Auburn is moving things along with the pharmacy and seems excited about it. She hasn’t quite recovered from the night Mum had her accident, and I think is possibly even more affected by it than me. It seems to have knocked her confidence completely – I’d already made a vow to myself that I wouldn’t be leaving Mum alone with her anytime soon, and she is totally on board with that. She doesn’t want to be left alone with her – it’s like she doesn’t trust herself any more.
I suppose it will all take time to settle down, and maybe we’ll find our balance again in the future – but with Alzheimer’s, it’s hard to anticipate a time when there will be any balance at all.
Van is making himself useful in any number of ways – he’s taken over the garden and veggie patch completely, installed a rain butt and several bird feeders, and has been doing jobs around the cottage that I hadn’t even noticed needing doing, like fixing leaky taps and oiling gate posts and putting new coat hooks up so Mum can see all her jackets without having to root through them all to find the one that takes her fancy.
I think it’s his way of contributing to a situation that still makes him deeply uneasy. Of all of us, he seems the most disturbed when Mum has a bad episode. Again, it will take time – although I’m not sure how much of that we have.
I heard him today, out in the garden, on his phone. The kitchen window was open and he didn’t know he was being listened to. He was talking to the airline about his ticket to Tanzania, so I have the feeling he might be leaving us sooner rather than later. I walked away as soon as I heard him – that’s his business, and I’ve tried hard not to get used to having him around anyway. I need to accept his help while he’s here, but not become dependent on it.
He’s at the café tonight, along with Mum and Auburn, and everyone else who is about to graduate from Zelda and Mateo’s Strictly masterclass. The three of them are set up at a table in the corner, along with Katie and Saul. Saul has clambered up onto Van’s lap, and seems determined to stay there. Van, who I don’t ever remember being especially patient with kids younger than him – by which I mean me – has obviously changed. His years living abroad, and working in a school, have left him softer, more responsive.
I’ve been helping Laura and Cherie set up the refreshments, and in all honesty can’t wait to get the night over with. Mainly because of Tom.
I haven’t seen him alone since the day he visited me at the cottage. Life has been both stupidly busy and stupidly tedious at the same time. I’ve done a couple of shifts at the café, with Mum there, and a few small cleaning jobs that she’s come along to as well. She’s not wanted to go back to the day centre yet, and I’m not going to push her – hopefully she will at some point.
He’s called into the café a few times, or met Matt there for dog training sessions. There was a breakthrough with Rick Grimes when they finally exposed him to Midgebo, and even a bouncy black lab didn’t push him into throat-tearing mode. We all watched over the fence by the field as Matt took the younger dog in, on a lead and well-controlled, and introduced him to Rick.
Rick clearly wasn’t overjoyed with the whole experience – but he remained in sit position, Tom’s hand on his head to reassure him, and managed to at least ignore Midgebo. No reaction at all is obviously much better than a reaction that involves bloodshed, and Tom was delighted. He even hugged Matt, which both of them regretted about one second in.
Other than these communal encounters, I’ve simply not seen him. He’s called around at the cottage a couple of times, but I’ve always been with Mum or Van or Auburn, and we’ve not had the opportunity to talk properly at all. The way my mood has been, that’s probably for the best.
I just feel like so much of the joy has been knocked out of me right now, and I can’t find a way to get it back. The easy banter we used to share feels more strained; the casual touches that used to thrill me now make me feel awkward; the intimacy and closeness that once brought me to life now terrify me.
As seems to be my mantra these days, it’s going to take time – but for now, I can’t deal with anything more than my home life and my work. I hope that one day, I’ll be able to look back on my time with Tom, and smile. Be able to feel my heart soar like it did that night. To remember it in all its glory, and revel in it.
But for now, none of that is happening – because every time I do let my mind drift in that dangerous direction, it automatically fast forwards through time, to finding my mum.
I don’t know when – or even if – I’ll feel differently, and I certainly don’t expect Tom to hang around like a devoted puppy, waiting for that mythical time to come. I don’t know what I expect from him, and that might be why I feel so tense and nervous the minute I see him slip through the café doors.
The room is packed, and Zelda has set up salsa music. I see my mum get up and do a few moves by her table – which is impressive given the size of her mighty boot.
Tom, as usual, sneaks in as though he’s hoping nobody notices him – which is silly when you consider the fact that he’s easily the tallest person in the room. I see him slink off to the side, and pretend he’s interested in cupcakes, when actually he’s just trying to be inconspicuous.
I see him cast his eyes around the room, and know he’s looking for me, and my heart breaks a little for him. I wave, and head in his direction – I might be confused about our relationship, but I’m not made of stone.
‘Yo,’ I say, grinning at him. ‘Salsa tonight. Got those snake hips ready?’
‘My snake hips were born ready,’ he replies. ‘Ready to dance extremely badly. I see your mum’s giving it a good shake, despite a fractured ankle.’
I glance over at her, and have to smile. She’s doing the steps with one foot, the other planted steady, swivelling her body in time to the music. Van is jigging Saul up and down on his lap, and I can see them both giggling.
‘Yeah, well,’ I say, turning back to him. ‘She always did have moves like Jagger. How have you been? I’m sorry I’ve been so … busy.’
He shakes his head, dismissing it, but I know he’s pretending. I know he must be confused, and hurt, trying to understand it all. Everything changed so quickly, both our heads are still spinning.
‘That’s okay. I’ve been busy too. Moving on with the work at Briarwood, getting the place ready for Edie’s party, planning world domination. The usual stuff. Are you all ready for the event of the decade?’
We’re making small talk, and it sucks. This man means so much more to me than small talk – but it feels like all I can give him at the moment.
‘Oh yes. The dresses are made. Anton has a big ribbon tied around his neck. Mum loved her necklace, by the way – she’s barely taken it off. It goes perfectly with the frock, so if she does a runner during the party, she won’t get far.’
He nods, then looks over at her again, and smiles.
‘That’s good. I want her to be safe. And I want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you? I want you to be happy with me, but … well, if not, I’m a big boy. Don’t beat yourself up about all of this. You’re carrying enough of a load at the moment without adding me to the list. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll try to make it happen.’
Just like that, he leaps out of small talk and into big talk. Big talk that isn’t going to make either of us feel like getting our salsa on.
I reach out, stroke his arm, and wait until he looks back at me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘For everything. And in all honesty I don’t know what I need. For someone to find a cure for Alzheimer’s. For world peace. For someone to stop Mateo doing a bump and grind with Edie. I don’t know. Tom, I don’t regret anything that happened between us, I don’t want you to think that – but for now, I think I just need a friend. Do you think you can manage that, or is too much to ask?’
I bite my lip as I wait for him to respond. I would totally get it if he decides it is, and walks right out the door.
Instead
, he gives me a quick hug, and replies: ‘A friend … well, I’ve not got much experience of that kind of thing, but I’ve seen examples on TV. I’ll give it my best shot – as long as you let me be Joey.’
‘I think,’ I say, laughing, ‘that you’re all three of them – geeky like Ross, funny like Chandler, and sexy like Joey.’
He swaggers away, gives me a thumbs up, and drawls, ‘How you doin’?’ as he disappears into a mass of uncoordinated Latin kings and queens.
I know he doesn’t mean it. He couldn’t quite hide that brief glimmer of heart-wrenching pain when I dropped the ‘F’ word on him. But he’s trying – he’s faking it, just for me, and I love him even more for it.
Chapter 35
On the day of Edie’s party, the weather breaks again. The sunshine decides it’s time for a rest, and tag teams rain in instead.
It’s been falling in a steady drizzle all day, and ups its game to official Met Office ‘bucketing it down’ status by 8 p.m., when the party is due to begin.
It’s added some logistical problems to the whole event, with more people driving, but Cherie has got around this by hiring a coach and driver to ferry people back and forth. I’ve driven us, in Auburn’s car, after much faffing around and unusually high levels of girl-dom in the cottage.
The dresses have turned out well, if I do say so myself. All three of us are wearing the same design, as we have similar builds – simple satin sheath dresses with thin straps. Mum is in a beautiful dove grey that makes her eyes shine and is perfectly complemented by her secret spy tracker pendant.
Auburn looks amazing in deep green, her hair shining and loose, flowing over her back, wearing killer heels that make her as tall as Van. If not for the chewed nails she could pass for a retired supermodel.
Mine is black, because it clashes brilliantly with the neon pink hair and the matching boots. I have some black fishnets on, and have a full face of make-up, and I look okay. Which is good, because I’m feeling pretty shitty.
I’ve not seen Tom since that night in the café, and I miss him. I’ve tried analysing all of this, and making lists, and writing about it in my notepad, but it’s that simple – I miss him. He brought something to my life that it’s poorer without, and I don’t just mean spectacular sex. I miss the chats peppered with geek references; I miss having someone to be myself with; I miss the sense of comfort and security I got when I was around him – the sense that no matter how bad things got, I’d always be able to slip my hand into his, and feel better.
And – let’s be honest – I also miss the spectacular sex. It’s all very sad, and blue, and miserable, and other words that I don’t want to be associated with a party.
I pretended I was okay while we all got ready, and Van – handsome in a tux he borrowed from Frank, one with a distinct Seventies air with its wide lapels – set up the camera on a timer to take a group shot of us before we left.
‘What a handsome bunch,’ Mum said, as we all froze, like those families you see in sepia prints from a hundred years ago. ‘Beautiful inside and out.’
I’d topped up Bella’s water bowl, and left the TV on for her. She doesn’t mind being left for a few hours, but I always feel bad, and assume the voices will give her some company. This is undoubtedly silly, as Bella Swan is very self-sufficient – but to make myself feel better, tonight she can watch Animal Planet.
We arrive at Briarwood a little early, so we can deposit Anton du Beke in the hallway, where he will be greeting the birthday girl in person. He spent the journey lying over Van and Auburn’s laps in the back seat, and seemed perfectly happy with that.
By the time we pull up outside the house, the coach, along with several cars and jeeps, is already there – Cal and Matt have been on Big Man Furniture Moving Duty, and Laura and Cherie have been setting up all the catering.
Lizzie and Martha and Josh and Nate have been employed as waiting staff, and are all looking splendidly smart in black and white uniforms. Both the girls are wearing tuxedo-style outfits as well, with their hair slicked back in the style of a Fred Astaire film – perfect for the occasion.
Their job is to keep everyone’s glasses topped up, and make sure nobody chokes on a chicken wing. Lizzie seems relaxed and happy, prowling around the outside of the house, taking photos on her phone – I’m assuming she’s smoothed over her worries about Josh and Martha leaving, or at least managed to ignore them.
Briarwood itself looks spectacular. Tom has rigged up some projectors in the gardens, which are casting ever-moving spotlights over the front of the building, like the opening credits of a 20th Century Fox movie. The fountain has been dressed up with fairy lights in rainbow colours, and matching lights have been draped over the surrounding bushes and shrubs. The fact that it’s wet just seems to make it look even more magical, the bright glimmers cutting through the darkness and the rain.
Inside, I see, as we all traipse through, is even better. The pots of paint and discarded tools and dust-sheets are gone, and although the side of the building with the old cloakrooms is closed off, the rest of it looks awesome.
Mr and Mrs F’s old living quarters have been given a quick lick of paint, and completely emptied out. Now, the rooms are filled with trestle tables covered in damask cloths, heaving with every imaginable kind of party food – mini pies, vol-au-vents, platters of smoked salmon slivers, a whole roasted ham spiked with cloves, home-made Scotch eggs with piccalilli dip, skewers of tender seasoned pork, tiny glasses filled with rich chocolate mousse, dainty little marzipan tarts, a huge chocolate fountain surrounded by chopped strawberries and marshmallows and brazil nuts.
Another table is laden with drinks, and even ice buckets filled with bottles of bubbly and white wine. There’s a whole selection of cider from Joe’s cave, spirits and mixers, every kind of juice, and a small pile of Guinness cans that must be for Matt. One table has been set up as a cocktail bar, which Becca has promised to man with help from Lizzie. The teenagers are here, filling up flutes with champagne, arranging them on silver trays so they can circulate among the guests with a welcome drink.
Edie’s birthday cake – made by Laura of course – is lush. It spells out her name in giant sponge letters, coated in chocolate ganache, with tiny icing birthday wishes all over it. She’s been bagging each of us in the café, getting us to pipe our own message on there, all week. I snap a quick picture of it on my phone – it’s a work of art, and a tribute to Edie’s much-loved presence in the village. It seems a shame to even eat it.
I realise as I gape at it that I’ve not eaten since breakfast – being girly takes way too much time – and barely restrain myself from diving right in.
The others drag me away, and into the ballroom. We all pause in the doorway, and look around, eyes wide. The only word I have for it is ‘wow’. The chandeliers are lit, sparkling over the whole room, and the walls have been stripped and painted in one of those quiet, tasteful tones you see in National Trust properties. Tom has somehow managed to set up glitter balls, just like on Strictly, dangling from the ceiling, spinning and shimmering in the low light, casting dancing shapes on the polished floorboards.
A few tables and chairs have been scattered around the edges of the room, so people can rest between dances, and the love seat in the bay window has been set up as Edie’s own personal space. It’s filled with cushions and a sparkly sequinned blanket and even a footstool. The banner overhead pronounces: ‘Happy Birthday Edie – you get a 10 from us!’ in colourful letters.
I smile as I imagine Edie sitting there – the Queen of the Dance – and decide that this is the perfect place for Anton. I call Van over, and he sets him up, looking lovely in his top hat and tails, waiting for his 92-year-old date.
All of the café crowd are already here, dressed to the nines in fancy frocks and suits, dashing around making sure everything is as perfect as it can be in advance of the Queen’s arrival. Laura is wearing a blue dress that shows so much cleavage she keeps staring down at it and hoisting the top hal
f back up, her hair pinned and curls cascading around her neck like a curvy Jane Austen heroine. Cherie is magnificent in a vintage ‘70s frock covered in sunflowers, and Zoe has gone with the teenagers, and opted for a dinner suit instead.
The menfolk are looking approximately two billion times smarter than they usually do, and Frank is especially dashing, his silver hair Bryll-creamed into place. He’s such a vibrant man that it’s easy to forget how old he is – and he fits these clothes, and this scene, in a way that seems to come naturally to him.
Edie’s nieces and nephews and extended family are here, as is pretty much the whole of the rest of the village, as well as some of her former colleagues from the library and her friends from the Community Centre. The table next to her throne is already heaving with gift bags and brightly wrapped presents. How absolutely brilliant to be as old as Edie, and have this many friends. It’s enough to make a girl feel emotional.
I pat Anton on the cheek, pull myself together, and ask if there’s anything I can do to help. Cherie pauses, thinks, and passes me her phone.
‘You can be on look-out duty,’ she says, pointing outside. ‘Becca’s bringing Edie. Little Edie’s staying at home, Katie’s babysitting – she chickened out, despite being the best dancer in Budbury. Says she’d rather stay in with Saul and the baby. Anyway, they should be here soon. She’s going to text us when they’re five minutes away so we can get ready.’
I nod, and take the phone, suddenly nervous in case I miss the code word. Not that there is a code word. No, hang on, this is Becca we’re talking about. There will be a code word.
Sunshine at the Comfort Food Café Page 26