THE VINTAGE CYCLING CAFE
by Shelley Roberts
PART ONE:
Chapter One
Heather stepped out of the taxi and immediately felt herself unsteady on the stony path. Her Mary Janes, while sturdy, were no match against the uneven ground of the narrow country lane that the car had just struggled to navigate.
‘You don’t pack lightly, do you, Miss?’ the driver said jokingly as he pulled her many suitcases out of the boot.
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said lightly, not wanting to get into another conversation with this man. She’d had to put up with enough in the car, and football really wasn’t her area of expertise. What he didn’t know was that this wasn’t just a holiday in the country to see her dear Nana. She didn’t know how long she’d be staying and she thought she’d done quite well to pack as much into the small amount of space she had.
‘OK, here’s the last of it,’ he said, dropping her largest leather attaché case onto the ground with little more than an ounce of care. ‘You know where you’re going?’ He nodded in the direction of the cottage in the distance. She could just make out the steam coming from the little chimney and, even further back, the stream that she remembered from the many trips here as a child.
‘Yes,’ she replied with a little disdain. She was still frustrated that he refused to drive her to the door, but his assertion that ‘it’s too hard to turn around down there’ was too strong for her to contend with, so here she found herself, in the middle of a country lane with all her wares strewn on the grassy verge.
She handed him a few notes and he climbed back into the car without even a grunt of thanks. How pleasant, she thought to herself. But she had other things on her mind and she wanted to get to her Nana’s as quickly as possible. When she’d called from the station she’d promised she’d be there by three and it was already half past. And knowing her Nana Nessa, she’d probably already have the kettle on and a pie warming in the oven. She hoped she hadn’t gone to any trouble, considering her condition, but all the same, she wanted to get there as soon as she could.
She adjusted her beige Mac – it was hanging loosely over her arm – so it was in a good position for her to pick up her suitcases from the ground. The three vintage attaches were gorgeous to look at, though not as functional as she’d have liked. She mused on this bitterly as she tried to pick them all up at the same time. The small handles bit into her palms as she tried to hold them all together – as well as her coat and her sequined clutch. It was a delicate balancing act, with one of the items always on the verge of escaping her grip.
She tottered down the stony path as best she could, but only made it a few steps before one of the cases slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor with a thump. She winced. Bending down to collect it was bound to send one of the other bags flying and she immediately regretted choosing style over substance. She’d always hated the uniformity of those wheelie suitcases with the long, extendable handles, but perhaps in this case it would have made a lot more sense to invest in one.
But who would have ever guessed she’d be in this situation, having to upend her life and move to the middle of nowhere in central Wales?
She immediately took back the thought. Her Nana needed her. After her fall a few weeks ago there was no way she could continue living by herself, especially just after the hip operation. And with no possibility of her ever moving into a hospice – ‘I have a bad hip, I’m not completely incapable!’ – the next best option was to have her granddaughter come stay while she got back on her feet. It wasn’t as if Heather had any other plans for the Easter holidays – or beyond – and the plans for the restoration work for her friend’s boutique furniture shop could be done from anywhere, as long as Melissa promised to send the courier once a month to collect her wares.
Heather leaned back down to collect the bag and, much to her surprise, managed to snag it with complete ease. She smirked in over-exaggerated glee, thinking how the taxi driver thought she wouldn’t be able to manage. Shows you, Mr I only care about football! But as she straightened up, she felt a cold, wet feeling on her bare calf. As she’d bent down, the hem of her dress had obviously dipped in a puddle. Looking down at her puffy fifties midi-skirt, she could already see the stain spreading around one of the blue polka dots.
Fan-bleeding-tastic.
The walk down the rest of the pathway went just as well, with her constantly on the edge of losing one piece or other, and she was wary that the belt of her coat may be trailing behind her, but she was too determined to try and right it. The cottage was in her sights and the familiar rose bushes around the hedgerows were giving her a delightful feeling of nostalgia for her younger days.
Reaching the front door, she placed her cases as gently as was humanly possible and knocked on the door using the large, heavy knocker.
She stood there for a while, wondering whether she should knock again – her Nana’s hearing had never been very strong – when she heard the sound of locks and bolts being shifted on the other side. As the door opened, her little Nana’s face came into view. She looked smaller than she remembered, but her face was glowing – not the face of a woman who’d recently had a hip replacement.
‘Nana, I—’ She leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek but was cut off.
‘What are you doing here, child? I text you to say the side door was open and to come straight in. I’m telling you, this door’s never used these days. All too grand for the likes of me, if you ask me.’
‘Sorry,’ Heather said. ‘I didn’t see the text. My phone’s in my bag and...’ Thinking about it, she couldn’t think back to when she’d last checked her phone. She never really used it much, much to her friends’ consternation. It was just never something that had appealed to her. Then it clicked. ‘Oh Nana! I made you get up to open the door, with your hip! I’m so sorry.’
No wonder it had taken her that long to get to the front door. Heather felt guilty.
‘Well, I did send it on whatsapp. And I have no idea what the 4G’s like outside of the house. I have a brilliant reception in here, but obviously you won’t have the wifi password yet, will you?’ She chuckled to herself.
Heather looked at her, too flustered to really take in what she was saying.
‘Well, don’t just stand there gawping! Come in, make yourself at home! I’ve just put the kettle on and there’s a lasagne warming in the oven. I thought you’d be hungry...’ And with that she turned around and waddled back into the house.
Heather smiled to herself – some things never changed.
She looked down at the array of her bags at her feet and sighed, mentally preparing herself to have to pick them all up again.
In Nana’s – surprisingly – large kitchen, she busied herself around the many cupboards, trying to find where she kept the tea bags.
‘Just above your head, there’s a dear,’ Nana called from where she sat in the easy chair in the corner. She had what looked like an iPad sitting in her lap, which Heather found utterly bemusing. She thought about how difficult it had been for her other grandmother – her father’s mother – to even learn how to work her voicemail on the landline. Her Nana Nessa seemed to have a much better grasp on technology than even she did.
She shook her head to herself and reached for the box of Yorkshire tea. Then it suddenly hit her: damnit, she’d left the bag of groceries she’d bought at the station up on the road. She knew she’d forgotten something. But it was fairly cold outside; the bag with milk and cheese would be fine for a little while longer. She liked the feel of the warm – maybe, too warm – cottage, and didn’t fancy venturing back outside just yet.
‘So, Nana, how are you doing? How’s your hip?
’
‘Oh, that old thing. I’m right as rain. Don’t you worry about me. Though I am glad you’re here. A bit of fresh air will do you good. That smoggy London air, eughh’ – at this she gave an audible shudder – ‘I don’t know how you put up with it. That one time me and Arthur went – God rest his soul – I could actually feel the smog on my face. Reached up and wiped my face, I did, and when I held my finger in front of my face, it was black, it was. Terrible for your health. No, you’re better off up here with me. The Welsh dales are lovely this time of year.’
Heather smiled. ‘Nana, I’m supposed to be looking after you!’
‘And that you are, my love. I’m not easy on my feet these days, woe for me, but it doesn’t mean you can’t look after yourself at the same time. Now tell me, how’s that lovely fella of yours? What was his name? Martin?’
‘Michael. And the less said on him the better.’
‘Oh...’ Nana’s face fell. ‘I see where you’re coming from. There’ll be no more word said on him, if you’d prefer. I always had a bad feeling about him, I did. I always said to your mother, “He’s a bad egg, that one. Our Heather can do so much better.”‘
‘I’m sure you did,’ Heather said, laughing, knowing quite well that she was just saying it to make her feel better. But the truth was, she was fine. Four years she had spent with Michael, and she didn’t even feel sad that it had ended. She’d spent the last six months throwing herself into her work – restoring old photo-frames and mirrors to their former glory – and spending time with her good friends Melissa and Tash. Yes, Michael had cheated on her, but the relationship had long been over anyway. Really, she was fine. She hadn’t even cried since.
However, she didn’t want to discuss any of this with her Nana. Nessa was a talker, and if she gave her even an ounce of information she knew they’d be discussing it all night. And honestly, she didn’t need to. It was over. She was over him.
‘Well, you know what you should do?’ Nana continued. ‘Get yourself to the Old Oak in town. That’s where all the young’uns are hanging out. They even have a Friday night social there now, just for them. They drink and play pool and dance and do all the things young people enjoy doing. YESS!’ she suddenly exclaimed, and began tapping away on the iPad. ‘Sorry dear, I just won a tenner on the bingo. Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, the Old Oak. You should get yourself down’
‘That sounds a lot of fun, but I don’t think it’s for me.’
‘Why ever not? Young thing like you, you don’t want to be holed up here with your old gran the entire time.’
‘But that’s why I’m here. And regardless, it’s just not my scene. I’m not one for drinking and dancing.’
‘Poppycock. Of course it is! And it’s a right hoot. Me and Rita tried to sneak in the one time and, oh, did we have a laugh before that grouch Harry behind the bar told us to hop it.’
Nana laughed so hard she gave a little snort and Heather couldn’t help but laugh along too. She liked the way her Nana’s eyes wrinkled when she smiled. She was such a lovely old lady, full of vitality. It felt such a shame that she was confined to this cottage while she recovered from her accident.
She’d been out on her way to her hand-bell ringing practise at the church when she’d tripped and fell, trying to step onto the bus. Heather thought back to how uneven that road was outside and couldn’t help thinking how painful that would have been for her old Nana to fall on. She’d broken her hip, and luckily there’d been people around to help her get to the hospital. The bus driver had apparently been very sweet and stayed with her for the entire time and the rest of the people on their way into town were happy enough to wait. She supposed that this being such a small village, there was never much urgency.
But it now meant that trips out to the village square must be put on hold for the while, and definitely no journeys on the bus. Heather would be doing her weekly shops from now on and helping out with the household chores that her Nana had been struggling with. She spied the pile of dirty cups in the sink – the majority of them half full with cold tea. Typical Nana, she thought with a smile.
‘That reminds me, you’ll need to point me in the direction of the bus stop, so I know how to get to the shops.’
‘Oh, I’ll show you later. There’s no rush. Old Benny only comes twice a day.’
‘Twice a day?!’ She tried to hide the incredulous look from her face.
‘If you’re lucky. There’s just no need these days. There’s not many round these parts and most people have cars now. Poor Benny is just driving around on his own most of the time, or so he says anyway.’ Nana rolled her eyes a little. ‘Sometimes I wonder if he just wants a bit of pity. I should play my teeny tiny violin for him.’ She giggled.
If Heather didn’t know any better, she’d say there was a hint of flirtation there in Nana’s voice. But no, that couldn’t be. She was in her eighties!
But back to the matter in hand: ‘How will I get into town then?’
‘Well, you either wait for the bus, don’t you? Half eight in the morning or half four just after teatime.’ Heather tried to put to the back of her mind who would be up and ready at half eight in a small town like this. ‘Or you walk. It’s not far.’
‘How far?’
‘A couple of miles. Maybe three... or four. I can’t remember.’ She returned to her iPad and busied herself with tapping, muttering, ‘This bingo caller up here in the corner, doesn’t know anything, she does. Says “Clickety Clack” when it should clearly say “Clickety Click”. I don’t know, these app developers, ay?’ And there she was, off in her own world. The conversation was evidently over.
Heather had been looking forward to escaping the busyness of London life. It had never suited her anyway, much preferring a more laid-back atmosphere. But it occurred to her that maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew?
But at least she’d be getting so much of that fresh Welsh air that her Nana had talked about. Four miles into town? Better dust off those Hunter wellies she’d invested in all those years ago!
Chapter Two
The next morning Heather woke up early to the sound of complete silence – a startling thing for someone who had spent so many years learning how to drown out the constant sound of traffic and general hubbub in London. She couldn’t even hear the sound of the birds in the trees, though even she could admit that that may have been more of a Disney dream. She’d brought some material with her she’d found at Walthamstow market which she’d planned to make a tea dress with. If only she had some friendly birds a la Cinderella to help her piece it together!
Nana had mentioned the early bus a good twelve times – ‘now, remember dearie, the bus comes at eight thirty in the morning and eight thirty only. If you miss it you’ll have to wait until half four and the shops will all be shut then’ – so she’d made sure to make an early start on the day. She was looking forward to exploring the little village and seeing what there was. On her way from the station the previous day she’d spied a sign for a car boot sale and she was keen to check out that too. You could usually find some good steals at those things, priceless pieces that the owners consider junk.
Having made it downstairs, groggy-eyed, she padded over to the aga (yes, indeed, how did her little Nana manage to end up somewhere with an aga?) and put a kettle on to boil. If she were in London she would often go to a lovely organic bistro that sold a selection of hand-picked herbal teas, but here she thought she would be lucky to find a peppermint tea. After a rummage through the cupboards she found what looked to be an old box of lemon and ginger – used for when Nana’s guests had a cold, no doubt – so she took one and threw it into a cute china cup that was drying on the rack next to the sink. It had a matching saucer and both had ornate blue dancing girls painted on them surrounded by a bed of flowers. They were the most delicate thing and she made a note to ask Nana if they were part of a set. They’d make a really lovely display on the side table in the dining room if so; she could just imagine
how nice it would look with a little vase of pansies beside it. She must pick up some flowers from the village, she thought to herself.
She gently took the cup and saucer and made her way into the lounge, where she could look through the window. In her haste to carry everything down yesterday she’d missed the chance to view the beautiful garden around the front of the house.
Though clearly in need of a little love – poor Nana wasn’t as young as she used to be – she could make out the skeleton of what used to be an absolutely splendid walkway. The stony path led from the front door, winding around to a graceful arch by the entrance and was flanked by pretty white and purple begonias, she thought they were. The arch itself had climbing plants entwined around its ornate rails, leaving a full yet ghostly pallor. Though the flowers were long gone, she could just imagine how it use to look: full of colour and vibrancy, with just a hint of trailing boughs, teased out at the sides. It reminded her of those messy buns girls in London liked to sport. The amount of time and precision it took to achieve that ‘I just woke up like this’ look was nothing compared to the gentle beauty of that arch and the way she envisaged the flowers around it. An old fountain that no longer worked was off to the right and on the left, a lengthy rose bush snaked round, presumably to the back of the house.
Nana’s house was at the bottom of a great hill and from this perspective she could see further up in the distance. Trees and fields lined the vista and, behind that, she could see the small dots of cars passing down a street. Too far away to hear the sound of traffic, as she had noticed when she awoke, but she could very clearly make out the vehicles that passed. Mainly four-wheel drives, as is expected in the countryside and a few smaller cars which she’d guessed were for older people like her Nana, for zipping to and from the shops every so often. She wrapped her fingers around the steaming cup of tea and she wondered whether any of those cars would be heading towards the car boot sale. She hadn’t looked where it was located, but it appeared that there was only one main road that passed this way: one direction heading into the little town and the other leading further into the dense countryside.
The Vintage Cycling Cafe 1 Page 1
