by Jenny Oliver
‘And what does River think?’
Holly shrugged. Then, pulling on a jumper as the sun disappeared behind a wall of cloud, her voice muffled by the material, she said, ‘River doesn’t want a dad.’
Annie bit her bottom lip, glanced towards the bare horizon then back towards the huge house to her right, imagined him standing there at the window and saw just how lonely it might be.
‘So you got the cafe, huh?’ Holly asked, hoiking the boat up in one fluid movement onto her shoulder and carrying it into the boathouse.
‘Yeah,’ Annie pulled absentmindedly again at the L of the boat name and half of it came away. She looked round to check Holly wasn’t watching and tried to patch it back together, sticking it back on but it fell to the ground. Sheepishly, she scuttled to the other side of the landing stage.
‘Is your dad still boatman here?’ she called into the boathouse, towards where Holly was racking her boat.
‘Of course,’ Holly shouted, ‘He’ll never leave!’
Annie laughed, remembered many afternoons after school spent sitting in the warm sun, legs dangling in the river, sanding down blades for Holly’s dad in return for Saturday-night-out cash.
As she moved herself as far from the motorboat with the missing L as possible, she came across a battered old ice cream van, tucked round the side in an overgrown alleyway. Pastel blue and white, it had a wonky awning and a broken window. The wheel arches were speckled with rust but otherwise it was a vintage classic. Stickers for 99s and raspberry ripples decorated the glass and inside were ruffled curtains patterned with forget-me-nots and pink and white striped bunting.
‘Well I got that,’ Holly said, coming to stand beside her.
‘This?’ Annie pointed at the little van.
‘Uh-huh. It was Enid’s. Don’t you remember, she’d sell ice cream at weddings? Dressed it up with bluebells and blossom.’
Annie laughed, ‘And I suppose you’re far too cool for bluebells and blossom, Holly?’
Holly raised a brow, ‘Too right. You should be thankful. Who do you think it is who’s kept Gerty out of those dreadful dresses Suzi wants to put her in? It’s me that bought her the yellow jeans and red converse.’
Annie frowned, ‘How did you manage that?’
‘She’s learning to row. On the first day she appeared all covered in frills and lace and looked so uncomfortable. I took pity on her.’
‘Aww!’ Annie tipped her head to one side and smiled at her friend. ‘I didn’t know you had this maternal streak.’
Holly scoffed, then reached forward and ran her hand down the rusty paintwork, changing the subject back to the van. ‘Well, Enid left it to me. God knows why. And it’s just sitting here gathering dust and mice.’
‘Maybe you should fix it up?’ Annie shrugged.
‘And do what with it?’
Annie smiled, ‘Travel the world, my dear. Wasn’t that always your plan? Sell ice cream from it at weddings? Convert it into a caravan? I mean, Holly, what are you still doing here anyway? There’s only so long a beautiful young girl can live on an island.’
Holly shook her head, was about to say something and then changed her mind. Instead she turned her back on Annie and gestured towards the river to where Matt was rowing back, the clouds darkening on the horizon, the boat skating past them, cutting through water flat as ice. ‘Why would I leave? Look at me, I’m surrounded by eligible young men...’ She glanced back at Annie over her shoulder, ‘But I have a feeling someone else might have their eye on him...’
Annie blushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have enough problems with the cafe without adding some brooding adventurer to the list. Oh shit, he’s going to hit those ducklings—’
Annie pointed to just in front of Matt’s boat where a trail of eleven little brown and yellow ducklings were in a line behind their mum, the bow of his boat powering towards them.
‘Stop!’ Annie shouted, running to the edge of the water. ‘Stop! Stop!’ She waved her hands above her head. ‘You’ve got to stop!’
Matthew did a sudden movement with his blades and his boat halted on the spot. Sweat pouring down his face, his breath coming in short bursts, he leant forward to pause his stopwatch. ‘What?’ He looked around for the danger, clearly ready to act. ‘What’s happened?’
The ducklings were well across the river, hadn’t ever really been threatened, Annie realised. ‘Erm…’ she frowned. ‘It was…Erm…’
Matthew was just getting his breath back. ‘What’s happened?’ he said again.
Annie winced. ‘It was them,’ she pointed to the little fluffy gathering on her side of the river. ‘The ducklings.’
‘The what?’
‘The ducklings,’ she said again, a little quieter.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake!’ Matthew shook his head, his expression thunderous. Spitting a load of phlegm into the water, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he pulled it on low again and took off at the same speed he’d halted at.
Annie felt Holly sidle up next to her. ‘Good one.’
Annie didn’t say anything.
‘You made a good impression there, Annie. Very nice.’
Chapter Six
‘I thought you were leaving us to it?’
Annie had stood on the step for a second to pause and take a breath before walking into the cafe. Outside it had started to drizzle and as she entered she’d been hit by a familiar sense of warmth and the cosiness of childhood, but had resolutely ignored it. Instead she’d headed straight for the counter, but her path was obstructed by the fishermen’s labrador, who was lying across the central aisle again, and she was mid-step over the sleeping beast when Martha confronted her.
‘We’re fine as we are,’ said Martha, a plate of eggs and flabby bacon with a side of underdone soft toast balanced in her right hand. Two mugs of coffee in her left.
Annie looked down at the floor and moved past her to take a seat on the bar stool. She leant her elbows on the counter and watched as Ludo fried eggs in the back kitchen and River emptied a steaming dishwasher.
Holly slid onto the stool next to her and, after clocking the frosty atmosphere, poured herself and Annie a glass of water from the jug on the counter.
Annie nodded, ‘Thanks. I might need something a little stronger.’
Ludo glanced up from the eggs and waved a spatula at Holly, who smiled back a little guiltily; as if she knew a secret that they didn’t, and hated herself for it.
Martha schlepped back from depositing her breakfasts, a scowl etched deep into the grooves on her face.
‘The thing is, Martha…’ Annie started, crossing her legs and turning to look back at the empty seats in the cafe. It was eleven o’clock on a Saturday and when she’d passed the pub, the garden had been chock-a-block with people all sipping cappuccinos and eating average-looking croissants but looking out at the stunning view of the river, the lighthouse that music producer Andrew Neil had had moved brick by brick in the seventies from some Hebridean island and turned into an infamous recording studio, and the dilapidated church beyond. She shifted in her seat and put her shoulders back, trying to look authoritative and confident. ‘The problem is that this place…’ She waved a hand nervously about the cafe, the look on Martha’s face like she might gobble her up any moment making her feel a bit sick. ‘It’s not been making a profit for a while and…well…’ She looked into the kitchen and saw Ludo’s shoulders had tensed and River, less subtly, had turned and was watching them from the dishwasher. ‘It’s just not a viable business at the moment.’
She had spoken to Valtar on the phone during the week. ‘Is not good, Annie. Not good at all,’ he’d said and she could hear her mother in the background saying that she shouldn’t feel under any obligation to take it on.
Annie bit her lip and traced the pattern in the counter laminate rather than look Martha in the eye. ‘I think we need to make some changes, Martha. Otherwise, well—’
River came
to stand next to Martha and Ludo folded his arms across the hatch. ‘You gonna fire us?’ he said, spatula in hand, cutting to the chase.
Annie rolled her lips together and winced.
She watched Martha swallow. At six foot and seventy, Martha was terrifying and always had been. She had frizzy grey hair tied tight in a bun, a huge bosom, and her face was creased with crinkles and wrinkles. She’d been in the RAF and she’d killed people, well, that was the rumour. But now, to see her shoulders sag, to see her eyes dart warily, to see her mind clearly thinking about her mortgage, her husband who didn’t get out much any more, her five cats and her son in Australia who never came to visit but expected Martha to fly out once a year and help look after the kids, she nearly broke Annie’s heart. ‘You’re going to close us down, aren’t you?’ she muttered.
Annie had asked Holly to come in with her for moral support. She’d stood for five minutes outside the estate agent in town, looking at the buildings to let and businesses for sale. A young guy with a neat trimmed beard and a sprinkling of acne scars had come out to ask her if he could help. When she’d mentioned the cafe his eyes had lit up; he’d had his eye on the place for years, he’d said. Shouldn’t be a problem changing the terms of usage from retail to residential, council have wanted more housing on the island for ages. He had developers queueing up. She just had to say the word.
Holly had sat in the Starbucks next door, toying with the guy’s card in her hand, while sipping a bitter coffee and prodding a slice of stale cherry bakewell.
River was staring at his feet, looking down at his cherry-red DM boots laced up with army-green garden string. Under different circumstances Annie might tell him how much she liked them.
She felt Holly squeeze her hand under the counter.
In the silence Ludo smacked the counter with his spatula. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘I have a child to support.’
There was a ring of the bell above the door and she felt someone pause behind her. She could hear their breathing, smell the scent of lemon shower gel and river water.
‘What’s going on?’ she heard Matt ask. There was a rasp in his voice like he smoked too many cigarettes but it was probably just from exercise.
‘She’s bloody closing this place,’ Ludo spat.
River kicked the wooden boards that lined the counter. She heard Matt swear under his breath as he walked over to them, chucked his sport bag down on the floor and scraped his shower-wet hair back from his face.
She didn’t have a choice.
There was no choice.
So why was all she could see the image of her brother in the doorway of her mum’s house? Why did it feel like the fact she had no choice came from his lips?
‘Hang on a minute…’ she started, holding her hand up to stop their sighing and ranting.
No, what was she doing? This had nothing to do with her brother, this was to do with the fact she had a nice little flat, she had a successful business, she had a Mac computer and an iPhone 6, plus she had lots of friends, a pub next door where they knew her name, a massive bag on her bed full of Primark goodies that she hadn’t tried on yet and a DVD of Frozen that Gerty had loaned her. Her life was finally fine as it was. It was good. She didn’t owe this place anything. She’d paid her debts.
But then there was her brother’s face again. She was fast-forwarding to Christmas dinner. Could see him serving buttered carrots and talking about how great the new flats that they’d built on the café site were. How the island was changing for the better. How lucky she was she’d listened to his advice.
Agghhhhh.
Hovering in front of her were the three cautious, untrusting faces of her staff and the simple fact that she had spent her life in her brother’s shadow just because he was a boy. That his sex had given him a halo at birth and her, in contrast, little horns. She was for ever the naughty one. The roll your eyes at one, the difficult one, the stubborn one, the untrustworthy, the unreliable one, the impetuous one...
Or maybe just the please notice me one.
And this cafe was hers, not his.
The bottom of the scrapheap as far as her dad was concerned, but hers all the same.
‘Hang on, wait,’ she said, her hands going up to her temples as she tried her hardest to fill her mind with pictures of her quirky little flat, her feather duvet, her view out over Hampstead Heath and Parliament Hill.
My life is fine, she thought. I do not need a cafe.
‘Wait. Look. Maybe…’
Annie, you do not need a cafe. You have nothing left to prove.
Holly had sat back on the stool, legs crossed and was watching her, one eyebrow raised.
‘Maybe…’ Annie paused. Really? Am I really going to do this? ‘Maybe we can just see how it goes for a couple of weeks,’ she found herself saying.
Ludo’s face seemed to slice in two with a smile. ‘She’s going to see how we go!’
Annie swallowed. Saw Martha take in a breath, her grip loosen on the tea towel in her hands and, as her face softened just slightly, Annie saw in the almost imperceptible tilt of her lips, the image of Enid looking back, approving.
‘Yes,’ Annie said and nodded. She felt Holly punch her playfully on the thigh. ‘Yes, we can see how we go. But we’re going to have to make some changes.’ She glanced around the place, at the grease-covered ceiling, the peeling menus, the clock that had stuck on one twenty-five, the rows of chipped mugs and the oil spitting frying pan. ‘There are going to have to be some changes,’ she said again.
‘Whatever you say,’ Martha laughed.
And the cafe itself that had seemed to pause, to suck in its breath, suddenly exhaled and, whether it was her imagination or not, the fisherman’s chatter and the labrador’s snores started to fill the air again, the hum of the dishwasher and the hiss of the coffee machine, the open and close of the door and the squeak of the plastic seats as people came in, and the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder as Matt took the stool on her left and said, ‘Good job, Annie. Good job.’
Annie blew out a breath, flicking her feathered fringe up out of her eyes. What the hell had she done? she thought. Then she saw Ludo bash River on the back as he walked to the kitchen and the kid smiled down at his feet. Shyly, hoping no one was watching. Then he went back to the sink and started washing up the pans.
‘That make up for the ducklings?’ Annie said to Matt.
‘Just about,’ he replied. And then he smiled, and it was the first time she’d seen it happen. Just like his son’s, quiet and soft, his eyes narrowed to nothing. Precious simply because of its rarity. It was like looking at the sun, she couldn’t handle it for long. So after a second, Annie put her head in her hands and muttered, ‘Shit. I’m a cafe owner.’
Holly laughed. ‘You’re the boss.’
‘What have I done?’
Martha slid an espresso across the counter to Matt who heaped in as many sugars as he could find and said, ‘Maybe it’ll make you a fortune.’
She gave him a wry sidelong glance. ‘Unlikely. I didn’t see you jumping at the chance to buy it off me.’
He took a sip of the thick, sweet coffee and she watched him watching his son clattering about with the pots and pans. ‘I’ve got enough on my plate, thanks.’
Holly leant back on her stool and, peering round Annie to Matt, said ‘You could’ve been his boss.’ Indicating to River.
‘If I’d been his boss,’ Matt said, ‘he’d have quit.’
River seemed to realise they were talking about him and turned their way. They were all caught red-handed, completely at a loss for a new topic of conversation and the guilty pause hung above them like a speech bubble. It was Martha who saved them, lifting three bowls of cherry pie onto the counter and saying, ‘Celebrations in order. Annie, cream. Matt, custard. Holly, vanilla ice cream.’
Holly tilted her head, impressed. ‘Nicely remembered.’
‘I’ve gotta earn my keep somehow,’ said Martha, deadpan,
and then stood to watch Annie as she nabbed a teaspoon from the pot by the urn, tipped the little jug up, poured the cream over her pie and then pause.
Holly had already demolished half of her pie while Annie was still looking at her bowl. The cherries glinting in the fluorescent strip light. Then she cut the fat, crisp, golden lattice with the edge of her spoon and lifted the pie, marbled with cream, to her lips and it seemed like the cafe paused again, this time puffed out with pride. She inhaled the sweet smell of the cherry orchard. The scent of the leaves just after the rain, water glistening on the plump red fruit, the colour so deep it was as good as black. Then the taste on her lips was like quick as a flash back to the table with her dad and her brother. Damp and dishevelled after fishing trips. Exhausted after sailing their mould-covered boat. Hot and flushed after climbing the trees. Sweet, sticky, bitter. Pop went a cherry between her teeth.
Perhaps this was why she saved the cafe. This bowl. This pie.
‘Good?’ Martha asked, her expression like she didn’t care but her eyes dancing.
These people.
‘Damn good,’ sighed Matthew.
These strangers.
River turned to look back at them.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Annie, and when she smiled, they all smiled. Even Martha, a bit.
Chapter Seven
‘Erm, Annie, do you mean here?’ River was holding up a weather-beaten cabinet that Annie had salvaged that morning from the studios and boat yards at the far end of the island.
‘Just left a bit,’ she said, looking up from her laptop. ‘Bit more. Yep, that’s it.’
River made a mark on the wall by licking his finger and Annie winced. As he started banging a nail in with a hammer she turned her attention back to Ludo, who was sitting opposite her, nervously tapping his packet of Camels round and round on the table.
