Saul is completely enraptured as a lady with a pink beehive, wearing a Fifties style pencil skirt and a pink polka-dot blouse, starts to explain that in this episode, we’ll be able to discover ‘everything you ever wanted to know about the bouffant and the bob’. I can’t say that I ever wanted to know very much about either, but Saul is fascinated by the flashed up pictures of Jackie Kennedy and Grace Kelly and other Fifties stars, along with the voiceover that promises that within the next fifteen minutes, you’ll learn all the secrets to recreating your own Hollywood look.
It does, of course, explain a lot – including my frequent makeovers. It also, thankfully, looks like it’s going to keep Saul thoroughly entertained. I’m guessing he’s been a regular viewer with Edie, all those times he’s been sitting with her in the café.
‘Mummy,’ he says, without even taking his eyes from the screen, ‘these are really nice looks. Maybe I can do one before Van comes to have tea with us …’
Laura’s eyes widen, and she makes a ‘oooh’ noise as she grins at me. Edie follows up with a speculative ‘Oh my!’ I try not to take the bait, but can’t help a very small smile.
It’s been four days since Van and I kissed on the beach. Four very busy days – the usual stuff, like work and college and Saul, but also sorting Mum out in her new temporary abode, helping Sam with Little Edie while Becca’s been doing shifts at the hospital, and spending a few hours with Lynnie when all three of the siblings were otherwise occupied.
Busy is good. Busy distracts me from worrying about things, like our impending trip to Bristol to meet Jason and Jo. It distracts me from the fact that my dad is AWOL, getting all mindful in the Canary Islands. It distracts me from the fact that my mum is now at the café, which makes it no longer a place of refuge. It distracts me from the fact that Christmas is almost here, and I don’t feel quite ready for it.
It also distracts me from my main distraction – which is reliving that one kiss, over and over again. That wouldn’t be a problem if not for the fact that even thinking about it makes me go all wobbly and weird, like I suddenly start seeing the world through a soft focus lens. I try and keep a lid on it as I go about my daily business, but I usually find my mind drifting in his direction as I lie in bed at night. Which, you know, leads to some interesting dreams.
If you’d asked me how I’d feel before it happened, I’d have expected the kiss to have made things more complicated. To be concerned about it, and what it might mean, and how it might affect our future.
In reality, something quite strange has happened – all I actually feel about it is happy. And excited. And curious as to how it would feel to do it again. To kiss him, and touch him, and lose myself in him. Basically, I think I’ve probably turned into a sex maniac, and that’s somehow managed to override the worries about what could go wrong. And all it took was one kiss. Who’d have thought it? Not me.
‘It’s nothing to raise your eyebrows at, ladies,’ I say, hoping none of my newfound lustiness shows in my face. ‘Just a friend, coming round for some dinner.’
‘He’s bringing us a Christmas tree,’ pipes up Saul, eyes still glued to the screen, a slight lisp on the ‘r’ of his words that makes him sound super-cute.
He’s sounding less babyish every day now, apart from the brilliant way he gets words mixed up – the radiators are the ‘radios’, yellow is sometimes still ‘lellow’, hedgehogs are ‘spikely’, a combo of spiky and prickly. The rolled ‘r’ only comes when he’s distracted or sleepy, like now. I can’t believe he’ll be going to school next year, my not-so-tiny baby boy.
‘Oh! How lovely!’ gushes Laura in response to Saul’s comment, finally bringing herself to perch on the end of Edie’s bed. ‘Matt brought me a tree the first Christmas we were together … it was so macho I almost melted into a puddle! Lizzie said I was betraying the spirit of Emmeline Pankhurst by being such a pushover!’
‘We’re not together,’ I reply hastily, hoping that Saul isn’t listening any more.
Edie and Laura share knowing looks, and Edie adds: ‘You just tell yourself whatever makes you happy, dear. But I’m betting the Budbury magic has worked its charm again. Give it time – you might be in the same state as Laura in a few years!’
Saul, obviously, is listening. He looks at me, and then looks at Laura, frowning in confusion.
‘You mean she might have curly hair?’ he asks innocently.
‘That’s exactly what I mean, young man,’ replies Edie seriously. ‘Now, ladies … fill me in on all the gossip! I don’t want to lose touch with the real world, like some of the old dears in here …’
As Edie herself is 92, I’m slightly flummoxed by what her idea of an ‘old dear’ is, but Laura and I oblige. We stay for another half hour, telling her all about the party, and updating her on Tinkerbell’s bird-hunting missions, telling her about my mum being added to the café staff, and describing the new range of Christmas-themed puddings that Laura’s put on the menu.
Edie sounds excited about that, and declares that ‘my fiancé’ will love it too. I know she’s asked Becca to keep an eye on her fiancé while she’s been gone, and Becca, bless her, has actually gone and stood in Edie’s empty house. She said it was quite spooky, and she was half expecting the ghost of the long-gone Bert to wander in from the kitchen.
By the time we leave, Saul is yawning, and so is Edie. He gives her another full-body hug, and we make our way out of the hospital.
‘Phew,’ says Laura, once we’re safely back in her car and Saul’s installed in his car seat. ‘I actually feel like I can breathe again. She looks great, doesn’t she? I’m glad we came – but I’m relieved to be out of there. I’m dreading the whole birth thing, you know? I was trying to persuade them to let me have the babies at home, but apparently that’s a no-go, because it’s twins and because I’m so … geriatric!’
She hisses the last word with about as much enthusiasm as any woman would, as she starts the car engine and navigates us out of the car park.
‘Well, obviously you’re not geriatric in the real world, Laura. It’s just one of those terms medical people sometimes use without thinking it through. And twins can be more complicated, so I have to agree that maybe you’d be better off in hospital … anyway. Maybe it’ll change the way you feel about them.’
‘What?’ she scoffs. ‘Hours of agony followed by an emergency C-section? I can’t imagine that’s going to be a barrel of laughs!’
‘No. Probably not – but there’s no guarantee it’ll happen like that. It’ll probably all go smoothly. And after it, however it happens, you’ll be a new mum. You’ll have two beautiful, healthy babies, and Matt will be a dad, and Lizzie and Nate will have little brothers or sisters, and it’ll be the start of a wonderful new adventure. I bet that’s worth a trip to hospital, isn’t it?’
She keeps her eyes on the road, but I see a slow smile creep over her face as she thinks about it.
‘You know what, Katie? That’s completely true. It will be worth it. And maybe I’ll replace my last hideous hospital experience with something so much nicer … new life, rather than losing someone I love.’
‘Exactly. It’s so exciting.’
‘Exciting, and a tiny bit terrifying … it always is, starting something new. Especially when you have kids to factor in. I can imagine that’s how you must be feeling, about … Van!’
She whispers the last word, presumably for Saul’s benefit – but she needn’t have bothered; he’s completely conked out behind us, head lolling on one side, chubby fists splayed at his sides. Like someone’s taken out the batteries.
‘We’re just friends,’ I insist, though I suspect the twitch in the side of my mouth might give me away.
‘You’d make a terrible poker player,’ she says, laughing. ‘But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Do you? Want to talk about it?’
She sounds so young and so curious and so hopeful that I’m almost tempted to crack. It would be a relief in some ways, to get it out
in the open – to gossip about it like a pair of teenagers, discussing the cute boy in the year above who always winks at us outside the PE hall.
‘No,’ I say, firmly – because I’m not a teenager any more, and I don’t even know what’s happening with Van myself – never mind enough to discuss with anyone else.
She makes a disappointed ‘hmmph’ sound, and we make the rest of the journey without touching on the subject again – for which I am truly grateful.
By the time we reach the village, the roads are quiet, the night’s frost already adding a diamanté sheen to the pavements. I see fairy lights glittering in Becca’s window, and the outline of a tree in Cal and Zoe’s house, and have to admit that it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.
Even more so when we spot Van, standing at the back of his truck, wrapped up in a body-warmer and a dark beanie hat, his gloved hands waving at us as we approach. Laura pulls up in her Picasso, but doesn’t get out – can’t say that I blame her.
She waves at Van, gives a beep of the horn, and then drives off in the direction of the Rockery. I wonder briefly how they’re going to sort their living arrangements when the twins arrive – at the moment Laura and her kids are in a three-bedroomed cottage called Hyacinth; Matt is in the biggest of the buildings, Black Rose. Maybe they’ll merge. Maybe they’ll keep it like it is. Maybe it’s none of my business.
I gather a sleepy Saul in my arms and cross the road, standing in front of Van and eyeing the contents of the back of the truck.
Saul briefly wakes up, grins at Van, and passes out again. He’s slobbering on my neck. One of those lovely motherhood moments.
‘Your truck is taking up half the pavement,’ I say, smiling to show I’m joking. ‘That’s very inconvenient for people with pushchairs, you know.’
‘I can only apologise,’ he replies, reaching out to swirl his fingers gently across Saul’s tufty hair. ‘But as the street is completely deserted I think we’ll get away with it. I’ll move it after I’ve unloaded; I didn’t fancy carrying this beast any further than I need to. Not that I’m not strong enough or anything, before you go doubting my manliness.’
I raise my eyebrows – that’s one thing I definitely don’t doubt – and stagger to the front door. This boy of mine is getting very heavy now. I manage to get the key into the door and kick it open, a complex manoeuvre that mothers soon get used to – juggling a child in one arm, doing something completely different with the other. I can make tea, load laundry, and put pizza in the oven, all with one hand.
Tinkerbell rushes to greet us in a flurry of ginger fluff, then suddenly seems to remember he’s a cat, and starts to play it cool instead. He winds around my ankles a few times, then heads off into the street to investigate his kingdom.
I carry Saul into the living room and lay him in the corner of the sofa. I hand him a cushion, and he hugs it to him, like I knew he would.
He’s awake, but still half asleep, if you know what I mean. On any other night I’d take him straight up to bed, but I know the chances of him sleeping through Van being here, and the Christmas tree arriving, are non-existent.
Besides, I wouldn’t want to deprive him of the chance to start the decorations. He’s far more aware of Christmas this year, and is at the age where he totally believes in all the magic – I know that won’t last forever, so I need to treasure it.
As ever, my brain does a complex analysis of when Saul last had a wee, and if he might need to go to the toilet – he’s at the stage where he’s definitely out of nappies, but still occasionally has an accident if he leaves it too late to ask, or is so engrossed in doing something exciting that he forgets. This can include, but is not limited to, watching cartoons, playing with his Crocodile Dentist game, eating Mr Freeze ice pops, applying my make-up, or reading The Gruffalo.
I remind myself he went just before we left the hospital, so all is good. I get him a beaker of watery juice from the kitchen, and he sits sucking on it, curled up in a ball with his cushion, still recovering from the trials and tribulations of being three.
I sit myself down on the armchair, and prepare to be entertained. I hear the clank of the truck gate being lowered, and some huffing and puffing as Van hoists the tree down. The huffing and puffing develops into a full-on swear as he attempts to get it up the front step and into the house. There’s a sudden pause, as he realises what he’s done, then he shouts: ‘Sorry for the language!’
‘Do you need any help?’ I shout back, kicking off my trainers and tucking my legs up beneath myself on the chair. I’m guessing he’ll say no.
‘Nope, I’m fine …’ he yells. ‘Or at least I will be, once I get this … flipping thing through the door!’
Eventually, he makes it, and emerges into the living room with the tree trunk over his shoulder, and the green pine-needle laden branches drooping all around him. His face peers out, like he’s in a jungle filming a wildlife video, and he grins in victory.
‘Where do you want it?’ he asks, trying to hide the fact that he’s slightly out of breath.
‘In the corner … or maybe by the window … oh, I really can’t make my mind up. Can we try it in a few places and see which looks best?’
He stares at me from behind the foliage, eyes narrowed, until I crack: ‘Just kidding. Over in the corner. Thank you.’
He nods, and carries the tree to the spot I point at. He’s already attached a kind of wooden disc at the bottom for it to stand up on, and he fluffs the branches out once it’s stable.
‘What do you think?’ he asks, standing back, wiping sweat from his forehead.
‘It’s not as big as I thought it would be …’ I say, actually delighted at that – I’d expected him to bring the biggest he could find, which would have been a mistake, as our house is only small.
‘I bet you say that to all the boys,’ he replies, laughing. ‘Have you no respect for the fragile male ego?’
‘Well, perhaps I should rephrase that. What I meant was, it’s not too big, and not too small, and not too bushy, and not too sparse. It’s perfect. It’s the kind of tree Goldilocks would have chosen – exactly right. Thank you. It’s really kind of you.’
He nods, once, and looks pleased, before noticing Saul curled up on the sofa, back asleep. I gently take the juice beaker from his hands and put it down on the table. He murmurs but doesn’t open his eyes.
‘What shall we do about the little man?’ he asks quietly. ‘Let him be, or wake him up with a party popper?’
‘Let him be for twenty minutes. We’ll wake him up to do the decorating in a bit. He’ll be cranky if he needs a nap, and it’ll give me time to start dinner, and you to … I don’t know. Whatever it is that fragile male egos need to do.’
‘In my case, move my truck so I don’t inconvenience any passing pushchairs. But before I do that, just nip into the hallway for a minute, I’ve got something for you.’
I tear my gaze away from admiring the tree, and tiptoe out of the living room door behind him. I’m still pondering how much tinsel we’re going to need when he takes hold of my waist, pushes me back against the wall, and kisses me. I use one foot to kick the door closed in case Saul wakes up, then wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back.
It’s another absolute powerhouse of a kiss, and definitely proves the first one on the beach wasn’t a fluke. I let my hands explore the bulk of his shoulders, the firm outline of his arms, drifting down to his side and slipping my fingers beneath his T-shirt. He’s pressed up hard against me, and the touch of his skin beneath my hands is completely intoxicating.
His lips move to the side of my neck, kissing their way down to my collarbone, and I groan as I feel his hands pull my hips even closer to his. I’m on the verge of losing what little self-control I have by this point, and am wondering how it would feel to wrap my legs around his waist and get even closer.
When Van puts his hands on the wall either side of my face and pushes away a few inches, my first thought is, please bring back the n
ice thing. The second is, pretty please bring back the nice thing. But my third, to be fair, is, my son is sleeping in the next room and could walk through at any minute.
Van takes in my disappointed expression, the flush I can feel creeping over my cheeks, and smiles. He leans his forehead forward so it touches mine, and says: ‘I didn’t want to stop either. I promise. Don’t look so crestfallen. But …’
‘Yeah. I know. But. I’m pretty sure we could tell Saul we were playing a game, but he’d just tell everyone else all about it next time we’re in the café. This is tricky, isn’t it? Not that I really know what this is.’
He nuzzles my neck for a few seconds before replying: ‘Me neither. But I like it. I like you. And I don’t want to rush it – it took me months to even persuade you to come to the pub. I know it’s complicated. I know you’ll want to take things slowly, and that’s fine with me.’
I drape my arms around his waist, and close the small gap he’s opened up between our bodies. I can feel that he’s still very, very interested in the physical aspects of this, and it makes me grin. It’s been a long time since I had that kind of effect on a man, and I can’t deny it feels good. Especially as I feel exactly the same.
I duck from beneath his arms and sit on the stairs, patting them to invite him to join me. He tugs his rumpled T-shirt into shape and sits by my side, one arm thrown across my shoulders.
‘Thing is,’ I say, laying my hand on his thigh and telling it to behave itself, ‘that at least part of this is very simple. The sex part. As in, I want to have sex. With you.’
He jolts very slightly, and I realise I’ve shocked him. To be honest, I’ve shocked myself as well.
A Gift from the Comfort Food Café Page 20