Too Late... I Love You

by Archer, Kiki

  “So our paths were destined to cross.”

  The squeaking noise that came from Connie’s voice box was mostly nervous fluster half articulated in an involuntary “Y-hah.”

  Maria smiled at the response. “So what did you do before you had Noah?”

  Connie dropped her eyes to the table, trying to pull herself together. “I was a business development manager,” she managed.

  “And you’d develop my business by lowering the prices and increasing the staff.”

  “No!” Connie looked up in earnest. “I’m sorry. I really do love this place.”

  Maria reached across the table and squeezed Connie’s hands. “I’m teasing you.”

  Connie couldn’t hide her embarrassment. She sat still, looking at everything but the woman opposite her, turning to her son the minute her fingers were free so she could play with his hair and frantically ruffle the blond mop, waiting until the ability to converse returned to her. She finally coughed and managed to glance back. “So your real name’s Mariano?”

  Maria was still smiling. “No, it’s worse than that. It’s Maria Mariano.”

  Connie connected with the intriguing brown eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Maria paused as the barista brought over their tray. “Thanks, Tony. Could we get some napkins as well please?”

  Connie eyed the huge selection and reached for her purse. “Wow, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

  “Don’t be silly, it’s on me,” she said, cutting the paninis and placing small chunks onto both children’s trays. “My father was Italian and my mother was English. They decided to raise me here but only on my father’s condition that I stayed true to my roots,” she laughed, “which is a bit of a joke really as we only ever went back to Italy twice and I can’t speak a word of the language.”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. My parents ran a bistro here in Shoreditch, just down the road in fact, with Dad’s sister Maddalena. Their relatives would come over and visit a lot, especially my dad’s brother Maurizio and their other sister Marcella. My dad was called Marti, and I think every single name in the Mariano clan for the past three generations has started with an M.” Maria looked at her daughter. “I broke tradition by calling her Alice.”

  Connie laughed loudly. “I love that.”

  Maria smiled at the guard that was starting to drop. “Anyway, the restaurant was passed on to me when my mum and dad died.”

  “Oh I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. They were old. One of those dying-within-weeks-of-each-other, broken heart type things. Well actually it was cancer for my mum, but anyway, these things happen.”

  Connie held her breath, mesmerised by this stranger’s ability to open up so quickly. “You have a bistro as well?”

  “No, I sold it and used the money to start Mariano’s. I tried to hand the bistro over to my aunt Maddalena because she’d worked there most of her life, but she didn’t want it. She helps out in here sometimes, but she’s mostly down at the Covent Garden store.”

  “There’s a Mariano’s in Covent Garden as well?”

  Maria nodded.

  “Wow. Do you franchise?”

  “Not at the moment, but that’s the end goal … or it was.” She tilted her head from side to side in indecision. “Maybe. But if I do I’ll be sure to call upon your business management skills.”

  Connie lifted an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t. I only worked for a year before having Noah.” She pointed at the plate with the buttered teacakes. “May I?”

  “Of course. We should have some toast on the way too.”

  The fruity aroma was wonderful and Connie inhaled deeply, relieved that she was easing into the chat. “Is there a lot of competition from the other big brands?” she asked, this time able to look directly at Maria.

  “Yes, but coffee’s one of the fastest growing businesses. There’s space in the market for all of us.” Maria bent and moved her long brown hair away from her face, pulling the silky length over her shoulder as she nuzzled her nose against her daughter’s cheek. “I’ve got Alice now and I think these three years away from work have made me look at life differently.”

  “Again, Mamma!”

  Maria repeated the nose tickle. “Yes lady, you’ve changed my life haven’t you?”

  Alice giggled. “Again!”

  “Noah do it!”

  Connie watched as her son threw his face against his new friend’s cheek. “Careful Noah.”

  Alice burst into fits of laughter. “Again, Noah! Again!”

  Connie smiled. “I know what you mean though. I can’t imagine my life without him. It’s as if nothing really meant anything before, as if nothing was really real.”

  Maria’s eyes were wide and the head nod was enthusiastic. “I know. It’s like we’re part of this secret group of people who’ve finally figured out what life’s truly about.”

  Connie paused. “You’d really go that far?”

  The endearing laugh sounded loudly. “I would. I’m serious. I know it sounds clichéd but they complete your life. They really do.”

  Connie saw the spark in the brown eyes and smiled. “Why don’t some people get it? And by the way I love your laugh.”

  “You mean husbands and partners? And thank you, you’re the cause of it.”

  Connie dropped her gaze to the table and played with the handle of her mug, trying desperately hard not to let her smile show too much. “Even some friends. So quick to get back to work. So quick to find time for themselves. So quick to palm their kids off to any Tom, Dick or Harry who’ll have them.”

  “Like me when I went to the counter?” The lips turned wickedly at the corners. “You need to work on your whisper-voice.”

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m extreme. Yes, he’s my life, but that means I literally have no life at all. I don’t trust anyone, not even my mother and she’s great with him. Ignore me. It’s Ryan, he brings out my inner bitch.”

  Maria laughed. “So, who is Ryan?”

  “Well he’s not my partner.”

  “I gathered as much.”

  “Did you? Most people don’t spot it.” She picked up her mocha and took a slow sip, realising she was enjoying the fun conversation.

  “The diamond earrings gave it away.”

  Connie laughed. “Not the impeccable grooming or designer attire?”

  “Nope, the earrings.”

  “Bless him. He’s been my best friend ever since school. He tries to spend as much time with us as possible.”

  “You and Noah?”

  Connie nodded.

  “No children of his own?”

  “I thought you knew he was gay?”

  Maria lifted her hands with indifference. “That doesn’t matter these days.”

  “Ryan with kids? Ha, the thought!”

  “Because he’s gay?”

  Connie paused, unsure if she sensed a slight edge. “No, because…” She glanced down at Maria’s hand confirming the absence of rings.

  Maria followed her stare. “Yes, I’m single … and I’m a lesbian. I’m a single lesbian mother.”

  Connie’s laugh was one of nervous anxiety. “Oh great! That’s great! That’s really great!”

  “That I’m single? Or that I’m lesbian?”

  Connie could sense the brown eyes pinning her to her seat. “I’ve just fallen back into that hole of mine, haven’t I?”

  Maria stayed quiet.

  Connie took a deep breath. She shook her head at herself and leaned forward. “I am so sorry.”

  “I’m teasing you! It’s fine! Are you always so anxious?”

  Connie coughed. “Oh! So you’re not…”

  “Oh yes, I’m very much a single lesbian mother,” Maria stroked her daughter’s cheeks, “and I’m very proud of all of that.”

  Connie couldn’t help it, the smile was infectious. “That’s great!”

  “Who are you convincing? Me, or you?”

&
nbsp; “No, seriously, it’s great.” She looked at the woman carefully. “I just don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you before.”

  Maria reached across the table and tapped Connie’s hand. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone quite like you either.”

  Chapter Six

  Connie was sitting at the top of the stairs in her small terraced house singing the same song she’d sung every night for the past three years: There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza, there’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza a hole. She had no clue why that had been her song of choice all those nights ago when she’d first stepped onto the never-ending parental roundabout of night-time soothing, but it was, so she sang it, religiously. Tonight’s version, however, was quick and upbeat, and instead of sharpening the stone with a knife Henry went straight on to fetching more water. Connie knew she’d be caught out if Noah was awake, but if he wasn’t then she’d save a good five minutes and be able to dash down to her cupboard more quickly. Her fingers had been itching all afternoon, desperate to type out their story. Bonnie Blythe was going to meet someone, in the supermarket, as she strolled around with the other woman’s trolley. Connie thought back to her afternoon at Mariano’s. It was true; you could meet someone interesting and unexpected in the strangest of places. She nodded to herself. Of course there was nothing romantic about her meeting with Maria, but the conversation had been sparky and at times quite intense; all the things she could use in her story.

  She finished the final verse in her lowest and quietest voice and started her creeping descent of the stairs. He was asleep, he had to be; there would have been an outcry at the lack of Henry’s knife sharpening and the absence of stones if he wasn’t. She made it to the bottom step and paused once more, listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. She was safe, free, ready to dive straight back into the world on her screen where the characters seemed real and their stories so true. She slipped into the cupboard and switched on the screen. There it was: her domain. The one place where she had no limits or restrictions. The one place she actually felt free. Connie smiled to herself as she felt the wave of words surging through her fingertips. She started to type.

  ‘Be yourself, they say. Originals are worth much more than copies. I wonder therefore why copies are made. Isn’t it because the originals are so wonderful that they need to be replicated? I’d rather be a copy of something perfect than something no one actually wants. I stare at the space the woman’s sports car has vacated. I’m going to be her, just for one day. I start my engine and move into gear, driving to where she once parked. I take her abandoned trolley and head towards the entrance, suddenly spotting her discarded receipt blown against the steel mesh. Bonnie Blythe, if you’re doing this you’re doing this properly. I nod to myself, ignoring the crinkling in my pocket from my own list of essentials. I lift her receipt instead. Shop like her, sashay like her, sod off like her. What a good plan.

  I enter the warmth of the supermarket and flick my hair. She’d have flicked. I flick again. Maybe confidence is in fact an illusion. Maybe everyone acts. Maybe it’s not about finding myself … Maybe it’s about creating myself. I look at the receipt; a creation like her is a good place to start. First on the list: 1 x Maybelline Paint Me Red lipstick. I feel a pang of excitement and head towards the toiletries section. I only ever wear ChapStick, and that’s always plain. I scan the selections, amazed by the huge variety of shades. There it is, Paint Me Red. I take off the top. I’m shocked by the intensely vibrant colour. I’d never buy this. I’d never even try this. I catch my reflection in the small tester mirror. It’s full of fear. My plain face looks scared and my brown hair looks limp. I stare at myself. Just try it, Bonnie. Try it and buy it.

  My sashay’s definitely got sexier and my head’s now held up high. I can feel the slight tackiness between by lips and can’t help but pout. I scan the receipt again. Next on the list: 1 x Tampax Compak Lites. I strut to the feminine hygiene section and avoid looking down at my usual pack of night-time-plus-extra sanitary pads, reaching for the discreet box of tiny tampons instead. They’re dropped into my trolley and I’m moving on, heading towards the fresh counter to pick up my 2 x monkfish fillets. I spot the sauce from the list: 1 x black olive fish dressing. I don’t like fish and I never eat olives, but she does, and I’m her, just for today.

  I look at the receipt and gulp. £14.99 for 1 x Blason Montagny Reserve. I’d never spend that on wine, certainly not on one bottle. I stop myself, always cautious and careful, so wary of cost. Not her. She lives the good life. She struts around in her lipstick, drinking fine wine and frying monkfish fillets with black olive sauce. I march to the drinks aisle and start my search, finally locating the bottle near the Champagne.

  “That one’s my favourite.”

  I turn around and see him. Tall, dark, talking to me.

  “Really great with fish.”

  I take hold of my trolley for support.

  He continues to talk. “What do you drink with your steaks?”

  Damn, why couldn’t the blonde bombshell have that on her receipt too? My eyes dart to the bottom shelf and spot the high price. “Cognac,” I say.

  The man laughs. “I like your style.”

  I watch his eyes glance over my trolley and am thankful for the tiny Tampax, not daring to think of his judgement had I purchased my usual super-plus-extra absorbency pads. I stop myself. I wouldn’t have met him had I been shopping for me. I see him studying the fish and pre-empt his next question. “It’s monkfish. It goes really well with the Montagny Reserve.”

  “And that’s a black olive sauce I see?”

  I smile and nod.

  “I must try that one day.” He steps into my space and offers his hand. “I’m Mark.”

  The shake is strong but the hand is soft. “I’m Bonnie. Bonnie Blythe.”’

  The doorbell rang. Connie jumped up and clambered over her chair. She dashed through the lounge, hoping the caller wouldn’t buzz again. They did. This time with an added knock.

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  “It’s okay, Noah, it’s just the doorbell.”

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  Connie shouted back up the stairs as she opened the door. “It’s okay, Noah.”

  “Is he not settled yet? He really ought to be in a routine by now.”

  Connie stared at her stern-faced mother-in-law. “He is. The doorbell woke him.”

  Evelyn bustled her way into the house and took off her rain mac. “Vivian’s children could sleep through an earthquake.”

  Connie closed the door behind her uninvited guest. “That’s worrying. They say you should get yourself under a table or into a doorway.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  “Sorry, I’m going to have to go and settle him.”

  “I never have these problems when I babysit for Vivian.”

  Connie tried to remember the ages of Karl’s sister’s children, sure they were at least seven and eight. “Are you on your way over there?”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  “You’re confusing me, Evelyn.”

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  “It’s all this noise.” Evelyn shook her tightly-permed grey helmet and frowned. “He really needs to stop being so demanding. Self-soothing and self-settling is a key element in a child’s development. I was in nursing for forty years. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  “He was asleep.”

  “And why do you need that monitor? All it does is echo the racket around. Karl’s right, there’s simply no need.” She sat down on the sofa. “I’m here to babysit.”

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  Connie tried to ignore her son’s screaming. “We don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Karl’s taking you out. It’s a
surprise. He wants you to meet him at the Flag and Lamb at eight.”

  “Eight? That’s in twenty minutes. I’m in my scruffs.”

  “I’m late. It couldn’t be avoided. Malcolm needed his tea.”

  Connie bit her tongue. Malcolm was her mother-in-law’s cat. “I don’t think I’ll have time to get ready.”

  “Well you shouldn’t be in your…” Evelyn screwed up her already wrinkled face. “What did you call them? Scruffs? And what does that say across your rear end? Juicy?” She shook her head. “You must be careful not to let yourself go even further, Connie. No man wants a scarecrow as a house guest.”

  Connie quickly tried to flatten her hair. “I’m his partner, and this house is ours. I like to be comfy when I’m working.”

  “What do you mean working?”

  She blushed. “I mean writing.”

  “Oh yes, Karl mentioned that as well. You must be careful not to let your,” she quirked her fingers in quotation marks, “little hobby get in the way of your duties.”

  “Evelyn, your son gets a home-cooked meal on the table every single night that he’s here.”

  “If you were more attentive and well-presented then he might be here more often.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The silence was deafening.

  Evelyn nodded. “See, I told you he’d self-soothe.”

  ****

  Connie marched into the Flag and Lamb with steam coming out of her ears. How dare Karl be so thoughtless? Sending his mother round unannounced and uninvited so she could spew her criticism at their perfect little boy. She scanned the modern bar and eaterie. Because he was perfect. Noah was perfect in every single way. Evelyn had sat down and deliberately turned up the television’s volume; of course he was going to wake up again, and no, there was no justification for Evelyn’s subsequent stalk up the stairs and chastisement of Noah. She was the one responsible for the upset in the first place.

  Connie slowed her march and cast her eyes across the couples dining at the tables and the singles drinking at the bar, her anger growing by the second. If Karl thought this evening was going to be relaxed and rewarding then he had another thing coming. How dare his mother be so bitchy? How dare she judge with such disapproval? How dare— Connie paused as her eyes found her man in the corner. He was sitting on the low sofas, head tilted back, smiling dreamily as he stared into space. Connie couldn’t help it, he was a handsome beggar. She sighed and walked toward him. Maybe this was spontaneous and sweet. Maybe this did signal progress. Maybe he should be rewarded. She halted. The fucker was on the phone. She stopped and watched as Karl played with his hair, giggly and coy. She shook her head, the warm thoughts instantly freezing. Who the hell was he talking to?