The Pretty Delicious Cafe

by Danielle Hawkins

  The first one, sent at sixty forty-six am, read:

  Best night ever

  I gave a little skip of happiness and scrolled down to the next one.

  Morning pretty good so far too

  That one had been sent at six fifty-four.

  Best 2 minutes of my life. Hope yr days going well, I sent back.

  Dropping the phone into my shorts pocket, I went back up the hall.

  ‘I’ve never even met this child,’ Anna was saying as she poured coffee beans into the machine. ‘You wouldn’t think it was all that unreasonable to want to know the people in your own bridal party, would you? And she’ll be in all the photos! Even if she didn’t look like a troll, why should I have someone I’ve never even met featuring in my wedding photos?’

  Mum made soothing noises. I ate my cinnamon bun and drifted into a golden, Jed-themed daydream, from which I was jerked some minutes later by Mum saying, ‘. . . but Jed’s mother says this wholesaler sells them for something ridiculous like nine dollars for a box of twelve.’

  ‘Jed’s mother says?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I met her this morning. Now, they’re very plain, she told me. Just simple glass bubbles. But if you hang them in clusters – say on different lengths of fishing line – they look like little minimalist chandeliers. But it’s only an idea, Anna love; it’s completely up to you.’ This last sentence was delivered with extreme sweetness and gentleness, in order to further underline Mum’s superiority to that provider of unwanted flower girls, the mother of the bride.

  ‘Could be pretty,’ said Anna slowly. ‘But what would we hang them from? A marquee doesn’t have a ceiling.’

  ‘That’s easy. We can just run lines across the top of the marquee, from pole to pole. And Michelle said that when she did it, she hung the tea-light holders from old wire coat hangers, in groups of five or six. Wouldn’t that look sweet?’

  ‘Mm,’ said Anna. ‘So you’d need – what – four or five boxes of twelve?’

  ‘Something like that. Say five – five nines are forty-five dollars. That’s hardly a big expense.’

  I was diverted from wondering if the place Jed’s mother had decorated with coat hanger chandeliers was Jed and Tracey’s wedding venue by my cell phone beeping in my pocket.

  Day good but would be better if seeing you later. Have moved to harris st. How are you?

  I was smiling to myself and trying to compose a reply combining humour with complete adorability when Anna said, ‘I’d say that was from Jed, wouldn’t you?’

  Damn. I’d thought they were fully occupied by rustic chandeliers.

  ‘I’d say so,’ said Mum.

  I put my phone back into my pocket. Nobody can write adorable text messages under the amused gazes of their friends and relations.

  ‘He’s such a nice boy,’ Mum said. ‘And he’s had a pretty rough time these last couple of years, from what his mother told me today.’

  ‘What did she tell you?’ I asked.

  ‘Just that he’s held down a full-time job, he’s done all the housework and cooking, little Craig’s gone to day care every day because his mother couldn’t look after him – and in return she’s sat at home surfing the internet and telling anyone who’d listen how awful Jed is.’

  ‘The man must be a saint,’ said Anna, sounding underwhelmed. Anna doesn’t have a lot of patience for people who tolerate being put upon.

  ‘No. Just a normal, nice bloke trying to do his best in a lousy situation,’ Mum said.

  ‘So what made him finally leave?’

  ‘I think it was partly that he was sick of it, and partly that he’d tried everything else, and he thought that if he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces she might finally have to get her act together,’ I said.

  ‘Instead of which she went and threw herself off a cliff.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Lia, I’m sure he’s a lovely guy, but do you really think it’s a good idea to get involved with someone who has that amount of baggage?’

  ‘Everyone has baggage,’ Mum said gently.

  ‘Not that much baggage,’ said Anna.

  ‘Look, I do realise that the long-term prognosis isn’t great,’ I said. ‘But he’s really nice, so I think I might just enjoy it for a while before I start worrying, if that’s okay.’

  Apparently it wasn’t. ‘It’s going to rain; I’ll go and get your washing in,’ said Mum crisply, and stalked out.

  Disconcerted by this sudden chill, I applied myself to a stack of dirty oven trays as Anna started the rinse cycle on the coffee machine. Mum hadn’t come back by the time I finished, so I slipped out and found her weeding the bed beneath the kitchen porch, laundry basket beside her.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked, sitting down on the bottom step.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Mum, what is it?’

  She felled a grove of milkweed seedlings with one swipe. ‘Don’t be careless with someone else’s heart, Lia.’

  ‘What?’ I said blankly.

  ‘Don’t treat that boy as if he’s just a bit of fun. If you don’t think the relationship has any chance of a long-term future, don’t get into it in the first place.’

  ‘I am not treating him like a bit of fun!’ I said, stung. ‘But he’s been with the same woman since he was seventeen, and he’s only just picking himself up out of the wreckage now. So as much as I’d like to think I’m the love of his life, chances are I’m just the rebound girl. I’m trying not to get carried away.’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘Mum, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  It was almost like talking to Dad, I thought, leaning forwards to pull out a dock. It broke off at ground level, as docks do.

  ‘There’s no point in just pulling off the leaves,’ Mum said.

  ‘I know.’ I scrabbled in the dirt around the tap root.

  ‘Aurelia, don’t do that without gloves. You can’t serve people food with hands like a farm labourer.’

  I took a firm grasp of the dock root and yanked, breaking off another centimetre. Giving up, I sat back and dusted off my hands. ‘Mum, why were you crying, the other night?’

  ‘Oh, the usual. Menopause, the rapid approach of my fiftieth birthday, finding cellulite behind my knees . . . Nothing very drastic.’ She stood up. ‘Right. I’d better get home and tidy myself up for dinner at the Marshalls’.’

  ‘That sounds nice.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure it will be.’

  I kissed her cheek and went slowly back inside. Perhaps I should get Rob to talk to her. Or perhaps not – he would take the ‘Lia says you’re depressed. Are you?’ approach, which was unlikely to be all that helpful. Mike, I thought, brightening. Of course.

  * * *

  It was five forty-eight when I discovered an imminent toilet paper crisis – we were down to the last half-roll in both my bathroom and the customer toilets.

  ‘We’re almost out of toilet paper,’ I told Anna, coming back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll whip down and grab some from the Four Square before it shuts. Anything else we need desperately?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ she said, not looking up from the carrot cake she was icing.

  ‘Okay. Back in ten.’

  Snatching up my car keys I drove rapidly down the hill, parked and ran into the Four Square, flinging a passing ‘Hi!’ at Mum’s friend Carole, who was taking the sandwich boards in off the pavement for the night. There were people waiting at both checkouts, so having got the toilet paper I wandered into the next aisle for a bottle of wine to take to tonight’s barbecue.

  Returning to join a queue, I was struck by a further thought. I should buy some condoms, rather than just assuming that that was Jed’s department. And this was a golden opportunity – both checkouts, for once, were being manned by strangers. Veering left into the empty toiletries aisle I perused the extensive selection on the top shelf. Mutual Climax? Really? Pleasure Me, ribbed and dotted for extra stimulation? Perhaps not. Tropical fruit-flavou
red . . . Where were the normal ones?

  I was standing up on tiptoe to reach some down when someone said, ‘Boo!’ just behind my right shoulder. I leapt as if I’d been electrocuted.

  ‘Hugh!’

  Hugh leant back against the feminine hygiene products and gave himself up to laughter.

  ‘Bastard,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘Oh, God,’ he gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes. ‘I needed that. You should have seen your face.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ And gathering the shreds of my dignity around me, I headed for the checkout, just in time to be served by Carole, who had taken over to settle up for the night. She seemed oddly taken aback as she tallied up my purchases, which both embarrassed and irritated me. Surely, I thought snippily, it’s not that shocking to sell someone a box of condoms, even if it is someone you’ve known since childhood. It wasn’t until I had reached the car and was stowing them in my handbag that I realised I hadn’t bought condoms at all. I’d bought a Play Ultra, designed to deliver ‘thirty minutes of vibrating stimulation’. I buried my face in my hands and hyperventilated with shame.

  * * *

  My friend Donna’s barbecue that evening would have been more enjoyable had I not spent it having the benefits of the Paleo Diet explained to me by a very intense woman with lipstick on her teeth. I finally extricated myself from the sofa we were sharing at around ten, trying to look properly grateful at the prospect of being sent a selection of delectable gluten-, sugar- and dairy-free slice recipes.

  Donna, her sister, her sister’s boyfriend and a big, shy man with a mullet who had been watching Donna with hopeless longing all evening were climbing into the spa pool on the deck with a bottle of bourbon as I passed. ‘Goodnight, guys,’ I called, waving my salad bowl in farewell.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ Donna said.

  ‘Bed.’

  ‘It’s early! Come on, hop in!’

  I shook my head. ‘Nah, work tomorrow. Have fun, kids.’

  It seemed they were, because there was a loud splash and then a shriek of laughter as I went down the path.

  Right, I told myself firmly. Home. I was so tired my eyes ached. And it was too late to call Jed. And anyway, his parents were probably there. On which note I dug my phone out of my jeans pocket and sent him a text.

  Is now a good time to visit?

  I regretted it immediately. Sending men plaintive text messages is not generally considered a good way to impress them.

  My phone buzzed in my hand.

  Yes! 16 Harris St

  Raised by that exclamation mark to giddy heights of happiness, I sped across town.

  * * *

  Jed opened number sixteen’s front door as I crossed the strip of sandy lawn between the house and the road, and we smiled at each other in the feeble light of a bulb in a frosted glass shade at the other end of the hall.

  Shutting the door behind me, he led me down the hall to an open-plan living area at the back of the house. The decor was standard-issue beach house – varnished particle-board floor, mismatched sofas, a cork board covered in photos of people holding up fish on one wall and a selection of framed marine maps on another. Although the bookshelf across the room was too far away for me to read the titles, they almost certainly included a selection of Catherine Cookson novels, The Clan of the Cave Bear and Future Shock. There was a little heap of Matchbox cars on the rug and some piece of dismantled machinery – a winch, perhaps – was spread on newspaper across the dining room table.

  ‘Quite a step up, isn’t it?’ Jed said.

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘I particularly like the whole more-than-one-room thing.’

  And then we looked at one another, agreed wordlessly that that was enough chit-chat for now, and switched to kissing instead.

  ‘How was your barbecue?’ he asked some time later, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist.

  His eyes were the colour of rain falling on open water. And one side of his mouth went up more than the other when he smiled. And – and it would probably be wiser not to gaze at him with quite such blatant adoration. I took a step backwards and sat down on the arm of the nearest sofa. ‘Oh. Um, pretty average. How was your day?’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Craig spent most of the afternoon charging up and down the beach, and fell asleep into his tea. And I believe my mother’s been visiting yours, doing a bit of background research.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum said they’d met. She was most impressed with what she’s heard about you.’

  ‘So was mine. First-class honours, huh?’

  ‘Awesome,’ I said. ‘I’m being pimped by my mother.’

  He grinned. ‘Not as much as you’re being pimped by Monty.’

  This was concerning. There’s nothing like too much praise for putting a person off the praisee. ‘You told Monty?’

  ‘No. My mother told him.’

  ‘Why did you tell her about me?’ I asked. ‘Not that I mind, but . . .’

  ‘I didn’t tell her,’ he said. ‘Well, only under extreme duress.’ He sat down beside me on the sofa and pulled me onto his lap. ‘She was trying to pressure me into having coffee with some daughter of a friend of hers. And finally in desperation I said I’d met someone.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said, leaning back against him. ‘Fatal mistake. Is Craig with your parents for the night?’

  ‘He’s asleep down the hall.’

  ‘What if he wakes up and comes out?’

  ‘He sleeps like a log,’ Jed said.

  ‘On his first night in a new house?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. He’s been sleeping in a corner of the workshop since he was about a month old.’ He kissed the side of my neck. ‘But we can go to my room if it makes you feel better.’

  I stood up, and he led me into the first room off the hall, closing the door behind us and pulling a small chest of drawers sideways across it. ‘First you get the girl into your bedroom, and then you block the exits,’ he explained.

  ‘Unnecessary,’ I said, sitting down cross-legged on his unmade bed.

  He sat down beside me. ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘Were you in bed when I texted?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all good. I’d rather see you than sleep.’

  ‘Jed, that’s beautiful,’ I said, smiling at him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Apparently girls really go for all that mushy shit.’ And then he pushed me back across his bed and kissed me, thoroughly and with outstanding attention to detail.

  We had breathless, silent, stunningly good sex, and when I could speak again I whispered, ‘My god.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he whispered back, finding my hand and squeezing it.

  ‘I should go,’ I said some time later.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Craig.’

  There was a short silence before he said, ‘You couldn’t sneak out in the morning?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I don’t want to emotionally scar your son.’

  ‘I think his mother and I have already done that,’ he said.

  After another, longer silence I asked, ‘What time does he wake up?’

  ‘Usually about quarter to seven.’

  ‘So I could set the alarm on my phone for six.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I sat up and felt around on the floor for my jeans. Finding them, I picked them up and retrieved my cell phone from a pocket. ‘What for?’

  ‘Dragging you into my sordid little domestic issues.’

  ‘You didn’t. I turned up on your doorstep and begged, remember?’

  ‘So you did,’ he said, sliding an arm around my waist and pulling me back against him.

  Chapter 23

  From then on, every night after work I packed my toothbrush and any particularly good leftovers and went to Jed’s place. Just after six in the morning I’d creep out again and drive back up the hill home. Craig was usually aslee
p by the time I got there, but occasionally he was still rampaging around the living room in his Transformer pyjamas, and Jed would let him stay up and play for half an hour before bed. He was cheerful and bouncy and loud, once he let his guard down, with the stamina of an Eveready battery and an impressive talent for getting what he wanted. I’d have tried hard to like Jed’s child anyway, but nobody could have helped liking Craig.

  His favourite game was hide-and-seek. ‘You have to count to ten,’ he would tell me, speaking very slowly and carefully, as if I were none too bright. ‘Then come and find me in the wardrobe.’ On reaching the wardrobe, however, it was considered very poor form to find him. Correct procedure was to search energetically in the opposite corner, declare he couldn’t possibly be there and turn sadly away, at which point he would leap out and shout, ‘Here I am! I tricked you! I tricked you!’

  Monty, who knew everyone in town (and indeed nearly everyone in the lower Northland region), produced a woman who looked after her small granddaughter and was happy to have Craig too, so Jed went back to work at the garage.

  Anna had the first in what was meant to be a series of skin-brightening facials, designed to render the bridal face and décolletage flawless and radiant. It gave her quite a nasty rash, but since the wedding was still six weeks away, and her skin was flawless and radiant anyway, there was no real harm done.

  The flower girl situation came to a head when the girl’s mother sent Anna a photo of Gabriella in her prospective dress, a long, tight, single-sleeved horror in slightly grubby-looking pale blue satin. Anna rang her mother and shouted for quite some time, with the result that Deidre first wept and then bought little Gabriella quite a nice dress. Although Anna still wasn’t happy, this did at least downgrade her appalled wrath to sullen resignation.

  On the bright side, Mum’s garden looked wonderful, and the long-range weather forecast for early March was warm and settled. The tea-light holders arrived by courier and at night after work we made and froze six hundred parmesan wafers and four hundred miniature chocolate friands to serve with champagne after the ceremony.

  All this time I was drifting in the happy little world you inhabit at the start of a new relationship, when you’re persistently high on oxytocin and getting by on about four hours of sleep a night. In this dazed state, it was a fortnight or so before I got my act together enough to initiate my Perk Mum Up campaign.