‘You’re late,’ Frankie says. ‘Dad is never late.’
I could argue that he’s eight years late, but I don’t.
‘Who’s this?’ I ask, still smiling.
‘I’m Simon,’ the small boy says quietly. ‘Have you seen my mum?’
I feel my eyebrows shoot up. I thought I was the only mum who was late.
‘I haven’t.’ I watch as Simon’s face falls, the thought that his mum may have forgotten him laying heavy on his mind. ‘But she called me and asked me and Frankie to hang out with you until she got here.’
‘Oh, OK,’ he replies, turning his attention back to his sculpture.
I sit and watch the pair of them as they build and chat, and I can’t help but notice that all Frankie talks about is Nathan.
‘When my dad finishes my tree house, you can come over and play in it, can’t he, Mum?’ Frankie says
‘If he finishes it,’ I can’t help but start, but this criticism goes over the kids’ heads. ‘Of course he can.’
‘My dad is so cool. He has all these stories from loads of different places. He says one day he’ll take me travelling and I can’t wait.’
‘My dad sells meat,’ Simon replies.
‘My dad hates meat,’ Frankie tells him emphatically. ‘He says we shouldn’t eat it but I don’t think I could eat what he eats because it’s just plants, but he says he’ll help me learn to like it too, which is great, because I love animals too.’
As I watch my son chatter away, it strikes me now more than ever just how similar he is to his dad, and the thought of Nathan giving Frankie ideas about taking him travelling and feeding him kale just fill me with fear. My son doesn’t think I’m the cool parent any more, he’s obsessed with his dad.
‘Simon,’ I hear Jessica pant as she runs up the school steps.
‘Hello,’ I say, before she has chance to say anything else. ‘I told Simon how you suggested he hang out with Frankie and me for a while before you picked him up, just so they could get to know each other.’
I watch as Jessica processes what I’m saying.
‘Yes!’ she says, enthusiastic with relief. ‘I did say that. I just need a quick word with Lily before we go.’
Jessica ushers me to one side, away from the boys.
‘I just…I just forgot,’ she babbles.
I shrug my shoulders.
‘I left Frankie in a shopping trolley in Tesco when he was a toddler. Only for about thirty seconds, but even so – this is nothing.’
‘Thank you for covering for me,’ she says, and she sounds like she means it. ‘If he thought I’d forgotten him – or if the other mums caught wind.’
‘We all make mistakes,’ I tell her. ‘Anyway, they seem to be really getting along.’
‘They do,’ she says, nodding in agreement.
‘Hey, are you free tonight?’ I ask. I didn’t set this up – how could I have? – but this seems like a good opportunity.
‘I am,’ she replies cautiously.
‘I’m having a food tasting event at the deli. It would be so great if you could be there, and if you could bring some of the other mums…’
Jessica looks at me for a moment and it suddenly occurs to me that she might think I’m trying to blackmail her.
‘OK, sure,’ she replies with a smile. ‘I appreciate you helping me out, I owe you.’
‘Awesome,’ I reply. ‘Tell everyone it’s at the yet to be titled deli, at 7 p.m.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ she replies, and I think she might mean it. ‘Come on, Simon, let’s go.’
‘See you tomorrow,’ Simon tells Frankie as he hops down from the bench.
‘Bye,’ Frankie says ecstatically.
‘You made a friend,’ I say, offering him a high-five once Jessica and Simon are out of earshot.
‘I did,’ he replies, running past me. ‘I can’t wait to go home and tell Dad!’
Back home the first thing Frankie does is charge inside to find Nathan. He finds him, of course, sitting on the sofa watching TV. Nathan would always criticise people who watched too much TV but he seems to be finding it preferable to finding a job since he came back. His latest passion is watching Come Dine With Me and blindly rooting for the vegetarian or vegan participant on moral grounds. He might like to give it a go, he mentioned yesterday, if I would let him use the kitchen. I didn’t even humour him because you just know that, if he did apply, and his kooky personality got him accepted, I’d probably end up cooking for his guests – or my mum would. My mum who is currently ironing his freshly washed clothes for him. I keep telling her that, as much as I appreciate her helping out, she shouldn’t be doing everything for Nathan, because it only encourages him to do even less.
‘Remind me why I can’t come to the party tonight, Lil,’ Nathan says as he rubs Frankie’s bald head like a crystal ball.
‘Because you’re looking after Frankie,’ I point out.
‘But I want to come along. The locals love me!’
‘No, they don’t,’ I correct him. ‘Some of them think you’re fresh out of prison after murdering someone, others think you’ve been living in the jungle, at one with apes, and have caused a nit outbreak at school.’
‘All rumours,’ he points out.
‘And then, of course, there’s your beef with Alfie – no pun intended – and the local vet did see you peeing in the garden.’
‘And you said we could do some work on the tree house tonight,’ Frankie says enthusiastically.
I look over at him, my eyes wide with anticipation. I wonder what his excuse will be tonight, because he always seems to have one.
I watch Nathan wrack his brains for a moment.
‘Probably best to get things fixed in place ASAP,’ I say. ‘We’re expecting storms next week.’
‘Really?’ Nathan says in disbelief.
‘Really,’ I reply. ‘I heard it on the news today.’
This is entirely true. The weather forecast said that an unseasonably deep area of low pressure for this time of year is going to hit the UK next week, with England and Wales bearing the brunt of the strong winds and heavy rain we’re expecting.
‘OK, sure,’ Nathan tells Frankie. ‘After Hollyoaks.’
Frankie frowns, but only for a second. He’s getting what he wants.
‘I saw your outfit for tonight on the bed,’ my mum says, sidling up along side me. She gives me a wiggle of her eyebrows.
‘That’s just my optimistic plan A,’ I tell her quietly. ‘I’ve got a plan B, just in case I look awful.’
‘You’re going to look amazing,’ she assures me. ‘So am I.’
‘I expect no less from my sister,’ I joke.
‘I’m sure Alfie will be pleased to see you,’ she says, delivering an elbow to my ribcage to emphasise her point.
‘I’m sure Alfie will be pleased to see you,’ Nathan says mockingly. ‘What is it with women and that bloody farmer?’
‘Nathan, he’s gorgeous,’ Viv insists. Nathan frowns at her. ‘And so are you,’ she adds. ‘In your own, special way.’
An almost enviable level of ego allows Nathan to see a compliment in that. He smiles.
‘Do you want Alfie to be your boyfriend?’ Frankie asks, taking his eyes off Come Dine With Me for a second – a show he’s never previously been remotely interested in.
‘’Course she doesn’t,’ Nathan insists. ‘Do you?’
I look over at them, an almost carbon copy of one another were it not for the twenty-three years that separate them. It’s almost like Nathan is a scary vision of what Frankie could turn out like when he’s older, if he doesn’t make the right choices, and I can already see him doing almost everything he can to be just like his dad.
‘Alfie is my friend,’ I tell him, because that is technically true.
‘Dad could be your boyfriend again,’ Frankie suggests.
I clear my throat, suddenly so uncomfortable.
Nathan looks over at me, waiting to see how I repl
y.
‘We’re just friends too,’ I tell him. ‘You know your mum doesn’t have time for boyfriends.’
Of course it’s only natural for Frankie to want his parents to get back together, and for us all to be a happy family, but he’s just way too young to understand why this is a terrible idea. Other than the fact that I don’t love Nathan – which is arguably the most important – I just couldn’t live with him. I couldn’t go back to how things were, I don’t have the time or the energy to look after him too, and then there’s how I feel about Alfie…
‘I’d better go get ready,’ I say. ‘Lots of setting up to do.’
‘I’m looking forward to helping out,’ Viv says.
My mum has very kindly offered to help out this evening, seeing as it’s just me and Channy working. Alfie will be there for support, and he’s invited loads of people, so hopefully some of them show up.
I’m scared to say it, but I’m excited. This feels like the first bit of progress I’ve made with the deli – well, not progress as such, but the possibility for progress. At this stage, I’ll take what I can get.
Chapter 30
Stepping behind the counter, I pull my dress back down over my arse. I bought it because it looked great on the woman modelling it online. However the model, unlike me, is significantly lacking in any lumps or bumps, which gave the dress she is wearing an extra three or four inches on mine. My dress has a lot of uneven terrain to contend with and, as such, is appearing like more of a mini than it was intended. Of course I didn’t really realise this until I left the house. It did that thing outfits somehow manage to do, where it behaved from the house, to the car, and then the second I reached my destination, boom, I’m in self-conscious city.
Viv assures me that I look great, but Viv’s outfit is a beast all of its own. My mum is wearing a pair of super tight black PVC trousers with a black lace top, and she looks amazing in it, it’s just maybe a little bit much for a small-town deli food tasting.
I am also wearing black, which Nathan happily made fun of as we left the cottage.
‘You two look like you’re going out on the pull,’ he laughed. ‘Or to a wake.’
I’m wearing a slinky wrap dress that rides up when I move, courtesy of my butt moving as I walk. If I can stand still I’m fine, it stays in position, but as I move around my hemline starts creeping back up again. My very high heels are ensuring I take small, ladylike steps, which seems to slow the process down a little, thankfully. I’m dreading the moment when I need to bend over for something.
Wardrobe malfunctions aside, the evening seems to be going well, which has taken me by surprise.
When I arrived back at the deli, all dolled up and ready to be disappointed, all of our hard work getting the place ready today was so clearly noticeable. Outside, the deli looked spotless, the flowers all looked amazing, all of the little twinkly lights we put up were visible as the sun started to set – it was everything I had in my mind when Eric and Amanda sent me here and all I could think was that it was such a shame not many people would see it…but then people started turning up. I don’t know if they turned up out of curiosity, for the free food, or because they genuinely wanted to, but the place is packed and, unless this is some kind of co-ordinated act of sabotage, things really might be on the up.
Luckily my bosses had large containers of ready prepared food for the evening, so all I need to do is serve it, which has taken away a lot of the stress of throwing this party.
I’ve spotted a lot of familiar faces already – mums from the school, local business people and, just like he said he would be, Biagio is here. As I approach Avril, Jessica and Mary-Ann, armed with a plate of food for them to try, I notice Biagio heading over.
‘These are fennel, sea salt and cracked black pepper cracker breads with—’
‘You have to guess what kind of cheese it is,’ Biagio interrupts me.
The women stare at him, puzzled, but happily take a cracker bread from the plate.
‘Oh, wow,’ Jessica says through a mouthful of food.
‘It’s not like anything we make,’ Mary-Ann adds, and she sounds relieved, I suppose because she’s the local dairy farmer. This must show her that we’re not trying to step on her toes.
‘We’ve actually spent a lot of time in France,’ Avril starts, lightly dabbing around her mouth with a serviette. ‘So I know a thing or two about European foods, and this is definitely French.’
‘No, no, no,’ Biagio protests, sounding more Italian with each word. ‘It’s Italian. It’s Burrata – Mozzarella on the outside, Stracciatella and cream on the inside. Delicious.’
‘You know your cheese,’ I tell him, impressed.
‘Would you like me to hand some out?’ he asks.
I feel a big, stupid grin slowly creep across my face – I’m just so overwhelmed. If he wants to help out, he must be considering working here.
‘Yes please,’ I reply.
‘I already handed out a few fruit tarts. I told people, they’re all part of your five a day. Entertain your guests,’ he insists. ‘I’ll help with the food.’
‘Lily,’ I hear Alfie call from behind me.
Alfie had texted me and warned me that he was going to be a little late, as Leonardo the alpaca seemed a little off colour, so he’d asked Charlie to stop by on their way to the deli. There was something about his use of ‘their way’, like they came as a pair, that just filled me with jealousy.
I turn around and see him standing behind me. He has his usually wild locks slicked back and, teamed with his black trousers and a crisp white shirt, he looks positively dashing – nothing at all like a farmer.
‘Hey,’ I say brightly. I hurry over, my hands pulling on my hem as subtly as possible, and kiss him on the cheek to greet him. This isn’t something we do and I immediately wonder why I did it.
‘Lily, you look…’ He pauses to find the words and with each second I grow more self-conscious. ‘Incredible.’
I finally exhale and smile.
‘Oh, thank you,’ I say bashfully, and for a moment I feel like the prettiest woman in the room.
‘Hey,’ Charlie says, stepping out from behind Alfie. ‘I didn’t expect so many people to be here – and I didn’t think I’d need to dress up, plus I was just at Alfie’s checking on Leonardo, so I hope it’s OK I came like this.’
You could be forgiven for thinking Charlie had turned up in a white vet coat, covered in cow dung, but she’s wearing a pair of black PVC trousers, not unlike my mum’s, and a plunging V-neck black vest. She looks incredible, with her face perfectly highlighted and her impossibly long eyelashes. In fact, she and Alfie almost look like they’ve coordinated outfits, making them look like they belong together – well, not together together, but like they belong next to each other, at least.
‘You look great,’ I tell her.
‘Says you,’ she replies, her big, toothy smile beaming brightly. ‘I wish I were brave enough to dress like that.’
Her words, whether they were intended to hurt my feelings or not, send a rush of blood to my head. I smile.
‘I just need to check on something in the kitchen,’ I say, hurrying away. I manage to make it through the door just as a tear escapes my eye. I hurriedly wipe it away, just as my mum walks in.
‘Darling, what’s wrong?’ she asks.
‘Nothing,’ I insist. I should know better than to think I can lie to my mum.
‘Something is wrong,’ she says. ‘That’s the fastest I’ve seen you walk in that dress all night, and there’s no fire in here…’
I laugh as another tear escapes.
‘I think Charlie might’ve just insulted me – or maybe I just imagined it, I don’t know.’
‘What did she say?’ Viv asks.
‘She said she wishes she was brave enough to wear this dress…it’s just the way she said it.’
‘Are you really going to let some little girl, who constantly plays “hard to want” around Alfie, upset you?’ my
mum asks.
‘Apparently,’ I reply. I laugh, but my true feelings cause my voice to crackle.
My mum puts an arm around me.
‘You look amazing,’ she tells me. ‘I don’t know why she would suggest you were brave for dressing like this but…look, do I really need to tell you that looks don’t matter?’
‘I know they don’t but…y’know,’ I reply.
‘Listen to me,’ Viv starts, squeezing me tightly. ‘You might think Charlie looks better than you do but so what? She’s not going to look like that forever, and you’re not going to look like this forever. You’re going to get old. Really old. You’re gonna go all saggy and wrinkly and grey and you’re gonna go through the menopause and you’re gonna start wearing really big knickers and slippers and watching Loose Women and saying things like “it looks like it’s trying to rain” and “Margaret’s prolapsed again” – and you’re not the only one. I’m going to get there, Charlie is going to get there, and no shallow man is going to stick around for any of that anyway, they’ll be off, trying to find some young thing to replace you. But a real man doesn’t care about any of that, a real man cares about what’s going on inside. I’ve seen the way you and Alfie look at each other and you’ve only known each other five minutes – she’s been trying to get her claws into him for five years, if what Channy tells me is true, and where has it got her?’
I smile. There is no one like your mum for putting things into perspective. I knew all this – of course I did – but it’s easy to forget sometimes.
‘You’re right,’ I tell her.
‘I’m always right,’ she replies. ‘I also wear these trousers better than her, the girl doesn’t have an arse.’
I laugh.
‘Now get back out there and own tonight,’ Viv insists.
‘I will,’ I say, hopping to my feet. ‘Is my make-up OK?’
‘Still perfect,’ she replies. ‘Remember who you are, OK?’
Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli Page 18