I spot a look in his eyes – a look of pure disappointment – and I don’t think he’s disappointed that he didn’t get to sleep with me, I think he’s disappointed in me, like I haven’t been completely honest with him.
‘No – of course not,’ I insist. ‘Let me make the tea, and I’ll tell you everything.’
I make a pot of tea and place it on the dining table, along with a plate of chocolate and hazelnut biscotti.
‘She’s breaking out the fancy biscuits, this can’t be good news,’ he jokes.
I tell him everything – the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He listens to my babbling attentively, occasionally sipping his tea.
‘So now he’s here, living in the garden in his campervan, smoking God knows what, trying to terrify poor Frankie about the foods he eats. He just knocked on the door this morning and waltzed in, in his underwear, and started telling me how to live my life.’
‘Was he always like that?’ Alfie asks.
‘I guess I used to be more eager to please him,’ I admit. ‘And I thought he was making me a better person, but he was just making me a female version of him. Of course I wish Frankie had grown up with a dad, but I feel so relieved that I never went travelling with him because, where would I be now? In my thirties, homeless, skint…’
‘Try not to focus on what could’ve been,’ he says. ‘Just focus on right now.’
I nod. He’s right.
‘I’m really sorry about yesterday,’ I say.
‘Let’s just…focus on the funny side of it,’ he says with an awkward laugh.
‘OK,’ I reply. ‘I just…I don’t want this to affect us.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ Alfie starts. I can see something in his eyes, a sort of anxiety…I’ve seen it before in the eyes of men who have found out I have a kid (or realised they fancied my mum more). I know exactly what’s coming.
‘I know things are really difficult for you at the moment and I’m sure this has only made them harder. The last thing you need is me, making things even more complicated. It’d be great if we could be friends, and I’ll still help you with the deli. I have a few things in mind, and a few jobs to do today, if you want to join me?’
I smile my best fake smile and nod. He might be insisting that this is for my own good, but I think it’s for his. Well, who would want to get involved with a single mum who has just seemingly moved her slacker ex in? I want to say that maybe he is a player, that maybe he isn’t the great guy I thought he was…but I really can’t blame him for running a mile.
‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘I’d like that.’
‘I’ve only got a few short jobs to do. If you want to come with me, I’ll show you a few of the places that make Marram Bay special. See if we can’t make you fall in love with the place.’
‘You’re certainly welcome to try,’ I tell him. Although I can’t help but feel like today would’ve been much more fun if we hadn’t decided that friends is all we can be.
Chapter 24
If I’d known that one of Alfie’s quick jobs involved dropping some off apple cider jam at the vets’, I might have said no. Charlie, apparently, wanted a few jars to give ‘her friend’ for her birthday – what twenty-something gives jam as a gift?
I don’t like Charlie, she seems phoney to me. Not just because she seemed kind of bitchy when I met her, and it’s not even because Channy told me Charlie has been trying to get her claws into Alfie since he moved back to town all rich and good-looking. It’s mostly because I am sure she’s spreading rumours about me. I mean, what are the chances that a rumour should start doing the rounds that Frankie’s dad was in prison, just hours after she speculated as much? If she’s been working Alfie for so long, she probably sees me as some kind of threat. She’d hate me even more if she knew that Alfie and I had kissed…she has nothing to worry about now though, does she?
‘I passed your cottage early this morning, Lily,’ Charlie said to me as the three of us made small talk.
‘Oh,’ I replied, not all that interested in getting into conversation.
‘Yes, it was the strangest thing. My eye was caught by the orange van parked outside. When I looked closely, I realised there was a strange man urinating outside it.’
I’ll kill him.
‘That’s Frankie’s dad,’ Alfie chimed in.
‘Oh, wow,’ Charlie replied.
‘Oh, that Nathan,’ I said with a faux laugh. ‘He doesn’t realise he’s not in the jungle any more. He’s been abroad, doing his bit to change the world. Building houses in third world countries, improving the environment – for the animals and to prevent climate change. Not in prison, like the rumours suggest.’
I don’t know why I make excuses for him and tell these exaggerated stories to make him sound like such a hero. Truthfully, I have no idea where he’s been. I thought I knew in recent years, based on his postcards, but after realising they didn’t always come from the place where he was, I don’t really know where he’s been or what he’s been doing. I suppose I’m embarrassed and think that if I make Nathan sound like a warrior for peace and happiness it will reflect more kindly on me.
‘So what are you two getting up to today?’ she asked.
‘I’m taking Lilly all around Marram Bay, showing her the sights,’ Alfie told her.
‘Sounds like a cute little date,’ she replied. Alfie just laughed this off, much to my delight and her annoyance.
Alfie said that today was going to be all about showing me the cool and quirky things that make Marram Bay such a unique tourist hot spot – after all, the UK is rich in cute coastal towns, so something has to make it special.
The first thing he showed me was an alternative route to the seafront, rather than heading down Main Street or the adjacent road. Instead, if you travel along the road a little, you’ll find a small yet beautiful park. Sure, it was pretty, with its stunning flowerbeds and cute little kids play area, but as we got closer I realised it sat at the top of a manmade, zigzagged cobbled road that led down the steep hill to the seafront. Alfie explained to me that it used to be a steep hill that cars couldn’t drive down, so they made this bizarre yet beautiful road to make it easier to drive down. As you drive (or walk down the steps running alongside it) down the windy road, each stretch that connects the six hairpin turns is lined with big, beautiful flowerbeds, overflowing with greenery and brightly coloured flowers. I imagine the beauty is to offset the 5 mph speed limit, but with so much to look at, and the sea straight ahead, there’s a lot to take in. Rows of buildings encase the road, with little shops, a tearoom and holiday homes. It doesn’t feel like something that belongs in this country, it’s like something you would see on holiday. I can see exactly why people in the UK would opt for a staycation here.
At the bottom, between the road and the seafront, is a large grassy area. Alfie explained to me that every November, they have the Winter Wonderland Festival – yet another thing that attracts tourists. They have stalls, rides and games, a bit like a funfair. Alfie tells me that the best thing about it is usually the street food – he even suggested we might have a stand for the deli there. I’m sure the locals would love that. He also told me about this cute little shop, just outside of town, that sells Christmas things, except it’s open all year round. Frankie loves Christmas, so I can’t wait to take him there.
After that we walked to, what Alfie calls, the very touristy seafront bit. Over there we found the Treasure Island arcade. I was just expecting your usual tacky seaside arcade, with coin pushers and slot machines – which they do have, but Alfie explained to me in the front it’s an arcade for kids, but in the back it’s a speakeasy where parents can go and get a drink, or people can just go for a night out. I did wonder why there was a doorman outside – I just figured it was a really rough arcade.
Now, we’re over on Hope Island, in a restaurant called Yorkshi – a place that specialises in Yorkshire sushi, whatever that is. When Alfie told me where we were
going I must’ve looked very worried – conjuring up images of weird seafood dishes in my head – but he assured me that it was really just classic Yorkshire dishes presented in a sushi-style. You know it’s a fancy place because they offer a tasting menu, rather than a real menu, bring out cute little dish after cute little dish. I take a few pictures on my phone to preserve the clever beauty of each dish, which makes Alfie laugh.
First up we had Yorkshire pudding Inari – little Yorkshire pudding pockets filled with roast beef and gravy. We also had fish and chip Nigiri, full English rolls and Wensleydale and smoked salmon rolls.
Dessert has just been placed in front of us: a selection of sweet treats all made up with fruit to look like the real thing. I pick up a cone shaped rice pudding and strawberry jam one and pop it in my mouth.
‘Oh my God, this place is amazing,’ I say, which I realise is an unladylike thing to do, given that I haven’t swallowed it yet, but I can’t hide how much I’m enjoying it.
Alfie laughs.
‘I’m glad you like it. I’ve been meaning to bring you here for the past week, it’s hard not to love it. I nearly brought you here on Monday, but decided to do the picnic instead.’
Conversation grinds to a halt, I imagine because Alfie is thinking what I’m thinking – that the picnic was amazing, and there was something between us, and now it’s ruined.
‘Are you warming to Marram Bay?’ he asks eventually.
‘I am,’ I admit. ‘It really is beautiful and quirky – everything I hoped it would be. But the people…’
‘People change, Blossom,’ he points out. ‘I was thinking, maybe be on the lookout for little ways to help people, show them what a good person you are, and that you have their backs. The people will see that you love it here, and that you’re making an effort, and they will embrace you eventually, I promise, OK?’
‘OK,’ I reply, but there’s only one person in this town that I want to embrace me and he’s sitting at this table.
Chapter 25
Another day, another awkward ‘family’ breakfast at Apple Blossom Cottage. When I got home from my day out with Alfie, Nathan told me that he and Viv had been shopping, and that he was going to make us all a special breakfast in the morning. I’d be lying if I said I was happy about this, not just because I know that it won’t be a bacon sandwich, but because I almost resent him for making an effort, because you can’t just drop in after not caring for nearly a decade and be crowned Dad of the Year.
I feel a real sense of smugness when Nathan’s breakfast bombs. Well, quinoa cereal with blueberries, almonds and strawberry ‘milk’ was never going to be a hit with us.
‘It’s interesting,’ my mum says. ‘Very interesting.’
‘Thanks,’ Nathan replies, finding a compliment where there isn’t one. ‘The strawberry milk is the best bit, and it’s just strawberries, sweetener and good old water – which means no poor cows were tortured in the making of it.’
Just this poor cow, who had to watch him making it this morning, wearing nothing but his underpants.
I look over at Frankie who is politely pretending to eat it. I remind myself to sneak him something to eat before he leaves for school, before starting an inevitable – yet oh-so awkward – conversation with Nathan.
‘So, I was thinking maybe we have a new house rule, that everyone has to dress for breakfast,’ I suggest.
‘You’re in your dressing gown,’ Nathan points out through a mouthful of breakfast. He’s holding his bowl close to his face and he spoons his food in at an alarming speed.
‘Well, yeah, what I mean is just…not being nearly naked at the table, I suppose,’ I clarify. ‘I don’t know if you’re having trouble adapting to life back in our culture or what, but…’
‘But what?’ he asks.
‘But you’re acting kind of uncivilised. You’re sitting here in your pants, eating your breakfast like you’re scared someone is going to take it off you – you’re peeing in the garden.’
I hear Frankie snigger.
‘Lil, you know me, I like to be naked, so the undercrackers are a compromise.’
‘How kind of you,’ I say sarcastically.
‘I’m eating like this because I’m hungry, because this is the first real meal I’ve had since I arrived here, because you have a fridge, freezer and cupboards filled with nothing but cruelty. And I’m peeing in the garden because you won’t let me live in the house.’
‘How about I give you permission to call me and wake me up if you need the toilet in the night, save you from resorting to doing it in the garden.’
‘Don’t have a phone,’ he says.
‘Of course you don’t.’
‘Don’t have any money to get one.’
‘You could get a job,’ I suggest.
‘You need someone at the deli, right?’ he says, and he’s being deadly serious.
‘Do you have any experience selling meat?’ I ask sarcastically.
‘No.’
‘Could you recommend a cheese to go with a bottle of Rioja?’ I persist.
‘Of course not,’ he replies.
‘Well then sorry, buddy, but the job isn’t yours. I’m desperate for staff, but not so much that I’d employ someone who will actively encourage people not to buy things.’
‘Fair point,’ he replies. ‘Guess I’ll head into town today and see what I can find.’
‘Good idea,’ I reply.
After nearly a decade apart, it might not be fair to say that I know Nathan all that well any more, but I did once upon a time. Sure, he had jobs back then, but only casual gigs to pay the rent on his flat. He would only work zero effort jobs with no responsibility and that was that. He worked to live – but only as much as he needed to. I’ve always been a little different, I fantasised about having a career and a job where I felt like I made a difference. Sure, running a deli isn’t changing the world, but it makes people happy, and I like putting my passion for food to good use. Even when the plan was to travel, we were going to work for charitable organisations, and work hard and, when we got enough money together, I wanted to set up centres for women in places where providing support for women wasn’t high up on the agenda. Nathan always used to say we’d never be able to do that, but I figured he just didn’t have the drive, so he didn’t believe in us. I’ll never know what could have been now.
None of this prior knowledge of Nathan gives me especially high hopes that he will find a job – and then, of course, there’s the fact that he knows me, and no one likes me.
‘I thought we could go for a kickabout after school, Frank,’ Nathan suggests.
‘I don’t really like football,’ Frankie admits.
‘Don’t really like football?’ Nathan booms, causing poor little Frankie to jump out of his skin.
‘All right, calm down,’ I insist. ‘Not all men like football.’
‘When I was coaching kids football in Togo they lived for the beautiful game, and here you are, surrounded by fields with easy access to balls, and you don’t want to know.’
‘Ignore him,’ I tell Frankie. ‘Your dad has ridiculously old-fashioned views for a liberal.’
I remember back when we lived together, Nathan invited some friends over to hang out. The men were watching football in the living room and the women were banished to the kitchen, but it turned out one of the women loved football, so she went to sit with the men. She asked what the score was, and the men looked at her like she was crazy and asked her why she wanted to know. By watching football rather than complaining and insisting they turned it off, she was confusing the men. She told them she liked football.
‘Go on then, what’s offside?’ Nathan persisted – like a firm grasp of football is exclusively reliant on an understanding of the offside rule. He didn’t expect her to know, but she did (come on, it’s not rocket science – even I could have answered that question) and suddenly, the menfolk were in awe – a female person who knows what offside is? How adorable!
&nb
sp; It annoys me that men are allowed to like manly stuff without it being cute, or seeming like they’re only doing it to impress the opposite sex. Men like Nathan think it’s adorable when females like video games, action movies, sci-fi TV shows, sports, etc.
This makes me think of Alfie and his dad, who didn’t think he was manly enough because he didn’t like sports and farming. I don’t want to show Nathan up in front of his son, but I’ll take Frankie to one side later and explain to him that it’s OK for boys not to like football. Maybe I’ll ask Alfie to have a word with him, because Frankie respects him, and he’s obviously turned out just fine.
‘You want to give it a go?’ Nathan suggests. ‘It can’t hurt to try, can it? Maybe you can grow up big and strong like your dad, travelling the world, teaching other little boys to play football.’
‘OK,’ Frankie replies, a little glimmer of excitement in his eyes. I’ve noticed that he spends a lot of time staring at Nathan, a mixture of curiosity and – dare I say it – adoration. Frankie is fascinated by people with interesting stories, like Henry and his war stories, and now it turns out he’s got a dad who is full of it – I mean full of them.
‘Or you could end up selling cheese, like your mum,’ he adds. I don’t rise to it.
‘Are you two OK to pick Frankie up from school today?’ I ask Viv and Nathan – mostly Viv, but I really am trying to make an effort with Nathan.
‘Of course,’ she replies.
‘Thanks, I’m going to drop him off and then check in at the deli, make sure the fitters left everything tidy. Still no news on the licence, so I’ll give my boss a call, see what he says. In fact, we’d better get off now, Frankie,’ I say, giving him a wink that only he can see.
If we set off now, we’ll have enough time to drop in on Henry and Clara and see if they’re open for breakfast because, I don’t know about Frankie, but I’m starving! Of course, it’s nice that Nathan is making an effort, but we can’t starve just because we don’t like his cooking. Anyway, what Nathan doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it?
Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli Page 15
