Taste of Love

by Maria Ling

  Mrs Sutcliffe glanced at her, almost in passing.

  "I had a nurse come to see me the other day," Mrs Sutcliffe said, with no obvious connection to the previous remarks. "She was very nice. I told her about you two -- " she clearly meant Matthew and Stella -- "and what you were doing, and how lonely it was for me here now that you'd both moved out. She asked me what I liked to do, and I couldn't think of anything. And then I remembered how I always used to like singing when I was a girl. I was in the church choir, you know."

  "I didn't know that," Janine said politely.

  "I didn't either," Matthew said.

  "It was before I got married," Mrs Sutcliffe explained. "But the funny thing is, it turns out she's a member of the very same choir. She's asked me to join."

  "That sounds nice," Stella offered. "Are you going to?"

  "I think so."

  "I think it's a great idea," Janine enthused. "Singing is a wonderful activity. It's sociable, it's creative, and it involves deep breathing which tones the whole body."

  "I hadn't thought of that," Mrs Sutcliffe said.

  "Trust Janine to bring it up," Matthew teased. "If there's a health angle to anything, she'll tell you all about it. What's the physiotherapy of red peppers?" He winked at her. Janine blushed, but smiled.

  "I can't sing at all," Stella said wistfully. "I wish I could."

  "We can't all be the same," Mrs Sutcliffe said with unexpected tolerance. "And I don't know that I was every any good at it. I just liked it, and that's enough for me. I'm too old to worry about what I sound like."

  Even Janine laughed at that.

  "Thanks for coming," Stella said later, as she saw them out the door. Mrs Sutcliffe had gone upstairs, declaring an intention to go to bed. Stella took the opportunity to give Janine's arm a squeeze. "I'm really happy you did."

  "It was a pleasure," Janine said. "I'll be over a lot in the next few days, I should think. There isn't much we can do with the restaurant until the roof has been fixed."

  "Come as often as you like," Stella said. "You're part of the family now."

  CHAPTER 7

  "I'll have to go back to York," Janine told Matthew. "We can't open the restaurant until all the damage has been put right, and I don't know when that will be."

  "The roofing contractors are coming next week," Matthew pointed out.

  "You'll be here. Once they're done, we have the decorating to do all over again. There's bound to be all sorts of damage. I'll be over at the weekends, but I have to get back to the clinic during the weeks. My patients need me."

  "If you're sure," Matthew said. "I'll keep in touch and let you know what's happening."

  Janine gave him a hug. She'd come to rely on him so much, and she trusted him to look after things while she was gone.

  But she still hadn't broached the matter of finance. The situation was starting to look seriously ugly. She'd made several phone calls to the bank, trying to renegotiate the terms of the loan, but so far without success.

  The only solution she could see was to sell Nan's house as soon as possible. But it had already been on the market for two weeks, and so far there hadn't been much interest. The estate agent warned her that following the storm, people would be more concerned about their own repairs than moving house. And there would be damaged properties on the market, going for a song. Now was a bad time to be selling.

  "Just do what you can," Janine had said, hoping for a miracle.

  She was considering taking out a loan for the clinic and transferring the money to the restaurant, but that was risky. If the restaurant failed, it could take her clinic down along with it. And it didn't feel altogether honest. So she dithered, while striving to appear confident and in control. At times she wondered if she fooled anyone but herself.

  "You should declare bankruptcy now," her mother said a couple of days later, over lunch at a café in the centre of town. Janine tried to meet up with her at least once a month. "It's what I'd do."

  "You'd have done it first thing," Janine pointed out. "That's why Nan left it to me."

  "I know," her mother said without rancour. "I'd rather be without the hassle, to be honest. Though I still think I should have got the house."

  "It's down as security for the restaurant loan," Janine reminded her. "Nan couldn't leave me with all debts and no security for them."

  "It wouldn't have made much difference in any case," her mother said. "You'll have to sell it to keep the restaurant going. That's what Mum was planning to do."

  "I know." The idea had been for Nan to move into a little flat in the new harbourside development, but her illness intervened. Janine was glad, in a way. It would have broken Nan's heart to leave the home she'd lived in since the day she married. Still she would have done it, to keep the business going. Nan would never have declared herself bankrupt. Never.

  Janine felt a chill of the spirit. She had to make the restaurant work, for Nan's sake more than her own. It was a responsibility entrusted to her by a woman she had loved more even than her own mother. She just had to succeed.

  "Why don't you care about the restaurant?" she asked. "Nan was your mother, and the restaurant meant everything to her. You know it did. How come you're so indifferent to it now?"

  "Because of that reason." Her mother munched on a forkful of salad before answering. Her grey eyes were calm and dispassionate. Janine couldn't remember ever seeing her mother emotional. "Mum and Dad were all about the restaurant, never about me. They didn't want to be bothered looking after me, I think. So my Nan did that, and when she died my Mum -- your Nan -- didn't even go to the funeral. She said the restaurant had to come first." Janine's mother shrugged. "That should tell you something about the kind of woman she was."

  "A woman like you," Janine said. "You never spent much time with me either."

  "I'm sorry you think that," her mother replied. "I always kept Sunday afternoons for you. If that wasn't enough, well, it wasn't." She shrugged. "I care about my work."

  "So do I," Janine said. "So did Nan. I'm beginning to think we were always a lot more similar than any of us realised."

  "Maybe," her mother conceded. "But you're welcome to her dreams. I've got my own."

  "Have you?" Janine studied her mother curiously. "I never thought of you as the dreaming type."

  "I don't intend to stay here all my life," her mother replied coolly. "In ten more years I'll be retiring, and then it's the south of France for me."

  "You've said that before, but I didn't think you meant it."

  "I mean every word. You know I can't stand the cold."

  "What about Dad?"

  "What about him?"

  "Will he come along, too?"

  "I imagine so," her mother said, in a tone that suggested it hardly mattered. "He'll prefer it to commuting, I'm sure."

  Janine pondered. She didn't like the idea of her mother leaving the country, even if the plans were for a long way in the future and even though they'd never been close. She'd come to appreciate their monthly catch-up sessions over a pleasant meal.

  "I'll miss you when you go," Janine said.

  "It's ten years away," her mother said. "And you'll have other things to think about then. Children, maybe. Besides, you can fly out to visit me. It shouldn't be a problem."

  "I suppose not," Janine said. But inwardly, she shivered.

  ***

  "Well, it's done." Matthew peered up at the ceiling with satisfaction. "They've done a good job, too."

  "I think so." Janine had been up at the top of a ladder that same afternoon, inspecting the roof from outside. Now she was giving the inside the same critical scrutiny as Matthew did. "There's still the new ceiling to fit, and then the redecorating to do. But I think we can plan to open in a week."

  She was anxious to make it as soon as possible. There were still no offers on Nan's house, and Janine had run down her personal bank account to the bare bones. Any day now, she'd have to phone the bank and discuss terms of surrender.

 
; "The redecorating shouldn't be too bad," Matthew said. "We know what we had before, so it's just a matter of getting more of the same."

  "Not quite." Janine drew breath. She had been rehearsing this moment for the past few days. "I'm going to reinstate the old look. So many people have told me they preferred it."

  "You're not serious." Matthew stared at her. "We've only just had the relaunch."

  "I know. And the food will stay exactly as you want it. Everyone loved that part. But a lot of people said the place looked cold and bleak, and I agree with them. We're going back to the cosy interior."

  "I don't believe this." Matthew's voice grew harsh with anger. "You agreed to give my way a fair try."

  "I know that, too. But right now we're faced with having to redo everything anyway. I don't want to open for two weeks and then shut again. It would be the end of the business, for good. People would just assume we're closing and stop bothering to come. When we open our doors next time, I want that to be permanent. Maybe in a year or two, if things are going well, I'll think about trying out your idea again."

  "Don't be an idiot," Matthew snarled. "You won't have a business in a year or two, if you go back to the way things were. Don't you realise that's what caused the problems in the first place?"

  "I'm not convinced of that." Janine took another deep, steadying breath. "I think the two big problems were a badly-run kitchen and a lack of management. Sarah should have been Nan's assistant manager all along. Then she could have just taken over when Nan fell ill. But that didn't happen. And I think you were right about the kitchen. It wasn't professional. That's not a problem now that you're here, and I think Sarah will do a great job while I'm in York. Especially with you around to advise her. But we have to listen to our customers, and so far they're telling me that they preferred the old décor. So I'm going back to that."

  Matthew was silent. Janine waited, heart pounding, for his response.

  "Fair enough," he said in the end. "It's your business, after all. But don't say I didn't warn you."

  "I won't," Janine promised.

  ***

  "What seems to be the trouble, Mrs Jameson?" Janine kept her voice in the delicate middle ground between sympathy and professional detachment. The old woman, one of her most regular patients, made a small grimace.

  "It's me shoulder again, dear. No matter how hard I try, I just can't lift it over my head."

  "Have you been doing the exercises I gave you?"

  "I've done them every day, but it's no good. I'm not getting any worse, which I suppose is something, but I'm not getting any better either."

  "Could you show me how you're doing them?"

  Janine watched, and suppressed a sigh at what she saw. She was annoyed, not with the kindly Mrs Jameson, but with herself. It was too much to ask that an eighty-year-old woman with the early signs of dementia would be able to remember how to do these exercises correctly.

  "That's very good," Janine said, keeping her voice warm and cheerful. "Now try it again without raising your shoulder at all. Just use this muscle here." She touched Mrs Jameson's spindly upper arm. "That's excellent. Now hold for a count of four. Slowly release again. Very good."

  Janine blamed herself for the situation. If she hadn't been away, Mrs Jameson would have been seen twice a week instead of only once, and the relapse wouldn't have occurred.

  "At the hospital, they said I was doing well," Mrs Jameson offered. "They were ever so nice to me there."

  "Hospital?" Janine looked at her notes. "When were you in hospital?"

  "Oh, just a few days ago. I fell, you see, and I couldn't get up again. I tried to grab onto the chair, but I couldn't raise my arm. In the end I managed to roll over and get up on my knees."

  "Was your husband not at home?"

  "He was taking his nap. He always takes one in the afternoon, you know. Though I don't think he would have noticed anyway, because his hearing isn't what it used to be. But my daughter was coming over -- she cooks dinner for us a few times a week -- and she took me straight to the hospital for an X-ray. They said nothing was broken."

  Janine breathed steadily from her lower ribs. Why on earth was this not recorded in the notes?

  "Who did you see when you came in last week?" she asked.

  "I don't know that I did," Mrs Jameson admitted. "What with my fall and everything. I'm sorry about that."

  "Don't worry," Janine reassured her. "But someone should have phoned you to check you were all right. I think that's the first appointment you've missed, and you've been coming here for almost a year. I'll find out what happened. In the meantime, I want you to keep doing the exercises, and come in twice a week again from now on. I will ask reception to book an appointment for you."

  When Mrs Jameson had left, Janine indulged herself in a moment of white fury. A helpless old woman had been injured as a direct result of Janine's absence from the clinic.

  It was pure luck that the daughter had been there to offer assistance. If things had gone badly, Mrs Jameson might have needed to stay in the hospital.

  Janine had always prided herself on offering her patients the very best treatment and support. This was the first time she'd ever felt she'd let someone down. It was a horrible feeling.

  She'd been too caught up in the restaurant. That was inexcusable. It was her dream, but the clinic was more than just her livelihood: it defined her as a professional. Now, she'd betrayed her own principles by letting its standards slide.

  Poor Mrs Jameson wasn't to blame. Janine was livid with herself.

  She managed to calm down and offer a sweet smile by the time she called her next patient. But the thought of Mrs Jameson's fall preyed on her mind for the rest of the day.

  Her mood was not improved by a phone call from Matthew in the evening. She loved to hear his low, reassuring voice, but his news wasn't the best she could have wished for.

  "They've costed up the redecorating, and it's going to be a little over what you said was the maximum. Apparently they need to do more prep work on the ceiling than we thought. Also, I've had a provisional bill through from the roofing contractors. It's six hundred over the quote they gave."

  Janine gasped as if someone had just punched her in the stomach.

  "They did say there was a problem with the connecting beam," she said slowly. "I told them to do whatever they thought was necessary. But six hundred pounds is an awful lot of money." Money she didn't have, either.

  "As a percentage of the total cost, it's not much," Matthew said. "But they should have cleared it with you first. Do you want me to carry on talking to them, or will you phone them in the morning?"

  "I won't get time," Janine admitted. "I'm going in early to sort out all the paperwork that's piled up. You'd better handle it. If we have to pay, then that's what I've got to do. But if you can talk them down at all, I'd appreciate it."

  "I'll see what I can do. It should all come out of the insurance anyway."

  "I know," Janine said. "But not fast enough. We've got to open in the next two weeks, or we're sunk."

  "So this isn't really the time to go back to the old ways."

  "Don't," Janine pleaded. "I've made my decision. It may be the wrong one, but it's made. I need to hear you're on my side."

  "Of course I am," Matthew said. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to the roofers in the morning, and I'll see you Saturday afternoon."

  ***

  Janine unlocked the door with a jaunty sense of confidence. She would stop in at Nan's house before going on to see Matthew at his flat, but already she felt refreshed -- renewed, even -- just by being in Whitby again. She loved the town, and although Nan was gone, there was once again a special someone here for her.

  She felt almost awkward returning to Nan's house. With a start, she realised that she felt like a child again. All along, she had believed she was living in this house as an adult. But really, her childhood self had risen up to confront her, with all its joys and passions, fears and insecurities.

  No
wonder she'd been so happy and so sad, so intensely afraid and so outrageously angry. She'd lived the sharp colourful feelings of a child again. She had forgotten what a rollercoaster of emotion that could be.

  No wonder she had lost her temper with Mrs Sutcliffe. A childish outburst, breaking through her own carefully constructed walls of adult behaviour.

  Funny thing.

  She picked up the post from the kitchen floor. There were two pieces of junk mail, and an official-looking letter from the bank. She threw the junk mail into the recycling basket, and tore open the letter from the bank.

  It was very short. Terse, even. But Janine read it three times before she could make any sense of what it meant.

  When she did, she flopped to the floor as suddenly as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut. She simply could not move. Her body was paralysed. The linoleum floor was hard and cold against her knees. She could see dust gathering in the corner between the end of the kitchen units and the thin strip of wall near the door.

  "They can't do it," she murmured. "They simply can't."

  ***

  "I don't believe this." Matthew gave the letter the same incredulous stare that Janine had done. "How can the bank foreclose?"

  "I rang them." Janine's voice was shaking. She tried to make it steady. "They said they've been very patient, but they're not satisfied with the way things are going and they no longer feel we are a good risk." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "There's nothing to stop them doing it. I read through all the papers. They can foreclose at any time."

  "It's perfect timing, isn't it?" Matthew said with grim humour. "You'll have to fight them on this. Sure, there have been a few setbacks lately, and this storm couldn't have come at a worse time. But that's no reason to let them kill off the business."

  "I know," Janine said wearily. "But I don't know if it's really worth going on. I'm so tired of fighting. Maybe it's time to let the restaurant go. Let everything of Nan's go. I mean, she's dead." Black grief welled up inside her, unstoppable. "She's dead, and she's not coming back, and it doesn't really matter what I do."

  "I don't believe this." Matthew stared at her, his eyes hard and cold as hailstones. "You're going to give up, just like that? Without even trying to fight back?"