“One extra suitcase, Mom? Seriously?” She lay on my bed with cucumber on her eyes when I informed her I was all packed. With two clicks of the case, I’d entered phase two of my life. The house remained as it was. There was nothing in it I wanted to take. Only this person on the bed, who I loved, but she wasn’t for the taking.
“Seems so . . . I mean, I never had a lot of clothes, did I?” I’d folded my red denim shirt in and shut the case.
“No, not really, but that’s all right, Mom. Mar-nee has an absolutely ridiculous amount of clothes. Some still have the tags on: have for years! Dad says she could open her own boutique and she said she might one day!” Susan laughed. Her eyes dipped. “I’d like to come for a visit. I have Sundays and Mondays off, so maybe?”
I’d swallowed hard. “I’d love that, and I’ll be living to see you, love.”
“You’re amazing, Mom,” she’d said, and I’d looked at her lying on the bed. A beautiful, independent woman.
“You have grown into an amazing young lady, and I couldn’t be any prouder of you,” I’d said, and really meant it. There were regrets that I hadn’t been a better listener. That I’d tried too hard to make her conform to what I thought she should be, instead of growing with her. If I could turn back time, I’d do it all a little differently when the teenage years hit. But hindsight is a fine thing, and I’ve had to accept where we are now as mother and daughter and embrace this new relationship. She deserves my total respect.
“You know what, Mom, I think I’m going to like being a grown-up.” She’d held her index fingers over the cucumber slices and rotated them around her eyes.
“I hope so.” Then I’d mouthed silently to her, I love you so much. I’d just stood and stared at her and slowly I’d raised my hand to my lips, kissed my fingertips and lightly blown my heart across the bedroom to her.
* * *
When I tell you Claire and I were like two giddy teenagers the night before I left for good, I’m not joking. Martin had been sitting at the island on the high silver outer-space stool when I’d entered their house. It was the first time I had seen him since his hard admission and the marital break-up. Sheepishly, he’d stopped twirling the seat and looked up at me. He’d looked very different. He was the same, obviously, but somehow . . . very different.
“Hiya, Courtney,” he’d said with an unsure half-smile. To be honest, I’d felt for him.
“Hey, Martin, how are you doing?” I’d replied politely. He was brave; I get that now. I just wish he hadn’t suffered all those years either. There were no winners in this case. Only victims.
“Not bad . . . Look, I’d love to come out and visit sometime . . . when I get back from India. I think this is amazing. Look after her for me, won’t you?”
I could tell he’d genuinely meant it. I hadn’t felt it was my place to say anything personal to him before. Claire had made her peace with him. Even though she still loved and adored him, she had to accept she wasn’t enough for him.
“It would be lovely to see you, and you know I will. Claire’s the most amazing woman in the world,” I’d told him, smiling warmly to relax him.
Nervously, he’d wrung his hands together. “Well, in fairness we both tried for years to get her to bake more, you more so than me. You were always at her to open up her own bakery. The restaurant will be a huge success with you two at the helm,” he’d said as we all stood looking at one another. Then he’d got up and reached his two arms out. Claire moved into them and they’d held each other close before Claire dipped her head and he kissed her forehead gently. Then he’d shuffled off, head down, hands thrust deep down in his pockets. When he’d got to the door, he turned back.
“See you at therapy in the morning.” And he’d left. Would he really visit? I’d felt it was probably the very last time I’d ever set my eyes on Martin Carney.
“Do you think he will be happy?” she’d asked me as we moved to the window to watch him. We’d looked on as, obviously still flustered, he’d frantically searched his jeans pocket for his car keys.
“Your top shirt pocket!” She’d pulled the sash window up and called over to him. He delved in and produced the keys and held them up to her.
“This was the moment he always used to look at me and say, ‘Claire what would I do without you,’” she’d said softly. “No looking back eh?” she’d added, more to herself than to me. “Do you really think he’ll be okay?”
“I think I do, yeah. He’s finally at peace with who he is. It’s a big bad world out there, but at least he’s not living a lie any more,” I’d said softly, putting my hand firmly on the small of her back. It was time to move on.
“We weren’t a lie, Courtney, were we?” she’d sighed.
“Just a little white one, maybe.” I’d narrowed the space between my index finger and thumb and she’d nodded slowly in reluctant agreement. As devastated as she was, she was no longer angry, just sad and a bit scared of the future.
“I’ve been married for so long . . . You know what it’s like, I don’t really know who I am on my own any more.” She’d swirled the latte in her hand.
“Oh believe me, I know. I understand that feeling, Claire.”
“So would you like to marry again?” She’d looked coyly at me.
“I’ve no intention of committing by law to anyone other than myself ever again,” I’d said.
“So you don’t believe in marriage any more?” she’d asked.
I thought for a minute. “I do. It just didn’t work for me, so I personally wouldn’t do it ever again, but I think it’s a beautiful thing when it’s right.”
Claire nodded in agreement, then said, “You know, let’s just see how this Tony Becker thing pans out before you get that particular tattoo, yeah?” She’d smirked.
“What does that mean?” I’d looked at her.
“It means I think you really like this guy, Courtney, and what’s more I think he really likes you.” She’d smiled warmly at me and crumpled an empty packet of raspberry rice cakes into her pocket. She’d squeezed my hand, resting on my knee now. I’d sipped my tea and chosen my words carefully.
“I do, Claire. I do really like him a lot, I won’t lie to you . . . but you know what? I’ve never really been alone, and the last thing I want is to jump into a serious relationship with someone, and I know he feels the same. I want this restaurant to be my main focus. For me, this journey is finally all about me.”
That’s what I’d told her and I’d meant every word. Never mind the fireworks that went off in my belly every time I saw Tony; there were electrodes of excitement shooting through my entire body when I thought about owning my own restaurant in St Ives with both him and Claire.
“That’s us.” Claire had knocked back the remainder of her latte as the oven announced the imminent arrival of some magical cake or another. “Okay, well, let’s eat this baby!” We’d laughed as Claire grabbed her oven gloves and opened the oven door. I’d inhaled deeply the aromas.
“We need a name for the restaurant by the way! Tony keeps on at me.”
“Hmm . . . Any ideas?” Claire pronged her buns with her baby finger.
“Three-way House?” I’d suggested.
“It’s not a brothel we are running, Courtney,” she’d said, laughing, as she pulled the wire tray out. They’d looked to me like chocolate-chip muffins, but mini ones. Very unlike Claire. “Tony thinks it should be our two names,” Claire told me, putting them onto a large plate.
“When did he say that?” I’d asked.
“Last night on the phone . . . not a bad idea. Claire and Courtney’s Cottage?” she’d suggested.
“Eh, no, what about Courtney and Claire’s Cottage!” I’d gently poked her in the ribs.
“What about C&C’s Cottage? That way I can imagine the first C is Claire and you can imagine it’s Courtney: it’s a win–win!” Claire said.
“Deal!” I’d jumped up and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks for rescuing me, pal,”
she’d said.
“Any time,” I’d replied.
“Work away.” She’d proffered the plate to me.
“What are they?” I’d asked.
“They are tasteless is what I’d say they are.” She’d removed one herself and taken a bite. Her eyes had widened. “Oh, not bad. Not bad at all. It’s the Weight Watchers recipe. Very few calories in these babies!”
I’d tried one. “Mmm, delicious,” I’d said. “See, if you don’t give new things a chance you can just never tell how great they might turn out to be!” I’d winked at her and happily munched away in silence.
* * *
Back in Cornwall, when I’d arrived at Tony’s house one night after work, Claire was there bonding with Billy the fox. We had to sign off on the last of the legal papers as equal partners in the business. His kitchen wall was like an art gallery. Various plans were pinned up and there were Polaroid photos of the site. The dining area would have a big bay window looking onto the sea front, and the kitchen would be open-plan, so the diners could see the chefs at work.
Over the next few months, C&C’s Cottage was built thanks to Tony and his team’s absolute dedication to our project. Tony added new Polaroids of the restaurant at various stages of development, and the last one was the finished product, with me, Tony and Claire beaming in front of it.
In the meantime, we planned the menu along with Keith. All meat would be local from Ridger Barner, who breeds Jersey cows, pigs and chickens: he does it all. Great fella. Generations of cattle rearing in the family. We use local as much as we can. We have a range of fishermen to choose from that Tony already uses for Meloria’s. Apple and pear trees have been planted, so in a few months we can have our own fruit for Claire. There’ll be parking for cars behind. Seating-wise, our capacity is twenty-four. We had spent every evening at C&C’s Cottage watching the work take shape, taking long walks through the village, sampling menus around other areas and house-hunting.
Every single night, my Susan texted me. Every single night Claire went to a spin class or Zumba or Pilates, and she was looking amazing. More than that, she was happy in herself. Tony and I would spend intimate time together and meet Claire after to discuss our exciting new venture over a cold white wine or a low-calorie hot chocolate. It was a blissful year. Idyllic. Claire was slowly healing day by day and her brilliant therapist in St Ives was really helping her. Although I questioned what kind of mother I was over and over and over, as the days passed I began to get on with it.
And last night, the night before our grand opening, I’d had a very deep and meaningful talk with Tony after Claire went to bed with her bag of peeled almonds and her Fifty Shades Darker book.
“Does Billy actually think he’s your dog?” I’d asked Tony.
“No, I think he thinks he’s my fox, the big eejit,” he’d replied, deadpan, using my lingo. “All set for the big opening?” He’d pulled his chair in beside me.
“Obviously!” I’d thrown my hands up in the air.
“Nightcap?” he’d suggested and I’d nodded. He’d poured us two huge brandies and the open window in the apartment welcomed the summer night’s breeze.
“There’s a sense of achievement about me with this restaurant I’ve never had before.” He’d sat close, draping his strong arm around me.
“What’s that?” I had asked curiously.
“I guess it’s like another . . . not nest egg, but business opportunity, I guess, that Phoebe can have too.”
I’d nodded in full understanding. “Exactly – and for Susan too. I totally get that, Tony.”
“So, we are all set to open tomorrow . . . Now, the question is, may I have a kiss, Courtney Downey?” His brown eyes gazed at me. I’d leaned across and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“Are you excited to be in the kitchen tomorrow evening as we go live, so to speak? Keith is thrilled to have you with him.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“I’m thrilled you gave him to us and, more so, that he wants to work here. Jessica and Federec are well able to hold their own in Meloria’s. I am excited. I’m wildly excited, Tony.” I looked into his liquid brown eyes.
“Mmm, me too,” he’d murmured as his face moved in closer to mine. I’d put down my glass and run my hands through his cropped hair, then down his stubble. I’d held his face in my hands.
“I think I will just take this day by day . . .” I’d pulled him in close and kissed him hard. We’re not as passionate as when we first started dating, but it’s more meaningful now. It was so lovely, and I wanted to hold on to it for as long as I could.
20
“What do I think I am doing? I can’t make all these desserts every night, six nights a week! I’m not a professional baker!” Claire is in panic mode as we sit over breakfast in our restaurant. It’s opening day.
“Yes you can!” Tony pours her a large coffee from the pot and I cut her dry toast into two halves.
“No, I can’t. Like, tonight I have my banoffee pie, I have lemon cheesecake and chocolate brownies with my home-made vanilla ice cream . . . What if they all flop? Like that batch of banoffee you tasted in my house, Courtney, that day before my marriage exploded: you yourself said it was way too sugary!” Claire is dressed in her chef whites, as am I. We look the part anyway.
“Claire, we have put on a stone over the last two weeks in this very kitchen tasting your desserts every night. They are amazing. You are incredibly talented.” Tony relaxes her as she spreads half a banana onto her toast.
“Okay, I still need to dress the trestle tables and pick the primroses for later!” I’m trying not to panic.
“Both of you need to calm down,” he says, gently rising from his seat and looking out the window. “Who’s this then?” he says to himself as he opens the front door of the restaurant. He makes small talk for seconds and returns with the biggest bouquet of red and white roses I have ever seen. “For you.” He hands them to me.
“From you?”
“No, I haven’t had time to order fresh flowers, I’m afraid, love!” He laughs.
I open the tiny envelope.
To Courtney AKA SuperMam,
We are so proud of you. The best of luck with C&C’s Cottage and we will be over for a taste of Cornwall very soon.
All our love, Susan, David and Mar-nee xxx
I am truly touched.
“That’s so decent of them,” Tony says. “I’ll sprinkle the petals on our bed sheets later.”
“Oh, T. Becker, ya sexy yolk, ya! Go wan, ya good thing!”
Claire moves to him and starts doing what I think is supposed to be twerking, but she looks like she has a bad pain in her stomach. We all laugh heartily.
“I’ve seen the way that chef Keith looks at me: he’s liking the new bod I’m working so hard to achieve!” She blows a kiss towards her tummy area.
“Okay listen up,” says Tony, back to business. “Packed house tonight for opening night, twenty-four covers. Bernie and Barry are coming, Marina and a blind date, Steve and his family . . . Menus are printed.” Tony slaps one hand off the other. Done and dusted. No turning back now.
“Let’s do this, partners!” Claire says but then gulps audibly. Her hands shake.
“You all right?” I turn in my seat and look at her. She’s staring out at the beautiful Cornwall coast and looks misty-eyed.
“You know what . . .” She inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “I actually think I’m going to be absolutely fine. I’ve got a second chance. This is my dream . . . to bake. Yes, Martin is always in my thoughts and I guess he always will be. But I’ll be okay. Hell, I’ll be better than okay: I can be anything I want!” She winks at me and we gently fist-bump one another.
“Trestle tables have to be dressed for the outdoor space. I checked the temperature and it’s still going to be sixteen degrees at nine o’clock!” Tony says as he indicates towards the garden.
“I’m going to dress them. Claire has to get straight into the kitchen,” I say,
taking charge.
“Don’t forget Sandra is in early too,” he tells me.
“I still feel bad for pinching her from the Ploughboy,” I say. I do and I don’t. She’s our front of house, and she also helped us interview and hire all our waiters and waitresses and general kitchen staff. The success of the food in this place rests solely on our shoulders. We walk around the front of the restaurant and once again I marvel at what a job Tony has done. Standing pebble-dashed white with glass all around are the newly transformed cottages, conjoined now by a glass tunnel that diners pass through when being seated at the back of the restaurant. C&C’s Cottage Restaurant hangs in dark-red lettering over the front door with white fairy lights running through. It’s hard to believe that this is a part of me now. This is my life. It turned on a sixpence. Claire is already chatting with Sandra, who is hauling trestle tables out from the back.
“Here, let me help!” I stop daydreaming and am pulled into work. Opening night starts at seven o’clock, and it will be a glorious, hot late summer’s evening. Tony has made an outside dining area like something you might see in St Tropez. It is full of flowers and he has replaced the grass with sand. Tables sink into the two-inch-deep sand, as do the chairs. All around the outdoor area are discreet heat lamps built into the walls for when the evenings are chilly. It’s my favourite part of the restaurant.
“I’m going to start my prep.” Claire comes back over to me, her red hair neatly tucked into a chef’s hat.
“I’m going to dress the tables and then come look at my ingredients. Sandra, has Delia prepped the stocks?” She sees the panic in my eyes and smiles and nods at me reassuringly. Tonight, I have only one of my own dishes printed on the menu: Alice’s Seafood Surprise. It was so simple what I was missing – some lemon zest – simple yet unbelievably effective on the taste. I just hope people order it and then like it.
The Importance of Being Me Page 23