by Amy Bratley
I had meant to sound flippant about my own life, but we both heard something catch in my voice and Daisy stared at me, her brow furrowed.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘I’ve always thought your life is a great big party. Apart from a couple of blips, you’ve got loads of friends, you’re just opening your dream cafe, you’ve got a fantastic boyfriend who keeps proposing and Dad adores you so much. You seem to be strolling through life, to me. You are, aren’t you? Happy, I mean. Or is this Ethan stuff making you miserable?’
I shrugged, half nodded and pulled a face.
‘The cafe’s great in theory, but I’ve got to find a load more cash for the kitchen,’ I said. ‘I’m convinced that Joe is about to propose for real this time and I don’t know what to say because Ethan’s come back and . . . I don’t know. I still have feelings for him, Daisy, I really do. What am I going to say when Joe asks me to marry him? I’m utterly confused. Ethan was a little bit more than a blip, you know that.’
The words gushed out of my mouth and I stopped in surprise at the force of them. Daisy leaned her head back and stared up at the cloudless sky as if utterly exasperated. She blew air out of her nostrils then screwed up the paper the cheese had been wrapped in and threw it into the middle of the picnic mat. She didn’t say anything, or crack a smile, just put her sunglasses back on. I eyed her warily. Maybe she hadn’t heard me?
‘I still have feelings for him,’ I tried again. ‘There’s something between us, despite everything that happened. Part of me still loves Ethan and I don’t know what to do about it.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said crossly. ‘You’re being completely ridiculous. What are you thinking of?’
I felt my cheeks redden, but I tried to stay calm.
‘I’m not being stupid,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to work out how I feel. You know how much I loved him. I love Joe, obviously, but now that Ethan’s come back, it’s hard to be clear about what I want, especially if marriage is on the cards.’
Daisy shook her head and released a bitter laugh.
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she said again. ‘I can’t believe you’re even considering Ethan at all. He abandoned you. You’re with Joe now. Why don’t you start behaving like an adult, instead of a love-struck teenager? Jesus, Eve, you really don’t know you’re born with Joe and if he proposes you should jump at the chance. Look at the luck I’ve had with men.’
‘Is that what this is about?’ I said. ‘You’re pissed off because Iain was a shit to you?’
I felt suddenly guilty and wondered fleetingly if the family on the next picnic blanket could hear us bickering.
‘Let’s just change the subject,’ I said. ‘This is all getting too weird.’
‘Oh, I wish you’d just grow up,’ she said. ‘You need to tell Ethan where to go. He’s not right for you. I always knew that.’
Daisy always did this, claimed she knew Ethan really well, just because she’d been friends with him before I met him. I stood up, brushing the crumbs off my clothes.
‘Well, you could have done me a favour and told me that, rather than introduce us that day,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘And you know, Daisy, you’re treating me like a child. You’re not my mother.’
I could tell both of us were almost in tears. As soon as the words had escaped my lips I regretted them.
‘I know I’m not your mother,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘If you’d forgotten, we haven’t got one. I haven’t got one.’
‘You think I don’t know!’ I said, exasperated, grabbing her wrist. ‘Jesus, it’s dominated the whole of my life! Where’s your mum, Eve? Why don’t you have a mum, Eve? What did your mum die of, Eve?’
I was shaking now. I had never said these things before. My voice grew thin and high and I wished I would just shut up.
‘And there’s . . . there’s . . . always been this thing with you that I can’t explain, this atmosphere,’ I said. ‘You blow so hot and cold, I don’t know where I stand. Why do you get so cross with me sometimes? Why were you so cross with me when Mum died? Did you not realize I was grieving too? You were the older sister, you could have looked out for me a bit more!’
Daisy’s face paled. She was standing now, tucking her hair into her bicycle helmet, keeping her mouth closed, completely withdrawing from me. As I stood there, shaking, she bent to pick up the Tupperware and pushed them into her rucksack, before mechanically rolling up the picnic blanket. She got onto her bike, while tears filled my eyes.
‘I’m cross with myself, not you,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘That’s the whole point. I’m cross with myself. I’m making a mess of life, not you. And I’m sorry I didn’t react properly when Mum died, but the way you tried to be her, the way you started cooking like she did, putting flowers on the table, all that. I hated it. I didn’t want to pretend like she hadn’t died, just pick up where she left off. And everything you did, Dad loved, but I . . . I . . . couldn’t do anything right. Just because I didn’t know how to be, everyone ignored me.’
Daisy started to cry. I grabbed her hand and held it in mine.
‘I wasn’t pretending she hadn’t died,’ I said, also in tears. ‘I wanted us to be together, me, you and Dad. And getting a meal on the table was the only way I could think to do it. It was the only way I could get you to sit with me. I was lonely. I was trying. You weren’t shunned, at all. I was the one who felt shunned. Daisy, I’ve always thought you weren’t interested in me, that I was your annoying little sister. Daisy, I love you, please, let’s not . . . this is horrible . . . don’t go.’
Daisy got on her bike, wobbled slightly, then set off cycling down the hill, leaving me standing there, fired up with emotion, feeling half like crying and half like screaming. I called after her, but she didn’t turn around.
‘Daisy!’ I said again, but she was a speck in the distance now, cycling quickly away. Noticing a woman looking at me sympathetically, I wiped my eyes. I stumbled through the park, past all the people enjoying themselves, and back to the cafe. I opened the creaky door and let it slam behind me. The radio was on loud. I called out to Isabel in a weak voice. She appeared in the kitchen doorway, a wallpaper scraper in her hand.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Isabel said, pulling her dust mask away from her face, her eyes full of concern.
‘Don’t ask,’ I said. ‘Daisy has just exploded at me. I’m in shock.’
She pulled out a chair, removed a can of paint and gestured for me to sit down.
‘You sit and talk,’ she said. ‘I’ll work and listen.’
Chapter Thirteen
When I arrived home that evening, my entire body ached from stripping wallpaper and repairing patches of damaged plaster in preparation for a fresh coat of paint. I had plaster dust in my eyes and hair, bits of wallpaper in my fingernails and felt in need of a long soak in the bath. Isabel had offered to stay longer, but I was exhausted and promised to return early the next day. I sat down at my kitchen table with a large glass of red wine and rested my face in my hands. In front of me was a vase of dusky pink roses, filling the room with their sweet smell, like Turkish Delight dipped in icing sugar. Next to them was a note from Joe, saying he’d be back soon with a surprise for me. I remembered what he’d said that morning about wanting to talk. I rubbed my chin worriedly. An hour earlier, just as I’d left the cafe after telling Isabel about Daisy’s emotional outburst, I’d had a phone call from Ethan. When I’d seen it was his number I hadn’t picked up, but he’d left a message, saying he wanted to meet before Andrew’s dinner party. I’d blushed just at the sound of his voice. Now I couldn’t get his words out of my head.
‘What am I going to do?’ I said out loud, feeling immediately silly, my voice resonating in the quiet room.
I looked around the kitchen, running my eyes over the photographs of me and Joe on holiday in Barcelona pinned on the notice board, at last year’s tickets for Glastonbury we had bought at great expense, at the Tandoori Nights takeaway menu with Joe’s favourite dis
hes circled in red pen, mine in blue. I stared out of the window, which was streaked in rain, the sky beyond it now grey and threatening. Ethan was out there somewhere, stalking through London’s streets, thinking and feeling. Joe was, too. But he would be home soon and I’d more or less convinced myself he was going to propose. But what would I say? There wasn’t really a ‘not sure’ option to that question. I remembered Daisy’s words, telling me I should bite off Joe’s hand if he asked me to marry him. I loved Joe dearly; he was almost an integral part of me. But if I really was in love with him, would I still have feelings for Ethan? Why couldn’t I let Ethan go? Wasn’t it enough to have been deserted by him? I shook my head, annoyed at my contradictory thoughts. If only it could be simple, like when my parents had got together. Their love story was black and white. Their eyes met over a tape measure and they discovered, literally, that they were the perfect fit. She’d measured him up for a suit one morning, in the dressmaking and tailor shop she worked in, and he asked her to marry him that afternoon. I suppose I’d thought my relationship with Ethan was like theirs when we first met – or I wanted it to be, anyway. I sighed and looked around the kitchen. I needed to do something.
‘Baking,’ I thought. ‘I’ll bake that cake Mum used to make. Where is the recipe? Somewhere . . .’
Reaching over to a pile of papers wedged into my recipe book, I found the piece of notepaper with my mum’s recipe written on it in her youthful loopy script and ran my finger down the list of ingredients. Good. I had everything. Pushing the chair back, I switched on the light because the rain outside made the kitchen gloomy, and pulled the ingredients from the cupboards, placing them onto the kitchen table. I put on my apron, found my favourite pink mixing bowl and wooden spoon. I creamed together the butter and sugar, added vanilla, eggs, folded in flour, ground almonds and melted dark chocolate.
As I worked, I thought about Joe and tried to imagine what he would say when he came home. My heart ached for him now, wherever he was, pacing along the pavement, homeward, with a hopeful smile on his lips, most probably planning his speech. I knew Joe. He would be enjoying his secret, delighting in the anticipation. But I had the most horrible feeling that I was going to hurt him. Even though I loved Joe. Even though part of me really, really wanted to say yes. Even though I knew I’d be happy with Joe, I was happy with Joe, I couldn’t tear myself away from the tiny red warning flag waving in my heart. Happiness is treacherous. It can be snatched away at any given moment. And now, with Ethan here, was this a sign that I wasn’t even with the right man?
I needed time to think. I needed to see Ethan again. I needed to be fair and honest with Joe, even though it would cost me. I poured the mixture into a baking tin, licking the spoon then throwing it into the sink. I opened the oven and put in the cake. There were voices in my head telling me I was being a coward. I was being weak by seeing Ethan again. That I should decide to marry Joe, commit and live with my decision. But I didn’t listen to those voices. I slammed shut the oven door, pulled off my oven gloves, threw them onto the counter and reached for my glass of wine. I took a big glug, stopping abruptly when I heard the front door open then close.
‘Hey,’ Joe said, suddenly behind me. ‘Baking again? You look pretty damn hot in that apron.’
Joe stood in the doorway, wet from the rain. He was smiling shyly. My stomach turned over. I felt desperate to hug him. I walked over to him. I loved Joe so much. He kissed me and hugged me tight, but his eyes flicked around the room nervously. I knew he was working out how he was going to propose. My palms felt clammy.
‘I’m trying out my mum’s recipe,’ I said. ‘The one she cooked for my dad. Lovely roses, by the way. Thanks.’
‘I bought this,’ he said, moving away from me, pulling a bottle of wine from his bag and putting it on the table, then getting two glasses from the cupboard. ‘I thought we could talk. There’s something I want to give you.’
A smile flicked over his lips. I swallowed hard, staring at the bottle of wine, my cheeks flushing.
‘Joe,’ I said, my heart pounding in my chest. ‘Look, before you say or do anything else, I might as well come out and say it.’
My heart was racing and my mouth dry. I knew that what I was about to say was going to change everything, but I couldn’t go on being unfair. It wasn’t right. Joe must have sensed my distress, because his face paled and he folded his arms across his chest, wedging his hands under his armpits, as if preparing himself for the bullet.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘I . . . I . . .’ I said, wishing I’d never started, but forcing myself to go on. ‘You know how much I love you, don’t you, Joe? Right from when we were kids, you were my best friend. I admire you and don’t know anyone as kind and sweet as you. I know that I can tell you anything and I always have told you everything, but there’s something on my mind that I haven’t told you and I can’t hold it from you any more . . .’
I paused, staring at lovely, familiar Joe, wondering why I was going to tell him I didn’t want to marry him. Suddenly I didn’t know any more, but an inner voice drove me to carry on speaking.
‘Joe,’ I said, with a deep breath. ‘I do love you—’
‘But?’ he said, with a quick, wary smile.
‘But,’ I said carefully, ‘I don’t want to get married. I’ve guessed, from what people have told me, my dad and Isabel, that you’re about to propose, which is amazing and I hate to spoil this moment. I’m so flattered. But Joe, I want to say no, before you even ask, so I don’t have to reject you, because I love you too much for that.’
I sighed, because I knew what I’d said didn’t make sense.
‘That’s a bit of a head-fuck,’ Joe said, frowning. ‘You want to say no because you love me too much?’
He let out a strained laugh. I gave him a sad, uncertain smile. In the background my mobile was ringing repeatedly. Ethan. I wished it would stop. The kitchen light seemed too bright. I wished we were in the garden, where I could breathe.
‘It’s because right now, I’m not in the place to make a commitment like that,’ I said. ‘I’m . . . I . . . need a bit of space to think about stuff, to sort my head out about how I feel, and I know that this sounds awful but it’s really, really important that we’re both completely sure, isn’t it—’
Awful? It sounded more than awful. The enormity of what I was saying hit me and I felt dizzy. I put myself in Joe’s shoes and felt completely gutted that I was hurting him so badly. After everything he had done for me, everything he’d ever said about the importance of his relationship with me. I was destroying it for him. What was I saying? Was I breaking up with him? This was disastrous. Even though he wasn’t speaking or moving, I felt Joe withdrawing from me before my eyes. I wanted to grab hold of him and take it all back.
‘I’m not being very eloquent,’ I said.
I searched my mind for words, but couldn’t find any. I felt Joe’s eyes on me but I didn’t want to look at him, because I felt ashamed. Because being with Joe was safe and lovely and warm, and now that I’d said all this out loud, I didn’t want to be without him. I flopped down onto the chair.
‘I wasn’t going to propose,’ Joe said, his eyes glistening with tears. He averted his gaze and pulled something from his bag.
‘What?’ I asked, eyes wide. ‘Isabel said . . . I thought—’
My stomach filled with cement.
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head defiantly. ‘I was going to give you this.’
He handed me a white envelope. I looked up at him quizzically and he shrugged, biting his lip as he did so. I knew him so well. I knew that he was holding back tears.
‘Do you want me to open it?’ I said quietly.
He nodded, so, with the oven humming behind us, I opened up the envelope. Inside was a cheque for £15,000 and an illustration Joe had done of the cafe, with my name written on the signage. The rest of the money for the cafe. Joe had given me the money. Tears streamed down my face.
�
�Oh, Joe,’ I whispered. ‘How did you get this? I can’t accept it . . . but, Joe, you’re amazing, completely amazing. I’m so sorry, I—’
I was lost for words, completely drained. I held out the envelope towards him, but he shook his head.
‘It’s yours,’ Joe said. ‘I sold the Spider, I borrowed some from your Dad, I raided my savings. It’s yours for the cafe, so you don’t have to fret about getting the kitchen equipment. It’s what you’ve always wanted, your dream. I wasn’t going to propose. I just wanted to make you happy, but at least I know now that you’re not. I’m going to go back to my place for a while, I’ve been staying here too much anyway, you should have said . . .’
‘No, Joe,’ I said, shaking my head in confusion. ‘I don’t want you to go. Look, I got my wires crossed and—’
‘What?’ he said, looking at me like I was speaking another language. ‘I’m hardly going to stay after your little speech. It’s for the best. At least I know—’
Joe’s lips were quivering. I felt sick. I wanted to comfort him, but I couldn’t. I wanted us to cook dinner and drink wine, like we normally did. I rubbed my forehead with my hand, not knowing what to do, while he picked up a few things: his guitar, his boots and a bag of clothes. He didn’t even look at me again, just silently collected his possessions. I started to panic and wrapped my arms around my middle, following him from room to room, to stop myself from grabbing hold of him, begging him to stay. He stood by the front door and glared at me.
‘Joe,’ I said, holding up the envelope. ‘This money—’
‘Yours,’ he said coldly, our eyes locking briefly. ‘Don’t fuck it up.’
He opened and slammed the door and I pressed my nose up against the stained-glass panels, watching him walk down the garden path in the rain and turn left towards the train station. He had his head down, his bag thrown over his shoulder. He wiped his eyes. Tears soaked my cheeks and I slipped down to the floor of the hallway, letting them splash onto my thighs. What had I done? I stayed there for a while, just staring at the floor, where my tears were making black circles, replaying Joe’s words in my head, still holding on to the envelope. I couldn’t believe he’d sold his car to help me out. And how had I repaid him? By being weak and pathetic, by not knowing my own mind, by being tempted. Then the smoke alarm went off.