The Cherry Tree Cafe

by Heidi Swain

  Ben and I might have got off to a shaky start but I was beginning to appreciate that, on the evidence of the last few days at least, he really seemed to ‘get me’; he understood what I was dreaming of achieving.

  ‘Thank you for all your help this week,’ I said, ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  Ben shook his head dismissively.

  ‘Oh yes you could.’

  ‘Well all right then, let’s just say, I wouldn’t have wanted to muddle my way through it all without you on my side.’

  ‘It means a lot to you doesn’t it, all this?’ Ben smiled. Yes, I realised, he really did ‘get me’.

  ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted,’ I replied honestly, ‘I was dreaming of this even when we were at school.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Do you?’ I frowned.

  ‘Oh yes, I remember a lot of things, Lizzie. Sometimes it’s a curse, to be honest; my memories remind me of my regrets.’

  ‘What do you regret then?’

  ‘Oh I dunno.’

  ‘No, come on, tell me. I want examples!’

  ‘Well, for a start, all the things my shyness stopped me doing when I was younger, I guess.’

  ‘You? Shy?’ I exclaimed, taking a step back and losing myself in his deep, ponderous gaze. ‘I was the shy one. I was the one hidden away in my room whenever Jemma went off with Tom and you and your merry band. You played in the bloody band, remember?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ben laughed, ‘but I never sang.’

  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that and was about to ask, but he cut me off before I had a chance.

  ‘So how come you’ve never done all this before?’ Ben asked, pointing at the crafting area. ‘There’s more than a decade between leaving school and now.’

  ‘I know,’ I sighed resignedly, ‘I don’t generally go in for regrets myself, but now I do wish I’d got on with things sooner. After college I just drifted. Mum had convinced me I was wasting my time with my sewing and I just fell into the routine of working shifts in the pub, then Jemma and Tom got engaged and oh, I don’t know, it just never happened.’

  ‘Did you not think about setting up something like this when you were living in London?’

  ‘God no!’ I laughed. ‘I never gave any of this a second thought. As you’re well aware, I was too busy trying to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.’

  I stopped abruptly and moved a little further away. I was somewhat taken aback by the edge of bitterness that had crept into my response.

  ‘But what about you?’ I asked. ‘Can you honestly say that you’re living the dream?’

  Today was supposed to represent a fresh start for me and I had no desire to dredge up the past and start thinking about why I’d blown back to Wynbridge. I knew that any talk of Ben’s private life usually stopped him in his tracks and so that was the path I took. It was a cheap shot but I didn’t want anything other than a few wobbly stitches taking the edge off my day.

  ‘I’m not like you,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I ever had one big dream as a kid, just lots of smaller ones that would take me all over the world on lots of different adventures.’

  ‘And have you lived them all?’ I asked. ‘Have you ticked them all off?’

  Ben began to laugh. He leant back against the edge of a table and thrust his hands in his jeans pockets. He looked infuriatingly relaxed.

  ‘I’ve ticked some off,’ he smiled, ‘but nowhere near all of them. Why are you so angry and defensive all of a sudden?’

  ‘I’m not!’ I half shouted, stubbornly thrusting out my chin.

  ‘Yes you are!’

  ‘Well if I am, it’s because you always do this!’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘You just have this way of making me say things; making me feel things and then when I ask for something in return you clam up or make a joke of it. You know every detail of my excruciating homecoming, yet I don’t know why you’ve come back! You never actually give me a straight answer . . . to anything!’

  ‘But you’ve never asked me?’

  There was no denying that. It was Jemma and Tom who had wrapped him up in cottonwool, not Ben himself. I had never asked him because they had warned me off.

  ‘So, why have you come back then?’

  ‘Come on! Come on! Action stations! There’s only twenty minutes until we’re open!’ Jemma charged through the Café and into the kitchens. ‘Why haven’t you put the water on?’ she shouted.

  ‘Damn it,’ I muttered.

  Ben shrugged his shoulders and pushed himself upright.

  ‘It’ll keep,’ he smiled, ‘I’m not planning on going anywhere, are you?’

  The morning passed all too quickly and before I knew it, Sarah and Rachel were hovering in the doorway ten minutes before the taster session was due to start.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Jemma smiled, ‘Lizzie’s just putting the finishing touches on everything.’

  What I was actually trying to do was not throw up all over the prettily prepared tables as I checked and rechecked that every person had access to everything they were going to need in order to complete their string of bunting within the allotted time. I smoothed my unruly curls behind my ears one last time and stepped out to meet my first two attendees.

  ‘What about this one with the little boats and beach huts on?’ I suggested, holding up a long strip of fabric for Rachel’s scrutiny. ‘If we’re careful, we can line the template up to make sure you don’t lose any of the designs?’

  ‘Perfect!’ she laughed, clapping her hands together. ‘Lizzie, you’ve got such an eye for these things!’

  Feeling much more settled, I handed over the fabric and continued my rounds of the tables offering words of encouragement and advice as necessary. What I had assumed would be a quick, simple make was turning out to be quite a challenge for some but they all looked as if they were enjoying themselves.

  ‘We’ll stagger the refreshments,’ I told Jemma, ‘that way there won’t be a queue for the sewing machines.’

  Five of the six people who booked had turned up. Helen, the third musketeer in Sarah and Rachel’s clan, had had to cancel courtesy of her young son who was unwell and needed collecting from school.

  ‘Try this,’ I said, passing Rachel a transparent template, ‘you can see the pattern through this one so you can see exactly what you’re outlining.’

  I’d made everyone a triangle and rectangle template and they were now enthusiastically cutting out the shapes they had chosen and drawn around ready to sew them together.

  ‘If you weren’t bothered about the bunting being double-sided,’ I explained, ‘you could cut the fabric with pinking shears to stop it fraying. That way you wouldn’t have to worry about edging it.’

  ‘So if it was going to be hung flat against a wall or something you could use that technique, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Exactly,’ I smiled.

  Jackie and Sandra were both making bunting for their grandchildren and sat companionably comparing notes on their toddlers’ development and prowess in the playground. Rachel’s string was destined for the bathroom, whilst Sarah’s floral masterpiece was earmarked for the summerhouse.

  ‘Have you got anywhere in mind for yours, Angela?’ I asked as I gathered offcuts to see if there were any scraps worth salvaging.

  ‘I thought it might look nice above the sink in the kitchen,’ she smiled shyly. ‘But I’m not sure.’

  I sat next to her in the seat that should have been occupied by Helen and looked about me. Everyone was chatting away across the table, sharing news and gossip, but still absorbed in their own project.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Ruby whispered, as she set about clearing the Café tables.

  ‘Great!’ I beamed. ‘Brilliant. Exactly how I hoped it would.’

  I turned back to the group to monitor their progress.

  ‘Now,’ I called, ‘who knows how to thread a sewing machine?’

  Two hours later it was all over and
the group were getting ready to leave. Each had a brown paper bag, stamped with the Cherry Tree Café logo and a tiny silver bell threaded through the handles, clutched to their chests.

  ‘I still can’t believe I’ve made this!’ Sarah giggled, peeping inside the bag. ‘Mark will never believe that I haven’t been down the shops and bought it!’

  ‘What’s next?’ Rachel asked. ‘I can’t wait to have a go at something else!’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I laughed. ‘I wanted to see how today went before I decided whether it was worth planning anything else.’

  ‘Its crafts and cakes, Lizzie,’ Jackie laughed, ‘nowhere else around here offers such a tempting combination. What on earth did you think would go wrong?’

  I held open the door and watched them disappear down the path, their chatter and laughter still reaching me long after they were out of sight. The Café was almost empty and I went back to the crafting area to finish tidying away.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you again, Lizzie,’ Angela said quietly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Angela. I thought you’d gone out with the rest. I’m so pleased you enjoyed yourself.’

  ‘This afternoon has really meant a lot to me,’ she said, her voice so quiet I could barely hear her. ‘This is the first time I’ve done anything like this since my Roger died.’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I haven’t been out much at all, really. We’d only moved here a few weeks before he passed and I haven’t had the chance to get to know anyone beyond the neighbours.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ I said, pulling out a chair.

  ‘No, I won’t stop,’ she smiled. ‘I just wanted to say thank you. It’s been lovely doing something to take my mind off things for a while. Promise you’ll let me know if you decide to do something else, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ I nodded, remembering how Deborah had told me people would enjoy the opportunity to socialise as much as sew. ‘I’ll keep you posted, but do pop in and say hello any time, won’t you? I’m always here.’

  I watched as she headed out the door, the silver bell on her bag tinkling gently as she disappeared.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So much to talk about,’ Jemma laughed, ‘that I hardly know where to start!’

  ‘How about you start by telling us just what your wayward daughter has been up to this time!’ Ben suggested as he handed around the plates of spaghetti bolognese that I was serving up and passing him.

  Ella was spending the night with Tom’s mum so we could have a Café catch-up and general discussion about how the taster session had gone.

  ‘Oh yes!’ I teased. ‘You never said when you came back. What’s she been up to now?’

  Jemma and Tom exchanged glances.

  ‘She got in a bit of an argument at playtime yesterday.’

  ‘Not again!’ Ben and I chorused together. ‘What about this time?’

  Playground differences were becoming almost a weekly grievance in Ella’s little world and I hoped the impact of having so little time with Jemma wasn’t the reason behind it. I was about to say something, but catching the concern on her face, decided against it.

  ‘I bumped into Sarah and Rachel when I went to collect Ella from school,’ Ben smiled, successfully steering the conversation back to the business in hand. ‘They were both grinning like Cheshire cats.’

  We all walked back to the sitting room and sat, our plates balanced precariously. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea!’ I joked, trying to spin spaghetti onto my fork without spilling it. ‘Never mind that,’ Ben scolded, ‘how do you think the session went, Lizzie?’

  ‘It was brilliant!’ I beamed. ‘A total success. Everyone had a great time. In fact, they were all clamouring to know what we could make next!’

  Looking back, I couldn’t imagine why I’d been so worried. I’d finally got the opportunity to do something I was passionate about in the company of some lovely people and eventually, if everything went to plan I would be able to make a living at it. The only twinge of doubt in the back of my mind revolved around Jemma and whether she would want different groups meeting in the Café on a weekly basis.

  ‘That is assuming there’s going to be a next time,’ I added.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tom asked, wiping his tomato-stained chin on his shirt sleeve.

  ‘Well, Jemma might not want half the Café taken over every week by a raucous group of unruly craft enthusiasts!’

  I was trying to make light of the situation but my heart was hammering in my chest.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t.’

  I swallowed hard and nodded, forcing myself to remember that the Café was her dream and Tom’s. I was going to have to look elsewhere to fulfil mine.

  ‘I want it taken over every day!’ she laughed. ‘This afternoon was amazing, Lizzie. It was everything we ever dreamt of; no, actually it was so much more than that! I don’t see why you can’t run a different group every afternoon and maybe even establish the knit and natter thing you were on about at the same time.’

  ‘Really?’ I choked. ‘You really want me to carry on?’

  ‘Of course, you silly mare!’ Tom laughed. ‘We know a golden opportunity when we see it, don’t we, Jemma?’

  Chapter 15

  The ‘meeting’ that evening lasted far longer than we expected and it was almost midnight before Jemma and Tom said their goodbyes and headed home to bed. Ben lingered behind, ostensibly to help me with the dishes, but I could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

  ‘So you really enjoyed yourself this afternoon?’ he asked, as we stood at the sink, me washing and him drying.

  ‘It was fantastic,’ I nodded, ‘I can’t believe I was so nervous, though! You must have thought I was a right idiot.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he smiled, ‘I was relieved actually.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. I guess it was a relief to see that you were taking it all so seriously.’

  ‘Why would you think I wasn’t?’

  ‘You just seemed different after the Café opened,’ he said hesitantly, ‘distracted almost. To tell you the truth, we all thought you were thinking about leaving again. Then when you went to stay with your old boss last weekend we half wondered if you’d come back.’

  ‘But I told Jemma I was going to see Deborah at the Crafting Café,’ I frowned. ‘The trip was all about my commitment to the Cherry Tree.’

  I kept my eyes on the sink full of dishes, unwilling to return Ben’s penetrating gaze.

  ‘We know that now,’ he said gently, ‘and I don’t want you thinking we were talking about you behind your back, Lizzie. It wasn’t like that. I promise. We were just worried about you.’

  I nodded, dried my hands on the towel and spread it across the radiator to dry.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ I offered.

  Even though it was late I didn’t want to be on my own. I knew that if Ben left now I would go to bed and start stewing over imaginary and bitchy conversations that he, Jemma and Tom might have had about me, which of course they hadn’t.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. Coffee would be good.’

  We stoked up the fire and sat in the siting room staring at the flames.

  ‘About what you asked me earlier,’ Ben said, breaking the silence, his voice thick in his throat, ‘about why I’ve come back.’

  I held up my hand to stop him.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I insisted, ‘you don’t have to tell me anything. It’s your business. I know how it feels to have the world and his wife talking about you, so please don’t feel obliged to explain anything just to make me feel better. I didn’t mean to sound so tetchy earlier, I was just nervous.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he whispered, ‘I want to tell you. I want you to know.’

  ‘Well that’s different,’ I said.

  He took a deep breath and set his mug of coffee down on the table.

  ‘I c
ame home because, like you, I had a relationship breakup,’ he said tentatively. ‘The girl I was seeing smashed my heart into a thousand pieces and I couldn’t bear to be anywhere near where she was.’

  I tucked my feet under me and sat back in the chair ready to listen.

  ‘Another broken heart,’ I sympathised.

  ‘Another broken heart,’ Ben repeated.

  Seconds passed.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what she did?’ I said eventually.

  Ben looked at me for a second then back to the fire. I think, lost in his thoughts, he’d forgotten I was even there.

  ‘I don’t know where to start,’ he laughed.

  ‘Well, how about the beginning?’

  ‘Oh no, you wouldn’t like the beginning.’

  ‘Then why don’t you tell me what she did to break your heart, assuming it isn’t too close to the beginning?’ I suggested, trying to help him.

  ‘I thought she was ill,’ he began quickly. ‘For weeks she’d seemed pale and tired but there was nothing I could put my finger on. I knew she was working too hard, but she was always working too hard.’

  He stopped for a second, cleared his throat and ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘She came home from work one day and told me she was going to France for a few days, some business conference. I told her she wasn’t well enough but she said she had to go, that the whole thing depended on her being there.’

  He stopped again and stared into the fire, the memory of it all clearly playing out in his mind.

  ‘Did she go?’ I whispered, an assumption that she had had an affair with a colleague already forming in my mind.

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Yes, she went,’ he said bitterly. ‘The morning after she left, I set about tidying the flat. I took the rubbish down to the bins and the bag split. Amongst the detritus I found a pregnancy test.’ He took a swig of coffee. ‘It was positive.’

  I let out a long slow breath, my heart rate picking up with every word I heard.

  ‘Was that why she seemed ill? Did she have morning sickness?’

  ‘I guess so. I was angry at first. Angry that she hadn’t told me, I thought she was going to try and trap me. I didn’t want a kid; I wasn’t ready to have a kid.’