Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli

by Portia MacIntosh

  He seems harmless enough but he’s staring right at me so I take a step away from him, only for my oversized boot to get stuck in the mud and pull straight off my foot. The boot stays upright in the ground but I fall backwards, and not even putting my bootless foot down on the ground can save me. Next thing I know I’m flat on my back in the mud, with Pugsley licking my face. Usually, when I take a tumble, I jump straight back up and pretend that I’m fine, hoping no one noticed, but today I’m just so mortified that I lie still for a moment, because in this gloopy mud I feel like there’s a genuine chance the ground could swallow me up.

  ‘Phillip, viens ici.’

  ‘Lily,’ I hear Alfie’s voice, before I feel him yank me to my feet with an ease that could convince me that I didn’t eat two cannoli yesterday. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Just my ego,’ I reply.

  ‘She does this all the time,’ I hear my embarrassed son explain.

  Finally on my feet, I examine the damage. My bootless foot is covered in mud, as is the entire back of my body, and the boot that came off has fallen on to its side, sinking deeper into the mud. We’re far enough from the house that I’m not sure how I’m going to get back – with only one boot on, I suppose.

  ‘OK, hop on,’ Alfie insists.

  ‘What?’ I laugh awkwardly.

  ‘On my back,’ he insists, turning around.

  I cackle.

  ‘Don’t be crazy, I’ll break your back,’ I insist.

  ‘I work on a farm, I’m used to carrying heavy things,’ he reasons, before quickly adding: ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  Without a real excuse, I do as he suggests and hop onto his back.

  ‘Let’s go back to the house and get your mum cleaned up,’ Alfie says to Frankie, who charges back towards the house with Pugsley.

  With my arms locked tightly around Alfie’s neck, and my head resting on his shoulder, I speak softly into his ear. ‘Thanks for this.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he replies. ‘Stay for dinner?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask, blown away by his kindness and his hospitality.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he replies. ‘It’s nice having some company.’

  I couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter 13

  The good news is that dinner at Alfie’s was amazing. The bad news is that, by comparison, Apple Blossom Cottage sucks – to borrow a word from my son’s vocabulary.

  As soon as we got back to the house Alfie explained to Frankie that Zootropolis is Pugsley’s current favourite movie and asked if he would like to watch it with him.

  Frankie happily obliged and then the mystery of where Alfie’s TV lived was promptly solved. He opened up a drawer containing countless remote controls, grabbing four before pointing them at different parts of the room, each doing something different. One closed the blinds, another turned on the projector on the ceiling that I hadn’t noticed, and another lowered the 140-inch screen that had been hiding at the top of one of the large, white walls. Alfie hit play on the movie, plonked Pugsley down on the sofa next to Frankie and then escorted me upstairs. He showed me where his bathroom was – and it was, of course, bigger than my bedroom at Apple Blossom Cottage – before returning with some of his clothes for me to change into.

  He quickly ran me through the shower controls before heading for the door, lingering in the doorway for a second.

  ‘Are you wanting me to ask you in?’ I joked, instantly regretting it.

  Alfie just laughed.

  ‘I’ll go make a start on dinner,’ he said.

  I stepped into the massive shower cubicle, cursing myself for yet another in a long line of awkward jokes, but I was soon distracted from my thoughts by the most impressive shower I have ever seen in my life. It boasted not one, but two shower heads, as well as a seat. It wasn’t like being in a shower at all, it felt like standing in gentle, warm, summer rainfall. Simply amazing, and a million times better than the bath I’ve been using at the cottage.

  After I got dressed and slipped on a pair of Alfie’s trackies and a T-shirt, I headed downstairs.

  ‘Did you use the body dryer?’ he asked me when I found him chopping up carrots in the kitchen.

  ‘The…towel?’ I asked.

  Alfie laughed and explained to me that there was something in the corner of the bathroom that dried you after you take a shower – I was in awe.

  ‘I don’t know if the movie is rubbish or they’re just tired from the walk,’ Alfie said, nodding towards Frankie and Pugsley, who were fast asleep, cuddled up on the sofa.

  ‘They look so comfortable,’ I said, with a big involuntary sigh.

  ‘You guys will settle in here,’ he assured me.

  ‘I really hope so,’ I replied.

  ‘If they can embrace me and my booze, they can embrace you and your tubes.’

  ‘My tubes?’ I laughed. I knew what he meant.

  ‘Your pastry tube things. What else do you guys sell?’

  I told him all about our stock, and how most of it comes from abroad, or is made in the style of international cuisine – mainly European. We haven’t forced ourselves into a corner as far as what we sell goes, so long as it’s all a little bit different or interesting. Basically, somewhere you can go for lunch, or to pick up a treat for after dinner, where you can hope for more than a cheese and pickle sandwich and a slice of carrot cake.

  ‘I’ll have to give you some samples, you can tell me what you think the people of Marram Bay will like,’ I suggested.

  ‘That would be great,’ he replied enthusiastically, before his tone shifted quickly from upbeat to slightly nervous. ‘I was thinking of going for a drink in the local tomorrow night, if you fancy it.’

  ‘Me?’ I squeaked.

  ‘No, Frankie…yes, you,’ he laughed.

  ‘OK, sure,’ I replied, grinning wildly. Until I remembered my situation. ‘Actually, I can’t. What about Frankie?’

  ‘Unless you want to bring him for a pint…there’s a babysitter I can vouch for. Clara, at Clara’s café. She’s a lovely lady, she looks after Pugsley for me.’

  I laughed.

  ‘Not that I think your kid is like a dog, I just mean she’s happy to help me out,’ he added quickly.

  ‘It’s OK, I knew what you meant. We’ve actually met Clara and Henry, they seem lovely. Although I don’t think they knew I was the enemy when they met us…’

  ‘I’ll have a word,’ he assured me. ‘Even if they’ve gone off you, they still love me.’

  Dinner was amazing. Alfie, who it turns out is pretty good in the kitchen, made sausages, mashed potatoes, carrots, peas and Yorkshire puddings. Not only does he already know Clara’s trick for the peas, but he loaded a bit of everything into Frankie’s Yorkshire puddings, and he happily ate them. That’s right, my son ate three vegetables. For dessert he made us an apple pie – with his apples – that was just so delicious. The three of us chatted as we ate. It was nice, to see Frankie out of his shell, asking Alfie lots of questions about the farm. Alfie has promised he’ll teach him all about the animals and how to look after them, which made Frankie confidently announce that he wants to be a farmer when he grows up.

  After dinner I offered to help Alfie tidy up, so we loaded the dishwasher before he said he’d walk us home. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d invited Alfie in – I immediately kicked myself, because why would I invite him in, after we’d already spent all day together? But he said yes and we ended up sitting up late chatting, long after Frankie went to bed.

  Things were finally starting to look up…

  It’s Monday morning and my date with Alfie tonight is on my mind – I say ‘date’ for want of a better term, it’s not a date-date, obviously. I was buzzing last night which meant that I couldn’t get to sleep, which meant I over-slept, which means I’m currently driving Frankie to school in my pyjamas. I can go home and get ready after I drop him off, but there’s no sense in both of us being late.

  The sooner this day is over, t
he sooner I get to see Alfie again, and that’s what is motivating me today.

  Let’s forget that he looks like my type for a second. Alfie is sweet and caring, he’s funny, he’s great with Frankie, he’s kind to animals – he’s everything I look for in a man. Oh, and he’s treating me like a human when everyone else is treating me like trash.

  ‘Promise you won’t get out of the car like that,’ Frankie pleads.

  ‘Oh God, am I an embarrassing mum?’ I laugh. ‘I remember Viv coming to pick me up from school with her rollers in one day and I was mortified. But don’t worry, I’m going to drive you right to the gate, watch you in from the car, and then I’m going to go home and get dressed.’

  I remember the day my mum picked me up in her rollers like it was yesterday. She was just standing there with her hair all rolled up, secured in a pink silk headscarf, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I was only twelve, and I was mortified – of course a few of the kids brought it up for a couple of days after, like kids do. I try, every day, to make sure that I don’t ever embarrass Frankie, because I know how it feels.

  Driving down the quiet country road towards the school, the chances of seeing anyone feel slim. The only house we pass is Alfie’s, and it seems like all the other mums come from further into town. Throw into the mix the fact that we’re running late, and it seems even less likely I’ll be caught in my PJs.

  We’re about halfway to school when the car starts juddering, and this time it’s not because I can’t get used to the gears. The engine splutters and then all of a sudden it just cuts out, and we slowly grind to a halt.

  ‘Fudge, fudge, fudge,’ I say, hitting my hand on the steering wheel. I grab my phone from my bag, only to learn we’re in a signal dead zone. Being late is bad enough, but being stuck here in my pyjamas – my pink Disney Princess pyjamas – is even worse. I don’t know what would be more frustrating – if someone passes or if someone doesn’t.

  ‘Ergh, why is everything going wrong at the moment?’ I ask, not expecting an answer from my 8-year-old. I’m trying to remember if my life was this disastrous back in London, but other than my healthy dollop of clumsiness and my non-existent love life, things were fine. It’s almost like the north just knows we don’t belong here and it’s trying to reject us, like a body refusing to accept a transplanted organ.

  If anything, we’re a little closer to the school than we are to home, but what am I going to do, walk him to school in my pyjamas and then call for a taxi? So much for promising I wouldn’t embarrass him.

  ‘Are we going to be late?’ I hear Frankie ask from the back of the car. ‘Mrs Snowball is so angry when I’m late.’

  ‘I’m sure she isn’t,’ I insist. Not with Frankie, at least.

  For the last few days I have made a special effort to avoid Mrs Snowball, lest she tell me off for something – anything. I just don’t think I’m her kind of mum, if you know what I mean. I think she likes her cute little housewives with their priorities straight, not disorganised whirlwinds of chaos like me, trying to juggle her son and her job and her home. And now her broken down Brussels sprout.

  ‘Mum, Mum, someone’s coming,’ Frankie says, relief in his voice.

  I look up, hoping that it might be someone who can help us out. My face falls when I recognise Alfie’s Range Rover.

  ‘Oh, no, anyone but him,’ I whine, looking down at my pyjamas.

  Spotting my car – because how could he miss it? – Alfie stops in front of us, gets out of the car and heads over.

  ‘Are you guys OK?’ he asks, approaching my window. I notice his concern and his warm and welcoming smile turn into amusement as he glances down at my pyjamas. The slogan emblazoned across my chest – ‘My favourite Disney Princess is me’ – has never felt more obvious.

  ‘We’ve broken down,’ I say simply, with a straight face.

  ‘On the way to where? Bed?’

  I hear Frankie laughing in the backseat.

  ‘Hey, it’s not funny,’ I insist, even if it is a little funny. ‘I need to get kiddo to school, head back home to get ready and then get to work, all without a car.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he says, his northern accent sounding stronger than it usually does. ‘I’ll ferry you around. I’ll drop you at work and then get your car taken care of.’

  I blink at him for a second. Why is he so nice to me?

  ‘Aren’t you busy today?’

  ‘Nah, not really,’ he replies.

  ‘It’s a company car,’ I point out. ‘Work will take care of it.’

  ‘They’ll tell you to take it to a garage and then foot the bill,’ he explains. ‘Come on.’

  See, this is what I expected when I thought of Yorkshire folk. Friendly, salt of the earth, would give you the shirt off their back types. Movies and TV shows have misled me my entire life, teaching me that northerners are all friendly, no questions asked. Thinking about it, movies and TV shows have taught me a lot of things that I’m now realising haven’t come to pass.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I blurt, stepping out of the car, severely self-conscious of my outfit – even more so when I realise I’m wearing the unicorn slippers Frankie bought me for Christmas.

  I transfer the contents of my car from mine to Alfie’s as quickly as possible and we’re moving again. Thankfully we still have enough time to make it without being late.

  ‘Here we go,’ Alfie says, pulling up outside. ‘Shall I take you in, Frankenstein?’

  I expect my son to say something about this nickname because, having a name like Frankie, he’s heard them all. The remarks usually come from older people, making reference to things he has no idea about. Why, no, my 8-year-old hasn’t read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Your suggestions that he ‘relax’ or ‘goes to Hollywood’ fall on deaf ears too. And then of course there’s people asking if he remembers them, a reference to a song by Sister Sledge that came out in 1985, that even I had to Google.

  ‘Yeah,’ Frankie says enthusiastically.

  Oh, apparently it’s fine when Alfie does it. And apparently he’d much rather Alfie walk him into school than his pyjama-clad mum. Normally I’d take offence, but I don’t want anyone else to see me in these either.

  ‘I guess I’ll just wait here,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, have a nap,’ Alfie teases as he closes the door.

  I watch as Alfie and Frankie walk up the stone steps and disappear into the building. I didn’t realise he was going to actually take him all the way inside.

  I never really stop to think about it, but I guess Frankie doesn’t spend much time at all around men.

  Before I know it, Alfie is back.

  ‘I don’t think anyone was expecting that,’ he laughs as he fastens his seatbelt.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, Mrs Snowball asked if I was Frankie’s dad, before she looked up and realised it was me. She was a little taken aback.’

  ‘Probably because you’re fraternising with the enemy,’ I point out.

  ‘Is Frankie’s dad not on the scene?’ he asks curiously. ‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I insist, pausing to carefully consider my words before I say them. ‘No dad on the scene, never has been. I think that might be why he’s taken such a shine to you. I mean, you’re a really nice man, of course – but he doesn’t have many male role models, least of all ones with a zoo of awesome animals and a house full of gadgets.’

  Alfie laughs.

  ‘Small family?’ he asks. I nod. ‘Me too. My mum left my dad when I was a teen – she said he loved the farm more than he loved her, which is a pretty fair assessment, if we’re being honest. She moved away and remarried, she’s happy and I have a half-brother I see when we all meet up. Otherwise I was an only child, and my dad inherited the farm from my granddad when he died, which is why it was all left to me.’

  ‘I’m an only child too,’ I say. ‘I always kind of wished I’d had some brothers and s
isters – some allies, growing up – but it was just me.’

  ‘It’s lonely, isn’t it?’

  ‘I was so jealous of my friends who had siblings. My best friend when I was at school had a brother and a sister. She was always complaining about them, how her little brother annoyed her and her older sister fought with her. I remember one day when we were teens, we were just sat watching TV and her sister came in, yelling at her, asking if she’d borrowed her denim skirt. “No, burglars broke in and stole just your skirt,” my friend clapped back sarcastically. They were so annoyed at each other, but it made me wish I had someone to bicker with.’

  Alfie laughs.

  ‘So just you and your parents?’

  ‘Just me and my mum,’ I reply. ‘My dad died when I was a baby. I had my grandparents though. My granddad did everything he could to fill the void for me, spoiling me, attending all my school events – he’d always told me he’d give me away if I got married, but that never happened, and he died four years ago. I think Frankie remembers him just enough to miss him. My grandma is in a home, in London, she’s not doing so good. My dad’s family just sort of faded away after he died, I don’t know if it was too painful for them to keep in touch, or they just didn’t care, or what.’

  ‘That’s awful, I’m so sorry,’ Alfie says, using his left hand to squeeze mine.

  ‘It’s OK, my mum has always been amazing. She was never very mumsy – I suppose because she was only 20 when she had me. She’s 51 now and she’d be devastated if she knew I’d told you that because she likes to pretend we’re sisters. Annoyingly, she gets away with it – but hopefully I’ve inherited her young genes.’