Taste of Love

by Maria Ling

  "I am." She watched him continue scrubbing, and her muscles ached in sympathy. "Can't I help you with anything? You've done absolute wonders tonight. You shouldn't have to do all the cleaning up afterwards as well."

  "You can wipe down after me," Matthew conceded. He pointed to a cloth. "Use that one, and make sure you run plenty of hot water through it often."

  Janine pitched in with a sense of relief. She could tell by the stiff way in which he moved that his body was screaming at him to stop. She couldn't believe how hard he worked. If he kept it up much longer, he'd kill himself.

  "Your mum and Stella came in for a meal," she said slowly. "They were talking about us coming over for a meal on Sunday, to celebrate your Mum's birthday."

  "Sunday?" Matthew gave her a puzzled frown. "I'll be here all day -- and all evening. You should be, too."

  "Yes, I know. But what I'm saying is, if you want to be there I can manage without you."

  "How?"

  "I could hire temporary staff," Janine suggested. "At least for the lunchtime sitting."

  Matthew bristled.

  "Don't be an idiot. This is my kitchen, and I won't have anyone in here I haven't picked myself. I can't believe Mum would be stupid enough to suggest this. You've got the day wrong."

  "No, I haven't." Tiredness and resentment brimmed up inside Janine, flaring into anger. "She distinctly said Sunday. If you think that's stupid, take it up with her. And don't call me an idiot." She swung on her heel and stalked off, hot with fury.

  Matthew came after her.

  "I'm sorry." His voice was tender; surprisingly so. He put his arms around her and drew her close. She let him do it, and rested her head against his thin white jacket. It smelled of food and sweat, and the chest underneath it was strong and warm. She could lean into his embrace and stay there forever, and never ever have to move. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  "You'd be upset if I called you an idiot."

  "I know." Matthew cuddled her. "And I'm sorry." He kissed her hair. "Listen, I know you're exhausted. Why don't you just sit down for half an hour and let me finish up here. OK?"

  He stood back and smiled at her. Janine nodded.

  "Good girl. Find yourself a chair. I won't be long."

  In the event, it took him less than twenty minutes to get the kitchen into its usual pristine order. They locked up, and then strolled home through the night. The breeze had dropped, and the steady rolling of the waves carried with a regular whoosh through the stillness. Groups of rowdy youths staggered along the main road, shouting and singing. It was almost midnight, and people were still making their way home from the pub.

  Janine snuggled closer to Matthew. They walked with their arms around each other, like any other couple, strolling along the road towards the house.

  "We could go down to the east pier instead," Matthew suggested. "If you want to."

  Janine hesitated. She was shattered, and every bone and muscle in her body cried out for rest. But it was pleasant to walk here with Matthew's arm around her, to thread their way through the crowds, to watch the lights from the arcade reflected in the water.

  "All right," she said.

  The bridge was busy, too, and the narrow cobbled run of Church Street. Once they turned up Henrietta Street, though, they were almost alone. The Board Inn and the Duke of York were the last pubs along here, and the cottages along Henrietta Street were nearly all turned over to holiday homes -- mostly for rent. There were lights in the windows, but few people in the street.

  They strolled past the path that led out to the viewpoint, and began the precarious descent down the long steep slope to the pier. The knobbled surface offered a good grip, but Janine still reached out from time to time to touch the cold metal of the rail that ran alongside her. She had a terror of skidding down this slope and crashing down onto the black rocks that waited like bare teeth at its foot. She couldn't see the rocks themselves in the darkness of the night, but the waves smashed against them in a craze of white froth that glinted in the moonlight.

  As they reached the bottom of the slope, they paused by the slipway that led out onto the rocks. To their right, waves dashed endlessly against the tall and unrelenting cliffs. On the left, across the safe calm water of the harbour, shone the lights of the arcade. High above that, a forest of streetlights blazed from the top of the West Cliff. A new moon cut a cold stark shape into the sky.

  Janine shivered, though she didn't know why. There was something elemental in the air tonight, a reminder that while human beings come and go, the wild sea remains -- tireless, ceaseless, unchanging.

  "Are you cold?" Matthew hugged her tight. "We don't have to go any further if you don't want to."

  "I do," Janine said. "I want to go all the way out."

  The wind whipped at them, icy cold. They huddled together and braved it out. It was a long walk to the end of the pier, long and dark, with hungry waves leaping and snapping just a few steps away from them, beyond the unprotected edge of the pier. Chill spray spattered their faces and covered their jackets in a mist of dew.

  Janine's legs were frozen, her knees stiff and unyielding from the cold. Before they reached the end of the pier, she was waddling like a duck. A comical sight if ever there was one. But it was impossible to feel self-conscious so close to the majestic presence of the sea.

  At the far end, right at the point and beyond the looming shape of the old lighthouse, they paused. Out here, the darkness was almost complete. The frothing waves moved through it like ghosts, spectral figures roaring towards and around them, flinging thrusts against the living, scattering into oblivion against the stiff stone of the pier.

  Matthew pulled her to him and kissed her. Their lips met, and then their tongues. It was a small pocket of warmth in a cold and vicious world. Here, even in the midst of the destructive forces of nature, Janine experienced a feeling she hadn't known in a long time. She felt safe.

  She clung to his shoulder hard, as if she were drowning and he a rescuing rock. She didn't know how long she could hold on for, nor how long she should, but right now in this moment she could not imagine letting go.

  The kiss ended. Matthew cuddled her to him, his breath close to her ear.

  "I'll walk you home," he said. His low voice was full of promise. Janine nodded, then realised he couldn't see her and wouldn't know whether her movement meant yes or no. So instead she raised herself on tiptoe, her lips touching his ear, and whispered: "Yes."

  They arrived back at the house windblown and euphoric, too full of exhilaration to remember that they were tired. The old house felt snug and warm around them, as close as an embrace. The cotton sheets were fresh and dry against their skin, smelling faintly of lavender. Their bodies fitted together as naturally as if they had been born for this moment and had waited for it all their lives. They melded together, and in the deep of the night they moved as one.

  ***

  Janine woke to the sound of driving rain. Through the gap between the curtains -- she'd closed them carelessly last night -- she could see a sheet of water drifting down across the window-pane.

  Matthew's body lay warm next to her own. She snuggled close to him, burrowed into his shoulder with her face, breathed in the male scent of sweat and strength.

  He stirred without opening his eyes, brought his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. Her fingertips treaced an affectionate pattern through the scattered hairs that grew there.

  A gust of wind rattled the window-pane. From the yard outside came a quick clatter as of a falling bin.

  "Blustery today," Matthew murmured. "The weather forecast said rain and high winds. That means we probably won't get many customers. People will stay snug at home." He kissed her cheek. "Good idea, if you ask me."

  "I wish it was Tuesday," Janine said. "Half the restaurants seem to close on Tuesdays, so we might as well."

  "Either that or Thursdays," Matthew agreed. "We need one day a week to give the place a thorough clean. But I think we should stic
k to Thursdays for now. If you wanted the change, you should have done it before the relaunch. Now that people know about the new style, they'll want to try us out, and they won't be pleased if they turn up and we're closed."

  "No," Janine conceded. "We'll keep Thursdays, then. Maybe switch over in a few months' time, when everything has had a chance to settle down."

  "I suppose that means we'd better get out of bed," Matthew said. He made no move to follow his own advice.

  "I suppose so," Janine said. She didn't move either.

  "Look at us," Matthew said. "The most dynamic team in Whitby."

  "Well, we were last night," Janine said, grinning. It got her a laugh and a hug.

  The sharp trill of the phone ringing cut through the moment. Matthew reached out and answered it.

  "Of course it is. Why shouldn't I be? Well, that's your problem. Glad to set your mind at rest. Bye."

  Janine blinked at him, dumbfounded.

  "That was Stella," Matthew said. "Apparently she was surprised to find me here. She was phoning to ask if you'd seen me, since I wasn't answering my phone at home."

  "What was her problem?"

  "Nothing to worry about."

  Janine raised herself on her elbow so that she could study his face. His cheek muscles were tense, his mouth hard. He was staring at the window-pane as if it insulted him.

  "You're obviously angry about it," Janine persisted. "Was it about me?"

  "No." He swung himself out of bed. His taut, lean body stood for a moment silhouetted against the drab grey light. "It's nothing to do with you. It's about her and Mum and me, and it's all bullshit. Don't get involved."

  Janine hesitated.

  "I am involved," she said. "With you. That means with them, too. I have to be. It's not possible to close them out completely, even if I wanted to -- which I don't."

  Matthew pulled on his jeans. He took his time fastening them up, then leaned over to kiss her. The fury had vanished from his face, though his eyes were still dark.

  "I don't want you to get hurt," he said. "Mum and Stella can be pretty hurtful when they want to be. I don't know why they act like that, and I don't really care. I just don't want you to be caught up in it."

  Janine took his hand. His fingers gripped hers, warm and strong.

  "What did Stella say?"

  Matthew heaved a sigh.

  "That she didn't think I ought to be spending time with you. And that it wasn't going to last."

  Janine sniffed.

  "A bit early to say, surely."

  Matthew laughed. It was a welcome sound.

  "Way too early," he agreed. "In any case, it's none of her business, and I intend to tell her so."

  The sky outside the window darkened. A menacing growl rolled through the room.

  "That sounds like thunder." Janine sat up and peered out at the leaden sky. All of a sudden, a hail of drops beat against the window-pane, making her flinch back.

  "It did," Matthew agreed. "Looks like the forecast wasn't too far out. Easy day at the office."

  Janine didn't smile. If the restaurant didn't take enough money in the next few weeks, that was the end. Even one bad day could sink them.

  But she didn't tell Matthew that. She didn't want him to worry. More to the point, she didn't like to let him know just how close he was to losing his job.

  "That will make a nice change," she said instead. She followed his example and kept her tone light. Time enough to be serious when things got too bad to salvage. Although she did hope it wouldn't come to that. She shivered, looking out at the dead sky. It looked full of foreboding.

  "Come on," Matthew said. "Let's get to work."

  They each had a quick shower and some toast, then ventured out into the streets. The weather was miserable, with harsh gusts and driving rain. Almost no one was about. Janine and Matthew clung to each other, staggering along the pavement as best they could, until they reached the back of the restaurant. Janine struggled with the lock, her fingers numb with cold even through the fleece gloves that she wore.

  Inside, they had to turn all the lights on just to see what they were doing. Almost no natural light came through from outside. The gloom was so impenetrable that Janine had to remind herself that it was daytime. She felt as if it ought to be the middle of the night.

  She hoovered the floor, then set each table carefully. The stark new décor looked soulless in the poor light, chilling her heart. She couldn't shake off the morning's sense of doom. It was as if a cold voice whispered to her that this was it, that the restaurant was dying and all she had to do was grieve.

  "The end is nigh," she declared, trying to cheer herself up with sarcasm, but the words fell flat. It might be, for all she knew. That wasn't a comforting thought either.

  It might as well have been, to judge by the sparse custom the restaurant received at lunchtime. Only five covers in total, and those keeping strictly to simple fare: one fish pie, two soups, two sandwiches.

  The fish pie was Stella, who seemed to want to make amends. During a lengthy lull in service, she leaned over towards Janine and said quietly:

  "Can we talk?"

  Janine got herself a coffee and sat down. She felt weary to her bones.

  "I think Matthew took things the wrong way this morning," Stella began. "I probably wasn't very tactful either -- I'd been frightened out of my wits when he didn't answer his phone at home. Then I thought you'd probably seen him last, so I rang you, and there he was. I should have been pleased -- and I was, later -- but at the time I just got angry. Which is stupid."

  "It's not unusual," Janine said, lapsing into official mode. "Many people react that way to a fright, especially if they've been worried about the safety of someone they care about."

  "I'll tell him that. Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm absolutely thrilled you and he have got together. Mum isn't, to be honest, but I don't think you should worry too much about her. She's like that sometimes. If she sees anyone who's happy, she'll do her best to pick holes in them. I don't know why. Anyway, that's the main reason I moved to Scarborough in the first place. I couldn't stand the way she was always finding negative things to say. Of course, she's still the same, but at least I don't have to listen to it all the time. I phone her twice a week and let her moan, and then that's it. I'm by myself and can be as happy as I like."

  "That sounds good," Janine said, managing a pale smile. She was truly pleased, both for Stella's sake and for her own. But right now, she had more sympathy for Mrs Sutcliffe's way of dealing with other people's joy. Being unhappy herself, Mrs Sutcliffe clearly felt each example of other people being happy as either an affront to herself or a hurtful reminder of her own misery. Sitting here in a dying restaurant, convinced that she had failed both her Nan and herself, Janine knew exactly how the old woman must feel.

  She kept quiet about that, though, and kept her less than positive response to herself. It wasn't Stella's fault that the restaurant was doing badly.

  "I'm so glad you've kept this place going," Stella said, unaware of the fresh pain she caused Janine. "Your Nan kept it so beautifully. I used to love coming here as a kid. Every time Matthew or I had a birthday, we always wanted to come here for hot chocolate and a slice of fruit cake. Mum couldn't really afford it, but she treated us anyway. And your Nan was really lovely. I'm so sorry she's gone."

  "Thank you," Janine said. Her eyes stung. She was horribly afraid that she was going to cry.

  "I suppose this is the modern look," Stella said, glancing around at the stark walls and bare tables. "Matthew's been going on about it. He's probably right -- he usually is -- but I miss the old-fashioned stuff. The café I work at is a bit like how this place used to be. Not as nice, but the same sort of atmosphere. A bit quaint."

  "Is it doing well?" Janine asked politely.

  "Pretty well, I think. Of course, it's got a good location near the Scarborough railway station, so it gets a lot of passing trade, but it does mean the rent is high, too. It's ticking over.
I enjoy working there. It's good experience as well. I'm determined to have my own place one day."

  "Don't build your hopes up too much," Janine warned. "It's hard work running a business. And as the owner, you have a lot more at risk than just your job -- though that's bad enough. I know that Nan always used to tell me never to own a business. 'Always work for others,' she used to say. 'That way you'll never have to carry all the responsibility.' I wish I'd listened."

  "Oh, I'm sorry." Stella's face shadowed with concern. "Are things difficult for you?"

  Janine caught herself. She had already said more than she intended.

  "It's a narrow margin," she admitted. "But I'm on the right side of the ledger. For now." She resisted the urge to talk about a knife's edge. That wouldn't help, and it might get back to Matthew. She still didn't want him to know how much trouble the restaurant was in.

  "Let me know if I can help," Stella said. "Seriously. I mean it. Your Nan was always good to me. She was the one person I could really talk to, especially after Matthew left. You know what Mum's like. I love her to bits, but you can't talk to her about anything real. Life and that. So if I can help, tell me."

  "Thank you," Janine said. She was genuinely moved. "If I think of anything, I promise I will."

  Another table asked for the bill at that point, breaking an awkward movement. Janine excused herself and went to attend to her customers. Stella ducked out into the gloom, throwing a cheerful wave back inside before she braved the rain.

  Later, in the kitchen. Janine told Matthew all about what Stella had said. It seemed to lighten his mood.

  "That's better," he said. "She's been getting more and more like Mum these last few months. I was starting to worry about her. This is more like the Stella I used to know."

  The last few months, Janine mused. That meant Stella had changed after Nan had died. She winced at the thought. Her own grief, never far from her mind, was still sharp enough to cut her heart.

  "Are there any more customers?" Matthew asked. "If not, I'll start clearing up."

  "I'll help you," Janine said. "There's nobody left. I've already locked up."