by Jenny Oliver
Annie frowned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘Well I didn’t need to. You seemed to be doing marvellously on your own. I assumed you knew.’
‘But Jonathan said I should sell.’
‘Well you’ve never listened to your brother before so I don’t know why you’d start now?’ her mum said, standing up and pulling the cords on the hood of her mac so only a bit of her face was visible, like a little mouse. ‘Come on, it’s pouring, let’s go back inside. Most people have left and Ludo’s making some tapas. Come on.’ She held out her hand for Annie to take and pull herself up, but once she was standing her mum didn’t let go. ‘I need help navigating these trees in the dark,’ she said, by way of excuse.
Inside the cafe it looked warm and bright and cosy. Through the windows she could see everyone sitting round the booths drinking prosecco and tea. There were small plates of tapas crowded onto the tables and the coloured fairy-lights she hadn’t had time to do anything with had been strung up around the turquoise counter, sparkling like boiled sweets. Matt saw them coming and sauntered over to open the front door. Winifred bustled in first, trying to get the knot undone from where she’d tied the mac hood round her face.
‘Valtar, I’m stuck,’ she said, heading to where her husband was sitting with Jonathan, Suzi and Wilbur. Gerty was asleep in the corner with Flash the expensive, snazzy cross-breed curled up on one side of her and Buster the pug on the other.
Annie paused on the black and white tiled step and looked up at Matt, trying not to imagine what she looked like in her sequinned leggings and yellow mac.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
Annie nodded. ‘Yeah.’
Matt moved aside so she could come in. As she stepped forward and brushed past him she could smell the warmth of him, the river and lemons and fabric softener.
She wanted to just pause forever in the turquoise doorway, inches away from him, and stare at the muscles in his arm as he held the door, the dark wings of lashes, the flecks of stubble, the yellow T-shirt that clashed with her yellow mac, the scent of him, the safety of him, the breathlessness of her with him.
Annie realised she’d taken too long to pass and hurried the last couple of steps. As she did, Matt whispered, ‘You have terrible taste in men.’
Caught off guard, she laughed. ‘Don’t I know it,’ she said, pulling off her anorak and making a bit of a hash of it so he had to give her a hand.
When she emerged, hair sticking up everywhere and her T-shirt half pulled up and twisted, she glanced in the mirror and tried to straighten herself out. ‘What do you think I should do about it?’ she said, catching his eye in the reflection.
‘Go for a different type?’ he said with a wolfish smile. ‘Less smooth, more rugged.’
Annie could see herself in the mirror, flushed and bright-eyed, could see her family watching her from their table and Ludo about to call her over to sample his tapas, Martha wanting to know if she wanted a slice of cherry pie and River shouting over to ask his dad if he could have some prosecco. ‘It’s chaos,’ she said. At this point back home she’d be cooking herself some pasta, maybe contemplating whether or not to go to the pub.
Matt turned and surveyed the scene with her. ‘Good chaos though.’
‘Can you have good chaos?’ she asked.
He spread his arm as if to suggest that the view was a case in point.
‘What if there’s no room to breathe?’
‘Annie? How much room do you need to breathe?’
She shook her head a fraction. ‘I don’t know.’
He laughed, deep and rumbling in his chest. ‘My guess is, it’s a lot less than you think. You’re only small.’
‘I’m not small,’ Annie started, but Matt sauntered off, chuckling to himself, while Jonathan and Suzi called her over to take a look at the plans for the new extension they were having built. Jonathan’s interest in her success or failure with the cafe clearly gazumped by whether they should have an indoor pool or just a games room. Or both.
Annie pulled up a chair and sat at the end of their booth. She pretended to listen as her brother and his wife discussed extension options, but instead let her focus drift around the cafe.
Her cafe.
Outside the rain was hammering on the window like the beat of a drum. The wind had picked up and she could hear the bunting flickering and flapping in the gusts. Wilbur said he’d seen lightning, Jonathan didn’t believe him, and then a huge rumble of thunder and flash so bright it lit up the room saw the little boy puff out his chest with rightness.
River and his sullen friend went to go and have a look out the window, pressing their faces against the glass. ‘Yeah,’ River said, turning to the rest of them. ‘It’s forked lightning over the river.’
‘Probably Enid and your father,’ Winifred suggested, ‘wanting to be part of the party.’
Annie got up and went to stand behind the counter. She hated thunder, had always been afraid of it, and needed something to distract herself. Matt was sitting at one of the stools, drinking a beer out the bottle and watching as River loped back over to join Clemmie who had perched herself on the back of the booth.
‘Would you mind if I put these up?’ Annie asked him, getting the shoebox of postcards out from under the counter.
He frowned and then beckoned for her to put the box down on the counter, wordlessly flicking through the bright, cheerful images of far-off places. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, looking up at her, completely at a loss.
‘I don’t have to,’ Annie said, ‘I just thought it would be nice, you know like when old bars have postcards pinned to the back wall. I could just put a few up and then maybe it would start a tradition, people sending us cards when they go away. I asked River a while ago and just never got round to it.’
Matt’s ears seemed to prick up when she said River’s name and it made a smile play on her lips, despite the crashing thunder outside.
‘What did he say?’ Matt asked.
‘He said…’ Annie licked her top lip, then in her best River voice said, ‘Yeah, whatever, do it.’
Matt snorted a laugh. ‘Go on then. If you have his blessing, you have mine.’
Annie smiled, then leant her elbows on the counter and started flicking through the cards, her head almost touching Matt’s as he looked with her. She could hear him breathing, smell him, almost feel his smile.
‘This one’s nice,’ he said, holding up the picture of vibrant pink blossom in Tokyo.
‘And this one,’ Annie said, plucking out an image of an alpine ski lodge with snow-capped mountains in the background.
‘This, however, has nothing to do with me,’ Matt said, holding up a folded piece of paper between his first and middle finger.
Annie took it from him, looking puzzled. ‘What is it then?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea, open it.’
‘Is it something you’ve just got out your pocket as a joke?’
‘No!’ Matt laughed, holding his hands up as if he’d been unjustly accused.
Annie narrowed her eyes. ‘Mmm,’ she said, and started to unfold the yellowed piece of paper. ‘It’s a letter.’
‘Is it now?’ Matt tipped his head, still more interested in winding Annie up.
‘I regret to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office. To the effect that (No.) 15733727 (Rank) L. Corporal (Name) James BLACKWELL. Oh god,’ Annie looked up at Matt. ‘Was wounded on the 10th day of October 1944. It has not yet been reported into what hospital he has been admitted.’
‘Let’s see?’ Matt pushed himself up so that he was leaning over the counter and looking at the letter with her. ‘Who’s it to?’
Annie shook her head, ‘I don’t know, it must be Enid. Who’s James Blackwell?’
‘Martha’s dad?’ Matt said as if that were obvious.
‘No,’ Annie shook her head. ‘He didn’t fight. I remember when we did a project at school on World War Two and I asked Martha about he
r dad and she said he didn’t fight. He was here, on the island.
‘What at the boatyard?’ Matt asked, ‘They made the landing craft there and torpedo boats.’
Annie nodded, then looked back at the letter. ‘I am to express to you the sympathy and regret of the army council. Wow.’ She turned it over in her hand then looked up at the party in front of her, watched Martha as she walked up to the blackened window to peer out at the pouring rain, her face reflected back at them, tired but genuinely happy.
Matt followed her gaze. ‘Do you think Martha knows about this?’
Annie shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I think she knew as little about her mum as we did,’ she said, then she folded the letter up and put it back in the shoebox.
‘What are you doing?’ Matt asked.
‘I’m putting it back. Look at her, she looks relaxed, happy. It’s the least ferocious I’ve seen her since I got back, I think a couple more days of not knowing your mum was having some affair should be allowed.’
Matt scoffed. ‘That’s ridiculous. He might be an uncle or something.’
Annie shook her head, looked from the letter to Martha and back again. She thought about Enid, guarded, brooding, secretive. ‘He’s not an uncle.’
Before Matt could disagree, Clemmie picked up her guitar and shouted, ‘Annie wanted some Dolly Parton, remember?’
‘Oh I did,’ said Annie, clapping her hands together and using the moment as an excuse to put the shoebox away and rejoin the party.
River’s friend rolled his eyes, but went and got his guitar all the same.
And when they started to play, Valtar stood up and held out his hand for Winifred to dance. She shook her head, mortified, until everyone clapped and eventually she let herself be led into the aisle between the tables. Suzi asked Jonathan to dance but he refused until Ludo offered and suddenly Jonathan was definitely dancing with his wife. Unable to be rebuffed, Ludo went over to Holly, who was quietly studying the photo of them all in the Daily Mail, and dragged her up to dance with him.
‘Oh I don’t dance, Ludo.’ Holly tried to remain where she was, pulling away from him with all her strength.
‘Come on!’ he shouted.
‘No. I don’t want to dance.’
‘Oh don’t be so English and repressed. Just because you are pregnant, doesn’t mean you cannot dance.’
Holly yanked her hand away. ‘I’m not pregnant, Ludo. Who said I was pregnant?’
Ludo looked confused. ‘Martha told me.’
‘Martha?’ Holly swung round to find Martha. ‘How would Martha know if I was pregnant? I’m not pregnant.’
‘See, I didn’t think you were,’ Annie said, triumphant.
Holly stood up. ‘What is going on? Why does everyone think I’m pregnant?’
The song stopped.
‘I didn’t think you were pregnant,’ Annie said, a little sheepish into the quiet.
‘Of course she’s not pregnant,’ Winifred added from where she was still in Valtar’s arms waiting for the next song. ‘Who would the father be?’
‘Oh my god! Mum, it’s the twenty-first century. The father could be any old bloke she’s been out with.’
‘Annie!’ Holly looked horrified. ‘Can we stop talking about this, please? I’m not pregnant. I just didn’t want to dance.’
Ludo nodded and, bored of her refusal, moved onto Martha who was just bringing over a slice of cream-covered cherry pie and an espresso for Annie. Her eyebrows were raised in an expression that suggested she didn’t believe a word of Holly’s protestations.
‘Here you go, Annie,’ she said, handing her the bowl where she was standing by the booth, and trying very hard not to catch Holly’s eye.
‘Martha, have you been spreading rumours about me?’ Holly asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Martha, outraged at the suggestion but allowing Ludo to drag her swiftly off to dance as the music started up again.
As Holly dismissed them all with an exasperated roll of her eyes, Annie leant down and took the teaspoon from her coffee cup and, cracking the crystallised lattice, scooped up the perfect bite-sized piece of pie.
The cherry sauce soaked into her tongue, the pastry scratched the roof of her mouth and the bitterness of the cherries made her almost wince. While the rain battered and the thunder cracked, and Clemmie sang Dolly, it was OK because Holly wasn’t pregnant, it was by far the best piece of pie she’d ever tasted.
Matt sidled up next to her and whispered, ‘I think Holly’s definitely pregnant.’
‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Annie bashed him on the arm. ‘You’re such a gossip!’
Matt chuckled, ‘I’ve been back on the island too long.’
‘Trust me, the last thing Holly needs is a baby. She needs to take that ice cream van and get the hell away. Go on an adventure. Find something that will make her happy. She’s hiding here.’
‘Might be too late for that,’ Matt shrugged and, grabbing a spoon from the flowerpot of cutlery at the end of the table, stole a bite of her pie. ‘I’m never quite sure if this pie is actually nice. Or just so sour that it overwhelms your senses into liking it?’
‘If you don’t like it, don’t steal it!’ Annie said, half joking, half incredulous.
Matt laughed, his mouth full of cherry pie.
‘That’s gross!’
‘You love it.’
Annie felt herself go shy again. ‘You know you asked me if I was happy?’
‘Mmm hmm.’
‘Well,’ she said, licking some cherry juice from the corner of her lip, ‘I think maybe I am. Happy.’
Matt raised a brow.
‘And I think maybe…’ She swallowed, looked down at the half-eaten pie then back up to almost his eyes, but more the middle of his nose, and said, ‘maybe you have quite a lot to do with that.’
The smile was just stretching across Matt’s face, and the cafe was just holding its breath, when there was an almighty crash, the whole place shook, Gerty woke up with a scream, the dogs went nuts and it sounded like there was rain falling on the ceiling.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Shit.’ Annie stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the flat upstairs.
‘I’ll go up,’ Matt said.
‘Jonathan, you go up, too,’ Annie’s mum prodded him in the back.
‘I think I should stay down here.’ Jonathan backed away, his hand on Gerty’s head, ‘in case of emergencies.’
Annie rolled her eyes, ‘I’ll go up with Matt.’
‘Are you sure?’ Winifred asked.
‘Yes. It’s my cafe, my ceiling. I’ll go up. Is there a torch?’
River scrabbled around under the counter and produced an old Maglite.
‘Do you think you should have hard hats on?’ Holly asked.
Winifred nodded. ‘Yes I do.’
‘Where are we going to get hard hats?’ Annie said, making a face as if they were barmy.
‘Come on.’ She felt Matt take hold of her hand, the warmth of his fingers curling round hers, the strength of him tugging her forward, the feeling of complete safety that she felt just by having him touch her.
They went up the stairs together, slowly, Matt checking every step was OK. At the top she went in front of him and unlocked the door and they both paused as they went inside.
‘Shit,’ Matt said.
‘Oh god,’ Annie took a step forward but he pulled her back.
‘I wouldn’t go any further.’
Across the floor lay the giant sycamore, its branches splayed out across nearly the whole width of the room, and in the roof was a great gaping hole where it had fallen. The rain was unceasing, splashing into puddles on the ratty old carpet and dampening the branches to black.
Annie could see the skeleton of the roof; bare beams snapped like twigs, rotten wood hanging limply alongside fluffy yellow insulation. She used the torch to follow the damage. The horrible kitchenette had been decimated by the trunk, the partition wall had snapped like it
was made of cardboard, and the branches had taken light fittings and storage heaters with them as they’d sliced down through the room.
The tree lay like a giant whale in the centre, and the new spring leaves, in the beam of the torch, glistened like Christmas lights.
‘Well I suppose that’s it then,’ Annie said, swallowing down over a massive lump in her throat. Her decision whether to stay or go made for her. Irrespective of whether she was happy or not.
Matt stared at the tree carnage. ‘Do you have insurance?’
Annie shook her head. ‘It was on my list.’
He didn’t say anything.
She sucked in her top lip, biting on the skin to stop herself from crying.
They heard Winifred call, ‘What’s going on up there?’
‘We’re just looking. Hold on,’ Matt shouted back.
Annie closed her eyes, felt the first tear escape and then lifted a hand to wipe it away. But then came another one and then she couldn’t stop them, one after the other, pouring down.
She felt Matt’s arm wrap round her, felt him pull her in towards the solid frame of his chest, felt the other arm round her back, pinning her tight. She inhaled, smelt him and rain and cherry blossom. She could hear his heart thumping in his chest.
And when the tears had stopped and she’d calmed down a bit, she pulled her head back and looked up at him and was about to speak but he just kissed her. And for some inexplicable reason, she dropped the torch, and it all went black apart from the sliver of moonlight through the crack in the roof.
She could have stayed like that for ever. His lips tasted of rain water and hers of tears. Of cherries and cream, of warmth and hope and happiness.
‘Let me invest in you,’ he whispered.
‘No,’ she whispered back.
‘Why not?’ He pulled back, affronted.
‘You can’t just give me money.’
‘I wouldn’t just be giving you money. I’d be investing in the cafe, where I eat the majority of my meals and where my son works.’
Annie shook her head, ‘No.’ It would be an easy solution. As simple as selling a Jaguar XK140 but it would be another person bailing her out.
