The New Beginnings Coffee Club

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘Well, we could – but wouldn’t you miss Dot?’ I asked, softly. ‘She’s been cooking for you – for us all – since you were knee-high.’

  April cocked her head and nodded. ‘ And …’ she lowered her voice ‘… I didn’t say anything to Skye, but sushi is yuk. This seaweed roll made me gag.’

  ‘So, the pool, Yorkshire puddings, and crumble tomorrow?’ I said. ‘You can borrow my swimming cap. And we mustn’t forget your asthma inhaler.’

  April pulled a face. ‘But I hardly ever need it in the summer.’

  ‘Sometimes your chest doesn’t like chlorine.’

  ‘Okay. Yes. Just you and me, then.’ She leaned over for a cuddle. I almost choked on the strong floral whiff but suffered it for the sake of holding her tight. I gave a big sniff.

  ‘It’s Chanelle’s new perfume. She saves it for special occasions. Epic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I managed, but couldn’t stop myself from sneezing.

  ‘Let’s go inside, so I can show you and Daddy my goody bag! Skye says it’s filled with amazing stuff, just like the gifts at those parties movie stars go to.’

  We headed into our house, called The Willows. Okay, scrub house. Think mansion. It boasted eight bedrooms, six en suites, two living rooms, a giant kitchen, and a massive nursery, which we’d now converted into a cinema room. Dot helped me run the household, along with her husband who could mend shelves or prune anything in the garden. It hadn’t felt like home for a long time, after I’d first moved in. Too much space and not enough clutter, I used to think.

  April grabbed my hand and pulled me into the smaller living room, the one we used most when we didn’t have guests – the one in which I felt truly comfortable, with furniture that didn’t quite match and ramshackle bookshelves. I sat down on a floral sofa, whilst April ran over to Zak and gave him the biggest hug, almost knocking his laptop onto the floor. My chest swelled as I observed the little family I’d nurtured and helped to grow. She collapsed onto a fringed rug. He shook his head from his favourite brown leather armchair.

  ‘Whoa, my little princess, talk about a whirlwind.’ He gave me a tired smile, not one of his killer ones that made my insides melt. After all these years, I still admired the breadth of his shoulders under his crisp white shirt and the solid legs shown off by denim jeans. He ran a hand through chestnut hair that always looked as if he’d just showered and styled it. Slicked back, it showed off his face – the strong chin, dark eyes, and generous lips that promised – and delivered every sort of pleasure a woman could want.

  My cheeks flushed at the thought. The sizzling chemistry between us had always surmounted any problem, though recently it had lost a little of its fizz, like champagne that had been uncorked too long. Zak worked hard – too hard, of late.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked and stared once again at his laptop.

  ‘April wants to show you her goody bag,’ I said pointedly. He caught my eye. I winked and jerked my head towards our daughter. Zak was a busy man, so sometimes I prodded to let him know that little bits of attention meant so much to her.

  He pushed his laptop to one side and raised both eyebrows. April grinned, crossed her legs, and dipped into the silver bag, to pull out item after glossy item.

  I should have been used to the excess, after ten years of being married to a millionaire. What a difference from the party bags my mum and I used to put together for my birthday bashes. They usually contained homemade fudge, crayoning books, and pretty pens.

  That’s another thing. When you have kids, you can’t help but compare their childhood to your own. And you try to remedy all the things that, over the years, you felt your parents did wrong. Yet the biggest shock is to realise that most of the time, they had it right. I used to hate Mum’s strictness over bedtimes but now saw how ratty April got if she had even one late night.

  ‘This make-up is ace!’ she said and cooed over a palette of metallic colours. ‘I must go and show Dot. She’s always saying she never knows what colour eye shadow to wear. Then I’ll take a photo of it with all the other stuff.’ She pouted. ‘I wish you’d let me join Instagram, Mum.’

  Whilst Zak was right – kids did grow up quickly nowadays – when it came to social media, I’d always been firm. ‘You know the rules – if you have to lie about your age to join, it’s a no-no.’

  ‘But it has amazing filters that make you look better and all my friends –’

  I folded my arms.

  ‘Fine,’ she mumbled and scooped up all the items. She headed out of the room and pulled the door behind her.

  I stood up and stared at the door. ‘You don’t think she’s getting a bit … thin, do you?’ I asked.

  Zak looked up. ‘This again? Stop stressing, baby. She’s just aware of healthy eating. They teach it nowadays at school.’

  His eyes crinkled deeply at the corners, hardly surprising with all the hours he was putting in. I’d keep my concerns to myself for the moment. He clearly had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to burden him. I dealt with our domestic life. He ran the business. Team work at its best, I’d always thought. Despite the age gap, we seemed remarkably well suited.

  Business must have really been booming. Mind you, even if Zak had more time to think about anything but profit margins and chasing the edgiest designs, it would take a lot for him to admit April had a problem. Despite his modern appearance, my husband had some hardened, old-fashioned views – and not taking mental health issues seriously was one of them.

  I sighed but quickly plastered a bright smile on my face. Zak got to his feet. Strode over to me. Took my hands. Gently his thumbs circled my palms. I looked up into his face. Wow, he’d aged well. At forty-three my husband looked hotter than ever and not much older than me at thirty-two.

  His athletic body moved forwards and I breathed in his musky scent. It prompted images of us making love to fill my mind. How his strong frame would hold me prisoner in a sensual jail I never wanted to escape. How he’d become my world after making love to me for my very first time. My heart squeezed. He looked worn down. I’d hated the distance between us lately.

  ‘Let’s go out to dinner, tonight,’ he said. ‘How about The Rose Garden? I’ll book a table for eight o’clock. There’s … something we need to discuss.’

  ‘Are you sure you feel like it, darling?’ Please say yes!

  My heart leapt. If our favourite Italian restaurant couldn’t relax him enough to enjoy a night of carnal pleasures, then nothing could. Also, time alone together would give me a chance to broach the subject of my return to college. He was right. We hadn’t talked properly for a while. His voice sounded flat but I ignored that. He was making an effort and perhaps it was time I made more of an effort too. I … I could book us a relaxing weekend away with restorative treatments galore and –

  ‘I’m fine. But first I’ve got some business associates to meet …’

  ‘On a Saturday? Zak! You deserve more rest. Cancel it.’ I stood on tiptoe and kissed him softly on the lips but he pulled back and I sensed an air of tension. It was weeks since we’d last made love. Zak always came home shattered and went straight to sleep. Then when we did get close – like right now – he found it difficult to unwind. Good red wine and a bowl of the finest pasta would serve as the perfect aphrodisiac. My pulse quickened.

  At least, I hoped it would. This feeling of a gap between us had appeared once before – when his mum got cancer. She told him first and he kept it to himself. Shut off. Avoided my company. Became irritable. More often than usual, he lost his temper. He said afterwards it was because he couldn’t face talking about it. So was Zak hiding something this time around? Only yesterday he’d been sitting in the lounge and had suddenly thrown his pen to the floor. Frustration over work, he’d said. It just wasn’t like him at all.

  ‘No can do. I’ll shower and change before meeting them and see you there. Get a taxi,’ he said, brow knotted.

  ‘You really can’t
put them off? It’s the weekend. I worry about you; I wish I could help ease the pressure.’

  His face flushed. ‘They head back to France tonight. I need to get them to sign on the dotted line before they catch their plane home. I’ll get a lie-in tomorrow.’

  He ran a hand across his forehead and I didn’t push further. I kissed him again and one of his hands slid up, underneath my blouse at the back. My pulse broke all speed limits as I waited for him to become more daring with his fingers and move forwards, impatiently exploring my skin. But instead, he let go and simply kissed me on the cheek. My heart eventually slowed to its usual rhythm, as regular as a clock’s tick.

  I bit my lip with frustration, wanting to feel his body against mine; wanting to satisfy the knot of desire in my belly that only Zak could unravel. My stomach tingled at the thought of us sharing food and an early bedtime together, tonight – at the thought of my showing him exactly how much he meant to me. A warmth rose through my body, up my thighs, and into my neck. For the hundredth time I ordered myself to count my blessings. I had more than some people could ever hope for. What had I done to deserve such a perfect existence?

  Chapter Two

  Little black dress. Up-do hair. Diamond earrings. Seeing as this was effectively a date, I’d made extra effort. My stomach tingled again, as the taxi pulled up outside The Rose Garden. I fumbled with my purse and recalled the steamy nights of our first years together. Limbs entwined, urgent kisses, Zak playing my body expertly as if he were its maestro. Yet for several weeks no music had been made between us and my perfect world had seemed a little less shiny. Tonight I was hoping for an orchestral performance that would infuse my life with atomic brightness.

  Moustached Marco, The Rose Garden’s owner, opened the glass door on cue, just as I approached. Glad to remove my faux-fur coat, I went in. The May evening was surprisingly warm.

  ‘Buonasera, la signora Masters, come stai?’

  ‘Bene, grazie,’ I replied, voicing the extent of my Italian.

  ‘You meet Mr Masters?’

  I nodded.

  ‘He no here yet. Perhaps you like a cocktail, first. Your usual?’

  I beamed and followed him over to the gilt bar, put my handbag on it, and sat on one of the ornate gold and mahogany swings. I know – it was pure decadence, me hanging by two golden chains from the ceiling. This was the Great Gatsby lifestyle I’d become accustomed to.

  I breathed in the aroma of tomato and basil and gazed around the restaurant, loving the red and cream walls and decorative, wicker wine-bottle holders. Each table bore a candle and a single red rose. Very gently, I swung to and fro as, over the next half an hour, the laughter and chat got louder.

  I texted Zak for the second time as the hands on my Rolex showed half past eight and wished I’d brought my e-reader. I blamed Zak’s long hours and his empty side of the bed for my latest obsession with quality erotica. The fluttery lightness in my chest subsided a little and I was just about to press dial when a firm hand clasped my shoulder.

  I glanced up. Eyes the exact colour of Marco’s amaretto brownies stared back. I scanned the decisive jawline and strong nose. Zak gave a half-smile, revealing bright white teeth that contrasted with golden tanned skin. I swallowed, half tempted to suggest we skip the meal and head straight back home, to our bedroom.

  ‘Sorry I’m not on time. I just needed thirty minutes extra to clinch the deal.’

  I slipped my hand into his and squeezed his fingers as Marco escorted us to our favourite table, guaranteed by the large tip we always left. It was in the corner, away from the kitchens and intrusive windows. He pulled out the chairs and after we’d sat down, placed napkins on our laps. I squirmed, having never quite got used to such attention. My discomfort often made Zak laugh. Not tonight.

  ‘Your favourite red?’ said Marco.

  Zak nodded and ran a hand through his unusually messy hair. ‘And breadsticks. Please.’ He loosened his scarlet tie. That was his signature fashion statement – a bright strip of colour against the understated grey and navy suits. Zak slipped off his jacket, which showed off his slim-fit shirt and the platinum golf-ball cufflinks I’d bought for his fortieth birthday. My husband was heading for middle age. How was that possible? When had I become so grown-up?

  ‘You look great,’ he said and then bit his top lip. ‘I haven’t always told you that. It’s just that recently … Elite Eleganz …’

  ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I interrupted and wished I was close enough to kiss his dangerously seductive mouth. ‘So. Tell me all about this deal. Did you clinch it in the end?’ Admittedly, the financial minutiae of the business didn’t always grab my interest, but I’d made an effort over the years to quiz Zak and understand as much as I could. After all, he was the man I loved. The man I cared for. As his partner, it was my job to show him support.

  Zak waited whilst the waiter poured our drinks and then left. He nodded and raised a glass. They clinked. The breadsticks arrived and he munched one down straightaway. Odd that he didn’t want to tell me about it, although he often said I served as a great distraction to business concerns.

  I grinned. ‘Goodness, you have built up an appetite. So, what did you want to discuss?’ He could go first and then, totally relaxed, listen to my plans to take up my studies again. Whoop! Me designing again? Perhaps, one day, I’d develop my own range within Elite Eleganz or –

  Ignoring my question, Zak cleared his throat. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. Chanelle rang. April left her cardigan behind.’

  My brow knotted. ‘When did she call? You went out before me.’

  He loosened his tie further. ‘She rang my mobile, to pick my brains about some bookkeeping course she’s thinking of doing.’

  I grinned again. Zak couldn’t usually stomach much more than five minutes of her chat about fish pedicures or the Kardashians – although he and Chanelle did share a love of travel. Before meeting me, Zak had skied, sunbathed, and eaten his way around most of Europe.

  I sat more upright. A bookkeeping course? Why didn’t that surprise me? Glamorous Chanelle was an odd mix. On the surface, she was your stereotypical trophy wife, loving the high life, the lunches, the spa trips, and manicures. Yet simmering beneath was a dogged determination to be more than arm candy – to make her own mark.

  And perhaps this information was a perfect cue from the universe to talk about my prospective studies. Not that Zak would stop me. There’d been a shift in our relationship over the last few years. I’d matured. No longer saw him as the wise old man. Still loved and respected him, but was no longer so much … in awe.

  ‘I don’t know how Chanelle balances work with looking after the kids. I count my blessings that I’ve been able to be a stay-at-home mum,’ I said. ‘A choice that I’ve loved – looking after you two and running Elite Eleganz’s charity projects. But now April’s older, I was –’

  ‘Yes, and it’s made my work life easy,’ interrupted Zak, ‘us not having to both juggle professional commitments.’

  I brushed the tip of my shoe up his muscular leg, under the table. ‘I’m so proud of how you’ve built up your parents’ business.’

  He moved his leg away and shrugged again, before sipping his wine. Hmm. It wasn’t like Zak to play down a compliment.

  ‘So, Chanelle wants to do a course as well as working and looking after Skye? She’s superwoman. Although I was thinking –’

  ‘It’s strange that you two are such good friends. In some ways you’re so different.’ He stared at me for a moment and then studied the menu.

  This was true. I gazed at him across the flickering candle. ‘I’ve changed since you and me first met though, don’t you think?’ I thought back to the younger me. ‘But then I was just nineteen, still worried about expectations, and your life seemed so daunting. I didn’t want to let you down; be an embarrassment. All your friends were so much older and spoke a language full of words like private jets, penthouse suites, and Michelin
-starred restaurants … It took a while to get used to that.’

  ‘Yeah, well, circumstances force us to evolve,’ he muttered in a flat voice. ‘Come on. Let’s choose our starters.’

  Knots formed in my stomach as the evening progressed. Not even the best tiramisu this side of the Channel put a smile on his face or a joke in his chat. Still, his sullen expression didn’t stop young female diners and waitresses shooting admiring glances his way – something I’d become accustomed to, over the years.

  ‘Zak – talk to me!’ I eventually said after the waiter delivered our coffees. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  He glanced down at his cup.

  ‘Fine, then. I’ll start.’ Anything to break this strained silence. I took a deep breath. ‘I want to pick up my studies again. Lately, what with April being older, I … I need to design again, Zak. I’m going to get my old sketches down from the loft and –’

  ‘You? Go back to uni?’

  I waited for him to ask why. Instead his face flushed and slowly he shook his head. He ran a hand through his untidy hair, lips firmly closed, eyes staring harder at his drink. An icy shard pierced my chest. What was going on? Zak didn’t do silence. He either agreed or disagreed vociferously, whether it was brainstorming a new charity idea or suggesting what we had for dinner. Did he really want a Stepford wife whose life consisted of being the perfect hostess and doing housework? He was in for a shock if he did.

  ‘Zak? I’m worried,’ I said gently and reached across the table. I squeezed his hand.

  He pulled away and looked up. ‘You’re worried? About what? Which shoes to wear to your next lunch out? Well try living in my shoes for twenty-four hours.’

  I gasped.

  He held his head in his hands. ‘Sorry, baby,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘Tell me,’ I almost whispered. ‘It’ll be okay.’

  ‘Perhaps you should get a job instead of going back to college,’ he blurted out.