Meet Me at Fir Tree Lodge

by Rachel Dove

  I know you don’t like any of this, but he’s a friend. He needs help, and I know you understand that. Please try to remember that. Don’t hate me. Holly is typing this for me, because I am a drunken dickhead who tried to call you with the remote control. I am in big trouble.

  She didn’t need to read anymore. I don’t want to know anything else. Denial is a powerful bedfellow, and I fancy snuggling up with it just that little bit longer. She knew what Hans was like. He was the biggest lug with the loudest voice, and the biggest heart too. As unlikely as his friendship was with Luke, who looked like Kevin Hart beside the Rock when the two friends were stood together, she knew it mattered to him. Hans made a family around him, and you were in it whether you wanted to be or not. She would just have to put up with it. Once they were ready, she left the cakes on the cooling trays, closed everything down, and headed upstairs, where she faceplanted straight onto the couch and promptly fell asleep, exhausted. Her phone stayed right where it was, abandoned on the countertop.

  *

  Hans and the Yorkshire pee fountain stayed clear of the café all day, leaving Rebecca alone to process the recent events, and the feelings it was pushing out of her usually cold, cold heart. Her bedroom alarm clock had awoken her for work from across the hall a few hours later. Next to her, Luke had written a note, telling her he was taking himself into town to see Hans for the day. Her sheets were gone from her bed, and she didn’t see anything in the washer but his clothes, whirling around and making themselves at home. She checked her laundry basket in a panic, but thankfully he hadn’t thought to wash her smalls with his. The bin was missing, and the carpet had been cleaned, the windows opened for ventilation. Looking around her room, she was relieved that nothing gave her away. None of this place did, the only photos she had up here were of her, Hans, and Holly, and some of the other crew from town. Rare nights out that she got dragged on over the years. The opposite of her old self. Six years ago, she was a different person. Everyone said that, it wasn’t unusual. The human body grows new cells over years, so the body changes. People are all different, changed when age and gravity start to take hold, and their life choices leave the consequences for all to see on their faces. It ran a little deeper than that for Rebecca though.

  Six short years ago, Rebecca was at the top of her game, happy and in love with her life. Her mother was proud of her. She told all the neighbours, the church, the Costa crew of ladies she lunched with about Rebecca’s achievements. ‘My daughter,’ she’d say, a smile beaming from her face. Now she said it in hushed tones, as though being a baker and café manager was the worst thing in the world. Anyone would think Rebecca was robbing old folks’ handbags for a living the way her mother behaved.

  She’d texted already that day – a Facebook memory she insisted on torturing Rebecca with. Why did people do that? Send people photos of good times, dogs long dead, neighbours they don’t speak to anymore?

  This memory was a real humdinger, Rebecca beaming at the camera, her mother clapping her in the background, bright eyed and wrapped in splendour. The screenshot of the article the photo was attached to swam before her eyes as she thought of that day. Mother, why the hell did you send me this, today of all days. The caption underneath said it all. This year, baby. This year.

  Rebecca shoved her phone in the drawer beside her and got on with her day. She didn’t need to answer. She’d already told her mother that she was entering the competition. She wouldn’t find out for a while that it was a lie. Her annual disappointment would be right on schedule.

  Rebecca managed to have a good day, making it to closing time without any more annoying housemates, customers or messages from her mother. The resort was coming to life, and having something to do really helped her to switch off her brain and engage with the stuff she could control. She was just heading to the doors to lock up, when Luke appeared at the other side. He peered in through the glass like a wary zoo visitor approaches a dark glass cage.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as he entered, shopping bags in his hands, closing the door behind him with his foot. ‘You think I might bite?’ He looked at her, puzzled. ‘You looked like you were trying to suss out what mood I was in.’

  He smiled, but it was tight, and he didn’t make eye contact. Fine with me.

  ‘I just thought I’d give you a little space, after my behaviour.’

  ‘It’s fine, we’ve all gotten drunk and urinated in strange places.’ She knew she had to think of Hans and put up with him, but she couldn’t resist the little quip.

  He raised one eyebrow, but she didn’t elaborate. A girl needed her secrets, and telling him about her own lightweight ways wasn’t going to happen. He pulled a dark grey backpack off his back, taking off his coat straight after. His cheeks were flushed from coming into the warmth of the café, and it made his eyes sparkle. Even she had to admit, although her houseguest was the worst possible person to share her home with, he was quite easy on the eyes on closer inspection.

  ‘You finished for the night?’ he asked, looking around at all the empty tables, chairs stacked on top.

  ‘Yep.’ Clicking off the lights, she plunged them into the dim glow from the lighting outside. ‘Lights out.’ Inside the café, it was all wood and high ceilings. She loved this café like it was her very own. One day, maybe it would be, or she could buy one somewhere else. Her mother would kill her, but still … It would mean she could live in the Alps forever, or on some other corner of the earth, just her. ‘You have any plans for tonight?’ she added, curious.

  He gave her a sheepish look, and took a bottle of wine and a wrapped plastic bag out of one of his bags.

  ‘Well …’ He wiggled the bottle at her. ‘I thought we could have a meal. I’ll cook, to say sorry for last night and to thank you for putting me up. I do appreciate it, I know you like to be alone.’

  His presumption wasn’t wrong, but it still irked her. She felt a little judged, and that automatically brought out her snark.

  ‘It’s only temporary, so I’m sure I can endure it. The toilet training needs to improve though, or all bets are off.’

  He reached back into the backpack, and pulled out a baby’s nappy. ‘Got it covered. Hans gave me one.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ she said, starting to laugh. ‘I was going to rib you myself later.’ He visibly relaxed in front of her and put the nappy back into the bag. ‘Okay Marco Pierre White, you go and make a start. I’ll lock up.’

  She took her time cleaning down the rest of the work surfaces, enjoying the silence of the space. Once she was done, she headed to the bottom of the stairs, listening in on what Luke was up to. She checked herself out in the oven door, pulling a face at her red cheeks and slightly dishevelled hair. She gave up and scraping the worst clumps of hair back into her bobble, she listened in again, trying to time her entrance. Luke was murdering some song off the radio, and she could hear things being banged around in the kitchen. Taking out her phone, she kept one ear on the door and logged into Facebook.

  Her page loaded, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by how different she was to the person that originally set up this profile. Her photo looked like a different person altogether, living a different life. I want to give her a huge shake, and tell her to wise up. To do better, do things differently. She brought up her friends list, and scrolled through for what she was looking for. Hans, and his friends list.

  ‘Rebecca?’ Luke called from upstairs. ‘Where’s the pepper?’

  She jumped, almost dropping her phone. She felt guilty, but he didn’t know, did he? It was what people did these days, checked people out online. She was hardly hacking MI6.

  ‘It’s on the top of the microwave! In a pink pot!’

  Further shuffling from upstairs. She could hear him walk across the kitchen, his steps coming to a soft halt. It felt strange to hear someone moving about. It felt like forever since Hans and Holly had left.

  ‘Do you know that these are breasts?’ he shouted down, amusement curling his words. ‘The
pots?’

  Does he think I walk around in the dark?

  ‘Yes, I bought them. Cute, aren’t they!’ She’d bought her mother a matching ‘pair’. Suffice to say, she’d never seen them in the background anywhere when she FaceTimed her parents. Logging back out of Facebook after deleting her search from the history to stop herself being tempted again, she headed up the stairs to the flat.

  ‘Cute, sure,’ he drawled as she entered. He was shaking a boob-shaped pepper pot over a huge pair of steaks that were sizzling in her favourite griddle pan. It smelled amazing, and Rebecca’s treacherous stomach started to get a bit vocal. ‘Just surprised me. Would you like some wine?’

  Throwing a raised brow in his direction as she headed to the cabinet where her last two crappy wine glasses sat, she grabbed them and headed over to him.

  ‘Does a bear do his business in the woods?’ She held out the glasses to him, grateful that they were actually clean and streak-free. He probably already thought she was a bit mad but she found herself caring, just a little, about what he might think about her living arrangements. He laughed and filled both of their glasses up.

  ‘I set us up to eat in the lounge, if that’s okay?’ He took a slow, deep sip of his wine, closing his eyes and letting his head roll back. ‘Ah, better now.’ He tapped his chest once, twice gently with an open palm. Rebecca drank from her own glass, trying not to laugh. She failed and he turned to look at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you really need that wine? What’s with the little taps?’

  His cheeks went bright red, which was both a dead giveaway and almost adorable.

  ‘Oh, that. It’s just a thing I do sometimes.’

  ‘Crack cocaine is a thing people do sometimes, doesn’t mean it’s a good thing. Looks like a therapy move to me.’ She didn’t wait to hear his answer, taking her wine through into her small, neat living room and plonking herself down on her crappy little sofa.

  ‘Maybe it is,’ he called from the kitchen, in between the sound of a knife scraping the chopping board and his humming along to the latest song she’d never heard. ‘Maybe not. You ready for this culinary delight?’

  He came in, a tea towel hanging off his trousers like a waiter, two plates full of food in his arms. ‘The French have nothing on this. Feast your eyes!’

  He put the plates down on the coffee table, which he had thrown a clean white bath towel over, and looked at her like a child with a crayon drawing to his adoring parent. Full of excitement and nervous energy. Anyone would think he was serving the Royals afternoon tea, not steak, chips, and salad to a fed-up baker with a sarcasm problem. He was openly grinning at her, waiting for a gold star. She smiled back as best she could, feeling awkward, and sat forward in her seat to fully appreciate the meal. It did look lovely, and her stomach was gurgling in anticipation, rather loudly. Her body betrayed her once again on the food front.

  ‘Thanks, this looks amazing.’ His grin widened even further, taking it to Joker proportions, and he passed her one of the plates. The one without the chip in it. She looked across, and he was eating his meal from it, taking a seat on the other side of the couch. It wasn’t very big in the first place, and they were practically sitting on top of each other, but it wasn’t totally awful. Rebecca flicked the TV on and he grabbed the remote from her, flicking the channel over.

  ‘Hey!’ She jabbed him in the hand with the fork. ‘Off the clicker!’

  ‘Clicker? Loser.’ He laughed in her face, easily holding the remote control out of her reach whilst shovelling a chunky piece of fresh tomato into his smug mouth. ‘These,’ he waggled them at her, ‘are called buttons.’

  She snorted, almost coughing up a piece of lettuce in the process. ‘Buttons! Oooo, where’s Cinders? It’s a clicker mate, you press the button, it clicks.’

  ‘Yes! Button, you said it yourself. Buttons you press. Not click.’

  ‘Yeah, well, button off Yoda, and give me it back. It’s my TV.’

  He pulled a face at her and scrolled through the channels.

  ‘It says “property of Hans” on the back of the TV. It’s labelled. A few bits are, actually. What’s that about?’

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘I used to label my stuff with one of those machine labellers, fridge stuff, my shampoo. He’s a hairy dude, he used to cost me a fiver every time he had a shower. He bought the cheap stuff and used mine.’ She lunged for the remote again, almost losing her plate in the process. He swerved her and sat back, tucking into his food.

  ‘That explains that then. Still, Hans said that there’s a good film on, I thought we could watch it.’ He looked across at her. ‘Unless you have plans?’ He looked around him, as though a suitor was going to ride up the stairs any second on a tall white steed.

  ‘Er no,’ she said to her steak, ‘no plans tonight.’ That would cover her for now, but what about the next night? ‘Truth is, it’s a busy time here so my social calendar takes a hit.’ Too far. ‘I still go out, obviously.’

  ‘Ah yes, we have that dinner, don’t we, Saturday night?’

  He was focused back on the television now, but Rebecca hadn’t moved.

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, munching away as he made himself at home. They sounded like a bloody married couple now. ‘Holly and Hans’s place, they’re having a few friends over. After the baby shower.’

  Fuuuddgggeeeee nuggets. The baby shower. Arghhh! She’d forgotten, and she hadn’t been shopping yet, or got them a baby gift. And she didn’t know about the dinner after either.

  ‘Oh, that. Yeah, of course.’ She flapped her hand nonchalantly. It was her day off tomorrow, Hans was coming in to work. She could escape into town and get what she needed. Ring Holly and get the skinny on what Saturday was all about, and why she needed to be tied to the train track too. The baby shower was fine, she loved Holly, but a dinner? What for? Would she and Luke have to arrive together?

  ‘Yeah, I figured we could go together, share a ride?’ She could feel his eyes on her, and she nodded, forcing her fork to pick up more food. ‘Great, I’m glad. I hate these things normally. I avoid them, if I’m honest.’

  Rebecca groaned gratefully. ‘God, me too. I mean, I love them both obviously, but their friends and everyone? It’s a lot.’ She reached for her wine, taking a gulp to push down the tide of social dread she felt wash over her. Glugging it down noisily, she took a breath, and he rushed into the silence.

  ‘It is a lot! When he invited me here for the shower, well – I mean I was never going to come. I never do when he invites me over, but then I saw the invitation on the fridge, and I just went for it. Booked a ticket, packed a bag. I mean, I never do that. If you knew me …’ He flicked the remote control around in his hand, gesturing wildly. ‘I mean, really knew me, you’d laugh. You really would. Dad …’ He deflated, and his conversation tapered off to a whisper. ‘It’s just not me, that’s all. So, I’m just glad that we’re going together, we can brave it and then come back here and drink enough wine to recover.’ He blushed then, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I mean, if you want to drink wine. You might have plans for after.’

  There it was again, the plans thing.

  ‘You have a lot of plans, back home?’ Deflection was a woman’s best weapon. That and her brain.

  He winced, sitting back before answering her. The TV was on, but the volume was low. The menu screen listed some movies Rebecca had never seen before. Now they were facing each other, their legs tucked up beneath them, plates in their laps. Their knees touched, but neither made a move to pull back. Not wanting to drop the steak in their laps, probably. She was enjoying it a lot more than she thought she would; given his murdering of the top ten and level of noise coming from the kitchen, she’d half expected an inedible mess. He swallowed a mouthful of food, and Rebecca watched his jaw flex with the movements. The more she looked at him, the hotter he looked. He licked his lips, and she found herself copying him. She tried to squint at the wine bottle on the
coffee table in front of them, to check the proof. She must be getting squiffy.

  ‘No, not really. I worked a lot.’ The blood drained from his face. ‘Oh shit, work. I haven’t even checked my emails yet today.’ He went to get his phone out of his pocket, tipping the wine in his hand straight over himself, and his mostly empty plate. When it hit the ceramic, it bounced up, all over Rebecca, and her food. Squealing like a pair of schoolgirls high on sugar, the two of them jumped up, dropping everything they still held to the floor and leaving the pair of them standing on the sofa, wet through and smelling like steak.

  ‘You idiot!’

  ‘Jesus, I’m sorry! I was reaching for my phone!’

  ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t think you were reaching for Excalibur, did I, you total klutz!’ She looked down at her fabric sofa, the one Hans had bought her one Christmas by way of a bonus. It was grey fabric, plain but nice enough. She’d bought some mustard-yellow cushions in town, to jazz it up, but now everything was ruined. ‘Look at my sofa.’ She reached down and pulled a piece of meat from one of the cushions. ‘And my tea. That steak was lovely.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Not the thing to focus on, furniture bomber. What are we going to do now?’

  Looking down around him, a piece of lettuce astride his socked foot, he winced. ‘I’m going to get my credit card out, and pay for this fixing.’

  Rebecca looked at him, one hand on her hip and one hand on the back of her couch to steady herself. ‘Credit card? For who, the cleaning fairies? Last time I checked, they dealt in cash or toddler teeth. Go look in the long cupboard in the kitchen, there’s a mop bucket and a dustpan and brush in there. I’ll get some cleaner for the couch.’ It was red wine, so she didn’t hold out that much hope, but she wanted to get out of her clothes. Looking at him, she realised he probably felt the same. ‘Sorry, we should probably go shower first.’