The Cherry Tree Cafe

by Heidi Swain

  Jemma had eventually stopped ringing, probably on the assumption that Giles and I were engaged and consequently otherwise engaged in a marathon weekend shag fest. Which unfortunately we weren’t, well, he probably was but with the perfectly pristine Natasha, rather than the frayed around the edges me.

  Disconcertingly my mother had also rung a couple of times. Her messages were left in the voice she saved especially for Giles and his family, painstakingly pronouncing every syllable, and along with her nauseating tone there was the added concern that she hardly ever called. Her life was a blur of Wynbridge WI meetings and coffee mornings for orphaned orang-utans. I hoped Jemma hadn’t bumped into her and said anything about not being able to get hold of me, but that was highly unlikely. The pair hardly moved in the same social circles.

  I finally managed to get to sleep on Sunday night and unfortunately I stayed asleep. The cunning but face-saving Ferris Bueller style message I’d spent hours devising didn’t quite pan out. Blagging myself a few sick days would have given me enough time to compose myself and return to work looking confident, over Giles and with the world at my feet but unfortunately, fate it seemed, wasn’t quite finished with me yet.

  ‘It wasn’t all me,’ I groaned, increasingly convinced that this torturous hell was my comeuppance for so readily forgiving Giles when I discovered that he had been the one who left Natasha at the altar, not the other way round.

  ‘Elizabeth Dixon!’ I cringed under the duvet as the voice of my usually calm and kind-hearted boss Henry Glover echoed around the walls of the flat. ‘Where the hell are you? In case you’ve forgotten, you are supposed to be heading up the sales meeting this morning! You have all the data on your computer and no one else can access it! Hurry the fuck up will you, everyone’s waiting!’

  Reluctantly I shuffled out of bed, knowing I couldn’t put it off any longer.

  ‘Sally,’ I sniffed into the receiver, trying to sound more flu-ridden than heartbroken. ‘Hi, I’m not going to make it in for a few days. Can you tell Henry for me? I don’t think the message I left yesterday got picked up.’

  OK, so it was a lie, but given the circumstances, surely I was allowed just one?

  ‘Oh Lizzie, bless your heart. I was hoping you’d ring.’

  I swallowed hard but couldn’t rid myself of the lump that had recently taken up residence in my throat. Sally, Henry’s secretary, knew everything. I could hear it in her voice. If I’d been genuinely ill she would have been sympathetic but brisk. I couldn’t stand it. If she knew, then so did everyone else. All the people it had taken months to win over when I first moved in with Giles would now switch allegiance again, wouldn’t they? I couldn’t say we were ever bosom buddies, but I hated the thought of going back to work and not having anyone to talk to.

  ‘Can you tell Henry that I’m sorry? I think it’s just a bug,’ I lied, struggling to stop my voice cracking. ‘I think I must have picked it up over the weekend.’

  Sally sighed.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, love, no one blames you. It’s Giles, the little shit; he’s always wanted what he shouldn’t have.’

  The tension in my shoulders had only just begun to loosen its vice-like grip, when the phone rang again. This time it was Jemma, and I knew I couldn’t put off talking to her any longer. It wasn’t fair. I took a deep breath, braced myself for the impending storm and answered.

  ‘Finally!’ she laughed. ‘I was beginning to think you’d left the country! Now, don’t tell me, Giles whisked you away to some boutique hotel for the weekend, spoilt you rotten and now you’re wearing a princess cut diamond as big as your hand!’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I murmured.

  ‘Oh, it’s a Lady Di sapphire, is it?’

  ‘Look Jemma, if you’d just shut up for two seconds.’

  ‘What is it? Oh god, don’t tell me you eloped! Ella will never forgive you if she’s missed the chance to be a bridesmaid! Give me all the details, quick!’

  ‘Well,’ I winced, ‘the day began with a trip to a country house spa.’

  ‘A country house spa!’ Jemma scoffed. ‘What was he thinking? You hate that kind of thing! Then what?’

  ‘Then back to the city for dinner.’

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped impatiently, ‘I guessed there would be food at some point. Jesus, Lizzie, just cut to the good stuff, will you?’

  I took a deep breath and forced the three little words I’d been dreading saying aloud out of my mouth and into the world.

  ‘And then . . . he dumped me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He moved out while I was at the spa and he’s gone back to Natasha. They’re getting married.’

  Silence, then quiet sobbing filled the space that had only seconds before been occupied by my best mate crooning about my future prospects.

  ‘Oh god, don’t cry!’ I begged. ‘I haven’t got the energy to try and make you feel better.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m sorry. It’s just so horrible.’

  ‘I know. I almost threw up all over the table when he told me.’

  I don’t know why I was trying to make it sound funny. It certainly didn’t lessen the pain or the embarrassment. For weeks Jemma and I had been fantasising about the moment Giles would propose and now I had to explain that what I assumed were nerves about popping the question were actually mass desertion tactics.

  ‘You’re not seriously telling me the bastard told you over dinner?’ Jemma seethed.

  ‘Yep,’ I nodded, unable to stop now I was on a roll, ‘but in his defence, it was a very nice dinner even though I did almost end up seeing it in reverse!’

  ‘How can you be making jokes, Lizzie? This is awful!’

  ‘Because if I don’t, I think I’ll go under completely,’ I admitted, ‘and I can’t do that. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I’m hurting.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you can’t stay there, can you? Have you any idea how excruciating work is going to be?’

  ‘Yes, it had crossed my mind.’

  ‘And what about the rent? You can’t possibly manage it on your own.’

  ‘Yes, OK thanks, Jemma,’ I grumbled.

  Ever since I’d planned to phone in sick, my thoughts had been of little else but I didn’t need someone, especially someone I loved, telling me what a struggle my life was going to be from now on. I needed Jemma’s support as well as her sympathy.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, sounding more like her practical old self. ‘It’s just such a shock, that’s all. Maybe you should come home to Wynbridge for a bit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just for a break, until you get your head straight. Come to us if you can’t face your mum . . . oh . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Jemma. What is it?’

  ‘Well, I kind of ran into your mum in town last Friday.’

  I slumped down on the sofa, the last of my spirit heading for the door.

  ‘So?’ I asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

  More silence.

  ‘Jemma, you didn’t mention anything about Friday night, did you?’ I already knew the answer, courtesy of the answerphone messages.

  ‘I might have mentioned that you were having a birthday treat and that Giles had something special up his sleeve.’

  ‘Oh god,’ I groaned.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Jemma started to cry again.

  ‘Look,’ I shrugged, ‘don’t worry about it, at least you didn’t lie.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he did have something up his sleeve, didn’t he? Just not what we were expecting, that’s all.’

  I hung up, knowing I couldn’t hold back the tide any longer. I was going to have to telephone home and keep everything crossed that Dad, not Mum would pick up. I forced myself to eat a bowl of cereal, then had a shower and washed my hair. There was no point going into
battle half-arsed. Where my mother was concerned, you needed all your armour intact before advancing.

  ‘Hello, Dad?’

  ‘Hello, darling . . . oh hang on, your mother wants to talk.’

  ‘No, Dad, wait!’

  The sheer relief I had momentarily felt at hearing Dad’s voice evaporated as I heard Mum snatching the phone from his grasp and installing herself on the sofa for a cosy chat.

  ‘Lizzie!’ she gushed, ‘where on earth have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days!’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘Now, tell me. Where did that gorgeous man take you for your birthday? I bumped into Jemma in town and she told me he had something special planned, that’s why I didn’t ring on the day. Do you know, she had Ella with her and her behaviour was quite appalling?’

  I blessed my goddaughter and her ability to shock my mother. I was grateful for anything that would distract her from her current course of interrogation.

  ‘Anywho,’ she laughed, ‘that’s all by the by. When are you both coming home? Can we expect a big announcement?’

  I could hear Dad frantically trying to shut her up in the background and the way her voice started cutting in and out suggested that she was wafting him away with a duster much the same as she would a fly.

  ‘We’re not,’ I said firmly, drawing myself up for the moment of impact, ‘and no.’

  ‘Pardon?’ She stalled.

  ‘We’re not coming home and no, there is no announcement, well, other than that Giles and I are no longer a couple.’

  ‘Sorry, Lizzie,’ she murmured faintly, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Then let me spell it out for you,’ I sighed. ‘On my birthday Giles moved all his stuff out of the flat while I was at a spa and then in the evening, he took me out to dinner and told me that he didn’t love me and that he was getting back with Natasha, his former fiancée and marrying her.’

  I stopped to draw breath. It was the first time I’d said the whole thing so plainly and the words tore my heart in two. I still didn’t want to believe it had happened.

  ‘Oh, Lizzie!’ Mum sobbed. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  I took another deep breath.

  ‘How on earth has this happened?’ She sniffed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, had you been fighting? Had you fallen out with his mother or one of the brothers?’

  Sometimes I thought, as I tuned out my mother’s disapproving prattle, it would be cool to have a brother or sister. Someone else to conspire with, share the heat and hassle. But then I realised that knowing my luck I’d end up playing second fiddle; I’d be Monica Geller not Ross and that would be undoubtedly worse, wouldn’t it? Constant comparison to a saintly sibling was not a comforting thought. Perhaps I should start pinning my hopes on Dad trading in who I’d ended up with for a mother for a kinder, less sharply edged model.

  ‘Lizzie!’

  ‘What? I mean, pardon?’

  ‘I said, are you listening?’

  ‘Of course I’m listening!’

  ‘Then tell me, what did you do?’

  ‘What do you mean, what did I do?’

  ‘Well, you must have done something? Giles wouldn’t have just decided this was his only course of action if your relationship was all tickety-boo, would he?’

  ‘Why is everything always my fault?’ I retaliated.

  ‘And who is this Natasha person? I had no idea Giles had been engaged before!’

  Ah, I’d forgotten about that. Dad and I had decided it would be better all-round if Mum was kept in the dark about that one. When Giles and I first got together we considered it all best left unsaid; shame I hadn’t remembered our little plan before I phoned home, really. To be honest, it was a shame that I’d gone along with his little plan at all. My grandmother had always maintained that we reaped what we sowed in life and I was just beginning to understand what she meant.

  Chapter 3

  It had been the end of December before the first hard frost hit the city, but ever since then the unrelenting arctic blast refused to loosen its grip. The city was on lock-down, like my heart, and the dark, bitter days did nothing to raise my spirits.

  If only I had had some clue that would have alerted me to Giles’s true feelings then I could have braced myself for when he blew time on our relationship. Having survived the paranoia that accompanied the first few months of our passionate, whirlwind affair, I had foolishly thought the rest would be plain sailing.

  Eighteen months in and I had finally convinced Jemma to cast aside her reservations about my dream man and his dodgy relationship credentials. For six months I’d encouraged both our minds to skip merrily ahead, all the way up the aisle and beyond.

  Somehow I dragged myself back to the office and the cut and thrust world of advertising sales and faced the sympathy, whispering and gradual extrication from the group of people I had so recently almost been tempted to call my ‘friends’. However, more worryingly than my lack of chums was the fact that it was little beyond fourteen days since my birthday and my bank balance was already beginning to look as bleak as the winter weather.

  ‘Lizzie,’ Henry, my boss, smiled as he called me into his office and discreetly closed the door, ‘come in; have a seat.’

  I sat as instructed, the tension in my shoulders forcing them up around my ears again as I waited for the death knell on my job to toll.

  ‘I appreciate that this is a rough time for you,’ he said, sitting opposite me.

  I shook my head, fully prepared to make the ‘what is happening in my personal life has absolutely nothing to do with my work’ speech, but he cut me off before I’d even launched in. Spare me, his expression said, I’ve heard it all before.

  ‘And I know everyone’s figures take a bit of a dip in the run up to the silly season. However,’ he continued, spinning his laptop round so I could see the screen, ‘these figures just aren’t good enough, Lizzie, and you can’t say it’s happened recently.’

  He pointed to the sharply descending line on the perfectly colour-coded graph he’d created to nail home my ineptitude.

  I knew he was right, even without the graphic evidence. I’d gone off the boil around late October after I’d overheard a couple of the other girls, Philippa and Sasha, gossiping in the ladies about who would be seeing in the New Year with a new piece of jewellery. From that day on, my heart simply wasn’t in selling advertising space; I was too busy fantasising about floral centrepieces, bridal favours, beautiful babies and insurance policies that would cover gargantuan school fees.

  Henry snapped the laptop shut and stared across the desk at me, his expression sympathetic. I knew what was coming.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Lizzie,’ he began.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ I said, wanting to spare him, ‘I understand. You think I would be better off working somewhere else . . .’

  ‘No,’ Henry interrupted, ‘that isn’t what I was going to say at all, although if you have decided to move on, then I wouldn’t blame you. It can’t be easy working here and running the risk of seeing Giles every day.’

  ‘No,’ I smiled weakly, ‘it isn’t.’

  ‘But what I was going to say, and this is strictly between us, is that the powers that be have decided it’s time to make some changes. They’re going to cut a swathe through the entire advertising department.’

  I felt my face redden. Talk about shooting myself in the foot.

  ‘This is just a heads-up, a timely nod to say that everyone’s figures are going to be scrutinised in the spring and that you’ve got time to pick things up before the restructuring plans are made public.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I see. Thanks.’

  ‘I’d hate to lose you, Lizzie,’ Henry smiled, ‘you’re a hard worker and the clients really love you. If you want it, there would be plenty of potential for promotion. You just have to pull these figures round, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I smiled, ‘thanks, Henry. I appreciate the war
ning.’

  Henry blushed and not for the first time I wondered how such a soft-hearted guy held his own in the ruthless world of advertising management. When I’d come back to work, he was full of apology for the out of character message he’d left on the answerphone. Henry didn’t go in for shouting and swearing so his stress levels that morning must have been, thanks to me, through the roof.

  I knew I should have been feeling grateful that he had given me a heads-up, but the plain truth was I hated my job. I’d only accepted the position because it was the first to come up when I moved to London. Giles had seemed thrilled that we were going to be working in the same building and made a great fuss about the long, lazy lunches we’d be able to share, although thinking back they had rarely ever happened. No, selling advertising space just wasn’t me. I didn’t care enough about projected sales and bottom lines. I was just lucky I got on with people and could talk them into buying space on a page.

  However, as much as I hated it, it was a job and because of the constraints of having it I now found myself facing a big decision. Should I stay or should I go? Should I jump before I was pushed, or should I stay and fight just to make life as awkward as I could for the snake who had denied me my fairytale ending and brought my life crashing down around my ears?

  ‘What did you say?’ Jemma asked, after I’d explained what Henry had told me. ‘Did you tell him to stick it?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t!’ I smiled at my friend’s militant attitude. ‘Henry’s one of the good guys, remember?’

  ‘I suppose so, but seriously, Lizzie, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I sighed, ‘I’m just not ready to make a decision yet.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, mate, but if you don’t hurry up you might just find someone else, like the bank manager, has decided for you.’

  ‘There’s still time to turn things around,’ I mumbled halfheartedly, knowing that what I really wanted to do was pack a bag and run, but to where?