The New Beginnings Coffee Club

by Samantha Tonge

  I leant forward and hugged him tightly. Slowly his breathing became shallower.

  ‘So this fallout with your parents,’ I said, gently. ‘What was it all about? Why did you start drinking?’

  ‘You want the whole sordid story? From the beginning?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes. I want to know everything about the man I want to be with.’

  Noah sat in silence for a few minutes, then started to speak.

  ‘As you know, I met Elle at an international bank we both worked for in London. Mum and Dad were so chuffed. I was the first from our family to go to university. I guess I always felt a pressure to succeed financially and professionally because they never got the chance.’

  He shrugged. ‘But I’d grown up thinking their life was the best. They ran a little French restaurant, inspired by their honeymoon in Paris. As soon as they got back, my parents attended French cookery courses to refine their skills, put a deposit down on small premises, and jacked in their other jobs. Many of the customers became good friends of theirs over the years. I admired their contentment at watching people enjoy their cooking and good service. But they always wished they’d got academic qualifications and they worked long hours to pay for me to attend private school.’

  ‘So they kind of had your whole life mapped out for you?’

  ‘Not really. I guess it just meant I grew up thinking straight As and high-paying jobs were the way to go. It was me who decided to take accounting and go into the financial world. And I loved it – the studying. And uni was great. Wild times – well, I’m sure you remember a bit from fashion college.’

  I nodded and leaned forward, soaking up every syllable of information I could about the enigmatic man who’d unbroken my heart.

  ‘Then I landed my first job. Lapped up the work-hard play-hard culture. I’d be in the office at seven in the morning and still drinking with colleagues at ten at night, before catching the underground train home. And that’s when those demon voices started to talk in my head.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘You know – those voices that tell you bad things about yourself. Mine said I wouldn’t fit in if I didn’t join in knocking back booze.’

  ‘Mine, I guess, told me to dress and behave like Zak’s social set, otherwise my marriage wouldn’t work.’

  ‘And they seem like friends at first, don’t they? Giving such good advice – to me they said you’ll feel better if you drink and for a while they were right. Then, sure enough, I got promoted. Executive lunches started to happen. Eventually the drinking started at midday instead of after hours.’

  ‘Were you happy?’

  ‘I thought I was, but eventually I felt burnt out. Burnt out by the lack of free time and the bullshit, the competition … There was always someone after my position, waiting for me to fail, and most of my friendships were based on finance and alcohol. Nothing deeper. Nothing real. And I never found the time to visit Mum and Dad. I thought I was living the high life – that that’s what my twenties should be about. But by the end, I needed a drink just to get out of bed in the morning. I started missing work deadlines – and ending up in scuffles in bars.’

  ‘Over what?’

  He shrugged. ‘I used any excuse. If a bar owner wouldn’t let me stay for just one more drink – or if I felt someone had given me a funny look. Alcohol at that level makes you paranoid and feeds into the demon voices. It looks for any reason to make you drink again. I listened to those voices and believed colleagues were scheming behind my back to undermine me in the office. I sent a round-robin email out to everyone, one night, after drinking, full of expletives. To be fair, my bosses handled it the best they could and suggested I take a few weeks off.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘I told them to shove their job. It … it was around this time Elle’s secret came out. The two of us provided endless gossip for our department. By the time we both left we’d become tired of the constant sideways glances and whispered comments. We ended up in a pub one night – we both finished work on the same day. I told her I’d swap her life for mine any day of the week. She replied that I was a self-pitying fool who could change his destiny if he wanted to, whereas it was much more complex for her.’

  I smiled. He smiled back.

  ‘No one had ever said that to me before. I’d spent so long blaming everyone else for my problems. It planted a seed of thought – a very uncomfortable one – that I’d got myself into this situation and only I could dig myself out. Elle told me months later that had been her intention. That she felt sorry for me – knew that my issues were complex too – but felt that sympathy wouldn’t help me confront my problem. Trouble was, those voices in my head managed to shout down that seed of thought for a while.’

  ‘So you kept in touch with her?’

  ‘On and off. I tried to stop drinking on my own. Met her a couple of times whilst sober. We really got on. We started to text each other during bad times. She’d come over to my flat if things got really low and cleaned up the takeaway boxes, did my washing. In return I started going to hospital appointments with her. Neither of us judged the other. I guess that’s why the friendship became so strong.’

  ‘And your parents? Didn’t they visit during all this time?’

  He pursed his lips.

  ‘I hid it from them as long as I could. But I started missing family get-togethers and I didn’t turn up one Christmas. I couldn’t face putting on a front – pretending everything was great. I didn’t want to tell them the truth and let them down. So I said I was busy. Then Grandma got really ill. She and I … we’d been so close until I left for uni. It’s down to her that I love reading. Most of my childhood seemed to have been spent listening to stories she told. Mum kept ringing me – said things had got really bad. That Grandma was asking for me. But by then I was comatose most of the day, drinking away my savings. I just blocked it out. Stopped answering the phone. She had to leave messages.’

  ‘And your Grandma?’

  His fingers tightened around mine. ‘Mum and Dad just turned up one day. It was a few hours after Elle had been and done her usual clear-up. So the place didn’t look too bad. I’d actually had a shower and shave – so to them things would have looked pretty okay. It was a Saturday. I was desperate for a drink and sick of trying to cut down. I’d bought a couple of bottles of vodka and was just about to open the first when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and just wanted to get rid of them so that I could quench my craving.’

  He sighed. ‘They got angry. Said Grandma’s cancer fight was almost over. What was wrong with me? Why hadn’t I visited? I think they suspected. Said they would pay for any treatment. I laughed and said I had more money than they’d ever earn selling poxy garlic bread.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Dad made some comment about me being too important a person now to bother with his humble family. I lost it. Shouted at them both. Mum started crying. I told them to try cutting the apron strings. The voices in my head said to really insult them as that would get rid of them the fastest. So, I announced that visiting some dying bag of bones didn’t fit in with my life plan.’

  He covered his eyes with his fingers. ‘The demon voices had got a grip – told me the world was against me, that if I upset other people it wasn’t really my fault; that they would be better off without me anyway, so sending them off had done my parents a favour. Those inner voices also said I was ill – that I couldn’t be expected to think of anyone but myself. They were my friends that justified every time I opened a bottle to escape into oblivion. They were also the enemy that made me push the self-destruct button – that in the early hours would tell me I deserved to be alone so had nothing to lose by alienating loved ones. That I didn’t deserve anyone’s help.’

  He took his hands away from his face and gave a wry smile. ‘Sorry. It was never going to be a short story. I should shut up.’

  ‘No. Go on,’ I said, eyes tingling. Poor Noah. But it explained so much.


  ‘Grandma …’ His voice broke and he breathed in and out for a few moments. ‘She died. I never said goodbye. Never expressed my love. Mum rang up the day before the funeral. Asked if I would at least show my respects by being present at her burial. I was drunk. She broke down. Said she and Dad knew I had problems but this was the least I could do for the woman who’d practically brought me up whilst they’d been building up their business. So I agreed and turned up – after a couple of bottles.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I started singing in the middle of the service – a nursery rhyme Grandma had sent me to sleep with every night when I was little. Through the haze of alcohol, I think I felt it was my personal tribute. But people didn’t understand that – they just thought I was being disrespectful. Mum and Dad were mortified. I went up to the coffin at the end, to place a rose on top, and stumbled. I knocked it off the stand. It almost fell to the floor. Dad’s face blanched white. I’ve never seen him so angry. So the demon voices jumped to my defence and made me shout that there were worse things in life than a stiff tumbling to the ground. I started laughing. Listened to the inner voices telling me it was other people’s problem if they couldn’t see the funny side – told me that Grandma would have chuckled as well. Dad yelled at me to get out. My cousins manhandled me out of church.’

  He sniffed. ‘I rang my parents up days later. Drunk of course. Feeling sorry for myself. Mum said she wasn’t ready to talk – said I’d lost all notion of the importance of family. That she couldn’t in any way relate to my values. So I told Mum that she and her small-town values could eff off, and I put down the phone.’ Pain was etched on his face.

  ‘Have you been in touch since?’

  He nodded. ‘This bottle was from that last day of drinking. The next morning I saw the doctor. Booked into rehab. Elle encouraged me to ring my parents when my recovery programme ended and I came out. Mum and Dad wouldn’t talk to me. They were still grieving, I guess. My parents said they didn’t know me any more and as far as they were concerned, they didn’t have a son. We haven’t spoken since – even though they only live about an hour away from here.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time to contact them again?’

  He clasped his hands together. ‘I was thinking about it. Part of setting up The Coffee Club was to prove to them that family values and caring for people is important to me. Plus I wanted to show I was back on track – working hard, building a future. But now …’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘Now it’s all in ruins.’

  ‘How long since that last phone call?’

  ‘Just over a year and a half. The last few months, as the business has grown, I had thought about visiting them – then I decided to wait for my birthday to see if I got a card.’

  ‘Maybe they’re waiting for you to make the first move.’

  ‘I’ve been visiting Grandma’s grave, you know. Leaving orange lilies. They were her favourite flower.’

  ‘And are the voices still around?’

  ‘No. Counselling helped me get rid of them. I’m always afraid they’ll come back, but I guess if I can get through today I’m doing okay. But, Jenny, I understand if you don’t trust me any more. Or respect me. What with having April to think of … If you want to call things off.’

  I picked up the bottle. ‘I respect you more than ever for confronting your problems. You’ve been to hell and back but fought your addiction.’

  His lips upturned a little. ‘Or just replaced it with others, like coffee beans, running, and lately you.’ He pulled me towards him and held both my hands. ‘Elle once said that all she wanted in life was to be accepted. And I feel the same. It means so much to have told you the truth and …’ His voice wavered. ‘You haven’t rejected me.’

  I lifted his hands to my mouth and kissed each one. ‘I guess all anyone wants is to be loved for their true self. And to find the strength to ignore the inner soundtrack that tells us to pretend to be something we aren’t, otherwise we’ll be on our own.’

  Noah stared at me with those tawny eyes. ‘Yes. It’s a hard journey. A scary one to put the genuine us out into the world.’

  ‘But not as scary as the prospect of this race tomorrow, for me,’ I said and smiled.

  His shoulders relaxed. ‘Talking of which, we should get another good night’s sleep, no?’

  I smiled. ‘Definitely. No in-between-the-sheets action that’s for sure. It could ruin our form. Although …’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I didn’t actually sleep that well last night, without your arms around me. And strictly speaking, there aren’t any sheets in a park. And it is your birthday.’

  He leant forward and kissed me hard on the mouth. Then he stood up and, after one last look at it, threw the bottle into a nearby bin.

  ‘I don’t need that any more. If I didn’t drink after today’s disaster, I know I never will. Now, what about that birthday gift …?’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jelly.

  No, I’m not talking about Noah’s party food. I’m talking about my legs after the race.

  ‘I can’t believe you did it!’ said Noah and grinned. ‘I think I’ll have to enter us for a half-marathon next.’

  ‘Think again,’ I said sternly, and then grinned back as I poured myself a lemonade. It was the afternoon and my body ached slightly less, a couple of hours on from the run. To be honest, I’d really enjoyed participating alongside the other entrants, some of whom were in fancy dress. April had looked so proud as one of the organisers slipped a medal over my head at the end. And I’d done it! Set a goal and seen the challenge through to the end. This made me feel just a little bit taller – and hopeful that I could accomplish other, bigger targets.

  I yawned as sunshine warmed my face through the kitchen window. April and Elle were outside setting up the sandwiches and cakes. I’d got up extra early to make a phone call before driving to Comberfield park with Noah. Zak and April met us there – she’d insisted that she wanted to watch Mummy run and he’d agreed. Elle stayed behind to bake treats for the party. Noah decided we should leave clearing up the coffee shop for one day. One day’s grace before the hard work started and we put our heads together to work out exactly how we could repair the damage and replace the coffee machine. I sniffed. The air still smelt of stale smoke, despite Elle’s assault on the kitchen with air fresheners.

  Noah glanced outside and shook his head. ‘Is that bunting really necessary?’

  ‘Yes. You’re lucky. I’ve seriously had to water down their plans. They were talking balloons everywhere, party poppers, karaoke … I persuaded them that you really did want a more muted affair.’

  ‘I really appreciate all the effort.’

  I shrugged. ‘It reflects what they think of you.’

  ‘And Elle thinks an awful lot of you. I told her. Last night. About us. Hope you don’t mind, it’s just –’

  I held up my hand. ‘I understand. You two are so close. I thought at one time, she didn’t approve for some reason. She caught us hugging and …’

  ‘She’s just very protective. Elle said she’d had her suspicions and at first was worried – wondered if I was up to a relationship at the moment and whether it was the right thing for you.’ He smiled. ‘Apparently she now thinks we’re a match made in heaven.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Zak didn’t want to stay, then? I heard you ask him, at the race.’

  I shook my head. ‘Chanelle’s got some fancy do on this afternoon he has to attend.’ I shrugged. ‘They seem so well matched, but in some ways it wouldn’t surprise me if their relationship didn’t last.’

  Noah slipped his strong forearms around my waist and stared at me intently. ‘And if they did split up, how would that make you feel?’

  I leant forward and kissed him on those soft lips. ‘You’re the one that I want.’

  ‘Quoting Grease now, are you?’

  I chuckled. ‘Guess this has been a case of summer loving. I mean,
talk about knowing how to capture a woman’s heart, dragging me out running every morning or dissing the latest book I’ve read.’

  ‘How can you justify reading Paddington Bear at the moment?’

  I laughed. ‘Why not? Michael Bond is a fabulous writer. I’d forgotten how good that story is. I noticed April’s copy and remembered.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘It’s miles better than that zombie crime you’re trying, anyway. And zombies are so yesterday.’

  ‘And Peruvian bears aren’t?’

  I kissed him again. ‘See. I’d miss this. And the free coffee and cake. Nah. You are a much better proposition.’

  He pulled me close. ‘Even with – despite – my past?’

  ‘Because of your past,’ I whispered back. ‘It’s made you the man you are.’ I kissed his top lip. ‘You know I’d never hurt you, right? I’ll always have your best interests at heart.’

  Those sexy eyes scanned my face. ‘I trust you completely, Jenny. And you don’t need to worry – I’m not made of glass.’ He pulled away to take a glug from his pint of water. Talk about taking rehydration to the limit. ‘I’ve a few cracks, granted, but each day I get stronger. And my confidence is boosted after getting through yesterday.’

  ‘Mine too. I feel like I can achieve anything I set my mind to now – starting with restoring The Coffee Club.’ I mulled over various ideas for a moment. ‘Perhaps we can find some second-hand coffee machines.’

  ‘I thought of that. Plus we can scrub and clean the place ourselves. If Elle makes big sponges and we charge per slice – that brings in easy profit. And her stunning creations attract people in to have a coffee. In fact, I’ve been thinking, perhaps we’ll have a cake counter in the window, to attract passers-by. I’ll also have to stock a smaller range of coffee beans to start with. Hopefully loyal customers will understand.’

  ‘And if it takes a while to get the inside of the shop up and running, we could always set up a few tables outside. At least this has happened in the summer.’