There’s not a lot that we can say to this. She’s clearly devastated at even the idea of losing her friend, and for her sake as much as Edie’s, I hope those antibiotics are currently coursing through her and kicking some nasty bacterial ass.
‘All right, Becca,’ says Van quietly. ‘We’ll be off then – you know where we are if you need anything. And you stay there – I’ll go and get you another coffee. Black, right?’
She nods gratefully, and I ask: ‘Okay. Do you have baby wipes?’
Baby wipes, as most mums discover, are incredibly useful items.
‘Duh!’ she replies, grinning. ‘Of course I have baby wipes! Plus a packet of organic rice cakes, and an almost-full pack of jumbo crayons in case I get bored … the full mama kit and caboodle!’
She taps the side of her bag as she says this, and it makes me laugh. You can probably tell the age of a family’s child by the contents of the parent’s bag. Mine, for example, does contain a small envelope of wipes, but also two Hot Wheels cars, one of those multi-coloured pencils that comes apart and stacks up again, and a pack containing a strawberry-flavoured Yoyo.
After Van returns with the coffee, we finally leave. It’s dark outside, so cold our breath puffs out clouds of steam as we walk across the car park, our way zig-zagged by headlights of new arrivals and the flashing orange of ambulances. I feel a slight crunch beneath my feet, and suspect we’re in for the season’s first proper frost tonight.
‘I got her decaf,’ Van says, as he unlocks the truck and we get in.
‘Probably a good idea …’ I reply, nestling back into the seat and rubbing my hands together as Van puts the hot-air blowers on full. He messes with the radio, and we end up with a show playing Motown classics. ‘Tracks of My Tears’ and ‘Tears of a Clown’ and a variety of broken hearts doing a variety of things to a toe-tapping beat.
We drive back to Budbury in relative silence, apart from the music, both processing the day’s events. We’re tired, and worried, and we both skipped dinner. I know Saul is okay with my mum, because I’ve spoken to her, but it still feels strange having been away from him for so long. Relinquishing control is a lot harder than I expected.
Van, I know, is also unsettled by the fact that Lynnie has been upset. She’s asleep now, Willow’s told him, but it had been a rough night. Life, just right now, feels like a lot to handle.
He makes his way through largely empty roads, skimming the coast before driving through the central street that ribbons through Budbury, pulling up in the parking spots on the opposite side to my house.
We both sit for a while, without speaking, waiting for Lionel Richie and Diana Ross to finish singing about their ‘Endless Love’. The truck is cosy and warm, and the music is beautiful, and part of me wants to delay reality for a few moments longer. To stay in this cosy bubble for just a little while.
‘Tough day,’ says Van, once the song draws to a close. He turns the radio off, just in case another impossible-to-leave track starts playing. ‘Will you be okay?’
I’m not used to people wondering if I’ll be okay, and it takes a second to adjust.
‘Yeah,’ I reply quietly. ‘I’ll be okay. I was upset, though. It all reminded me of—’
‘Your nan?’ he supplies, smiling gently. I look at him in surprise, and reply: ‘Yes – my nan. Why are you so clever?’
‘I’m not clever,’ he answers, reaching out to squeeze my hand comfortingly, ‘about anything but you.’
I stare through the windscreen and say: ‘You’re the only person I told about my nan. And about Jason. And what it was really like growing up. I tell you things I don’t tell anyone else. I don’t know why that is.’
He twines his fingers into mine and replies: ‘You’ll figure it out one day, I’m sure. And it’s the same for me. I never told anyone else how much I miss being in Tanzania, you know.’
‘Oh. Right. What about the fact that you were in a relationship with the blonde one from Abba? Did you tell anyone that?’
‘No. That’s top secret. The paparazzi will be all over me if that one gets out …’
His grin lights up the car, and it’s a bit of light relief we both need. A bit of light relief I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to.
‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ I ask, tentatively. ‘Or a glass of milk. Or a bottle of whiskey. Might even have a chocolate Yazoo in the fridge if you’re lucky. Saul and Mum have gone to bed.’
He stares ahead for a moment, gazing at the dark street and the starlit sky that leads down to the shoreline, then replies: ‘Yeah. Thanks. That would be really nice – I’m feeling a bit wired myself, to be honest. If I went home now I’d probably have to sit out in the garden and do some deep breathing while contemplating the meaning of life.’
I have to smile at that – Van might look like a rough, tough kind of guy, but nobody could grow up in Lynnie’s house without having mastered some advanced breathing techniques.
‘That doesn’t sound like fun,’ I reply, as we climb out the truck, quietly close the doors – we’ll wake up half of Budbury if we slam them – and tiptoe into my house.
Van’s never actually been in here before, I realise, as I watch him take it all in. In fact, only Matt has been in here before and even then, he only made it as far as the hallway. I’ve been so protective of mine and Saul’s territory, keeping it safe and cosy and just for us.
That seems to be unravelling these days, and I’m both exhilarated and terrified by it. I’ve always told myself that if things don’t work out, we could just leave – pack our bags and move on. But now I’m not so sure that still applies. We’d be leaving behind an awful lot – friendships and support and free cake and the kind of community that most people dream of. Saul will be starting school in September, and that will be yet another nail in the coffin of my escape plan – perhaps it’s time I start letting go of that, and come up with a staying-put plan.
‘Nice curtains,’ says Van, as we walk through to the living room.
‘Auburn’s already made the brothel joke,’ I say quietly, gesturing for him to sit down on the big, squishy couch that dominates the room. The sofa was my one extravagance when I moved in here. I reckoned if I was going to be spending lots of nights in on my own, I should at least have a place to lounge around.
‘I wasn’t going to make a brothel joke,’ he replies, looking scandalised. ‘I was going to make a Sultan’s harem joke. And apart from the curtains, your house is really lovely, Katie.’
I’m getting us both a glass of wine while he says this – wine has been appearing in the fridge a lot more often since my mother moved in – and hand it to him as I sit down on the armchair. Just the one – there wasn’t enough room for more, and I never anticipated a time when I’d be hosting glamorous soireés.
‘Thank you. Although it’s just a normal house.’
‘Yeah, that’s what’s nice about it,’ he answers, looking around. ‘Not an incense stick in sight! No, seriously, it just feels … cosy. You can tell a kid lives here, and if I was that kid, it’s the kind of home I’d feel safe in. That’s all I meant.’
‘Thank you again. That’s what I aim for. I can barely remember life before Saul came along …’
‘I can imagine. I can’t imagine you without him. Or Budbury without him – he’s everyone’s favourite little man, and a complete credit to you. You’re a great mum.’
I feel my face break out into a smile – what mother doesn’t feel proud of comments like that? I spend way too much time worrying about doing things wrong; it’s nice to bathe in a moment of reflected glory.
We’re quiet for a few moments, sipping our wine, and I am quite surprised to realise that almost against my will I am relaxing. It feels natural, sitting here, chatting and not chatting, with Van. Just … being. I do a quick mental calculation to figure out when I last felt like that, and come to the conclusion that it was sometime round about never.
Me and Jason were never suited, and we plunged head
long into parenthood way too fast. I don’t regret Saul for a moment – he was the most blessed of mistakes – but his dad and I shared little other than a sense that we should give it a try, and a tendency to get very drunk and have loud sex. Loud, but not that good, if I’m honest. Apart from Jason, and a few other failed experiments while I was at college, I’ve never actually slept with anyone who made me feel like we’re all led to believe we should feel.
You know, when you grow up watching romantic movies and reading saucy books and thinking that the slightest touch of a man’s lips will leave your knees trembling? Nobody really tells you about the reality – that your knees might be trembling, but it’s usually because of an excess of WKD in the college bar. That sex can be awkward and embarrassing and many men wouldn’t know a clitoris if it walked up and introduced itself.
I find myself shocked at even thinking the word, never mind ever saying it, and cast a quick glance at Van, hoping he can’t read my mind. He’s sprawled on the sofa, stroking Tinkerbell, who has magically appeared on his lap. For a rough, tough street cat, Tinkerbell likes a bit of TLC.
I have the feeling it would be different with him. The sex thing, that is. I like to think it would, anyway. And as I plan to never actually do it, I am at least preserving the fantasy that this would finally be the man to rock my world in the bedroom.
‘I know what you’re thinking …’ he says, grinning. I blush immediately, and reply: ‘I really don’t think you do.’
‘You’re thinking how much nicer it would be if you came and sat next to me. How we both probably need a hug tonight. How we could even have a little snooze once we’ve finished this wine …’
I laugh out loud as he talks. He has his eyebrows raised in an outrageously suggestive way, telling me that he’s joking. Probably.
‘Right,’ I say, putting my wine down and vowing not to drink another glass. ‘That would work out well. We’d pass out, and my mum and Saul would find us collapsed in a heap of drool and cat fur in the morning. No, thank you. Drink up, Van – your own bed is calling.’
He grimaces, and I understand why. The cottage he shares with his family has three bedrooms. When he was a kid, he shared one with his brother Angel, and the others were taken by Lynnie and Auburn and Willow.
After the older siblings left, and Willow struggled to care for her mum alone, she understandably claimed a bedroom all to herself – and is, again understandably, staying put. Which leaves Van with the options of either sharing a room with Auburn, or sleeping on the couch. It’s not ideal for a grown man – a man who is already missing the wide open spaces of the country he left to be here.
Van nods, and is stretching his arms up into the air as he prepares to leave. I can’t help but notice his T-shirt untucking from his jeans, because I’m clearly the world’s biggest lech.
He’s about to stand up and make a move, which Tinkerbell senses. He leaps from Van’s lap and disappears off into the windowsill, where he’ll lie above the heat of the radiator like a feline draught excluder.
Before Van gets a chance to stand upright, Saul barrels through the door, slamming it behind him dramatically. He’s dressed in his stripy PJs that make him look like a junior pirate, and his blond hair is tufted all over his head. He’s unbearably cute, standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with tiny little fists as he takes in the scene before him.
He spots Van, and his little face breaks out into an unquestioning smile as he runs straight to him. Van manages to catch him as he stumbles, scooping him up into his arms as though he weighs nothing, and nestles him into his lap. Saul snuggles in, his head on his chest, his small arms thrown around his neck.
‘Van! Did you come and visit me?’ he says, sounding thrilled at the whole idea.
‘Of course,’ replies Van, smiling. ‘What else would I be doing? I was a bit of a silly, though, and didn’t realise how late it was, so I was having a chat to your mum instead.’
Saul nods, accepting this as completely obvious, and yawns.
‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m wide awake now – do you want to play Twister?’
I have to laugh at that one. Saul is basically still half asleep, and Van is exhausted, but I can still imagine both of them at least giving it a try – moving their hands and feet very slowly to the coloured spots and trying not to fall over.
I’m about to pick Saul up and carry him back to bed when my mum follows him into the room. She also pauses in the doorway, and is wearing vivid purple pyjamas that match the curtains in a way that instantly makes me feel a bit nauseous.
Her short hair has been backcombed into a Frankenstein version of a beehive, and her face is covered in multi-coloured make-up. I mean, she usually wears plenty of slap these days, but this is next-level stuff – a kind of space alien Seventies disco look.
‘Have you been playing Beauty Parlour with Saul, by any chance?’ I ask, biting my lips so I don’t start giggling.
She looks momentarily confused, then her hands fly to her face as she realises.
‘Yes! Where does he get that stuff?’
‘I have no idea … but it’s taught me the importance of at least glancing in the mirror in the morning before I leave the house. Was everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ she says, her eyes glued to Van and Saul. They both seem to be snoring – probably getting some rest in before their game of Twister. I can almost see the cogs turning in her brain, and wonder how long it’ll take before she has me married off to a man I barely know.
To my surprise, she stays quiet on that subject, and quietly asks: ‘How’s Edie?’
I check that Saul’s not earwigging – he has an amazing ability to hear things he shouldn’t – and reply equally quietly: ‘She’s in the best place. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
She nods and yawns, and asks: ‘Do you want me to take Saul back up? So you and Van can … carry on with whatever it was you were doing?’
I roll my eyes a bit – funny how we all turn back into teenagers again in the company of our mothers – and say: ‘We were just having a chat, and he was about to head off home. You get yourself back to bed, I’ll sort Saul out.’
She nods reluctantly, her gaze returning to the sleepy pair in the sofa, and replies: ‘Okay, love. You can fill me in in the morning.’
I know she’ll be reading more into this whole situation, but I’m going to have to disappoint her – because there really isn’t anything to fill her in on. Maybe I’ll make something up just to keep her happy while we eat our cornflakes tomorrow.
I hear her pad up the stairs, and stand looking at Van and Saul. As soon as I close the door behind my mum, Van opens one eye.
‘Is it safe?’ he asks, grinning at me over Saul’s head.
‘It is, you big faker – I can’t believe you were pretending to be asleep! Are you scared of my mum?’
‘Of course I’m scared of your mum,’ he whispers. ‘It’s the lipstick.’
He gestures down at Saul, who is definitely not faking it, and adds: ‘What shall we do with this little fella? Do you want me to carry him back up? To be honest, I’m really comfy – I could probably just pass out for real …’
I can hear the fatigue in his voice, and remind myself that he’s probably been working since six this morning – farm work starts early. Then he helped us rescue Edie, dealt with the crisis at home on the phone, and was stuck with the rest of us at the hospital before going out of his way to drive me home.
‘Stay there,’ I say, disappearing off upstairs to the airing cupboard.
I tiptoe, so I don’t disturb my mum, but might as well not have bothered. She was clearly waiting to pounce, and emerges from Saul’s room with her inquisitive beehived head tilted to one side. I put my finger to my lips to tell her to be quiet, and she nods.
‘Just thought you could do with a freshen up …’ she whispers, before padding out onto the landing and liberally spritzing me with some Calvin Klein Obsession – her signature perfume for as long a
s I can remember.
I cough and splutter as it hits my face, and fight very hard not to punch her in hers.
‘For goodness’ sake, Mum!’ I say, trying hard to keep my voice quiet despite my annoyance. ‘I’m not heading down there to seduce the man – I’m just getting a blanket! It’s not been the sexiest of days, you know?’
She takes a step back, using her hands to waft the perfume around me.
‘Well you never know,’ she says, giving me a wink from mascara-encrusted eyelashes. ‘Never hurts to be prepared …’
I ignore her, grab what I need, and walk back downstairs. Saul and Van are out for the count – although both their nostrils twitch in their sleep as I enter the room, bathed in a toxic cloud of Calvin’s finest.
I lay a blanket over them both, tucking it in at the sides, pausing to look at them. Saul is completely encased in Van’s arms, his tiny body curled into a contented comma, his fingers splayed on his chest. Van has one leg on the sofa, one leg off. I consider hoisting the second one up, but he looks perfectly comfortable. He’s loosened the laces of his work boots, and I tug them off as gently as I can, grinning at the fact that he’s wearing socks with Homer Simpson’s face on them.
He sleeps through my assault on his feet, and I forgive him the fact that they’re a bit on the ripe side considering the day he’s had. I collapse down into the armchair, and tug a fleece over myself as well. Tinkerbell decides he wants in on the action, and curls into a fluffy ball by Van’s feet.
Everyone is settled. Everyone is warm. Everyone is happy, despite the horrors of the day.
I look at the snoozing threesome on the sofa, and can’t quite figure out how I feel about it. I’m exhausted, and I’ve had a glass of wine, and my brain is a mish-mash of Edie and Saul and Van and my mother. There’s a lot going on in there, and I don’t have the emotional resources to pick my way through the tangled threads.
A Gift from the Comfort Food Café Page 15
