they’re all quiet, and I don’t need to look up to know that Laura and Cherie will also have tears in their eyes. Zoe won’t. She’s made of sterner stuff, at least on the outside.
I’m clinging onto Tom’s fingers, blinking away the annoying liquid pooling beneath my eyelids, and waiting for the inevitable moment when Cherie dives in to hug me to within an inch of my life, or Laura force-feeds me carrot cake. Rick Grimes, as though sensing the tension, rests his big teddy bear head on my knees and looks up at me with plaintive brown eyes.
We all swivel around to look; with perfect timing, my mother has arrived. I take in her outfit, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry – but as I’m already crying, I go with that to save time.
She’s wearing a bright red sweatshirt and black leggings. Over the leggings, she’s added a pair of equally bright red knickers. At first, I think she’s had a wardrobe malfunction – I lay her clothes out in order, to help her get dressed herself in the morning, but today it looks like she got the order mixed up and added pants after leggings. These things happen to the best of us.
It’s only when I notice the tea towel draped from her shoulders that I start to worry – that’s a new one.
Within seconds, she’s followed through the door by a harassed-looking Katie, and Saul. Saul, I see, is dressed exactly the same as my mum – he has tight pyjama trousers on, red pants over the top, and a tea towel wrapped around his little shoulders. I realise that it’s not actually a wardrobe malfunction at all – it’s deliberate, and they’re both dressed as superheroes. Both of them raise their arms into the air, and mock-fly into the room in the style of the man from Krypton.
They swoop and whoosh around the café, dodging tables and jumping over imaginary obstacles, completely and utterly happy with their game. We all watch, and you have to smile – they’re having so much fun, it’s infectious.
Katie, who walks timidly up to the table, looks as though she’s having a bit less fun. Katie is small, quiet, and shy, with dark blonde hair and a voice you sometimes struggle to hear. She’s probably lost it from all the time she spends saying ‘No, Saul – don’t do that!’ He’s a bit of a handful, and getting more so now he’s so mobile. Little boys have as much energy as a hurricane, and can be just as destructive, I’ve noticed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says to me, shaking her head. ‘She just really wanted to get out and about. I tried to distract her at home, but you know how agitated she can get when she sets her mind on something – I didn’t want to make it worse.’
‘It’s absolutely fine,’ I say, finally pulling my hand away from Tom’s – it seems to have accidentally stayed there – and standing up to talk to Katie. I know she won’t pull up a chair and join us. She’s still on the periphery of life here, and seems grateful yet guarded when she’s on the receiving end of the café’s community spirit.
‘Seriously,’ I add, when she looks unconvinced, ‘I’m not exactly slaving away, am I? I’m stuffing my face with cake and talking to my friends. And you did the right thing – if you’d tried to stop her, she’d have got more and more upset, and then I’d have had a really unsettled night with her. How’s it been today, anyway?’
‘Oh … good, really. She took her meds without any problems, and watched some old episodes of Wizards of Waverly Place.’
‘I like that one …’ I say, smiling. I refuse to be ashamed.
‘Me too!’ she confesses, hiding a giggle with her hands. ‘Then she did some gardening with Saul, they both enjoyed that. Scrambled eggs for lunch. And then … well, they turned into Superman, and decided they wanted to fly all the way here. Actually they asked for Metropolis, but there isn’t one of those within flying distance, so we decided the café would be a good second choice.’
‘It’s fine – really, it is,’ I say, as she’s still looking a bit sheepish. ‘How’s she been with … reality? Our version of it, at least.’
‘In and out. She remembered my name, but she thinks Saul is Angel today. It doesn’t do any harm – he’s used to being called a little devil more than an angel, so I think he quite likes it. They’re quite a tag team, those two.’
Laura has stood up and started clearing the table, and Zoe is making noises about heading back to the bookshop. Cherie’s watching my mum and Saul fly around the room, smiling at their antics, arms folded contentedly over her ample bosom. One of Cherie’s greatest skills is her ability to go with the flow, and see the funny side of pretty much everything.
My mum notices Zoe, and waves to her, flapping her tea towel cape as she does.
‘See you later, Auburn!’ she shouts. Zoe gives her a little salute, and leaves.
The party is breaking up now. Everyone heads off apart from my mum, Saul, and Rick Grimes, who is merrily running around the room with them, knocking over chairs and crashing into the table legs and letting out the occasional excited woof.
Tom calls him over, and for a minute the dog pauses, and gives him such a funny look – the kind kids give their parents when they tell them it’s time to leave the ball pool. His ears droop in disappointment, and he trots back to Tom’s side, panting after his exertions.
‘I have an idea,’ says Cherie, stretching her arms over her head. She’s so tall, her fingertips collide with the starfish mobile above her head. ‘Why don’t you and Tom take Rick for a proper walk, and Lynnie can stay here with us? She seems happy enough – and if that changes, we can ask her for a yoga lesson. You know she’ll stay for that. I can run her home to you in an hour or so, and bring some leftovers for your dinner. What do you say?’
Laura is hovering in the background listening, and I know that inside she’ll be plotting mini-breaks to Paris and romantic dinners for two. Nothing will have gone unnoticed, and they’ll be concocting a fairytale happy-ever-after ending for me and Tom by now. I understand that – and they were definitely right when it came to Becca and Sam, and Zoe and Cal.
But my life isn’t the stuff of fairytales. The curse can’t be broken with a kiss from a handsome prince, and I’m not going to wake up one day and find that my mother has miraculously been healed. There will be no magical apples, or fairy godmothers, or sumptuous balls in a pastel-coloured castle. And if someone came along with a glass Doc Marten boot, I wouldn’t even try it on. This is the way of things, and that’s okay – dreaming of more will only lead to tears before bedtime.
I’m about to say no, and find an excuse to leave with Supermum in tow, when Tom grabs hold of my hand and tugs me towards the door.
‘Great idea!’ he shouts to Cherie. ‘Thank you!’
I tear my hand from his and stand still with my hands on my hips, glaring up at him.
‘Don’t argue – Rick needs a walk. You need a break. And we can carry on making zombie apocalypse plans.’
‘I wasn’t going to argue,’ I reply, poking him in the chest with one finger. ‘I was going to get my bag. My phone’s in my bag, and you know that people who go out without their phones always suffer when society crumbles, don’t you?’
‘Oh. Right. Okay then …’
I give him a ‘you pillock’ look, and go behind the counter to get my stuff and hang up my glamorous work overall. I might not get a fairy-tale ending but right here, and right now, I can at least enjoy a walk in the fresh air on a beautiful day.
I glance back at my mum. Cherie has her settled with Saul, both of them drinking cranberry juice through a twisty straw. She lifts her gaze to mine, and gives me a sweet little smile and a tiny wave of her fingers. I don’t know if she understands what’s happening, or who I am – she definitely thought Zoe was Auburn, as she often does – but she seems content. Content and safe, which is good enough for me.
Just as I’m about to leave, I see her mouth two words at me. I screw my face up in confusion, unable to make them out. She tries again, but I hold my hands up to show I still don’t get it.
She sighs and puts her glass down, clearly exasperated at my lack of lip-reading ability. Then she yells, at the top of her voice: ‘Flange bracket!’
Chapter 10
At first, I’m thinking we’ll head down to the beach, but I can tell from Tom’s face that he’s nervous. It’s a lovely day in the school holidays, so the place is packed with kids and dogs and picnics. I know Rick Grimes loves people, but he might go all killer on the pooches. And I’ve seen first-hand what dam
age certain dogs – i.e. Laura’s black Labrador Midgebo – can do to unsuspecting picnics. It’s not pretty.
Instead, I suggest we go back to the cottage, where Rick can adore Bella and we can all relax. It’s not an especially long walk, about fifteen minutes, but it is very pretty. Part of it is across the coastal pathway, the sea shimmering beneath us like a blue-green bed sheet, and the rest is through Frank’s farm. The fields are lush and green, some planted with crops, others hosting big herds of black-and-white mooing cows.
We actually bump into Frank and Cal on the way, but they’re doing something important with a tractor, so we don’t stop for long. Just long enough for Tom to break the ice and tick two more people off his Budbury hit list, and for Frank to tell me casually that he ‘lent my mother a pair of skivvies’ this morning. Best not to think about that one too hard.
It’s a lovely stroll, the sun warming my skin, the birdsong lifting my spirits, and the exercise helping to work off all that cake. I clamp down on a teeny, tiny part of me that feels guilty about this – about abandoning my mum and recklessly running off into the distance with a strange man and a dog that looks like a teddy bear.
I clamp down on it because I know I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. She’s happy enough, and I am a human being too. I exist, even though it sometimes doesn’t feel like there’s enough of me to go around. Besides, she’d be horrified at the thought of me seeing her like that – like a burden.
Rick starts to get excited as soon as we reach the pathway that leads up to the cottage, and I tell Tom to let him off the lead. I see Bella peeking through the window watching us approach, but by the time we make it inside, she’s curled up on her dog bed. Rick gallops over and starts nuzzling her, his fat tail thumping on the parquet.
‘Shall we sit in the garden?’ I ask, as Tom wanders around the kitchen staring at random things. Pictures on the walls, Mum’s collection of weird CDs, the potted plants in the windowsill, the big-print calendar. He runs his fingers casually over the scarred wooden surface of the table, as though he’s never encountered such a thing before, a look of fascination on his face.
Sunshine at the Comfort Food Café Page 9