Your Red Always

by Leeann Whitaker

  Aroma comes into sight. The outside has a new green canopy above a seating area, with mosaic table tops, and chrome chairs. There’s a brand new sign. A scrolled white neon lit Aroma, with a steaming cup underneath. It’s very professional looking. Like some swanky café on Bond Street.

  I open the newly painted door to hear the same bell overhead. All the walls have been papered in a cream striped paper. There’s a reading area at the back with a tall mahogany bookshelf, filled with books and newspapers. I like it. It’s cosy.

  Near the reading area, there is a snug couch and big chair covered in a brown tartan. Also an internet area, with two top of the range dell laptops for customers to use. The counter is still in the same spot, facing the door. And the new equipment behind, consists of four machines with a variety of different beans in large glass grinders. Each one has different levers and switches. My faithful stainless steel giant has now been replaced.

  I shimmy by several customers waiting to be served, and open the hatch. Shell gives change to a lady in a big woolly as I hang up my coat, and study the compact coffeemakers. Each one is labelled, which is good. But I’m still unsure about what nobs to twist to add foam, cream, and sweetener.

  “Shell.” I frown. “Do you want to give me a demo before you leave?” She’s in such a rush. She has her coat on and is nearing the door already.

  “It’s easy, everything is labelled. Just push the green switch and it pours just the right amount in each cup. Foam is the yellow,” she yells. “Racheal’s in at four, so you only have an hour to cover.” She looks at her watch. “Oh, and your new uniform is under the counter.”

  I take a sneak peek at the clear plastic bag containing my new attire. Hmm, brown, and not the most flattering shade. The bell sounds. My head shoots up to see Shell is halfway outside.

  “What about the filters,” I call after her. “Have they been changed?”

  “They don’t need one,” she shrugs. “Just don’t use spout four for foam, it’s broken. See you after the holidays.” She’s gone.

  Okay, the whole point of a newer model is to make it easier. Let’s give it a whirl. I approach the cash register, all smiles, with my pleased to meet you face displayed. A girl waits, chewing gum like a grazing cow. She’s only young; I’d say seventeen. She looks at the menu and sighs a, ‘I can’t be bothered to talk breath.’

  “I’ll have a latte, one pump of cream,” she orders, with no please or thank you.

  “In or out?”

  “Out.” Her eyes spin rudely.

  I turn and pull a card cup from the stack. As I approach the machines I study, so I don’t waste time. I set the cup down onto the spill tray, while hovering my finger over the buttons. Got it. I flick the green button, and pull down once on the cream lever, successfully making my first coffee.

  I’ve served a total of nine customers. It’s been much busier than I’m used to. And now, I’m wiping down the counters, making sure it’s clean for when Racheal starts her shift. I’m kind of glad I’ve worked now. It’s took my mind off him. He’s not been up in there for nearly half an hour, which is good progress to say he’s usually swimming my thoughts every two minutes.

  I check my phone while it’s quiet. No calls, or messages. I place it back in my bag, when the bell chimes above the door. Crap. It’s Nathan in his grey duffle coat, with a black scarf wrapped across his chin. Last time I saw him, I chose to get in Adrien’s car, so this is going to be difficult. I blow out.

  “Now, if I’m not mistaken, you’re not happy to see me,” he says, warming his hands with his breath.

  “The usual?” I ask, knowing he’s partial to a cappuccino, extra cream with sprinkles.

  “Do you know what, I think I might try something a little different.” Oh great, he’s drawing this out on purpose. “How about a spicy hot choc… and why don’t you get yourself one, might warm-up your icy temperament.”

  “I’m fine thanks.”

  I look at the machines. I’ve not made a single one of these today, and it’s taking me a few moments to find the right beans. I spot them, and pop the cup on the tray.

  “Anyway, heard Mr Prick took you away for a romantic trip… how did that go?”

  I hiss, “Idiot,” under my breath.

  He’s being such a jerk. Though, he’s not to know the whole thing ended in disaster, and my heart is in bits over it. I inhale and concentrate on the task at hand.

  “Oh, went well then,” he says, smirking.

  I pull down the lever. The machine suddenly starts to make loud popping noises then erupts, splattering my arm with boiling froth. Shit. That’s it. I was fine until he came in.

  “Bloody hell Liz.” Nathan rushes to my aid.

  He switches off the spitting machine cautiously, and turns on the cold faucet beneath the counter. I’m flustered with annoyance and my eyes glaze over. The last thing I need is to cry in front of him.

  He pulls my arm under the freezing water, while wetting a towel at the same time.

  “Shit… where there’s blame there’s a claim,” he jokes.

  I can’t pretend to be okay any longer. I sniff as the tears leak out. The suffering I’ve been bottling up all week comes out of me like Mentos in soda. Similar to that broken machine. I’ll explode if the right nerve is touched.

  “Liz, what is it?” He turns off the tap, just as Racheal comes in to start of her shift.

  I can’t speak, I know if I do I’ll weep out for all to hear. Nathan grabs my bag and coat, and takes me to the back end of the counter to check my arm.

  “Racheal,” he says. “Don’t use that.” He points to the beans in machine four. “Death trap.”

  He turns back to me and takes the cold towel off my arm. There’s a surface burn the size of fifty pence piece. It stings, but it isn’t as painful as this god awful emptiness inside of me.

  “Come on, trip to A and E for you.” He holds the hatch open, carrying my coat and bag.

  “Please Nathan… it’s nothing,” I grumble, wiping my cheek.

  “It needs to be checked out,” he insists. “You up to date with your tetanus?”

  “Of course I am.” He’s overreacting; it’s just a small superficial burn. “Nathan, I’m fine.”

  “No you’re not. You’re going to sit down and talk to me,” he says. “Racheal, two lattes… bring them over please.” He walks over to the tartan couch and pesters me to follow.

  God. He’s so pushy. Always has this need to make things better using wisecracks and jokes. I know he means well. I know he only cares. But I don’t want to tell him about Killiecrankie. I won’t.

  He sits down on the sofa as Racheal moves by me with our coffees. I drop down into the chair opposite, slouching right back.

  “I’m your friend right, and you can talk to me about anything, you know that.” He’s not going to stop is he? “I’m a guy, and I know how they work.”

  “Nathan, shut up now. You really don’t need to do this. Just… just drink your coffee.”

  “No, hear me out,” he says. “Since you and I… well, you know.” He blinks slow and sly. “You’ve kind of put men on the back burner.”

  “Nathan, are you saying that no one will ever compare to you?” I can’t help but laugh. “Because you’re very much mistaken there.” I’m still chuckling, and he doesn’t like it at all.

  “I’m just saying, by all means date, but don’t give all your eggs to Mr Prick.” He’s being very serious. “Hold some back and have fun. I work for men like Mr Prick and....”

  “Will you stop calling him that,” I snap, even though I shouldn’t really be defending him.

  “No, like I said, it’s stuck,” he huffs. “Men like him require a trophy type. Girls they can show-off. You’re a liberated young women Liz, with a brain. Don’t let guys like him take advantage of you.”

  “Stop now, you know I can look after myself.” He’s annoying the hell out of me.

  Adrien didn’t require me as a trophy. Though, I’m unsure
now what his requirements of me actually were. I would never be some bimbo on a man’s arm, do as I’m told, or get Botox when my skin starts sagging to keep up appearances. Not even for Adrien.

  “Well, just take heed of my wise words,” he smiles.

  I giggle and pick up my coffee. “Sure I will.” He’s made me laugh at least.

  “So tomorrow, the big day, eh.” He claps and rubs his hands together. “Do you want me to drive you home, or are you taking Beryl?”

  Last year I let Nathan drive me home on Christmas day. His dad lives in the same area, in a big converted barn a mile from my mum’s house. I will not put myself through that again. He was over the legal limit. Not by much, but hell, he would not shut up. He jabbered on and on about football, work, and went into great detail on what his new Audi could do.

  “I’m taking Beryl.”

  “Aw, come on, I hate driving home alone,” he sulks. “Christmas is a time for being with others.”

  “Nathan, I’m taking Beryl,” I state firmly.

  “Okay,” he hums. “Let me take you home now then.”

  “Fine,” I blow out. “I’ll let you do that for me.”

  He stands up and holds out his hand. “Santa is coming to town, and I’ve heard he’s into miserable waitresses.”

  “You really need to work on some new material, Nathan.”

  ***

  As soon as I walk through the door my phone goes off. I pout, tugging my coat over my tender arm. I delve into my bag and take out my mobile. God, it’s my mother. Get ready for the pre-Christmas timeline info Liz. Right now she’ll be in a flap, finishing off the decorations and dressing the dining table, in-between a chilled glass or two.

  “Mum,” I drone, resting the phone between my shoulder and cheek so I can pull off my boots.

  “Honey, I’m calling to tell you that your uncle Jim and Aunt Carol will be here for one, and I need you here early to help,” she orders. “You know what happen last year when Geoff was let loose in the kitchen.”

  Yes, it was fun spending hours trying to clean goose fat up from the kitchen floor. Geoff, morning alcohol, and roast potatoes, are not a good mix.

  “Okay Mum,” I sigh.

  “And why haven’t you called me,” she whines. “I’ve not heard from you in over two weeks. Are you seeing someone?”

  This is all I need. Now I’m going to have to lie to my own Mother. Who is by the way, a human lie detector. She’ll be waiting for how long it takes me to answer to pick up on any evidential clues.

  “No Mum,” I reply quickly.

  “Hmm, you can’t hide things from me sweetie. You know Mummy always knows.”

  “Mum,” I bark. “I’m not.”

  “Sure… Well you can tell me all about him tomorrow.”

  “Mum, I’ve got to go… Cate needs my help.” I’m lying again.

  “Okay, can’t wait to find out more,” she chirps.

  “Mum, bye.” I hang-up and fall deadweight onto the couch.

  Chapter 16: Crackers

  Cate begged me not to go this morning. Her mum arrived at 10pm last night, and spent her intoxicated time drinking, and leaving nasty messages for her dad. I feel bad for her, and if I had the choice I would rather stay. But we all have to cater to our families this one day a year. There’s no way out of it.

  I pull onto parliament square when Beryl begins sound sickly. She’s spluttering and there’s a smell, like burning rubber. It’s just typical this. As if this season couldn’t possibly throw anymore shit my way.

  I encourage her to get me home, vocally. She’s never broken down, not once in the whole three years Cate and I have shared her. And I’m in no mood to be calling the RAC to come to my rescue. Not on Christmas day of all days.

  I turn left onto Jersey road. A sound, like clanging nails in a tin is getting louder. And now, my damn phone is ringing. I know who it is without even looking. Mum, throwing a hissy fit, getting stressed in the kitchen. I answer through the Bluetooth on the steering wheel.

  “Honey, where are you?”

  “Mum, I’m driving.”

  “Well, how long are you going to be?”

  Jeez, give me a break. I swear I’m going to stop this car and find the nearest off-licence. I will drown my sorrows in the backseat for the rest of the day in hiding, if things don’t start to improve.

  “About ten minutes.”

  “What’s that noise, Lizzy?”

  “Nothing Mum. I’ve got to go.”

  “Merry Christmas… see you in ten then.” She hangs up.

  Smoke is beginning to billow out from the front of the hood, and now there’s a light flashing on the dash. God not now. I’m nearly there. I should get out in-case this flashing light means fire. But for the sake of a few measly minutes, I’m just going to have to brave it.

  I turn left onto Hanworth road, and come to a complete stop. Beryl has died on me, thankfully after exiting the roundabout. Small mercies I suppose. My mum’s house is only a stone’s throw away. But I can’t just leave the car here, there’s traffic.

  “Shitty thing.” I hit the steering wheel. “I hate you Beryl. If I thought I could rely on anything, it was you. You’re going to the scrapyard if you don’t damn well start.”

  I turn the key hard and all she does is spit, splutter, and smoke. I stoop over the wheel. God I give up.

  A car beeps and beeps behind me. The rage rises, my skin heats up, and my eyes bulge. I’ve had enough. I wallop the controls several times with the side of my fist, making my little pink troll swing violently.

  “You can’t just stop here,” a familiar voice yells.

  Shit, is that Nathan? I look up and it is. I bet he’s thinking: you should have took up my offer of a ride home.

  “Get out then,” he orders. “I bet you’ve not serviced her since you’ve had her have you?” He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that. “When was the last time you changed or checked the water and oil?”

  I shrug, crossing my arms in the cold wind. “I think Pete put some water in for Cate not so long back.”

  He laughs. “Women and cars; recipe for disaster.”

  He pops the hood and takes a look at the engine. He likes to think he can fix everything. It makes him feel all macho. He holds the dipstick up to the light, then runs his finger down it, tutting.

  “You have absolutely no oil Liz.” He blows out, nodding his head. “I’ll have to tow you. I have a rope in the boot.”

  In a sulk, I open his boot. I should have known it would be something as simple as having no oil. Maybe I should refresh on my car and driving skills.

  I hand him the rope. He clips one end to Beryl, and the other onto the bumper of his Audi.

  “Take you handbrake off and steer. Use you brakes,” he warns. “You go into the back of this, you’re in trouble.”

  Finally, we stop outside Mum’s house. I reluctantly glance up because I know what my vision is going to be inflicted with. God, she’s outdone her efforts from last year. There’s flashing fairy lights around every window and across the guttering. An awful tacky inflatable Santa waving in the wind next to the drive. And I hear it, the dreaded jingles. I suck in air as Nathan gets out, and unclips the rope.

  He knocks on my window. “Right, I’ve got to go. I have six missed calls and five messages,” he complains. “Dad’s getting more and more smashed in each one.”

  Mum bounces out of the front door like a spring chicken. She’s wearing the traditional Christmas jumper, the one Geoff gave her last year. It has Santa’s bum cheeks on show, stuck in a fireplace. Nathan can see it in my face, just how much I’m not looking forward to this, and laughs.

  “Oh Nathan… you’re looking all dapper,” she flirts. Clearly she’s been on the wine.

  I haven’t really noticed. But he does look well-groomed today, in his indigo jeans and roll-neck jumper.

  “For god sake Mum… please,” I grumble.

  “Oh come here you two, give me a squeeze.” She w
raps an elbow around each of us.

  I pull away and see Geoff. He hasn’t got his jumper on. Has he actually stood up to her this year? I smile and give him a quick hug, before Nathan shakes his hand.

  “Your car?” Geoff asks.

  “Long story,” I reply.

  “Look Nathan, I’ve spoken to your Father, and invited you all for drinks this evening,” Mum announces.

  Nathan side-glances at me. I don’t mean to do it. I’m scowling, and he now thinks I hate the idea. Perhaps I’m selfish, mean, and not in the spirit of things. I simply cannot lighten this frame of mind. And I don’t think any amount of alcohol, or company, will help.

  “Let’s just see how it goes eh?” He winks in a dejected way. “Have a wonderful day. Eat, drink, and be merry,” he says, getting into his car.

  I break away from Mum and dash across to the Audi. I tap on his window as he fights to turn his stereo down.

  “Fuckin piece of shit,” he huffs, looking up at me. “Liz, get yourself in, it’s freezing.”

  “Thanks for helping me out.”

  “Liz, shut your face and get inside will you,” he beams.

  I angle my head through his window and peck his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Okay… now go,” he nods, clipping himself him.

  I get that homily feeling as I close the front door. I could easily roam around in my PJs and slippers here. With messy hair, slouching around the house like I did in my teen years.

  Mum’s Christmas tree this year is the subtlest one yet, with one colour, red. But I finding it hard not to associate the ribbons with the silk rope Adrien bound me with. I exhale and place my bag before the coat stand.

  “Okay honey.” Mum holds out a small gift box. “Merry Christmas.”

  I smile, of course I’m expecting the worst. I untie the cream ribbon, and open the box. My eyes narrow as I pull out a set of gold handcuffs, and a do not disturb door sign, with two stick figures going at it like rabbits. I nod in shame as Geoff sniggers over her shoulder.

  “You think that’s bad, wait till you see what she got me,” he says, taking a swig of his apple cider.