by Heidi Swain
‘I have, I have,’ Ben muttered stiffly. ‘Sorry, I’m just having one of those days, you know? For some reason it’s all come flooding back.’
He shot what could only be described as a killer stare in my direction and I guessed that my presence wasn’t welcome, but what was it exactly that I was supposed to have done? Clearly I wasn’t the only one who’d landed on Jemma and Tom’s doorstep with more than renovating the Café in mind, but I couldn’t see how targeting his aggression towards me was going to help anyone.
Despite his rugged appeal and mesmerising eyes I was beginning to like Ben Fletcher less and less. Clearly he wasn’t the person I’d dreamt he was and neither was he going to be the ‘getting over Giles’ distraction Jemma had hoped for.
‘Come on,’ she said coaxingly, drawing my attention away from the boys, ‘let’s have a look at everything else and then we’ll go up to the flat!’
The kitchen and loos were shaping up as well as Tom had suggested. Rewired and repainted, there were just the appliances left to install and with a bit of last-minute tweaking and leak-fixing the place would be good to go.
Fortunately, and in spite of Jemma’s reservations, the same could be pretty much said for the flat above, however I was still relieved that I’d seen the Café before we headed upstairs. It kind of gave me a heads-up regarding what to expect, and having been so enthusiastic about the shop floor I could hardly refuse to see the potential in the space above, could I?
It was dank and drab, but only because it hadn’t been lived in for so long. There was a damp patch in the back bedroom but the large windows offered great views of the Café garden and there were some super vintage kitchen units along with an open fire in the little sitting room. On closer inspection even the damp patch wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting.
‘I reckon that could be the result of the dodgy guttering,’ Ben frowned, nodding at Tom as they followed me back into the bedroom, ‘and now that’s been sorted, I reckon if the room’s given a decent airing and some gentle heat, it’ll sort itself.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tom, running his hand over the wall, ‘I reckon you could be right.’
‘There you are then!’ I smiled at Jemma who was standing in the doorway. ‘Happy days. It’s not quite what I’ve grown accustomed to . . .’
I was just about to add that it was even better because it was so homely, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted Ben rolling his eyes. Was I imagining it or was he still pissed off with me? It wasn’t my fault if Jemma and Tom had taken onboard my cheap and cheerful makeover suggestions over his, was it? I watched him walk past her out of the room and turned my attention back to Jemma, who was looking at me expectantly.
‘. . . and that’s exactly why I love it!’ I said. ‘This is going to be perfect. Living over the Café will keep me on my toes. It’s going to be so busy and exciting that I won’t have a chance to sit and brood about everything else that’s happened.’
Jemma stepped forward and gave me a hug.
‘I just want you to be happy,’ she said tearfully.
‘I will be,’ I told her, squeezing her back, ‘just give me time, OK?’
Mercifully the flat walls were painted, not papered, and the carpets would be fine after a good steam clean. I lingered in the kitchen and pictured myself hanging up the bunting I had made whilst the guys had another go at tempting the boiler, which was housed in a cupboard at the top of the stairs, back to life.
‘It is small,’ said Jemma as she squeezed into the kitchen with me, ‘but it’s a start, isn’t it? I know you’ve been used to all that space . . .’ her voice trailed off as she looked over at me. I knew she was trying to decide if she was pushing her luck.
‘To tell you the truth,’ I shrugged, ‘I never really liked the place. It never felt like home.’
‘Not even with Giles there?’ she ventured.
‘Not even then,’ I admitted.
The boiler refused to succumb to the guys’ ministrations and as the flat was beginning to feel colder than outside, we admitted defeat and headed back to collect Ella.
‘I’ll get Bob Skipper who sorted the Café heating to have a look at it on Monday morning, Lizzie,’ said Tom.
‘Good idea,’ said Jemma.
‘If I’d known you were coming a bit sooner, I would have got him to sort it when he was here before, but not to worry. However, it does leave us with another problem,’ he continued, shaking his head, ‘this means you’re gonna be stuck with us for a couple more days at least!’
I’d already thought of that.
‘You’re going to be stuck with me, you mean. Jemma, shall I phone my mum and see if I can go there until the flat defrosts?’
My suggestion was met by a sharp intake of breath from all sides.
‘No, you certainly shall not!’ Jemma was first to pipe up. ‘The whole point of you being here is to rest and recuperate, not endure a grilling.’
Even Ben nodded in agreement.
‘Take my word for it, Lizzie; you aren’t strong enough for that yet.’
I’d already guessed that Ben’s mother and mine were shelled from the same pod but I still couldn’t shake off the feeling that everything he said to me was a thinly veiled criticism.
‘Ben’s right,’ Tom joined in, clearly not feeling the same sting from his friend’s words as I did, ‘give yourself at least a fighting chance! Hey, Jemma, how about we send Ella off to your mum’s tonight and head down to the Mermaid?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I began to protest, ‘you just said I needed to “give myself a fighting chance” – I’m not ready to face a pub full of locals yet!’
‘Band-aid treatment. I’ve done it, so I’m sure you can,’ Ben announced. ‘Doesn’t apply to overbearing mothers, though.’
‘Sorry?’ I frowned, wondering what had happened in Ben’s life that meant he too had had to brave a pub full of curiosity and gossiping. ‘What treatment?’
‘Band-aid treatment. You know, rip it off quick; get it over and done with.’
‘He’s right,’ Jemma called over her shoulder. ‘You can front it out with the help of alcohol in the pub. Your mum, on the other hand, will want you stone-cold sober!’
‘Yep,’ Tom joined in having the final word, ‘you have to work your way up to these things, Lizzie! Pub it is then!’
Chapter 7
To help cushion the impact of walking into a pub full of people I hadn’t seen since I floated out of town aboard a heart-shaped cloud, Tom offered to go on ahead with Ben, get a round in and secure a table in a shady corner. Jemma reckoned that if I kept my hood up and my head down I would be able to sneak in and down a couple of stiff ones before anyone recognised me.
As we slipped up the icy pavement that ran alongside the River Wyn and towards the cheerily lit haven at the end of the road, I considered throwing myself into a pot hole in the hope that I would sprain or even break an ankle to avoid the inevitable humiliation which I could feel pulsating towards me with every step. Unfortunately Jemma, my telepathic companion, guessed what was afoot and clung on even tighter. She didn’t say anything, but her grasp suggested that if I was going down I was going to have to take her with me.
‘Ready?’ she asked, her pretty face and long blonde hair lit by the soft glow emanating from the pub windows.
‘No,’ I smiled nervously. ‘Not really. Can we just go home, please?’
‘Oh come on! What can possibly go wrong?’
I looked up at the weather-beaten sign as it creaked in the icy breeze and the piercing gaze of the mermaid as she sat upon her rock, haughtily brushing her long locks with a sea shell comb.
‘Everything,’ I whispered. I stepped back just as Jemma lifted the latch on the heavy wooden door. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,’ I stammered, ‘not yet. I’m just not ready.’
I turned with the intention of rushing back down the road to the sanctuary of Jemma and Tom’s welcoming hearth, but the door was thrust open and before I’d t
aken a single step, I felt myself being helpfully nudged backwards by my ‘friend’.
It was inevitable of course that I should lose my footing and fall flat on my backside across the welcome mat. The pub fell silent as Jemma rushed, apologising profusely, to pull me to my feet and dust me down as if it had been Ella who had fallen rather than foolish thirty-something me.
‘Well, well, well!’ I heard Evelyn Harper, the pub landlady’s shrill voice ring out. ‘Look what the cat’s dragged in!’
Tom and Ben sat as promised, in the shadowy nook next to the fire, nursing their drinks and shaking their heads.
‘Hello, Evelyn,’ I tried to smile, my face aglow, ‘long time no see.’
‘Too bloody long!’ shouted a voice next to me. It was Evelyn’s husband, Jim. ‘How the hell are you, girl?’
He spun me round and hugged me tight, my face barely reaching his chest.
‘Crikey, Jim!’ I spluttered. ‘Have you grown?’
As I regained my composure and felt some of the heat in my face recede, I noticed everyone turning back to their own conversations. The babble of chatter in the pub grew steadily louder until it was once again almost impossible to hear yourself think and I was subjected to nothing more agonising than the odd questioning glance. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as I first thought.
‘I thought you were more interested in grand exits than entrances?’ Jim winked as he levered himself to his station behind the bar.
Evelyn, who barely came up to his shoulder but was very much in charge, dug him hard in the ribs.
‘You leave her alone!’ she snapped. ‘Ignore him, my love. You know what an old tease he can be. Now what can I get you – it’s on the house?’
Tom and Ben forced their way through the crowd towards the bar where Jemma and I were perched on a couple of stools. Their fireside seats were taken long before they reached us.
‘We didn’t think there was much point hiding in the corner after that!’ Tom laughed. ’Do you girls fancy a song?’
Jemma rolled her eyes and tugged at Tom’s sleeve.
‘Please not tonight,’ she begged, ‘can’t we just have one night off, one single, solitary trip to the pub that doesn’t turn into a bloody Mumford tribute?’
‘No,’ Tom laughed, kissing the top of her head. ‘We thought a bit of a sing-song might take the heat off Lizzie for a bit. Feel free to join in, won’t you?’ he winked at me.
He disappeared amongst the crowd again with Ben following on behind. He didn’t say anything as he passed and I struggled to believe that the impromptu entertainment was really for my benefit and even if it was, it certainly wasn’t Ben who had come up with the idea.
‘I get the impression Ben doesn’t like me!’ I shouted to Jemma, after I’d made sure he was out of earshot.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, shouting back above the noise.
‘I can’t explain it,’ I shrugged, ‘it’s just a couple of things he’s said.’
Jemma shook her head.
‘Don’t take it personally,’ she insisted, ‘he’s got a lot on his plate right now.’
‘Like what?’
Jemma took a sip of her pint.
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, I’m not supposed to say anything.’
‘Oh,’ I said, feeling a bit put out.
‘Let’s just say Ben is pissed off with pretty much everyone and everything right now,’ she explained, ‘so don’t take his comments personally, OK?’
I was intrigued. My hunch at the Café was obviously right.
‘That’s easy for you to say!’ I told her. ‘I haven’t heard him snap at you!’
‘Oh, he’s had his moments, believe me.’ Jemma smiled.
A thought suddenly struck me.
‘He isn’t cross because you offered the flat to me, is he? I mean, he was already with you before you asked me if I wanted to move in, wasn’t he?’
‘No, no! It’s nothing like that. I don’t think he’s planning on hanging around long after the Café’s open,’ Jemma reassured me. ‘He hasn’t talked about staying on, anyway.’
‘Fair enough,’ I muttered. ‘I’ll try not to take his comments to heart next time.’
Jemma didn’t say anything else and I knew I wasn’t going to get anything more out of her. It wasn’t fair to try and force her to fess up, but I still couldn’t help feeling left a little out in the cold. After all, Ben knew why I was sleeping on the sofa in my best friend’s sitting room; the least he could do was return the favour and share his woes with me, wasn’t it? I’d already worked out we were going to be spending a lot of time together at the Café over the coming weeks and without knowing why he had come back I was bound to put my foot in it and incur his wrath.
Jemma turned to face me again. She was obviously feeling guilty.
‘Like I said, he’s got a lot on his mind right now. He’s coming to terms with some pretty major stuff that’s happened in his life, but bear with him. You’ll really like him once you get to know him and I dare say he’ll fill you in when the time’s right.’
I drank a mouthful of my pint and glanced over to where the guys were preparing to entertain the crowd. Tom, sitting at the piano, was grinning broadly and Ben, miraculously smiling, was fiddling intently with the strings on a double bass. A third member of the crowd joined them and cheers went up as he whipped a banjo out from behind his back. I looked around at the ruddy, slightly unfocused faces and thought how the place hadn’t changed at all. We were certainly in for a fun evening.
A little while later Jim had somehow tempted me behind the packed bar and I found myself pulling pints with the same dexterity I had achieved when I was a paid member of staff. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a bit of part-time work, would you?’ Evelyn asked as she squeezed past with a handful of change. ‘Only we’re a body down at the moment and you’ve obviously still got the knack.’
‘Crikey, I don’t know!’ I laughed.
This was the second job offer I’d had in days and neither bore any resemblance to the one I’d just given up. Perhaps Ben was right after all; perhaps I’d been kidding myself all along, trying to be someone other than plain old Lizzie Dixon, but surely if I took Evelyn up on her offer it would feel like the last two years hadn’t happened. I would feel like I was admitting, if only to myself, that I would have been better off staying put and pulling pints in Wynbridge.
‘I only got back yesterday,’ I told Evelyn, ‘I don’t even know if I’m staying yet.’
I looked over at Jemma, who was now sitting on the stool next to Tom and singing her head off. Another pang of unwanted jealousy hit. Perhaps I’d made a mistake in thinking I would be able to rebuild my life back here? Maybe I would have been better off going somewhere different, somewhere I could be the new girl in town, the only baggage attached to me stowed away in the boot of my car? What if, I cringed, everyone here was thinking the same thing as Ben had suggested. Were they all thinking I deserved what had happened because I’d got ideas above my station?
‘Well, have a think about it and let me know,’ Evelyn said, her eyes following my gaze. ‘I know Jemma’s been looking forward to seeing you and I’m sure she could do with a hand with the Café and that little rascal Ella. Your friend has certainly got her hands full at the moment, that’s for sure!’
Evelyn was right, of course. I excused myself and headed for the ladies. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I jumped ship when my best mate needed me most, would I? In the past Jemma had always been there for me and now I only had to think about how keen she was to offer me the flat to know that she had my best interests at heart.
‘Lizzie Dixon! Well this is a surprise!’
My heart sank as I looked up into the mirror above the sinks.
‘Erica Summers,’ I smiled through gritted teeth, ‘how lovely to see you.’
‘Actually, it’s Erica Dawson now,’ the woman drawled, waving a bejewelled left hand at my reflection. ‘I got married last summer.’
‘Oh yes, Mum did mention it.’ General consensus was that it was the most expensive, extravagant and ostentatious wedding the town had ever seen. ‘Congratulations.’
‘You next!’ she giggled as she primped her hair and reapplied her lip gloss. ‘Will you be doing it here?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The wedding,’ she said, her recent Botox permitting only the merest hint of a raised eyebrow as she stared back at me in the mirror, ‘will you be having it here in Wynbridge or is it going to be on Giles’s family estate?’ she gushed.
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t decided yet!’ she laughed. ‘If you don’t hurry up you’ll never book the caterer or musicians you want or anything! If you aren’t careful you’ll end up with those buffoons out there!’ she laughed, inclining her head back towards the bar door where the distant roar of ‘I Will Wait’ was being thumped out at full volume. ‘Believe me,’ she confided in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘organising a wedding takes a lot of commitment. I can give you the details of the planner I used, if you like?’
‘Erica,’ I said, trying not to cry, be sick or show any trace of emotion that would let my old enemy know that she was getting to me. ‘I think there’s been a mistake.’
‘Oh no mistake, your mother . . .’
‘My mother,’ I interrupted, cursing her under my breath, ‘has made a mistake.’
Erica, wide-eyed, blinked slowly and gave her carefully coiffured head a little shake of confusion. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I couldn’t stand there and tell her that I was back in town as a singleton with no romantic prospects or attachments.
I pushed past her back into the bar.
‘There’s no mistake,’ she called close behind me, her voice losing its upmarket tone. ‘I read it in the paper!’
The music came to a shuddering halt and everyone clapped and cheered for an encore.
‘What?’ I shouted above the din.
‘We all did!’ Erica shouted back, her expression triumphant. ‘Everyone knows! Your mother put an announcement in the paper the other week.’
