The Grand Reopening of Dandelion Café

by Jenny Oliver

  The house was made up of two black wood blocks, one jutting out from the other as if someone had balanced one shoebox on another in an L-shape. The bottom shoebox was all glass. There were rows and rows of windows that looked out onto a narrow strip of swimming pool that followed the same L-shape of the building. The far end had a veranda, made of the same dark wood, with a vine, its rattan-textured trunk twisting round the sharp modern pillars. Two outdoor chairs, a Scandinavian design that Annie had seen in magazines, sat lazily waiting for summer and a pair of olive trees stood guard on either side of the steps. The top shoebox was more enclosed, it was the part that Annie had seen from the road. Only one side was glass, slatted with blinds and facing towards the river.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ she said.

  ‘It’s OK, isn’t it?’ Matt said, coming up next to her and looking, his arms folded in front of him.

  Annie tried to hide a smile. ‘Yeah, it’s OK.’

  ‘Come on. I don’t actually think I have any food but there must be something.’

  They walked together across the lawn, past a giant magnolia tree, its petals glowing white in the moonlight.

  Inside, Matt flicked on the lights and Annie had to stand, mesmerised again. There was a huge open-plan kitchen with white pillar-box tiles and big see-through fridges. The living room was all muted tones of grey with two bright-orange sofas and a fire that looked like Tik-Tok from The Wizard of Oz, its flue reaching up through the whole building. The ceiling was bare wood boards, like a Swiss chalet, dotted with tiny spotlights and the floor a pale-grey herringbone parquet.

  ‘Can I take my shoes off?’ she asked, the blister on the back of her heel throbbing when she stood still.

  ‘You can do whatever you like,’ he said.

  Kicking off her heels, she followed him through into the kitchen, the warmth of the underfloor heating seeping up through her toes and making her almost sigh with relief.

  As Matt banged around with some cupboards, Annie perched herself on the edge of one of the vintage metal high-stools that sat around a big wooden-topped island unit.

  ‘These are nice,’ she said, running her hand along the back of one of the stools.

  Matt glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, I think they’re from the States.’

  ‘You think?’ Annie frowned. She knew where everything was from in her flat. Her lovely oak desk had been donated by her brother when he’d found it in the building he took over for his surgery, her kitchen light was from an antique fair in the south of France, her rug was from Ikea along with her kitchen chairs and her big leather armchair was on permanent loan from an ex-boyfriend who had once sort-of-moved-in and then decided against it and gone travelling instead.

  ‘It’s all been done by an interior decorator, I’m afraid.’ Matt shrugged. ‘I just said yes to the pictures she sent.’

  ‘Oh.’ Annie couldn’t help a tiny bubble of disappointment.

  ‘I know.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s lame, but I just didn’t have time, and I needed somewhere to live. Don’t look at me like that.’ He laughed. ‘I did design the frame. I knew what I wanted it to look like. I just wasn’t so fussed about the interior.’

  ‘You designed the frame?’ she repeated, as if maybe he was rising again in her estimation.

  ‘Yes! And I chose the wood. All the outside. The pool, the glass for the windows. All that stuff. Just not…’ He glanced around. ‘This.’

  Annie noticed for the first time that there wasn’t a single personal possession in the place. No photos, no ornaments, no souvenirs from abroad, no art, nothing.

  ‘Cheese on toast?’ he asked.

  ‘That would be perfect,’ Annie smiled.

  Matt opened a couple more cupboards and then said, ‘I have wine, beer or…’ He paused, looked in a couple of jars, ‘tea.’

  ‘You don’t know where your tea is kept?’

  ‘I don’t drink it. It’s here for visitors. Claire buys it.’

  Annie felt her face fall. ‘Claire?’ she asked, trying to sound impassive but knowing that she didn’t.

  She watched a smile creep onto his face, ‘My housekeeper.’

  ‘Oh right,’ she said, all casual and cool. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he repeated, the smile still toying with his lips.

  ‘I’ll have red wine and a cup of tea, please.’

  ‘An interesting choice.’

  As he looked for some mugs and plates, and examined the grill to see how it worked, Annie went for a wander. She walked along the wall of windows, looking out at the pool as it glistened and flickered in the breeze. There were a couple of wooden loungers stacked up against the garden wall, and above them Matt’s rowing boat was racked along with a canoe, paddle-board and a life-jacket and wet-suit were left hanging on a peg, a pool of water had dripped in a puddle from the jacket.

  Even in the dark she could see the logo of his company stamped on all the equipment. ‘Did I read in the paper that you’d sold Walker Sports?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant when actually she’d read a whole article on the multi-million pound sale on Google the other night.

  ‘Probably,’ he said.

  She could see him in the reflection of the window, he looked up from slicing cheese and caught her eye momentarily in the glass. Annie nodded.

  Matt paused, angled the knife point down in the chopping board and said, ‘At the time it seemed like a good decision.’

  ‘And now?’

  She saw him take a big breath in and exhale as he thought about it. ‘Now I’m tied into a five-year non-compete clause. And, if I’m honest, it’s absolutely killing me.’

  Annie turned so her back was to the window. Matt went back to slicing cheese.

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘No. It was the right decision for the company, just not, in retrospect, for me. Shit, I have no idea how this grill works.’ He was now looking to check if the element had lit up.

  Annie walked over and turned the dial from oven to grill. ‘It was on the wrong setting. Do you never cook?’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s why I need the cafe to stay open.’

  ‘So why is it killing you? The non-compete?’ she asked as he lined the toast up on the grill pan.

  ‘Because I can’t do anything. I can’t design anything. I go climbing and surfing and I see how equipment could be improved, I see new materials and I can’t do anything about it. I wasn’t the cleverest bloke at school and I certainly didn’t apply myself to work half as much as I did to training, but this stuff…’ He nodded towards the windows, to the boats and the boards, ‘This I just get. And for a while I was just this bloke making stuff and travelling and I just wanted people like me to get the best out of what they were doing.’

  ‘Why did that change?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Because the business took off. And I spent too much time in different offices around the world, I got too involved in the politics. I started wearing suits and sitting in boardrooms and it was shit.’ He laughed. ‘So I sold it. But I don’t think I realised how much I needed something to do, something that was mine. In retrospect I would never have given my name away. I don’t think that that was worth the money, someone else trading under your identity. I feel like a fraud when they put new products out to market that aren’t up to my standard. I didn’t give that part enough thought. I’d got…I don’t know…greedy.’ He sucked in his bottom lip. ‘I remember my mum saying that I had an office-tan. How depressing is that?’

  Annie laughed, looked down at her own pale skin that hadn’t seen much sunlight over the last few years.

  Matt went to the fridge and got out some milk for the tea. Annie noticed that the shelves were pretty much bare, besides a lettuce, some tomatoes and some cans of beer. ‘Don’t judge me on my fridge.’ He laughed when he saw the appalled expression on her face. ‘Claire quite often brings me dinner she’s cooked.’ He laughed again. ‘Don’t judge me on that either.’

  ‘Well I suppose if you have
the money,’ Annie said with a raise of a brow.

  ‘Exactly. There have got to be some perks. And before you say anything, I’m on the board of six charities and I fund and manage programmes in a number of developing nations to give school kids access to sport.’

  ‘A real saint,’ Annie smiled.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Annie moved away from the kitchen and across the deep-piled rug in the living room to a hallway with a swanky hotel-esque bathroom. She peered round a corner to a utility room with fishing gear and wellies left muddy by the back door. In the opposite direction was a staircase. From the bottom step she could just see the half-closed door of a room she presumed was Matt’s bedroom and a massive framed picture of a pair of feet hanging from a cliff edge looking down miles to the sea and a fishing boat below.

  ‘You can go up if you want.’

  Annie jumped. ‘Gosh, you startled me. Aren’t you making the cheese on toast?’

  ‘Yes, but I wanted to see what you were looking at.’ Matt was leaning against the wall of the corridor, arms folded, one leg crossed in front of the other.

  ‘Well you go back to the food,’ Annie said, ‘Because I’m starving. And I’ll go and nose around upstairs.’

  Matt laughed. ‘OK then.’

  Annie watched him go and then walked tentatively up the stairs, almost nervous. On the landing she could see the spare room and another bathroom. The spare had views out across the parkland. Ahead of her was clearly Matt’s room and she pushed open the door hesitantly.

  Poking her head in she almost laughed, then opening the door further she went right inside and found herself chuckling.

  ‘What?’ Matt was behind her again. ‘What’s so funny?’ He was carrying a plate stacked with cheese on toast and two mugs of tea. Under his arm was a bottle of wine and two glasses, hanging precariously by their stems on his forearm.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Annie said, incredulous. ‘This…’ She swept her arm around the room. ‘It’s like you’re a camper in your own home!’

  The room was completely different to the rest of the house. On the wall were framed photographs of amazing sunsets, stunning mountain ranges and eye-watering glaciers. The huge bed was covered in throws and rugs from all over the world; bright woven Mexican blankets and muted hand-printed fabrics. There was a sofa in brown corduroy and a beaten old club chair; in the far corner, curled up on an old sheepskin, Buster was snoring loudly. On the floor was what looked like an antique Indian Amritsar rug and by the window was a huge wicker chair, the edges frayed, and next to it a tea-chest was being used as a table with an old side-light and a paperback, the spine broken and lying flat where he’d stopped reading.

  ‘Are those reading glasses?’ she said, taking a step towards the chair.

  ‘Oh sod off. Is that all you can say about my room?’ He put the plates, cups and glasses down on the rough wooden coffee table in front of the sofa.

  Annie smiled as she ran her hand along the edge of the wicker chair, looked at the folded glasses and then bent her head to read the title of the book. Hemingway. ‘We really were far too old for that club,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder at him and gesturing towards the comfy chair and reading glasses. When he rolled his eyes she laughed and then nipped over to the table to pinch a bit of toast.

  She went back to the wicker chair as Matt sat down on the sofa and opened the wine. Sitting herself down in the surprisingly comfy seat, she stretched her legs and looked out towards the river. The tops of the cherry trees looked like witches’ brooms in the darkness. The river gleamed, dark and cold, mist clinging to the surface, and the streetlights on the bridge were like beacons in the night.

  ‘So basically you live in this room,’ she said, hand covering her mouth as she tried to talk through a mouthful of cheese on toast.

  He leant forward, scrubbed his face with his hands and then rested his chin in his palm. ‘I guess so. I’m pretty used to being on my own, just not that used to all this space.’ He did a half-smile, ‘Not that I realised that at the time of building. If I did it again, I’d probably just design some little hut on stilts.’

  Annie laughed. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘No honestly. I don’t need it all. It’s wasted.’

  ‘What about River?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Where would he stay if you only had a hut in the garden?’

  Matt leant back, one arm stretched across the back of the sofa. ‘River doesn’t stay here. He’s never even been here.’

  Annie stood up and went to get her tea. ‘He will,’ she said, standing as she took a sip.

  ‘I hope so,’ Matt said, sitting forward again to pour the wine. ‘You want some of this?’ he asked, holding up the bottle of Bordeaux.

  ‘Definitely,’ Annie said, picking up another slice of toast and sitting down in the club chair. Next to him on the sofa seemed too close.

  When neither of them spoke for a moment, the only sound between them the wine being poured, Annie found herself suddenly lost for something to say. Threads of conversation seemed to disappear like jellyfish tentacles swimming off in the distance. She looked to the view again but now that she was on the club chair and away from the window, the glass had become an impenetrable black wall.

  Matt looked at her. Dark, black eyes impossible to hide from.

  She looked down at her wine.

  Then they both spoke at the same time.

  Matt: ‘So the cafe’s looking good.’

  Annie: ‘I read your postcards.’

  ‘What postcards?’ he asked and she wished she’d stayed silent just a second longer and they’d be having a polite chat about the cafe renovations.

  Annie rubbed her eye, feeling uncomfortable, ‘The ones to River.’

  Matt frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘They were in the shoebox. You know, in the cafe. I wasn’t prying, I promise, well I was, but initially I wasn’t, I was just sorting through stuff and I found them all at the back under the counter.’

  Matt didn’t say anything.

  ‘I thought they were really lovely,’ Annie said, rushing to speak. ‘I think they’re a really lovely memory, for River. You’ve been to so many places. I’ve only been to Europe. And once to Disneyland with my dad and brother when I was little; my brother was sick on the all the rides so we ended up just going to the Epcot Centre and SeaWorld. Can you imagine going to Disney and not going on any rides?’ She laughed, nervous. ‘Listen, I’m sorry, I feel like now you think I was prying by reading them but I wasn’t. I really did think they were lovely.’

  ‘I don’t think you were prying,’ he said, looking down at his hands. ‘I just…’ He blew out a breath and flopped back against the sofa. ‘I just think of them and think how stupid I was going off. I wrote them to no one really. The early ones weren’t even to him, they were to nothing. To this being that kept tapping on my brain everywhere I was.’ He licked his lips then, after a moment, said, ‘The guilt was like this ball stuck in my chest.’ He put his hand on his heart, ‘And it would appear at all the wrong times. At the top of the Corcovado or once when I was heli-skiing in the Talkeetna Mountains in Alaska?’ He said it as a question, as if asking if she’d ever heard of them. She shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’m at the top of this vertical slope and I can’t stop my legs shaking. In my head there’s just his little face. And I didn’t want that.’ He paused and reached forward to pick up his wine glass. ‘Sorry.’

  Annie shook her head. ‘You can carry on.’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘The postcards are well-thumbed, Matt. He’s read them all. You know that, don’t you?’

  Matt didn’t reply.

  Annie glanced away, decided it was best to change the subject. There was a stack of books against the wall to her right and next to that a cardboard box full of medals. ‘Are those yours?’ she asked, pointing at the box.

  He stood up to see what she was pointing at and then nodded.

  ‘Wow.’ She reached
down and picked a medal up. Embossed on the big gold disc was the figure of a rower in a boat. ‘Are they all for rowing?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She thought back to what he’d said about training for the Olympics at seventeen. ‘Do you have an Olympic one? I saw one once, it was a show-jumper’s. It was amazing. Really heavy.’

  Matthew sat back down on the sofa and picked up a bit of now-congealed cheese on toast. ‘I didn’t go.’

  Annie looked confused. ‘I thought you said…’

  He shook his head. ‘We had River. I had to get a job.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ She put the medal back down in the box and folded the flaps closed. ‘Is that why you left? Oh sorry, no you don’t want to talk about it.’

  He gave her a wry smile, like he knew she was desperate to know.

  ‘Yes. I was very young and very angry. I was angry with myself and angry with Pamela and I was angry with this baby that I didn’t want and that I felt had ruined everything I had ever worked for in my life. And I couldn’t do both. Nowadays you can get National Lottery funding or sports grants but back then you couldn’t and we had a baby to support. And that was it. I’m not a very good person, Annie.’

  She frowned. ‘What, when you were seventeen?’

  ‘I only came back a year or so ago.’

  She got up from her chair and, taking her glass and the blanket that was folded over the back of it, went to sit on the sofa next to him. ‘When did you want to come back?’ she asked.

  He smiled. ‘About ten years ago.’

  Annie curled her feet up so that her toes were just touching the seams of his jeans, and laid the blanket out over her legs. ‘If we were all perfect in our pasts then we’d have nothing to hope for in our futures.’ She took a sip of wine. Matt looked down at his hands.

  ‘Matt, I don’t think it’s about being there all the time or never making mistakes, it’s about getting there in the end. You’re here. You saw him play. Yes, maybe you buggered up a bit in the past but better to go than stay and get more and more resentful. I’ve met Pamela and her husband, they’re lovely. That doesn’t mean River doesn’t want you in his life. And I mean, look at all this stuff.’ She pointed at the pictures of the crazy adventuring. ‘You have to work at the things that are important. It’s hard.’