Taste of Love

by Maria Ling

  They eventually settled on the Thai-style monkfish and lemongrass stew with jasmine rice. Janine concealed her surprise. She'd been certain that idea would be a loser: Thai food in Whitby, of all places! But she kept her smile, assured them it was a perfect choice for a rainy night, and hurried back to the kitchen.

  "Told you so," Matthew said complacently. He spooned a mound of cooked rice into the centre of each of two pasta bowls, and ladled the stew around it. "I'm a genius. There, it's done. Service!"

  Janine carried the bowls out swiftly, concealing her chagrin. It didn't matter if Matthew had a moment of triumph. If the customers went away happy, he'd earned it.

  It was a good night, in the end. A family of four came in, relieved and delighted to find a high chair and a bottle warmer waiting for them. A couple in their early twenties, holding hands, wanted "everything" and received a special menu for two devised by Matthew on the spur of the moment. Three giggling teenage girls arrived together, ordered a salad each, and left without leaving a tip. But all taken together, the money Janine slotted into the till covered the cost of paying Matthew, and still left a small surplus towards the heating costs.

  "Break even," Janine said at ten o'clock that night, as she lounged in the kitchen eating a bowlful of Matthew's Thai stew. It was hot and fresh and spicy, with chunks of delicate fish. "That's pretty impressive for a Thursday in November."

  "You're welcome," Matthew replied. He was scrubbing down the stove, and making a thorough job of it. "Nice to see that my ideas work, eh?"

  "All right," Janine said, with less venom than she'd intended. "You win. I was wrong, you were right. I apologise."

  "Don't pull a muscle or anything." He grinned at her, and she could see the jubilation in his eyes. He was tired: the skin around his eyes crinkled and pale. But he was deeply happy.

  Her heart beat faster. She didn't know why, but it thrilled her to see him so full of joy.

  "I'd better help Sarah clean up in there." She armed herself with a cloth and a spray bottle of soapy water, and set to work.

  They were finished by eleven at night, and strolled back in companionable silence. The wind had settled, bringing an eerie stillness to the harbour. Streetlights reflected in the water, glimmering like fallen stars.

  "Thank you," Janine said as they reached her front door. "Seriously. For giving this a go. I couldn't have done tonight without you."

  "You're welcome," Matthew said. "You get to do it all over again tomorrow. Make sure you get a good night's sleep." He bent forward and placed a kiss on her cheek, light as spray from the sea, then was off before she could say a word. She watched his jaunty, broad-shouldered figure disappear into the house next door.

  Then she let herself in. The cottage felt too big and empty, almost deserted. The scent of lemon hung about the kitchen. Janine made herself a cup of tea, and took herself off to bed.

  ***

  Friday lunchtime was busier than she had expected. They took fifteen covers and almost a hundred pounds. Janine had to concede that Matthew's new dishes were a real hit. They were the first to sell out, and got by far the most glowing comments from the customers.

  So, Janine thought to herself. Maybe she ought to give his ideas on decorating a fair try as well. Maybe the restaurant -- and Janine herself -- really was too stuck in the past.

  Stella came in at the tail end of the lunchtime slot, when only three tables were still occupied. She ordered white coffee and a ham sandwich, and seemed almost contrite.

  "I'm leaving this afternoon," she said. "I'm due back at work tomorrow morning. I know Matthew is here and everything, but could you keep an eye on Mum for me? She gets lonely."

  "What did the GP say?" Janine asked, cleaning down the neighbouring table.

  "A nasty sprain, just like you said. It's not serious, and it should heal perfectly well on its own. But Mum will try to walk on it and do things for herself, even when she doesn't need to. I keep telling her not to, but she does it anyway. And then it gets worse again."

  "She ought to be committed," Janine said, then added quickly: "to a hospital ward, I mean. Then she'd only have to ring the bell whenever she needed anything."

  "They'd throw her out," Stella said candidly. "She'd be ringing it all the time, even when there wasn't anything much they could do for her. She just wants company. And attention. She hates me being away. Look, I'm sorry I was rude to you when I got back. It wasn't your fault. I was just really annoyed with Mum and her usual drama queen stuff. She'll make such a deal out of everything, even when it's not the least bit important. And she'll say she is in such pain, but she won't even take an aspirin. To be honest, I don't think she's really hurting at all. She just has to be the centre of attention all the time."

  Stella gulped her coffee. She looked almost embarrassed now.

  "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to let all that out onto you. But Mum is annoying, and I really have to get back to what I'm supposed to be doing. So, could you and Matthew take care of her for a day or so? I'll come back tomorrow night if I can -- Sunday morning at the latest."

  "Of course," Janine said. She'd warmed more to Stella during that little speech than she'd ever done before. "I'll do what I can."

  "Thanks ever so much. I'd better have the bill -- I've got to catch the bus at twenty past."

  After Janine had cleared up and locked up, she joined Matthew in the kitchen and gave him a rundown of Stella's outburst.

  "Well, she's right," was his philosophical response. "And what can you do? Mum just is the way she is. We can't change her."

  "Doesn't she have any interests, though?" Janine asked. "Something to keep her occupied and get her to meet other people. It's dangerous for an older person to get an injury that isolates them in this way -- they can so easily slip into depression. I see that quite often in my work. If we could get her to take part in some regular activity, I think it would benefit her a great deal. And it would take some of the load off you and Stella, too. You've both got lives and responsibilities of your own -- you can't just walk away from everything to sit and entertain your Mum all day, no matter how much you love her and want to help."

  "You're right," Matthew said. "We can't. But she doesn't see things that way. She reckons she bore us and raised us, and now it's our turn to look after her. Which is fair, too, when you think about it."

  "Of course it is," Janine said. "But she seems to be trying to prevent you from having lives of your own. That concerns me. And speaking as a health professional, even though she's not technically a patient of mine, I'm concerned about her. I think there could be complications arising from her injury if she doesn't build a supportive network for herself right now. Either she'll keep moving around and aggravate the injury, leading to tissue damage, or she'll slide into isolation and perhaps depression. It's possible that she might even do both. I'm serious."

  "I can see that," Matthew said. "What do you suggest?"

  "Well does she have any hobbies? Playing cards, knitting, singing?"

  "Not really. The only think I can remember her doing much of is that folding paper stuff."

  "Origami?"

  "That's it. She used to be really into it, years ago. At least until I left home. After that, I don't think she did much more of it. She spent most of her time trying to run Stella's life, as far as I know."

  "That's not healthy either."

  "Well, she's a mother. She's supposed to be a little bit officious."

  "But not controlling." Janine pondered. "Would you like me to talk to her GP?"

  "It can't do any harm, can it?" Matthew reached out and touched her arm. It sent a warm tingle through Janine's nerves. "Thanks for caring so much about her. Don't get too involved, though. Mum's like that -- she pulls people in. And when she gets too demanding, they fall out with her. She's lost a lot of friends that way over the years. That's why she's only really got Stella and me, ever since my Dad died."

  "That's so sad." Janine's heart was gripped by sympathy. She un
derstood the danger of trying to rescue people from themselves. It was a doomed attempt. But her heart ached at the thought of a lonely old woman who faced a future devoid of friends. Surely it couldn't hurt to drop in now and then, just to show her a kind face.

  "It is sad," Matthew agreed. "But it's Mum's problem, not yours."

  "It's not only her problem, though," Janine objected. "It's yours and Stella's, too."

  "We're used to it. You're not. We've got ways of handling her. And of course, she's our Mum. It's different. I just don't want you to get hurt."

  "That's very kind of you," Janine said. She felt confused, and oddly exposed. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

  Matthew's face darkened.

  "I was a bit like you once," he said. "I tried to help. I got involved. And you know something? It never works. People have to sort out their own problems. If they don't, then those problems aren't really solved -- they're just shelved, or plastered over. In the end, they'll crawl out and start ruining things all over again."

  "I'm so sorry," Janine said. She wondered what -- and whose -- problem he was referring to.

  "I told you about the fish and chip shop." Matthew bent over to reach the underside of the grill with his scrubbing brush. "It was doing really well, until Dad started getting clever ideas about turning it into a fancy restaurant. Trouble was, he didn't really know anything about fine food. None of us did. Anyway he got us into debt, fixing the damned place up with soft lights and stupid candles and bread rolls nobody wanted. Then we had to put prices up, and that put the customers off. They stopped coming, the food was all wasted, the place just ate up our money. I quit school to work there."

  His face was concealed behind the grill: she couldn't see his expression.

  "I'd wanted to go on to college," he said. "To become a proper chef. Train in London and all that. But it wasn't possible. We were out of money and the restaurant was sinking. So I worked there, and Mum worked there, and nothing got turned around. And then Dad -- " Matthew broke off. He stood up, and swapped the scrubbing brush for a damp cloth.

  "What happened to your Dad?" Janine asked, as gently as she could.

  "He killed himself. Committed suicide. Hanged himself in the kitchen, actually. After that, there was just Mum and me. And Stella, but she wasn't more than twelve years old. She had enough to deal with, just trying to understand that Dad could do such a thing. And that it didn't mean he'd stopped loving us." Matthew looked straight at Janine, who flinched. His eyes were dark and raw with pain. "I had some trouble with that myself, to tell you the truth. But he did love us. He just couldn't take any more. I think it was worse for him, knowing he was the one who brought us to this. Bad decisions, bad investment, bad choice of funding. Why Mum let him get away with it, I'll never know. But she did, and it destroyed us. I don't think he could forgive himself for that."

  "I'm so terribly sorry," Janine said. The words felt absurdly inadequate.

  "Thanks. Well, we kept it going for about six months after that, and then we went bankrupt. Lost the house and everything. I was lucky -- I got a job as assistant chef in another place, and Mum got one in a card shop. Between us, we managed to rent a little flat up by the Abbey. Once Stella was old enough to work, I got the chance to pick up and train in London after all. I've never looked back. Later, we all pitched in and bought Mum the house she's in now. So here we are, with Mum provided for and Stella and me both doing all right. It could be a lot worse."

  "I suppose so," Janine admitted.

  "But anyway." Matthew ran hot water through the cloth and wrung it out hard. "My point is, if you get involved, you'll end up hurt. I shouldn't have tried so hard to save the fish and chip shop. I should have taken off and done my own thing. It might still have gone to the wall, but I'd have been earning a salary by then. I could have sent money home. And I'd have known what I was doing, a hell of a lot better than I did. If by some miracle Mum and Dad had managed to keep the place going, I could have come back and sorted it out. I know by now, you see. I've worked in some good places, and I understand what makes a good restaurant tick. If I'd learned that earlier, maybe I could have saved the place. In any event, it wasn't worth my time to stay and flog myself over a poky little place that was already doomed. No matter how much I loved it." He gave her a quirky, lopsided grin, a million miles away from humour.

  "You may be right," Janine said.

  "Of course I'm right." He flared up anew, in that quick fiery way he had. She was getting used to it now, and almost coming to like it. He seemed to embody the part of herself that she always kept under wraps. "I know a lot more about it than you do."

  Janine was silent. There was no answer to that, because he was perfectly right.

  "Now that I've regaled you with the cheerful story of my past," Matthew said, the thunderclouds scudding away from his face as fast as they'd massed there, "what's your plan for the afternoon? I've got an hour to spare before I need to start on the prep work for this evening."

  "I don't know," Janine said, surprised. "I was going to call on your mother, but other than that I don't have any particular plans."

  "In that case, let's go together. We could take a stroll along the pier as well, if you fancy."

  "I'd love that!" Janine exclaimed. "It was always the first thing I did whenever I came here to visit my Nan. I haven't been yet this time, because, well, you know. She's dead." It felt less painful to say now, after Matthew's revelation. At least she'd never had to endure anything like what he'd been through. "And I've been so busy. But I'd love to go there now." She almost added 'with you' but bit it off just in time. It would be too forward, too personal. Surely it didn't matter who she went there with, if anyone.

  But it did. As they strolled along, side by side, listening to the majestic heartbeat of the sea, she felt exhilarated. He fitted so perfectly beside her, his walk so comfortably matching her own. His rugged good looks made him seem larger than life, as if he were some character out of history or legend, embodying the spirit of this place.

  The wind had picked up again. It blew brisk and sharp along the shore from Sandsend. As they walked further out towards the tip of the pier, it grew stronger, slapping the waves hard against the stone walls. Janine turned her face to the right, towards the comparative calm of the harbour, where the water lay flat and easy in the shelter of the pier. She wandered over to the rail and leaned over it, gazing down at her choppy reflection below.

  "See anything?" Matthew asked in a teasing tone. He stood beside her, looking down as well. Their two heads leaned together, like those of the couple she'd seen on the first night in the restaurant.

  "Just water." She straightened up and walked on.

  A sudden gust caught her and sent her flying back towards the rail. For a hideous, stomach-shattering moment she thought she would go over. Matthew's arms caught her and held her tight against his chest. She felt the strength of them through the thick padded material of his jacket, the solid jut of his shoulder against her cheek.

  "Are you OK?"

  "I'm fine." She wanted to stay there forever, to be held, to be safe. It stunned her how much she wanted his arms to remain around her body. But she was an independent modern woman, not a simpering girl. She stood up, a little shakily, and gave him an apologetic smile. "That gust caught me by surprise."

  "You'd better hold on to me." Matthew tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow. "I'm not jumping into that water after you. If you go in, you're on your own."

  "What a hero," Janine replied. She was eager to join him in turning the situation with a joke, wanted above all to conceal the way her heart pounded at the way he'd held her tight. She wasn't interested in a relationship -- didn't have time for one -- and certainly not with an employee.

  "Just being sensible," Matthew said. "I'd throw you the ring, though." He indicated the one that hung nearby. "You could paddle back to shore by yourself, no trouble. I've seen the way you move. You're like an athlete."

  "Core strength," J
anine said. Inwardly she glowed at the compliment. At least, she reflected anxiously, she hoped it was a compliment. Maybe he didn't like athletic women.

  "So that's what they call it."

  "No, I mean it's all about toning your core muscles," Janine explained, grateful for the possibility of a diversion. "Most people have weak core muscles, which leads to poor posture and all sorts of problems."

  "Right," Matthew said. "Core muscles. Very good." He shot her a glance. "You're proud of your work, aren't you?"

  Janine floundered.

  "Of course I am," she said. It was the truth. But she couldn't help wondering what he was driving at.

  "Thought so," Matthew said. "You stand a little taller every time you mention it. And you talk differently as well. More like a textbook."

  "Do I?" She hadn't realised, and wasn't sure she believed him. "I didn't know."

  "It's all right," Matthew reassured her. "I like it. I just find it funny, that's all."

  "Hm." Janine pursed her lips. She didn't like to be made fun of. But she checked her posture, and realised that he was right. Her core muscles were fully engaged, her back straight, her head held high. It was all most commendable. But she had to be honest with herself, and admit that she didn't always keep it up. Not while waiting on tables, at least: she'd noticed that more than once already.

  "I suppose I am proud of it," she acknowledged. "I've put a lot of work into getting where I am. My parents wanted me to go into the human resources field, like them. They weren't very pleased when I decided on physiotherapy. But it's a fabulous job. I get to help people, which is what I most love to do."

  "I've noticed that," Matthew said.

  "And you're right, of course," Janine conceded. "It's important not to get too involved. I'm probably better at keeping a healthy distance to my patients than I am with family or friends. I suppose I don't really want to stay at a distance with them. Not only because I want to be close, but also because I don't want to treat them like patients. I don't want being at home to feel the same as being at work. Do you know what I mean?" She turned appealing eyes on Matthew. What she'd said made no sense even to herself.