The Grand Reopening of Dandelion Café

by Jenny Oliver

  In her days away from the island Annie had caught herself working out how long she had to wait till she could go back. Her desk and shiny computer weren’t holding their same appeal and her design work became just a task to get through in order to keep pulling her bank balance into the black. She kept clicking from her layouts and presentations to websites that sold mugs and glasses, flitting from one to another, trying to decide which best suited the cafe.

  Now, as she stood with her overnight case open at her feet, she seemed to have lost all ability to know what to pack. Firstly, her brain was addled by this surprising desire to go back to the island. Secondly, she wasn’t used to being in the spotlight. Thirdly, all she could think about was Matt and wanting to impress him. But then he’d seen her waking up at four in the previous night’s clothes as well as in her old jeans, splotched with turquoise paint.

  She flicked through some dresses and skirts and discounted them all. Then moved to her drawers to rummage through piles of tops and jumpers that suddenly all seemed horrible and bought by a madwoman.

  Annie flung herself down on the bed in a huff, her head hanging back so it was almost touching the floor on the other side. As she felt the blood rushing to her brain, her eye caught on something.

  Sticking out from behind her washing basket and a stack of papers she was yet to file, was the corner of a Primark bag.

  The result of her payday, haircut day spoils that had been forgotten in all the cafe malarky. Rolling over, she hooked the corner of the bag with her finger and dragged it towards her. What had she bought anyway? The memory was a blur of bargains and frivolous spending.

  A pair of socks with lipstick kisses on them. A Reese’s Pieces lip balm. A set of three frilly knickers. She had been in a good mood, Annie realised as she pulled a pair of pyjama bottoms and a black bikini out of the bag. There was a small Topshop bag stuffed in there as well with a pair of silver sequinned leggings that she remembered coveting on the model but only now remembered buying.

  She’d take them back.

  But as she was pushing them back into the bag she thought of Clemmie and her leopard-print trousers, crazy hair and crop-top standing on the seat of her drum kit so everyone could see her. Clemmie would wear silver sequinned leggings.

  Teenage Annie would have worn silver sequinned leggings.

  She stood up and walked over to the mirror. Did she really have the thighs for sequins and leggings combined?

  Taking off her jeans, she hauled them on.

  They looked better than she thought. Kind of sucked her in in all the right places and shimmered like a fish.

  Her brother would think them very inappropriate.

  Which in itself was reason enough to wear them.

  Annie lay back on the bed and finished going through the bag. There was a blue stripy vest that she’d bought because she already had one and loved it, a sweatshirt because she’d had a burst of inspiration to start regularly exercising and then, there at the bottom, was a little white card of plastic that made her pause with delight before she reached in to pull it out.

  It was a set of three different earrings, studs, that had cost a pound. Two ice cream cones that she would have to give to Holly as soon as she saw her, two green apples, and then, there in the bottom row, dazzlingly beautiful, a pair of bright-red cherries. With big fake rubies as the fruit, they glittered as they caught the light of the fairy-lights strung up round her curtains.

  Annie undid the cherry studs from the card and put them in her ears. Then, pulling on a gauzy white T-shirt, her battered tan-leather jacket and some really simple black heels, went back to stand in front of the mirror.

  Her shorn hair was a bit skew whiff, the leggings were a touch over the top for her, but on the whole she kind of liked it. This was no sitting at her laptop in her star-print pyjamas, this was channelling her inner-Clemmie. Her vintage-chic cafe owner persona.

  And when she walked over the bridge onto Cherry Pie Island that Saturday, her leggings winking in the morning sunlight, her hand reaching up to touch the cherries in her ears, and she saw Matthew on the path ahead of her, taking Buster for a walk, dressed in faded blue jeans and a canary-yellow T-shirt, his jaw dropping open slightly as he turned and saw her, she thought, for the first time, that maybe it didn’t have to end, maybe some way, somehow, she could have both.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘We strung up some pink bunting last night,’ Matt said as they walked together up the path lined with gnarled cherry trees, their buds just about to pop. The sky ahead of them was bright baby-blue peppered with cartoon clouds. Seagulls and pigeons flapped and cawed, while crows pecked the pathway and tiny birds hopped about in the trees.

  ‘Well I bet that’s a sentence you never thought you’d be saying,’ Annie laughed, and Matt glanced her way. Buster was snuffling along behind them like a little pig looking for truffles, his breathing ruining any magic of the moment.

  ‘It looks really good. You’ve done a really good job.’

  Annie stopped walking. ‘You think so?’ she asked. ‘Do you think it’ll be enough?’

  ‘Enough for Barney at the pub to think maybe it’s time for a makeover.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s the last thing I need.’ She rolled her eyes and carried on towards the cafe and the fluttering bunting

  ‘Annie,’ Matt put his hand on her shoulder to stop her, the feeling of it like lightning through her back and down her arm. ‘Annie, you’ve done it. People will come.’

  She quirked her lip. ‘Isn’t that a line from a Kevin Costner film?’

  Matt laughed, ‘Perhaps. But it seemed appropriate.’

  The dog had chugged on ahead and was sniffing around a collection of pots by the front door of the cafe. Annie’s mum had made Valtar haul them over from their garden; they were crammed full of big, bright daffodils, miniature narcissi with deep-orange centres and hyacinths with heads so heavy they were lolling from their supports.

  Martha and Ludo were both already in situ. Martha, who was wearing a dress for the first time Annie had known her, was giving the windows a last polish and Ludo, who seemed to have given up smoking for the occasion, was singing Shirley Bassey in the kitchen while pulping tomatoes for Pan Con Tomate. It was the simplest but possibly the most delicious of his dishes ‒ a simple breakfast of his homemade bread, toasted, drizzled with thick, dark olive oil and spread generously with the pulp of the freshest tomatoes he could source. They had all converted from scrambled eggs and bacon sandwiches while Ludo watched on proudly.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ said Martha, as she unlocked the big front windows and threw them open to let in the morning sun. The rays made it just warm enough to handle the open air. The shade however could still bring goosebumps out on bare skin.

  ‘Hang on, I didn’t know the windows could open. I thought they were stuck? I thought we didn’t have a key.’ Annie stared as the whole cafe opened up.

  Martha chuckled. ‘You’ve got your Matthew to thank for that.’

  My Matthew, Annie thought.

  ‘How did you fix the windows?’ she said, turning to look back at Matt who seemed to be focused on stopping Buster chewing the daffodils.

  ‘I just worked on them a bit,’ he said, as if it was nothing.

  Annie frowned.

  Martha leant forward, her hands resting on the new window ledge tables that he’d built earlier in the week, and whispered, loud enough for them all to hear, ‘He was here most of the night.’ Then tucked her chin into her chest and made a face like she’d just passed on a real gem of news.

  Matt sighed, embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t here all night.’

  ‘With River,’ Martha added, with another chin to chest look.

  ‘You were with River?’ Annie almost gasped.

  ‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Yeah, it was good.’

  Annie did a little clap. ‘That’s made my day. Where is he?’ As she said it, the big front gates to Matt’s place opened and River and Clemmie walked out, her drag
ging him by the hand like an exuberant puppy.

  ‘Hi, Annie!’ she shouted, hair all scooped up on her head, lips painted pearlised pink and wearing a turquoise diner waitress shirtdress. ‘I bought this off eBay. I thought I’d help today, if that’s OK? Is that OK? River thought it would be OK?’

  ‘Absolutely fine.’ Annie was more stunned by the fact they’d been allowed to stay together at Matt’s house, and that River had wanted to. She raised her eyebrows in Matt’s direction to silently ask those very questions and he just gave a nonchalant shrug. She noticed, however, that he couldn’t hide the quirk of a smile as he hoisted the dog up and came to stand next to Annie.

  ‘They had separate bedrooms,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘I should hope so,’ she smirked.

  ‘I think she’s good for him.’

  ‘I agree.’

  Annie had never known what it felt like to feel like a parent. She’d felt like an aunt and a naughty daughter, but never a parent. Yet when she stood there watching as River went into the cafe and started carrying out the mic stands and amps for their opening performance, and Matt immediately jogged in to help him, she felt this bubble of parental pride. Like she had helped this pairing to find their way, and before her eyes she had watched River relax just a tiny bit and let his dad in.

  ‘Hey, let me just put these down,’ Matt said to her as he came out with two mic stands. ‘I’ve got you something.’

  ‘Me?’ Annie pointed to her chest.

  ‘Yes, you.’ He shook his head, as if to say, who else? ‘Wait there. Keep an eye on Buster and those flowers,’ he said and disappeared into his house, returning a minute later with a cardboard box.

  ‘What is it?’

  Matt raised a brow and said dryly. ‘A cardboard box.’

  Annie looked heavenward. ‘I love it.’

  ‘There you go. Done,’ he said, putting it down on one of the old cafe tables that they’d set up in front of the windows.

  ‘It’s not really just a cardboard box, is it?’ Annie was momentarily hesitant.

  ‘What do you think? Just open it.’

  Annie took a couple of steps forward and looked at the box, then back at Matt, then back at the box. She could feel Martha and River and Clemmie all watching from the window as she peeled back the flaps.

  Inside were big tufts of tissue paper that she moved away slowly to reveal five stacks of little white bowls, each one separated from the other with more tissue paper. She looked from the bowls back up to Matt who nodded for her to carry on, to pick one up. So she lifted one out of the box and saw that each was hand-painted with cherry blossom, the branches curling round the outside of the bowls and the pink flowers bursting in bunches on the stems.

  ‘They’re for the cherry pie,’ Matt said. ‘I had them flown over from Japan, I wasn’t sure that they’d get here in time.’

  Annie took one out and then another. All of them slightly different. On some the blossom dipped over onto the inside of the bowl, on others some of the buds weren’t yet in bloom. On some the pink was darker cerise, others a light pastel.

  ‘You don’t have to use them,’ Matt added. ‘If you don’t like them.’

  ‘I love them,’ Annie said, looking up at him, amazed. ‘They’re completely perfect. Thank you.’

  Matt was about to reply when Annie’s mum, Valtar, Jonathan, Suzi, Gerty and Wilbur all appeared from the park.

  ‘We’re here, darling. Sorry we’re early, but we just couldn’t wait, could we, Gerty?’ Her mum looked back towards Annie’s niece who was lagging slightly behind under the weight of a huge pot plant.

  ‘Wait for me!’ Gerty yelled. ‘Wait!’ And they all paused to let her catch up.

  Annie moved away from the table, still with a bowl in her hand and bent down so she was on Gerty’s level. ‘What’s in the pot?’

  ‘We grew it for you,’ Gerty said. Her hair was tamed into little plaits, her dress already dirty with soil and on her feet were Annie’s precious pink fur-lined boots, a size or two too big.

  ‘She insisted on carrying it,’ Suzi said, holding her dog tight because Buster was barking at it. ‘I told her it would ruin her dress but she wouldn’t listen.’

  Gerty, who was standing with her back to her mother, rolled her eyes and Annie had to stifle a giggle. ‘It’s a cherry tree,’ Gerty said, putting it on the floor and standing back proudly so they could all stare at the bare-looking twig sticking up from the soil. ‘It doesn’t look much yet but it’ll be as big as those one day,’ she said, clearly parroting Annie’s mum.

  Annie didn’t know what to say. First her bowls, then the tree. Gerty was beaming up at her. She was completely overwhelmed.

  ‘Right then, let’s have a look and see if you’ve managed to salvage the place,’ Jonathan’s voice cut through the emotion of the moment. ‘Give us a tour then,’ he added, striding past her and through the door. ‘Turquoise? Not sure about that, Sis. Have you got a band? Why are there microphones? God, you’re not giving a speech, are you?’

  Annie stood up, about to reply, when Matt came and stood next to her and said, ‘Just ignore it. Just let it wash over you. It’s not worth it.’ When she looked up at him, she met his gaze; dark smiling eyes that were completely on her side. She took a breath in through her nose and exhaled, a little shakily. When she nodded, she felt his hand slip into hers, cool and strong. Her arm tingled, her breath caught. Then River called over about something to do with an extension lead and Matt gave her hand a little squeeze before letting it go so he could help.

  She held her fingers up to her lips and watched as her family bustled past her; as Martha came out and collected up the cherry pie bowls; as Gerty heaved the flower pot over to sit with the daffodils and hyacinths; as Andrew Neil arrived along with a fair-haired, tired-looking woman and her mother who Martha whispered was Jane Williams, the one from the houseboat; as Holly turned up fresh from a rowing outing, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a baggy grey sweatshirt, a sprig of cherry blossom in her hair, definitely not pregnant, Annie decided; as Mr Lewis, the disparaging milkman who’d called the place a poisoned chalice, wheeled his bike round the corner to make his judgement; as Barney from the pub wandered over and said, ‘Maybe we can help each other?’; as River and his sullen mate picked up their guitars and Clemmie took to the microphone and sang, much to everyone’s utter delight, ‘Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries’, her voice deep and sultry and mesmerising; as Matt stood over the other side of the cafe tables and watched her watching, his black eyes smiling.

  The day passed in a blur. There was laughing and reminiscing, songs and dancing. River’s mum, Pamela, popped in for a coffee and admired her discarded lamp, feigning forgetfulness when Matt reminded her that he’d given it to her as a present. It was nice to watch them all together, River showing her about the place, pointing out the work he’d done with his dad. Pamela looked almost relieved that the relationship might finally be thawing.

  As the light became hazy and the clouds closed over the sun, Winifred came inside brandishing a copy of the day’s Daily Mail. ‘Look, look, look we’re in it!’ she said, pointing to a picture included on a piece about The Rolling Stones.

  Annie picked it up, confused. ‘The cafe?’

  ‘No.’ Winifred rolled her eyes as if she was daft, ‘Us. All of us.’ She pointed to Holly who was sitting in a booth with Ludo and Matt, Buster on her lap. ‘Remember, when they came to record whatever it was and we all stood with them to have our photo?’ She glanced back at Annie. ‘It was a couple of months ago. I think there’s a new LP out. And look,’ She flattened the newspaper out on the counter and Holly and Matt came over to see, ‘There’s Emily Hunter-Jones. Remember, Annie? From your school? Her and her brother came back for the day because, well, she was having a fling with someone in the band, much too old for her, and he’d been playing polo at Ham. It was all very exciting and glamorous. They went back to the old manor house to have a look. The Robinsons were a bit funny about letting them
in I heard, I think there’s marriage problems there, but anyway, Emily and Wilfred insisted and went for a nose about the place.’

  Annie frowned as she looked at the picture and tried to think back. ‘They didn’t live here for long did they? Matt, was Wilf in your year?’

  ‘Yeah but he was at boarding school somewhere in London I think.’

  Annie sucked in her bottom lip, then said, ‘Oh of course. And Emily’d been expelled from so many places that she ended up back with us. Ha. How funny. Didn’t you have a thing about her brother, Holly?’

  Holly scoffed. ‘No!’

  Annie watched her cheeks pink. ‘Yes you did. I’m sure you did. You made us walk up and down in front of their house that time. You remember, his dad came out and shouted at us.’

  Holly shrugged and looked back at the newspaper. ‘Maybe.’

  Matt peered over Holly’s shoulder and, pointing to the group shot of practically everyone on the island plus The Rolling Stones and Emily and Wilf, said, ‘Is that him, Holly? The one you’re standing really close to in this picture?’

  Annie and Ludo giggled, while Holly just rolled her eyes as if they were all desperately immature and headed outside with the pug to where the band had started up again, the fairy-lights in the trees twinkling in the evening light and the candles on the tables flickering in their jam jars.

  Matt chuckled and, taking the paper with him to have a read, followed Holly outside, while Ludo went off to do a circuit of the cafe as the proud chef.

  ‘It’s nice to see you laughing,’ Winifred said.

  ‘I laugh,’ said Annie, a touch defensive.

  ‘I know. Just not often with us. I know your brother’s a pain but his heart is in the right place, sometimes.’ She turned so her back was to Annie and surveyed the revamped cafe. The vintage pink lights cast a spotlight glow on the window seats; the plastic tables were all kitted out with retro condiments and the empty cans of Spanish tomatoes and olive oil that they’d planted with dandelions from the yard; the huge old flamenco picture and the cupboards stacked with objects and vintage knick-knacks; the countertop with Martha’s homemade cakes ‒ gooey, creamy delicacies oozing temptingly under glass domes; the diners savouring their cherry pie, scraping the last of it out of their delicate cherry blossom bowls, pouring over custard from a selection of little cut-glass jugs that Enid had collected; Buster the pug, who’d left Holly and was stretched out asleep in the doorway; Ludo rhapsodising re tapas to some satisfied customers.