Bea danced into the bathroom, slipped out of her cotton pyjamas and stepped into the deluge of water. Closing her eyes, she faced the showerhead, letting the warm stream run over her face and neck. She lathered her hair and soaped her body, humming as her thoughts wandered and her stomach churned with pure excitement.
Standing in front of the large mirror, she reached for the towel and stared at her body. It was something she rarely did, too busy rushing from shower to work or shower to bed. But today was different; she took the time, tried to imagine seeing her naked form from a stranger’s perspective. Having been married for so long, she’d become very used to Peter’s body and he to hers. Familiarity had covered them like a comfortable blanket and she’d rarely thought about how he perceived her physically. They were at ease in their nudity, not flaunting or courting it, but unconcerned about letting their dressing gowns slip, relaxed about cleaning their teeth while the other one dripped in the shower, neither of them blinking when holding the towel as the other slipped into their bathers. Passion had been replaced by friendship, desire by companionship and this, with the mutual respect they had always had for each other, had been the recipe for a lovely, loving life.
What Bea felt today, however, was different. Standing in close proximity to John the night before, she had been stunned to experience a surge of sexual energy she had all but forgotten was possible. It was as if smoking embers had been fanned back to life. They might have a combined age of one hundred and eleven, but this apparently was no barrier to the flames of longing that flared inside her. She pictured her body the last time it had been revealed to John, replaying that night as she always did, as though it were a movie, watching her young self from afar. This time, as she remembered their last cherished hours together, she ignored the emotion of it and concentrated on looking at her form. Her legs had been slender, her thighs and calves curved and well defined; her legs were straighter now, the knees more prominent, the skin a little loose. Her stomach, once milky white and flat, was now pouched with skin that was pulled with silvery stretch marks and at least one size too big. Her arms, though still muscly, had a slight wobble to them that no amount of walking could cure.
She had the body of a woman in her fifties – a great body, but much altered from the one John had once held against him in the dark of night. She felt a shiver of something like fear, but it was tempered by a particular kind of peace, resignation. She was a woman who had lived, loved and survived; that in itself made her beautiful. Bea thought back to her discussion with Kim. ‘There isn’t a switch that gets flicked at forty-seven that stops you thinking about, indulging in or desiring sex!’ She laughed at her reflection. ‘You know what, Bea, if the best you get is doing crosswords and growing tomatoes with him by your side, there are worse ways to spend a life!’
‘Who are you talking to do?’ Flora called from the bedroom.
‘Myself!’ Bea answered.
‘I knew you’d gone nuts! You’ll be talking to your cats next, like Miss McKay!’
‘Tell you what, Flora, if this is what being nuts feels like, long may it continue!’
Half an hour later, the two of them were sitting down to breakfast in the now familiar surroundings of The Balmoral’s restaurant. Flora leant back in her chair as their friendly waitress brought them fresh orange juice and pots of tea.
‘Are you going to get John a Christmas present?’
‘I hadn’t really given it any thought. What do you think he’d like? Money for Uggs?’ Bea winked.
‘Doubt it!’ Flora scoffed. ‘Old men don’t really wear Uggs.’
‘I’ve told you already, he is not old!’ Bea raised her voice playfully.
‘Not to you, maybe!’ Flora countered, hesitating while she phrased her next question. ‘Aren’t you worried that you won’t get on?’
Bea paused from pouring her tea and looked at her granddaughter. It was certainly a consideration. Had she romanticised their liaison so much over the years, applying a tragic Romeo and Juliet-style ‘love denied’ scenario that had clouded her view and skewed her memories? It was possible. But the John that had greeted her last night, who had held her hand across the table and wept as he recalled seeing his son for the first time... ‘Not really, Flora. I mean, it’s true, we don’t really know each other, not properly, but I think we have a great foundation to build on.’
Flora pondered this as she chewed her toast. ‘But what do you think you have in common? What interests do you share?’ She thought about how she and Marcus both loved the sea, and how they both hated cheese.
Bea laughed. ‘We share a child!’
‘Good point!’ Flora studied her gran. ‘You look so happy.’
‘I feel it.’
‘Can I ask you something else?’
‘Go for it.’ Bea braced herself, knowing that Flora’s questions could be blunt, offensive, random, or all three.
‘How’s it going to work? I mean, it’s good you’ve found each other, but you live in Sydney and he lives in Edinburgh.’
‘Truthfully, love? I haven’t a clue. There’s a lot of water needs to flow under the bridge before we start discussing that.’
‘I know that, Bea, but will it be Sydney Harbour Bridge or the Forth Road Bridge? That’s the question!’
‘I don’t know, love.’
‘Can I ask you one last thing?’
‘Sure.’
‘What will happen if you properly meet Moira and she hates you, or when Dad finds out about John and meets him and hates him? I suppose what I’m saying is, what would you both do if all of your kids hated you both?’
Bea stared at her granddaughter. ‘Eat your toast, Flora,’ she said.
Sixteen
Bea settled back in her plane seat. Flora, like most of their fellow travellers, was sound asleep on this the final leg of their journey. She glanced at the Topping bag that protruded from the pouch of the seat in front of her, smiling as she recalled their wonderful day at St Andrews.
‘Are you sure there’s room for me in this?’ John had sighed as Bea pulled up in the little red bauble.
‘You’d be surprised, it’s very roomy inside!’ Bea said encouragingly.
‘It’s like the Tardis!’ Flora added for good measure.
‘Ah, well, I’m in good hands then – there’s been a few Scottish Doctor Whos. Sylvester McCoy, David Tennant, Peter Capaldi.’
‘Are you a Whovian?’ Flora was impressed.
‘Not really, I just do a lot of crosswords.’
‘So do you, Bea, so that’s one thing you have in common!’ She smiled as her gran narrowed her eyes at her over the roof of the little Fiat.
In the end the trio had decided to switch to John’s car, a comfy Land Rover whose extra ground clearance meant that Bea and Flora had the best view of the Scottish coast and countryside on the drive to St Andrews, John’s old university town. As they left the Edinburgh suburbs, making their way along the A90 towards Queensferry, Bea repeatedly glanced to her right as if to make sure it really was John driving her on this chilly winter’s day.
‘And here we go, over the Forth Road Bridge!’ John announced as they drove onto the high suspension bridge that spanned the Firth of Forth.
Flora ducked down, craning her neck to look up through the windows at the tall steel towers that seemed to reach up to the grey skies above. ‘It’s beautiful!’
‘It is. I have a passion for bridges.’ John spoke over his shoulder.
‘Have you been over the Sydney Harbour Bridge?’ Flora asked from the back seat.
‘No. I’d like to though.’ John glanced briefly at Bea.
‘And which of those two bridges do you think would have the most water flowing under it?’ Flora asked innocently.
‘Goodness me, Flora, that’s a bit scientific. I shall have to get back to you on that one.’ He laughed.
Bea turned and shot her granddaughter a look.
St Andrews was beautiful. Snow was heaped on the rooftops and agains
t the high kerbs of the well-kept streets, and the clusters of Georgian-fronted shops all had Christmas displays in their windows. Dappled panes of glass with frosting in the corners and twinkling lights around the edges gave the town a magical feel, and heather and tartan wreaths graced the front doors of many stone cottages. The famous Links golf course of the Royal and Ancient, the home of golf, looked immaculate even in the middle of winter, and the foaming white waves of the North Sea provided the perfect backdrop to the east. The whole place had the feel of a film set.
John guided the two of them around the ruins of St Andrews Cathedral and St Rule’s tower and Bea drank in his knowledge, thrilled that he wanted to share this special place with them. He was proud to show them the impressive St Salvator’s Hall, where he had lived for a couple of years before heading off to the other side of the world, where he would meet a girl...
The three made their way to Greyfriars Garden specifically to potter in Topping Books. It offered a warm welcome with its lingering aroma of fresh coffee, its blazing fire and of course books aplenty. Bea and Flora got lost among the aisles, mesmerised by the ornate spines and the number of topics covered. They were happiest of all among the cookery books, running their fingers over mouthwatering photographs of local dishes like Arbroath fisherman’s soup with cheddar bannocks, and Hebridean spring lamb with crushed potatoes.
‘What do you think, Flora? Would Mr Giraldi go for Arbroath fisherman’s soup?’
‘Well, not for breakfast, but yes, sure he would. He’d moan about it, but then he’d love it!’
Bea laughed at this accurate assessment of her lovely friend, wishing him well across the miles.
While John continued to browse the shelves, Bea and Flora popped out to explore the nearby shops. Returning half an hour later, Bea spied John at the counter, handing over his credit card and tucking a neatly wrapped book under his arm. He saw her out of the corner of his eye and his face broke into a smile. As she walked towards him, he watched her as if she was the only person in the shop, as if the other customers didn’t exist and it was just the two of them. I know you...
Bea stood next to him as the transaction was completed. The girl behind the counter pulled John’s card from the machine and thrust it towards Bea. ‘Oh! Sorry, sir, I was just about to give your card to your wife!’ She laughed and placed it in John’s palm.
Bea couldn’t help the tears that gathered, overwhelmed at being there with him, saddened by the thought of all the years that had slipped by without him.
John took her hand. ‘Come on, Beatrice, there’s no reason to be sad. Please don’t cry.’
She buried her face in the sleeve of his coat and inhaled the glorious scent of him.
The trio slowly made their way back to the car.
‘What’s that you’ve got?’ John pointed at the package under Bea’s arm, which was wrapped in newspaper.
‘Oh, I couldn’t resist! It’s a sampler I found in a glorious store called Rummage, just my kind of thing. I think it’s beautiful!’ Bea peeled the layers of newspaper from the picture.
John pulled a face as she turned it to face him. ‘I think this is one of those times when the phrase “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” might apply! It’s a little dusty!’ He grimaced, wrinkling his nose and wiping his fingers on his scarf.
‘Yes,’ Bea agreed, ‘but you have to look beyond the dust. Look at the original wooden frame. And how each word is perfectly embroidered in tiny cross-stitch. It must have taken forever! It’s dated 1860 and it has a signature. Look!’ She pointed to the bottom right-hand corner. ‘It was done by Miss E. H. Arbuckle. I wonder who she was, what she did and where she lived?’
‘I’m hoping she didn’t sit in night after night making too many more of these!’ John laughed and Flora chuckled too. ‘Poor Miss E. H. Arbuckle, sitting in her room stitching pictures that no one in their right mind would hang in their hoose!’ John boomed.
‘I shall happily hang it in mine!’ Bea shot back.
‘Well, that tells us all we need to know, eh, Flora?’ John winked at her.
Bea smiled at the thought of the sampler, now safely tucked inside her suitcase in the hold. She closed her eyes and prepared for sleep to take her over. Her thoughts drifted to their parting, which hadn’t been nearly as painful as she’d anticipated. Having lived without him for all this time, wondering if he were alive and whether she would ever see him again, she was used to longing for him. Knowing she would see him within the next few months, as they’d agreed, felt like no hardship by comparison. What was a few months?
John had smiled with relief at the prospect of finally being able to write to her from his heart without using Alex as his shield. ‘I shall think of you every day and every night.’ He had held her close and kissed her forehead.
‘You will?’ She’d beamed.
John had nodded. ‘Just like I always have.’
Bea felt the flutter of joy in her stomach; the connection she had felt all these years was real. With a smile on her face, she tucked her green pillow under her cheek and fell into a deep sleep.
‘You look different to how you did when we left,’ Flora noted as Bea threw her rucksack over her shoulder and placed her sunglasses on her head. Peter used to call them the most expensive hairband in Sydney.
‘I feel different,’ Bea confirmed.
The two collected their baggage from the carousel at Kingsford-Smith Airport and stepped out into the blistering heat of the Australian midday sun.
‘God it’s hot!’ Bea shook the front of her tunic.
‘It’s really hot!’ Flora said, and they both laughed uncontrollably.
Wyatt waved from the Holden and flashed his lights. Bea walked towards her son as he popped the hatch and lifted her heavy bag.
‘How was Bali?’ she asked.
‘Expensive and very hot,’ Wyatt said. This again sent the two into fits of giggles. He raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t get the joke, convinced nothing could be that funny.
‘Daddy!’ Flora flung her arms around her dad’s trunk and hugged him tight.
Bea watched the smile spread across his face.
‘Welcome home, Flora. Ready for Christmas?’
Flora nodded. ‘I missed you, Dad. And Mum. And I’m sorry.’ She let her tears tumble.
Wyatt held her close and smiled into her hair. ‘It’s a brand-new year soon. A good time for a new start, don’t you think?’
‘Yes I do. And I’ll be fourteen! Can I get my ears pierced?’ She grinned.
‘We’ll see.’ Wyatt shook his head. They both knew a ‘we’ll see’ was practically a yes.
‘Do you want to come straight out to Manly, Mum, or do you need to go home first, unpack and then I’ll collect you tomorrow?’
‘Oh. Well, yes, collecting me tomorrow would be fine. Thank you, love. I’d like to see everyone at the Kitchen before we close for a few days.’
‘No worries.’ Wyatt gave a small smile.
‘She’s here! She’s here!’ Kim yelled as the Holden pulled up on Reservoir Street. Kim and Tait were hovering on the kerb, Kim jumping up and down and Tait beaming.
‘Looks like you were missed.’ Flora smiled at her gran. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘You betcha.’ Bea blew Flora a kiss, having made her promise on the plane home to let her tell Wyatt the news herself.
Her granddaughter’s words of wisdom were still fresh in her mind. ‘You need to tell Dad everything – about how you feel, about your life, about John, Alex, everything! Talk to him!’
It had taken Bea a second to formulate her reply. ‘Yes, you’re right, Flora, but it’s tricky to know where or how to start. As it always is when things have been left unsaid for so long. Any topic carries a much bigger burden when it’s been buried.’
‘So dig it up, unbury it!’ Flora had rolled her eyes, exasperated.
Bea chuckled at the recollection. ‘Thanks for dropping me back, Wyatt.’
‘No worries.’ He smiled,
looking so much like John it made her gulp.
Kim rushed forward. ‘How was Mr McKay? Did he smell of cat pee and give you gifts that he’d knitted from their fur?’
‘No, Kim! In fact quite the opposite. The charming Alex is suave, gorgeous, funny and gay.’
‘See! I was right, I knew it was a sausage club!’ Kim quipped.
Bea laughed. ‘He’s a lovely man and I’m his new best friend.’
‘Do you know, I thought you had a bit of a glow about you!’ Tait winked. ‘Anything you want to share?’
‘Oh, Tait, you’d be surprised!’ Bea smiled at him. ‘How have you guys been?’
‘We’ve been busy, haven’t we, Kimmy?’
‘Yes we have. Busy, but in control. The books are up to date, orders are in, decks clear and looking forward to the New Year!’ Kim nodded assertively.
‘Well great, I should go away more often.’ Bea was struck by Kim’s polished delivery.
‘Don’t do that, Bea, I mean we coped, but we missed you!’ Tait smiled as he hoisted his rucksack onto his back. Kim bent forward and whispered into her boss’s ear, ‘I did it Bea; I remembered that life is for the brave and I am chasing it! I’m a little way off grabbing it, but I’ll get there.’ She smiled.
‘Good for you, darling girl!’ Bea clapped. ‘Mr Giraldi okay?’
‘Yep. Complained that his muesli and honey wasn’t up to scratch in your absence, but had it every day anyway, just to confirm the fact.’ Tait sighed.
Bea laughed. ‘Bless him! Look, you guys get yourselves off home and I’ll see you both in a week.’ She reached up and hugged first Kim and then Tait. ‘Thank you both. I don’t know what I would do without you. Your pressies are in your bank accounts.’ Bea had, as ever, given them an over-generous bonus.
‘You beauty, Bea!’ Tait beamed.
Kim looked genuinely touched. ‘Thank you.’ She placed her arms around her boss’s neck.
‘I am so proud of you, Kim,’ Bea whispered as she hugged her in return.
Bea waved them off in opposite directions and looked around her; it was great to be home. She dumped her bag and rummaged in the storeroom until she found a hammer and a nail. On an empty section of wall she hung the dusty sampler from St Andrews. She read the words that made her smile and wondered what Miss E. H. Arbuckle would have thought if she’d known that her beautiful work and beautiful message, embroidered over a hundred and fifty years ago, would end up in a café in Surry Hills, on the other side of the world.
The Christmas Café Page 21
