Always With Love

by Giovanna Fletcher

After Rachel’s glowing report, every regular who came in mentioned how wonderful it was to have Peter here, many asking whether it’s going to become a regular occurrence. Honestly, the way they react around and talk about Peter and Billy makes me wonder whether they’d still come in here if it wasn’t for the occasional promise of rather attractive male company. Although I’m sure the temptation of cake and a hot drink helps lure them in too.

  ‘Well, I thought dealing with drunks was bad,’ says Peter, widening his eyes and giving a little shake of the head, his mouth twitching into the tiniest of smiles. ‘But your customers are something else. Boy can they natter.’

  I laugh loudly at his observation and the difference between how he felt compared to everyone else. There he was making customers feel special, but in truth he was probably just too polite to end conversations and walk away. I know they love to talk, and I expect that can be quite jarring if you’re not used to it.

  ‘You should’ve just said you had work to do and kept things short. That’s what I have to do when we’re busy,’ I admit, although I always feel rotten when I do it. I love fussing over them all, just like Molly used to do. It’s what makes this place special and different from the chain cafés on every high street around the globe. Not only do we have heart, but we take the time to value our customers when we can. What we do here is about far more than money.

  ‘Nah, I actually enjoyed it to be honest,’ Peter shrugs, shifting in his seat. ‘It was great hearing their stories. Plus, especially with the older ladies who live alone, that might have been their only bit of interaction for the day, so I’m definitely not complaining. I’d rather they chewed my ear off than felt an ounce of loneliness that day.’

  ‘So you’ve not quit yet, then?’ I ask, quite taken aback by his sentimentally thoughtful response and pleased that he understands what Molly founded here all those years ago.

  ‘Nope, still here as the emergency cover as and when you need me,’ he says, knocking the table with his knuckles.

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ I smile, taking some glass bowls out of the cupboard and laying them out on the kitchen side, in piles according to when I’m going to need them, along with all the dry ingredients. I’m quite used to chatting while getting my chores done now. If anything, I think the distraction can actually make a conversation flow more easily for me. It always gives me something else to focus on and moves my attention away from the interaction I’m having.

  ‘Did you know I used to know your mum and Colin?’ Peter asks after taking another slurp of his tea.

  ‘Oh really?’ I reply in surprise, proving that I didn’t. Funnily enough, in the handful of times that I’ve met him they haven’t been about. Plus, this is a village where everyone knows everyone, so if anything it’s more strange that me and Peter never met when we were younger. He is a little bit older, so I guess that by the time I was playing in the park or out on the street (believe it or not there was a time in my childhood where I was sociable), he’d probably have moved on to pubs and clubs.

  ‘Well, me knowing your mum isn’t a big shock. Every local child of school age in the last twenty years or so must know her from the library because we used to go in there every Tuesday for a monitored study class.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, she was always telling you to keep the noise down? Librarians are renowned for that,’ I half joke. My mum is meticulous about keeping things clean and tidy, but also about adhering to rules – like only whispering when surrounded by wonderful books and others trying to enjoy them. I’ve no doubt my timid mum can be quite stern when faced with a library full of teenagers.

  ‘Ha! No, not at all. She was great actually. I was useless at finding the books I needed but she always helped out.’

  ‘Well, that’s sweet,’ I reply. It’s great to think of all the kids Mum has encouraged with books and reading over the years. She’s certainly the reason I’m an avid bookworm.

  ‘And I knew Colin and Pauline. You know, his first wife.’

  ‘Seriously? Your mum never said,’ I say, before realizing I actually found out about Colin and Mum after I’d left for London, so he never really came up in conversation between the pair of us before she passed away. The thought makes me sad. She’d love to know Mum was now happy and has found companionship with someone as great as Colin.

  ‘I used to wash their car,’ Peter laughs at the memory, while loosening his navy tie and undoing the top button of his shirt, slowly unwinding and coming out of office mode. ‘I should clarify that it was when I was around thirteen, but they used to give me a couple of quid for it.’

  ‘Not bad going.’

  ‘It all started one summer when me and a mate wanted to earn a few bob. He came up with the idea and was happy to do it for a day, but gave up after that – not everyone gave us hot water to work with,’ he says, shaking his head at the lunacy. ‘I think I kept doing it for over a year, though,’ he adds, almost to himself, as he tries to recall the details correctly.

  ‘You’re a hard worker, then,’ I say, leaning on the counter and resting my chin on my hand, finding myself drawn in by him.

  ‘Knowing my mum, are you really that surprised?’ he laughs. ‘Plus, doing it on my own meant I didn’t have to split the earnings. I was rolling in it.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘Exactly, I could buy all the football stickers I liked and I even managed to save up for a Game Boy,’ he grins. ‘Anyway, Colin and Pauline had only just started living together back then. They didn’t have kids or anything, obviously. Still, it took me ages to remember where I knew him from when I saw him at the weekend. It only clicked when I left.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You’re talking decades!’ I laugh, picking myself up off the counter and looking around to see what else needs doing.

  ‘Yeah, I might’ve changed a bit since then. I don’t think he recognized me. I’m no longer that little lanky boy with braces and a dodgy haircut,’ he shrugs, making me wonder what he’d have been like as a boy. ‘Make sure you send him and your mum my love.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘They’re awesome folks,’ he nods, thoughtfully. ‘Obviously I don’t know them together yet, but from what I know of each of them separately, they’re a perfect match.’

  ‘They are,’ I say, beaming with pride.

  We’re interrupted by Georgia and her friend Danielle (two fourteen-year-olds who have recently started coming in late on a Monday afternoon after hockey training) as they wave goodbye and walk out of the shop with their heaving PE kits slung over their shoulders. I love seeing fresh faces popping into the shop. I know I’m a novice at running a business, but even I know it’s important to attract new trade in a bid to keep interest up and remain current – that’s a huge reason why we opened our social media accounts too. I was hesitant at first (hardly surprising, I’d definitely describe myself as a shy and private person away from this shop) but some of the other local teenagers talked me into it. I think it’s really made a difference, even if it does mean my inbox occasionally gets spammed by Billy’s fans. Thankfully, though, that is simmering down thanks to him being many miles away.

  It’s so funny having people coming into the shop asking for a slice of the cake I’d posted a picture of on Instagram earlier that day, but it seems to get people’s taste buds fired up. It’s like the TV advert that makes you want to indulgently lie on the sofa while munching on chocolate, or gulp down a sugary drink while gawping at the male office window cleaner – it all helps to trigger a thirst or hunger that you need to quench. It’s amazing that little businesses like mine can now be a part of that advertising space for free!

  ‘Bye, girls. See you next week,’ I call after them, grabbing a round tray and heading to their table with a clean cloth.

  Looking around the shop, I realize we are now on our own.

  ‘So, how are you finding being back here?’ I ask, piling up the dirty crockery on the tray that’s resting on my hip, before wiping down the top of the discard
ed table. ‘Wishing you’d never come back?’

  ‘Not at all. Enjoying it far more than I thought I would,’ he admits, his mouth slowly moving into a little smile as he looks around the room. ‘Actually,’ he adds, clicking his fingers as though a thought has just occurred to him. ‘I’m out playing football with some old school mates on Saturday, unless you need me here, of course. But do you fancy heading out for a bite to eat afterwards? The attached ones in our group are all running off home to their wives or girlfriends, while the single ones are heading into London for a raucous one. To be honest, you’ll be giving me a good excuse to give it a miss.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ I find myself laughing, not feeling like I need to give the offer much thought. ‘I’ll happily be your alibi. Only if you let me get dinner, though. I owe you one.’

  ‘You do?’

  I raise an eyebrow in reply as I move past him with the loaded tray, walk it to the sink and drop the plates and cups into the soapy water. I quickly start to wash them before placing them on the side to drip dry.

  ‘Hmmm …’ Peter sounds dubious, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. ‘We’ll go Dutch. You can pay for me and I’ll pay for you. That way we’ll both feel like we’ve done something nice and generous.’

  ‘Deal,’ I laugh, smiling back at him, wiping my wet hands on my apron and walking around the counter and back into the main part of the shop.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at yours around seven, if that suits? We can just go somewhere local. Make it simple,’ he shrugs.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘I’d love an Indian actually. One thing I’ve missed is a proper curry. Is the one down The Hill still good?’

  ‘The Maharajah? That’s where we get our takeaways from,’ I admit.

  Mum and me have had the tradition of indulgent Friday nights for some time, although now our dinner for two is more likely to be dinner for six, usually alternating between Indian and Chinese, which gives us plenty of meal options considering we’re only in a little village.

  ‘Fantastic. Well, we can go sit in and chat over a nice bottle of Cobra,’ Peter says, licking his lips as though he can already taste the beer on them.

  ‘Lovely,’ I reply, catching myself looking down at his mouth and watching its movement. Something he awkwardly notices too.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ he smiles, getting to his feet and making to leave.

  ‘Oh! Your coat,’ I say, my cheeks going hot as I run to the clothes rack and grab the grey woolly item which is far heavier than it looks.

  ‘Thank you,’ he frowns, taking it from me. ‘I’d have felt ridiculous leaving without this again.’

  ‘It would’ve been another frosty morning on the platform,’ I say, with a roll of the eyes – something I’m still finding myself doing thanks to my recent trip and more time spent with the Buskins.

  Peter purses his lips together, as though about to say more but thinking the better of it, before heading towards the door.

  ‘Well, cheers, Sophie,’ he says, clapping at the coat between his hands. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’

  ‘See you then,’ I say, turning back to wipe down the sink, rather than watching him leave.

  Monday 28th March 2016

  Dear Billy,

  I know it’s not actually my turn to write, but seeing as you organized my tickets over to see you I feel it’s only right that I send one and let you know how much I appreciated it – in case I’ve not told you (or shown you) enough already. Ha!

  I know we’re weirdly back to where we were before in that we don’t know when we’ll be together again, but I feel refreshed after my Billy Buskin trip. ;-) I’m certainly happier than I was this time two weeks ago when I was missing you terribly and acting like a total misery guts.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still missing you … I’ve just had a lovely top me up!

  Ha!

  I hope you’re having a wonderful time on set. How funny that Johnny is now in the movie with you. I bet you’re having a right laugh together. He seemed lovely at New Year. His wife must be pleased that he’s back at home with her and the children. Does he still have that ridiculous beard? I HOPE NOT.

  I do feel sorry for the other actor getting appendicitis, though. Especially when it would’ve been his first major role in a Hollywood film. Poor thing. He must be gutted.

  All is good here. The shop survived without me, which obviously I’m thrilled about, but can’t help but feel a little deflated at too. It’s only a minor niggling thought, but I guess I like to think it’s ME who keeps things afloat. It appears I don’t. Perhaps any old Tom, Dick or Harry can run a shop … or perhaps I should realize that it’s a good thing and that I can allow myself time off now and then. I think you’ll be more than supportive of that idea.

  Rachel seemed to thrive with the added responsibility of being in charge. Colin said she was great. Peter also seemed to charm everyone, although I don’t think he was quite prepared for how much talking goes on here. Ha! We’re going to grab a bite to eat on Saturday in way of thanks.

  When I got home tonight Mum told me she’s booked in ‘wedding dress’ shopping for next weekend. I have to say I’m quite excited, but not as much as Charlotte. She’s been drawing out lots of different designs, but they’re all of things her Princess Barbie doll might wear. Hopefully she won’t be too disappointed when she realizes Mum is going for something a bit simpler.

  I hope you’re having a great week. Send everyone my love!

  Love you,

  Sophie xxx

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I say as I’m walking down the stairs and into the lounge, with the letter for Billy in my hand, waiting to be enveloped. ‘Peter came in today to pick up his coat. I didn’t know you and Colin both knew him before.’

  ‘I did?’ asks Mum, looking away from the TV screen with a blank expression on her face.

  ‘From the library. When he was at school.’

  ‘Oh gosh. I bet he’s changed since then.’

  ‘That’s what he said. Turns out he used to wash Colin’s car too.’

  Mum starts laughing and holding on to her chest as though it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Poor Colin. I kept telling him to speak to you about it, as he was quite miffed that he couldn’t place him. I think he thought his memory was going.’

  ‘I think it’s rather that Peter has aged over twenty years since then!’

  ‘Oh, that’ll put his mind at rest,’ she sighs, calming down. ‘You should invite him for lunch one weekend. Might be nice for him to have a proper Sunday roast while he’s back.’

  ‘That’ll be great,’ I nod.

  ‘Maybe give him a call and ask when suits.’

  ‘Actually, we’re going out for dinner this Saturday. I can just mention it then.’

  ‘Oh?’ she asks, looking surprised.

  ‘It’s a thank you thing …’

  ‘Right …’

  ‘But maybe I’ll suggest next weekend?’

  ‘Yes, well … see if he fancies it,’ Mum says, looking like she’s deep in thought, and turning back to watch EastEnders.

  As I head to the cupboard to pick up an envelope, an anxious feeling churns in my stomach. Something feels a little off kilter.

  I try my best to quash it as I grab a pen and write out Billy’s all-too-familiar address.

  24

  ‘And then Mum goes storming into school, not caring that the other kids will think I’m a total wimp for having my mum fight my battles for me,’ Peter says, lowering his fork while shaking his head at the account and trying to stop himself from laughing as he gives it. ‘Well, she finds this bully and is literally so nice to him that she makes him cry.’

  ‘How?’ I ask, laughing at the flabbergasted look on his face and enjoying his stream of stories about my past best friend.

  Tonight has been wonderful. We’ve eaten our weight in curry, poppadums and onion bhajis while talking nonstop. Laug
hing as we remember little moments long forgotten, our tales somehow helping to bring Molly back to life. I’ve loved hearing things I never knew about her. I know how easy it is to look back and mourn, but this feels more like we’re celebrating the woman she was and finding joy in all of her little idiosyncrasies that our grief might have clouded over and caused us to forget.

  ‘I don’t know how,’ he shrugs with a laugh, looking just as shocked as me. ‘I’ve no idea what was said, but the bully never bothered me ever again after that. In fact, he’d literally go out of his way to avoid being anywhere near me.’

  ‘Killing with kindness,’ I smile, thinking of how Molly used to love nurturing people to bring out their best qualities. It’s hardly surprising she’d use that tactic against someone who was being mean to her son.

  ‘Yeah, both Mum and Dad were pretty special,’ he replies, smiling to himself as he recalls just how lucky he was.

  ‘So what made you move, then? How could you leave them?’ I ask, dipping another bit of naan bread into the sauce of my chicken tikka masala and placing it in my mouth before looking up at him.

  It’s a question I often find myself considering and it’s more to do with me, my life, and my own decisions rather than Peter and his. After everything that happened when I was a child I never felt I could leave Mum and go off elsewhere. Like many teenagers, I had all these dreams of travelling and seeing the world, but then the reality of our situation, of Dad’s absence and Mum’s fragility, would hit me and I’d know I couldn’t be so carefree and careless. I couldn’t just leave her. She needed me. But now I wonder how I’d have felt leaving them behind if our lives had been simpler, more straightforward and less fractured.

  ‘They told me to,’ he says simply, his face neutral as he delivers the statement while looking straight at me. Our eyes remain locked in that way for a second or two – serious and brooding – before his expression softens, becoming more animated and colourful as he continues with an explanation. ‘They were lucky. They met in this village, fell in love and were happy, but they weren’t silly. They understood that things were different for our generation. That the world was a more accessible place for us and ready to be explored. They didn’t want me to feel stuck or like my wings were clipped.’