Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I say quickly. ‘We were just having a chat.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ he replies. I think he’s picking up on my coldness. ‘So you guys have plans tonight?’

  ‘We’re going to see Clara and Henry,’ Frankie tells him. ‘For chicken nuggets.’

  ‘Oh,’ Alfie says again, turning to me. ‘Is that all your plans are? Because I was planning something for you – and it involved Frankie going to Clara and Henry’s for some chicken nuggets.’

  Oh, I’ll bet it did.

  ‘You should go out with Alfie, Mum,’ Frankie tells me. ‘I like hanging out at Clara and Henry’s, we play games and puzzles and Henry tells me stories.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave you again,’ I tell him.

  ‘Mum, I’m not a baby,’ he insists. ‘You can go out with Alfie.’

  ‘I do have a surprise arranged…’ Alfie adds.

  I don’t know how to say no, not without an explanation, but I can’t exactly tell my son my reservations, and I can’t really tell Alfie that I know what a womaniser he is, so could he please stop being nice to me.

  ‘OK, sure,’ I say, not sounding all that convincing.

  ‘Great stuff,’ Alfie says optimistically. ‘I just need to go and make some arrangements, then I’ll text you and arrange a time.’

  ‘OK,’ I reply, forcing a smile.

  ‘OK,’ he echoes, kicking the grass gently with the toe of his boot. ‘See you later.’

  I watch Alfie walk to his car before turning back to Frankie, who has the cheekiest little smile on his face.

  ‘What?’ I ask him, laughing awkwardly.

  ‘What?’ he repeats back to me, still smiling.

  I narrow my eyes as I smile at him. He thinks there’s something going on between Alfie and me, bless him.

  ‘Come on you,’ I say, pulling myself up from the floor before giving Frankie a hand up. ‘Let’s go call Viv and beg her to come and look after us.’

  You really are never too old to need your mum.

  Chapter 17

  After calling my mum and asking for her help (she jumped at the chance) and getting Frankie changed out of his school uniform, I made a start getting ready for this evening. When Alfie messaged me he told me to dress comfortably which, other than my PJs or my tracksuit, isn’t really something I do. I hopped into a pair of black skinny jeans and a black Bardot top, gave my hair a blast with some dry shampoo and reapplied the parts of my make-up that had faded over the course of the day. What? This isn’t a date so I’m under no obligation to dress nice, hold my tummy in or laugh at his jokes.

  We dropped an excited Frankie off at Clara and Henry’s before driving to the coast in awkward silence for the most part, peppered with occasional small talk.

  ‘So that, over there, is Hope Island. It’s a tidal island, so sometimes it’s connected to the mainland, other times it’s just a little island out there on its own.’

  My ears prick up reluctantly. This is actually kind of interesting.

  ‘This road we’re driving along – the causeway – isn’t always here, sometimes it’s completely covered in water.’

  ‘Do people ever get stuck?’ I ask – my first sincere attempt at conversation this evening.

  ‘Oh yeah, people get over and don’t check the times for the tide and get stuck at one side of another. Every couple of months we’ll have a car get stuck halfway along. The coastguard has to come out and rescue them.’

  ‘How long is the causeway?’

  ‘The road is little over a mile. It’s not like the tide comes in out of nowhere, but it’s faster than you might think. Some people think they can chance it, but cars can float in just a foot or two of water. At high tide, the water can be six-feet deep, it’s not worth the risk, even in a 4x4.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ I say sincerely. I might not like it here, but I can’t deny its unique beauty and intrigue.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve checked the times. We’ll make it back.’

  ‘Good,’ I reply, a little too firmly. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

  I gaze out of the window as we drive along the causeway. It’s so strange to be driving, I guess, through the sea. Being able to look out over the water like we’re in a boat, except we’re in a car. It’s kind of scary really, to think that where the car is right now will be deep underwater soon.

  ‘You know how I told you I could sort all your problems out?’ he says. I’m not looking at him, but I can practically hear his smile and his optimism.

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘It would be fair to say that you’re not a fan of Marram Bay – true?’

  ‘I guess,’ I reply. ‘I feel like it’s a circumstantial dislike though.’

  ‘Don’t get bogged down in a chicken or egg debate,’ he insists. ‘A place like Marram Bay, it’s not just a town, it’s so much more than that. It’s alive, in the scenery and the businesses and the locals. So if you want Marram Bay to love you, you’re going to need to learn to love Marram Bay – it’s a mutual thing. You’re going to need to get on board with everything.’

  ‘Listen,’ I start. ‘I didn’t just come here with an open mind, I came here excited to be starting a new life, in a beautiful place, with a real sense of community. But when I get here, all I’m greeted with is hostility, hatred and a knackered old cottage.’

  ‘I am going to make you fall in love with this town, Lily Holmes. And then this town is going to fall in love with you, OK?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Will you let me try?’ he asks, laughing at my stubbornness.

  ‘Sure,’ I give in, although I’m not expecting much. This is probably just a line, to woo me into bed before he never speaks to me again.

  ‘This is Hope Island,’ he tells me as we pull off the causeway. ‘It’s just green grass and beach for the most part, but there’s a little village down one end with restaurants, B&Bs and houses.’

  ‘Some people live on the island?’ I ask, amazed. Imagine living somewhere you could only leave at certain times of the day.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘People love it over here.’

  ‘I’d hate it,’ I admit. I have to admit that the island is beautiful, it’s just so small and isolated. I might feel lonely at the cottage, surrounded by green, but here you’re surrounded by green and then nothing but sea. ‘How big is the island?’

  ‘About a thousand acres,’ he tells me.

  ‘I can’t believe I never knew this was here,’ I admit. ‘It’s amazing, it really is.’

  ‘Phase one of making you fall in love with the place,’ Alfie informs me.

  ‘Buddy, it’s going to take a lot more than some cool geography to turn this frown upside down.’

  A short drive across the island leads us towards the ruins of an old building. I’ve seen it before, across the sea from the pub we were in last night.

  ‘This is Hope Abbey,’ Alfie says, in full-on tour guide mode. ‘Well, what’s left of it. It’s an eighth-century building, but it’s been in ruins since the eighteenth century. People travel from all over the place to see it.’

  Alfie parks the car near the abbey, alongside just one other car. We get out and begin our walk towards it. It’s starting to get darker now, and a little chillier. I suppose because we’re out here on the coast of the island, we’ll be really feeling the breeze.

  ‘I’ve not brought you here for a history lesson, not a traditional one anyway,’ he explains. ‘The Hopeful Ghost pub is named after Hope Island’s most popular urban legend. A long, long time ago a young bride and groom tied the knot here, in the grounds of the abbey. It was a beautiful wedding ceremony and a perfect day, until the bride found herself unable to locate her groom.’

  ‘Erm, I’m not one for scary stories,’ I insist, as Alfie leads me into the centre of the abbey. My gaze goes from the ground, to the high stone walls, to staring at the sky above us, where the roof used to be.

  ‘You don’t want to hear the rest?’ Alfie asks.

 
; I think for a moment. Curiosity has got the better of me now.

  ‘OK, keep going, but no jump scares,’ I warn him.

  ‘It’s just a story,’ he laughs. ‘So the bride goes off looking for the groom and finds him, tucked away in the corner of one of the old rooms, with her younger sister. The sister tells the groom he should have married her and then they kiss.’

  ‘This is an awful story,’ I point out. ‘So depressing.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ he says dramatically. ‘To teach her groom a lesson, the bride decides to hide, to give him a scare, to make him realise that he does in fact love her more than anything. Rumour has it there’s a secret tunnel underneath the island, that monks once used to escape the abbey, and the bride found her way into it…she never found her way back out though. It’s said that, to this day, on a night like this, the bride’s ghost emerges from underground, looking to exact her revenge on the first couple she finds.’

  I stare at Alfie for a second, blinking occasionally.

  ‘Wow,’ I finally say.

  ‘I know,’ he replies. ‘Scary stuff.’

  ‘And…you thought you’d bring a girl here?’ I ask in disbelief. ‘For that?’

  ‘No,’ he laughs, ushering me through a gap in the wall. ‘For this.’

  As I look out towards the sea, I notice a picnic blanket, all laid out with food and drink. Little lanterns are dotted around, creating a scene fresh out of a romantic movie.

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he says. ‘For you. To cheer you up, show you the sights. Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it,’ I reply. ‘No one has ever done anything like this for me before…’

  ‘I’ll get off,’ a man’s voice says, causing me to jump out of my skin.

  ‘Lily, it’s OK, it’s my mate Andy. He lives on the island, I set things up and asked him to watch over it while I picked you up. See you later, mate.’

  Andy, amused at my pathetic little scream, laughs as he heads for his car.

  ‘Just the two of us now,’ Alfie says. ‘No mates, no ghosts…’

  ‘It’s so bizarre,’ I say as we both take a seat down on the blanket. ‘It’s like the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen, in the least romantic place I’ve ever heard of.’

  ‘It’s actually a very romantic place really,’ Alfie tells me as he pours me a glass of white wine. ‘Lots of people get married here, proposals happen here.’

  ‘Yeah, I met a girl yesterday who told me a story about that. She told me a lot of stories about a lot of people.’

  ‘Ah,’ Alfie says. ‘You heard some stuff about me?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I reply casually, picking up a smoked salmon blini and popping it in my mouth.

  ‘Yes then,’ he laughs. ‘What did you hear?’

  I pull a face and shrug, as if to say ‘I don’t know’ when I absolutely do.

  ‘I know the rumours about me, you know,’ he says. ‘And I can confirm that they’re just that. Rumours.’

  ‘I heard that you go on a lot of dates with a lot of women – but never the same one twice,’ I say, immediately wishing I hadn’t. I don’t want to seem like I care.

  ‘It’s true, I do go on a lot of dates, but that goes with the bachelor territory. People try to set me up with their friends or, I meet someone, and I’m not ready to give up hope just yet that I might find someone who is right for me. So, sure, I’ll go on first dates, but I don’t get far past them because I haven’t met the right girl.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me,’ I tell him.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he replies. ‘Do you think I’ve brought every girl in town out here?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I reply, sheepishly.

  ‘I’ve never done this before,’ he tells me, taking me by the hand. ‘I really do want to help you fit in here, and I do know how you can do it, and if I like spending time with you – is that so bad?’

  I shake my head.

  Alfie massages his temples for a second before knocking back his drink.

  ‘I suppose that was my one glass of wine, given that I need to drive us home later,’ he says with an awkward laugh. ‘I didn’t think I’d be getting into this today but, here we go. Trusting people is not something that comes easily to me.’

  It’s my turn to take Alfie by the hand.

  ‘You owe me no explanation,’ I insist. ‘Your life is your life.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he replies with a smile. ‘I didn’t have the best childhood. It was just me, my mum and my dad – and they didn’t exactly like each other. My dad was preoccupied with the farm, my mum struggled with depression – probably thanks to my dad – and that left me kind of lonely. My dad didn’t really approve of me. He wanted me to be a good farmer’s lad, to drink real ale and watch sport and be a real manly man. I wasn’t like that though, I liked science fiction, video games, comic books. I was a chubby kid who hated sport – both playing and watching. When the football was on, my dad would try and make me watch it with him, even though I’d be much happier reading a book. I wasn’t exactly popular at school either. Is there any crime greater – in the eyes of your peers – than being chubby at school? As time went on I got chubbier, shyer, and I became isolated from everyone else. When my mum eventually moved out, things got worse between me and my dad.’

  Alfie pauses for a second. He swallows his saliva, hard, as he searches for the right words.

  ‘He started drinking more and more and, er, well, he started hitting me. He said he wanted to toughen me up, that I’d never be able to run the farm, being such a soft lad.’

  ‘That’s horrible,’ I say, squeezing his hand. ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘It seems messed up to me now, but I believed him. Running off crying to tell someone felt like a “soft lad” thing to do. So I took it and then I left home the second I could, and I didn’t come back until I knew he was gone.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry you had to go through that,’ I tell him.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he replies. ‘It was a long time ago. And then I moved back and suddenly, all the people who didn’t want to talk to me before, were interested in me. I didn’t trust them and, to be honest, if you can’t trust your own dad – your flesh and blood, the person responsible for you being alive…well, who can you trust?’

  I nod thoughtfully.

  ‘I see a little of myself – well, young me – in Frankie. I’m not saying he’s fat,’ Alfie laughs, probably recalling my story about Mrs Snowball confiscating his lunch. ‘But, he seems a little lonely here. When I saw him for the first time, on the farm, it was weird, it was like looking at myself at that age. It scared me for a second, I thought I was imagining things.’

  ‘Well, the good news is that my mum is going to come and stay with us, while I figure out what I’m supposed to do. Neither of us is happy here though, that’s for sure.’

  Alfie picks up a mini quiche and examines it thoughtfully.

  ‘I’m doing my best to fix that,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply sincerely.

  We sit for a while, chatting, eating and drinking. It’s so beautiful, watching the sun disappear as the little lanterns seem to grow brighter. As it starts to feel a little colder, Alfie takes a second blanket and wraps it around my shoulders.

  The conversation takes a cheerier turn – Alfie tells me about his happy childhood memories, and how he too used to spend a lot of time hanging out with Henry. Clara and Henry just seem like such genuine, lovely people, happy to do anything for anyone.

  ‘So when are you expecting your mum?’ Alfie asks.

  ‘Viv should be here tomorrow evening,’ I tell him. ‘We must remember to call her Viv, she doesn’t like anyone knowing she’s a mum – or worse, a gran – she thinks it hurts her chances with men.’

  ‘Do you think that’s true?’ he asks. ‘That having kids puts men off?’

  ‘Oh, I have eight years of anecdotal evidence that it
does,’ I laugh. ‘Guys don’t want the baggage, I guess.’

  ‘I don’t know, I’d imagine each situation is different. It’s just you and Frankie, and he’s a great kid, it’s not like you’ve got a psychotic ex on the scene. Last night, after you left, Charlie pondered why Frankie’s dad might not be on the scene and wondered if he might be in prison.’ He laughs at how absurd this sounds to him. ‘I told her that her imagination runs away with her.’

  I feel my face fall. So that’s where the rumour came from – Charlie.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I was just trying to say that your situation shouldn’t put men off. Frankie is a bonus, if anything.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply. I have another profiterole to distract myself from the increasingly negative thoughts I’m having about Charlie.

  ‘So you think things will be better once Viv is here?’

  ‘I hope so,’ I tell him. ‘Even if it’s only until I can get on to my bosses about getting someone else to take over.’

  ‘Take over from you?’ he asks, sounding surprised.

  ‘If things don’t change, I would be crazy to stay here,’ I tell him honestly. ‘The locals won’t have won, they’ll just send someone else to run the deli. But at least me and my son will be happy.’

  ‘No one wins if you leave,’ Alfie starts. ‘Least of all me.’

  I turn to face him, cocking my head with curiosity.

  Before I have a chance to ask any questions, Alfie places a hand softly on my face and gazes into my eyes. The idea of him being a Lothario pops back into my head. Is this what he does? Gets women out here and tells them stories about ghosts to get their guard down, before hitting them with a double whammy of a romantic picnic and a childhood sob story?

  Looking back into his eyes, I don’t know. I can see the sadness behind them. I can feel the warmth coming from his hand. If he is manipulating me, it is working because…

  He leans forward and places his lips on mine softly, hardly moving, just holding position for a few seconds. I can feel his breath, warm against my lips, and it smells like the apple juice he was drinking moments ago. A bad guy wouldn’t stick to glasses of apple juice to stay sober enough to drive me home, a bad guy would be getting wasted and trying to trap me here, so we’ve no choice but to check into a B&B. Everything about Alfie is screaming Mr Perfect – everything but the rumours. I suppose, there are rumours about me too now, and none of them are true. Perhaps he really is the amazing man he seems to be.