The Grand Reopening of Dandelion Café

by Jenny Oliver

  Matthew rested his head back on the edge of the sofa. His eyes were closed and she stared at his profile. The tightness of his jaw, the lines at the corners of his eyes. She wondered if she could see tiny flecks of grey at his temples.

  ‘I read those postcards, Matt. They aren’t to no one.’

  He opened one eye.

  ‘They’re to your son.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Annie woke up to the phone ringing. She was lying on the brown corduroy sofa with the blanket tucked around her and another quilt laid on top. Her eyes struggled for a second to focus, and when they did she saw Matt standing by the window in his boxers, his iPhone to his ear.

  ‘Calm down. Just calm down,’ he was saying to whoever was on the other end of the line.

  Annie sat up, rubbing her eyes. Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror, hair sticking up wildly on the side she’d slept, and began madly trying to flatten it down. The light in the room was hazy, as if the sun had only just risen and was yawning itself. She looked around for a clock and saw the one by Matt’s bed said four.

  ‘OK, where are you?’ Matt was talking really slowly. ‘Yes. Yes. OK. OK. Stay there. I’m coming. No. No I won’t tell your mother, I promise. Just stay there. OK.’ He ended the call and strode over to the chair where his jeans from the night before lay.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was River, he’s pissed somewhere. He’s with a girl who keeps passing out and being sick and he doesn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Annie jumped up from the sofa and grimaced when she looked down at her leather leggings and top from the night before. ‘Do you want me to come?’

  Matt paused as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. ‘Yes. Yes please.’

  ‘Can you lend me a jumper?’

  He half-laughed, as if that was the most he could summon up under the circumstances and threw her a navy blue hoody. ‘Claire’s wellington boots are by the back door if you want to wear them?’ he said.

  ‘OK, yeah,’ Annie followed him down the stairs. At the back door she pulled on the pink pearlised wellies and a dark-green gardening jacket that she presumed was also Claire’s and jogged after Matt, the too-big wellies making a squelching sound as she walked.

  ‘Very fetching,’ he said when she caught up with him.

  Matt was wearing a grey sweatshirt and some natty microfibre jacket that looked like it would keep you warm and somehow save your life if buried in an avalanche.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To the wasteland.’

  ‘Classy.’

  What remained of the wasteland was round the back of the new-builds. An area of scrub land that, after plans had been approved for the new estate, locals had campaigned to have conserved for wildlife. But the developers had ‘accidentally’ hacked down most of the trees when they built the first lot of houses and used that as a reason to suggest they should raze the rest of it to the ground.

  Annie and Matt marched together through the park, past her mum’s house ‒ all dark ‒ the bowling green, the flats, the allotments and the old manor house, finally arriving at the barbed-wire fence of the wasteland. It was so cold their breath clouded like cigarette smoke and their fingers and toes tingled, numb. Annie could see River sitting on one of the sawn-down cherry tree stumps, holding the tiny drummer girl in his arms, his black jacket wrapped round her. As they got closer they could see her face was white, ghostly in comparison to the blackness of her hair. Her red lipstick was smudged on her chin.

  When River looked up and saw them, Annie had never seen such relief in a person’s eyes. He looked about twelve.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know who else to call. Her dad would kill us. She’s not allowed to be in the band or with me. And now…’ He was crying. ‘I don’t think she’ll wake up.’

  Matt shrugged off his jacket and with one arm holding River steady, used the other to place the coat over the girl. Beneath their feet the grass crunched with frosted dew.

  ‘Listen, mate, I’m going to take her off you, OK?’ he said with a quiet, soft authority that made River nod. ‘Annie’s here too, see look, there’s Annie.’

  When River glanced up, Annie did a little wave.

  ‘OK, now you have to let her go and let me carry her, OK, I’ve got her. Now tell me what her name is.’

  ‘Clementine,’ River said and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve, his hand shaking. ‘Clemmie.’

  Annie took her own coat off and draped it over his shoulders. ‘Put this on,’ she whispered to River who just seemed intent on watching Matt as he laid Clemmie out on his jacket and was kneeling down so that he could check her breathing.

  ‘Is she dead?’ River asked, sniffing again.

  Annie felt a bit sick and could feel herself holding back panic the way she’d seen her parents do in an emergency. River’s face was all blotched and red and terrified.

  Matt shook his head. ‘No, she’s not dead, mate. She’s OK. I think she’s just probably had too much to drink.’

  River inhaled a shaky breath and put his hands over his face as his whole body started to shudder.

  ‘River?’ Annie put her arm around him. ‘Honey, has she taken anything else apart from alcohol?’

  Matt looked aghast at the question but Annie gave him her best big-eyes to shut him up.

  River shook his head.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  He nodded.

  ‘OK.’ Matt stood up, lifting Clemmie up like she weighed nothing more than a rag doll, and wrapped the jacket back round her. ‘We’re going to have to take her to hospital. Just to be on the safe side.’

  Five hours later and the four of them were sitting round a table in the cafe. Clemmie, who had been sick numerous times before being examined by a tired, disinterested junior doctor and told off for drinking more than her body weight would allow, had sipped a hot chocolate, wolfed down a bacon sandwich and was lying curled up in the booth with her head in River’s lap, fast asleep.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me take you home?’ Annie had asked.

  ‘There’s no one there,’ Clemmie had replied. ‘My parents are in Hong Kong on business and my sister’s in Spain on holiday.’ She’d done a little shrug and then sat back, swamped by the green overcoat. Annie had tried not to look shocked that this sixteen year old was living pretty much on her own, and instead focused on the sweet fact that she hadn’t let River’s hand go, ever.

  While her family had their annoyances, they’d always been there. Her mum, while frantically busy and permanently stressed, had always stopped and listened whenever Annie sidled into the kitchen with some veiled problem that she wanted to chat about while pretending that she didn’t. The forgotten memory of them watching Extreme Makeover together on a Thursday night, when her dad and brother were at canoe club, made her smile. If she forced herself she could probably even dig up a memory of her brother not being so bad. Didn’t he once walk her home from a party when she was a bit pissed and hide her from their dad? Hadn’t he warned off that bloke at school who thought that Annie had given his younger brother the run-around?

  River coughed, distracting her from her daydreaming, and she glanced up to see him watching her and Matt.

  ‘I just want to say, you know, thanks,’ he mumbled.

  Annie shrugged a shoulder as if it was nothing, ‘That’s OK. We’ve all been there.’

  Matt snorted. ‘You might have done. Mate, you’ve gotta be careful with what you’re drinking. You’re only seventeen.’

  ‘I’m not your mate.’

  ‘Fine. What shall I call you? Son? See you flinch at that. This is ridiculous.’ Matt sighed, tired, angry and exasperated. When River didn’t reply he pushed his hair back from his face and said, ‘I’m just going to have to call your mother.’

  ‘No!’

  Annie closed her eyes for a moment. It was like sitting between two bulls waiting to charge. ‘Look this is
so stupid,’ she said. ‘You had a really great evening. We thought the band was amazing. River, you’ve had a massive shock. Matt, go easy on him, all seventeen year olds drink too much sometimes, just, River, maybe try and learn something from this? And both of you, just, I don’t know, get to know each other. Go and paint the front of my cafe together.’

  There was a pause as both of them looked at her, the same frown, the same eyes.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Yes. There’s pot-loads of turquoise paint. There’s sandpaper for the wood. Go on. Go. And when your little drummer girl wakes up, she can help as well.’ Annie watched as they both sat, neither moving till the other one did. ‘Go!’ she said again. ‘Get to work.’

  Matt was about to object again when River slid himself out of the booth, carefully resting Clemmie’s head on his folded-up suit jacket, and said to Matt, ‘Do you want to paint or sand?’

  Matt closed his mouth, surprised.

  Annie had to hold in a smile.

  ‘Erm.’ Matt looked past River to the window where the rising sun was starting to melt the crisp morning dew. ‘I’ll sand, I suppose.’

  ‘Ok then,’ River mumbled and sloped off to pick up the pots of paint stacked up by the kitchen door.

  Matt glanced at Annie.

  ‘Off you go then,’ she said with a wink.

  He took a breath and his shoulders visibly relaxed. ‘Thank you,’ he said and she nodded.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Chapter Twelve

  As the morning woke up, the birds started chattering, the spring sun filled the cafe with shimmering dust and locals drifted in and out to have a nose.

  Andrew Neil from the lighthouse popped in for a quick cup of tea and said, ‘I’ve been watching, you know. I’ve been watching your changes. I came to tell you I approve.’

  Annie rested her forearms on the counter surface and said, ‘Thank you very much. Tell all your lot at the recording studio that they can have a ten percent discount. More if they’re famous.’

  ‘Oh don’t go giving your profits away too soon, missy. I’ll tell them no such thing. Just to get their butts in here ASAP.’

  Annie laughed. ‘Whatever you think is best.’

  Andrew took a slug of his coffee, then said, ‘I meant to ask, do you know why Holly’s turned down quite a bit of work recently? I had her lined up for three sessions and she said no.’

  Annie shrugged. ‘Maybe she was busy.’

  ‘Is she working somewhere else? Do you know? She’s the best I’ve got and if someone’s paying her more…?’

  ‘Andrew, I really don’t know. You’ll have to ask her yourself.’ Annie shook her head. As far as she knew, Holly worked to live, always doing just enough to get by and still enjoy her life. Doing backing vocals and voiceovers for Andrew was easy money and her main source of income. ‘I don’t know why she’d be turning you down.’

  Andrew shrugged as if he didn’t have a clue either and downed the rest of his cappuccino.

  ‘Well if you see her, ask her,’ he said, then smiled and added, ‘Whatever happened to that husband of yours?’

  ‘Who knows.’ Annie rolled her eyes.

  Andrew laughed. ‘Well, you certainly don’t seem like the crazy young thing you were back then. I’m glad you’re back, Annie. I liked your dad.’ His mouth was barely visible behind his big white beard and moustache, but she could see his eyes twinkle as he spoke.

  ‘Thanks. I’m probably not back though, just getting the place up and running.’

  Andrew made a face, as if that was a shame, and out the corner of her eye Annie saw both Matt and River pause where they were stacking up more paint to carry outside.

  ‘How long are you going to stay for?’ River asked quietly, as Andrew left.

  Annie stood up straight, ‘Oh I’m not sure yet,’ she said, trying to dismiss the look of worry on his face. Matt was looking at the floor. ‘No immediate plans, but, you know, I have my life back at home? My business?’

  River shook his hair out of his eyes and said, ‘I thought this was your business.’

  ‘It is but you guys can run this. I mean look at what you’ve done in two or three days. Look at Ludo’s menu!’ She tried to lighten the tone, holding up the lovely cardboard menus that she’d had printed at one of the studios at the back of the island. Simple. Plain. Black typewriter font on roughened card, a list of brunch, then the selection of tapas and finally cakes and coffees. And at the top, a revamped version of the logo that she’d designed herself: a single dandelion puff, mid-blow, half its seeds floating off and away to the other side of the menu.

  ‘Yeah but we wouldn’t have done that without you,’ River said.

  ‘Give her a break, River,’ Matt said, softly. ‘You can’t make someone stay.’

  River scoffed. ‘I should know,’ he said, and walked back out to the half-painted window.

  Clemmie had woken up and was slouched, hungover, on one of the picnic tables outside. Annie watched her shield her eyes from the sun as River walked over in her direction.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Matt said.

  ‘No problem,’ Annie nodded. He looked at her as if he was about to say something else, his brow furrowing for a second, then he just gave a slight shake of the head and followed River out. In the mirror by the windows she could see the muscles in his arms and neck tense from the paint he was carrying, but it was his expression that surprised her. It was obvious that he didn’t think she could see him because on his face was a look of complete disappointment. So clear that it made Annie bite her lip in excitement.

  He was disappointed that she was leaving.

  But as she said it again in her head she realised that it wasn’t actually something to get excited about. Because she was leaving. She had to leave.

  She had a life away from here.

  She had her flat. All paid up.

  Her business.

  Her business that, yes, she could run from anywhere, but she couldn’t live back here. There were too many memories. Too much remembered of who she was then rather than who she was now.

  There was her brother.

  Urgh.

  But then there was Gerty. If Annie lived here she could work on making sure Gerty stayed unique. Stayed fun and independent and never have her wings clipped.

  And there was the cafe. And Ludo, who’d just bashed his way in with a wheelbarrow full of Spanish produce.

  ‘From a little shop in Ladbroke Grove,’ he said, by way of explanation.

  And Martha.

  ‘Annie,’ she’d said when she came in that morning in a pair of ancient dungarees ready for work. ‘I can make brownies, flapjacks and Victoria sponge. As well as the Cherry Pie. I don’t think the cakes we buy in are very good.’

  Annie had tried some of the carrot cake that they had in boxes in the freezer and been reminded of the synthetic sugar high she’d get at birthday parties as a kid. ‘Well maybe you could make those cakes for the cafe, Martha?’ she said.

  ‘Well it would be extra work. But if you insist, OK then.’

  And Holly, who Annie was going to have to have a word with. Put a stop to all these rumours and questions.

  And her mother.

  ‘Now, sweetheart, I’ve brought you these.’ Winifred was lumbering in weighed down with two huge industrial raspberry-pink pendant lights.

  ‘Erm, you can’t give me them. They’re from your kitchen.’

  ‘Well, it gives me an excuse to buy some new ones, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What does Valtar say?’ Annie asked, helping her mum with the beautiful vintage lights.

  ‘Oh he doesn’t know.’ Winifred waved a hand, then said, ‘Now I think they’d look marvellous in the windows. Especially now it’s all turquoise.’

  And then there was River. Who had just come to stand in the doorway with Clemmie, who had Buster clutched in her pale, thin arms.

  ‘Annie, you’re going to have to have an opening party, aren’t you?’


  ‘I hadn’t really thought about it, River.’

  ‘You are.’ Clemmie nodded.

  ‘The band aren’t playing on Saturday. If you wanted it to be at the weekend,’ River said.

  Annie ummed and ahhed. ‘The band might be a bit loud for an opening party.’

  ‘We can play old stuff,’ said Clemmie, who was wearing one of River’s T-shirts over her leopard-print trousers and no shoes or socks. ‘Stuff you’d like.’

  ‘I’m not old!’ Annie said, hands on hips.

  ‘Well.’ Clemmie hesitated, unconvinced. ‘Stuff that the old people would like?’ she offered.

  ‘We sometimes play country,’ River said with a shrug.

  ‘You do?’ This seemed incongruous to Annie. ‘Do you play Dolly Parton?’

  Ludo came to stand next to her. ‘He does, very well. Are we having a party?’

  ‘Who’s having a party?’ Martha asked from where she was filling some of the shelves that Matt had put up with old tea pots, a copper kettle that Andrew Neil had donated and a selection of mismatched china. On one of them, as well as the cake stands, she had displayed her own elaborate collection of vintage cake tins and moulds, and on another had begun separating knives and forks in terracotta flower pots.

  ‘Are you having a party?’ asked Holly, who squeezed past River and Clemmie in the doorway, still dressed in her rowing kit.

  ‘Looks like it!’ Annie shrugged a shoulder as if she had no choice in the matter and River gave a little whoop then looked around, embarrassed.

  And then there was Matt.

  Matt who had come to stand in the doorway, and Annie met his eyes over the top of his son’s head. He nodded, like he was pleased she was celebrating, but it was all bittersweet because now they knew it marked an end, as well as a beginning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday night. Annie stood in her bedroom deciding what she was going to wear to the grand Dandelion Cafe reopening. She was going to stay with Holly for the weekend, who’d joked she could sleep in the vintage ice cream van if she wanted her own space, but they’d both worried about the possibility of mice and creepy crawlies. It wasn’t in the best nick.