Christmas for One: No Greater Love (24 page)

‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Pru exhaled. ‘Well done, you. And well done, Juno!’

‘Yes, brilliant,’ Milly added.

Christopher beamed in the background.

‘Have you heard from Guy?’ Pru enquired as she sipped her drink.

‘Yes, today. He’s on good form. I think they’ve been quite busy, but he’s great, gearing up to go home for Christmas.’ She nodded.

Milly glanced left and right. ‘It doesn’t look like Lucas is coming back to the camera.’

‘That’s okay,’ she lied. ‘Just tell him I love him and thank you all!’

‘We’ll say bye-bye, poppet. And tell Juno and everyone a massive well done!’ Pru enthused.

‘Will do. Bye, everyone. Speak soon!’ Meg blew a kiss to the camera and received two in return and a brisk wave from Christopher.

A chorus of ‘God bless!’ could be heard as she clicked and they disappeared into the ether.

Meg sat and stared at the blank screen. The silence filled the room and wrapped her in a veil of loneliness. Lumbering from the sofa, she decided to seek solace in her bed.

It was to be a restless night: not being straight with Pru and Milly felt alien to her. She woke several times, imagining that Lucas might be calling her. Stumbling into the darkness to find the flat empty and noiseless did little to ease her disquiet.

She woke early, which gave her plenty of time for a long shower and a large, restorative cup of strong coffee. After tying a clean apron around her waist, Meg went downstairs, planning to respond to a few emails and make her weekly calls to the branches. It was her responsibility to check all was well at this very busy time of year. Then she would be ready for another day of running up and down between kitchen and café, numbing her brain until she could fall into bed.

‘Hello, Plum Patisserie Cheltenham. Can I help you?’ The voice was chirpy.

‘Linda?’

‘Uh-huh. Is that you, Meg?’

‘The very same. How’s everything?’

The shop in Cheltenham had been open for six months and was a roaring success. This was in no small part down to Linda, who as a keen amateur baker had turned up for a job in the kitchen and had been shocked to be asked to run the place. Milly and Pru loved her passion and eye for detail and had instinctively felt that she was the right person to head up the team. Her skill in baking and wonderful motherly nature soon proved them right.

‘Everything’s great! At least I think it is. I’m so busy I haven’t had time to look too deeply. I knew things would ramp up over Christmas but I had no idea we’d be this popular. My boys are disappointed on a daily basis, no “spare” cakes to bring home; we’re cleared out by closing time. How’s your little one? Getting excited, I bet.’

‘Yes, he’s good.’
Excited about fish and boats and shells and not with me right now, and I miss him very much…

‘I saw that New York opened. How was it? Did you go over?’

Without warning, Meg drew breath and began to cry. She’d kept her tears at bay since waking, but this was an outpouring that she couldn’t control, triggered by the smallest of things, the mention of the city where her heart had been broken.

‘Oh, Meg! Are you okay? What’s wrong?’

Meg gripped the phone with both hands. ‘I’m sorry, Linda, I think I’m just tired. I’ll call you back.’ She replaced the receiver and sat with her head in her hands until her distress had exhausted itself.

The day passed quickly. As Linda had noted, things were so busy that there was no time to think about anything too deeply. This suited Meg fine; she was simply getting through the days until Lucas returned and they could have ‘Christmas’ together.

The weather had warmed slightly, the wind had dropped and it was one of those beautiful winter days on which you could get away with wearing sunglasses. Customers in coats and hats had occupied the outside tables for most of the day, sipping hot drinks with faces lit by the last rays of the December sun. The heavier puddings and pies were selling less well; instead, people were ordering crumbly shortcrust tartlets filled with layers of fresh strawberries and crème pâtissière, served with a generous dollop of Chantilly cream. This was always a sign that the sun was out.

Guy was fussing. He was flying to France for the festive season in just two days and as usual was starting to panic about leaving Plum Patisserie without his hand on the tiller. The bakery closed on the twenty-third of December, meaning they would have to cope for a whole forty-eight hours without him. Meg assured him they would be fine, but he wasn’t convinced. He spent much of the morning writing copious messages on post-it notes and sticking them on people’s telephones, computer screens and work stations. He even stuck one on her forehead that read, ‘Be happy!’ She wished it was that simple.

Hovering on the stairs, Meg re-did her ponytail, which had worked loose. She sat on the step, taking a breather, and gave a long, slow yawn. She rather liked this dark little space, it reminded her of when she was young and she would take refuge from life’s ills by sitting in the bottom of a cupboard.

Guy was checking the little drawers in the counter for till rolls and order pads. He didn’t want them to run out during the couple of days that he was away, even though that was extremely unlikely.

The little brass bell above the door rang and in walked a woman laden with shopping bags and puffing loudly with effort, as though the Plum Patisserie café was actually at Everest base camp and not in a quiet, flat corner of Curzon Street. She sported a slick of bright orange lipstick on her thin, puckered lips and a band of bright blue eye shadow sat on her crêpey lids. Her blonde shoulder-length hair was wild, slightly matted at the back and looked like it needed a good dollop of conditioner and the attention of a hairbrush. She was in her late forties and was wearing a leather miniskirt and matching leather jacket, black cowboy boots and tights, but no coat, scarf, jersey or anything that looked substantial enough for December, however sunny the day.

‘Good afternoon!’ Guy greeted her.

The woman gave a brief nod in his direction, eyeing him suspiciously, and slumped down into a chair, spreading her plastic bags around her seat, making it nearly impossible for anyone to pass via the gap between the tables.

Guy said nothing; it was a quiet spell and the woman would probably be on her way before the place got busy again. He walked over to her. ‘What can I get for you today?’ he asked with his biggest smile. His mantra was that everyone should be made to feel comfortable.

‘Well, how should I know? I haven’t seen a menu yet! Give me a minute.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Yes, of course,’ Guy said. ‘Today’s patisserie menu is up on the wall.’ He used his pen to indicate the blackboard behind the counter. ‘I’ll pop back in a sec.’

‘No, don’t bother, I only want a cup of coffee.’

‘Certainly. And which coffee would you like? We have a list here.’ Again he used his pen as a pointer.

The woman squinted at the list of coffees that started with French roast breakfast blend and ended with decaffeinated frappé.

She turned to Guy, who stood with his pen poised. ‘Two pound eighty for a bloody coffee? Are you having a laugh? I can buy a jar of coffee for that! Who in their right mind would pay that for one cup of bleedin’ coffee?’

‘It’s very good coffee.’ Guy smiled.

‘Very good? I’d want it to do the ironing as well for that price!’ The woman sucked at her teeth.

‘Did you want to leave it then, madam?’ Guy kept the smile on his face, trying to remain as polite as possible.

‘No, I’ll take one. A normal coffee with milk and two sugars.’

‘Coming right up!’ Guy gave a slight bow and turned to head for the kitchen.

‘And while you’re at it…’ she called to him.

‘Yes?’ Guy looked at the lady from over his shoulder.

‘I’d like a word with the owner, Plum whatshername, the big boss.’ She clasped her hands on the table. The sleeves of her jacket made a sticky noise as they stuck to the surface.

Guy walked back over. ‘I’m afraid Madam Plum is not available today. I am the manager here and am happy to assist in any way, Ms Plum’s assistant is also here, Miss Hope.’

The woman looked at Guy through narrowed eyes. ‘Miss Hope, eh? Yep, get her, she’ll do.’ She laughed.

Guy skipped down to the office, not liking this woman one little bit. He came across Meg sitting on the stairs.

‘Meg, there’s a lady upstairs wants a word with you. She’s a bit off, was moaning about the price of the coffee. She wanted to talk to Pru. I told her the two of us were here and she has asked for you specifically. Lucky you.’

Meg sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say? I reckon I must have done something really bad in a former life because I’ve been pretty good in this one.’
Apart from sleeping with Flavia’s boyfriend…
She dismissed the thought, rose and dusted off her skirt.

She approached the table, trying to adopt an expression that was both welcoming and confident, the look of someone who would not be intimidated, even though her insides churned a little. If someone wanted to speak to the management team it was usually either to heap praise or register a petty complaint; by the look of the back of the woman slouched at the table, Meg doubted it was praise.

‘Hello there, I’m Meg. I believe you wanted to see me?’

The customer turned and looked her up and down. It was a full second before she spoke and another full second before Meg recognised her as the woman she had waited for on more cold nights than she cared to remember. Meg felt her bowel spasm and her mouth open. Her knees weakened and her stomach flipped as she steadied herself on the back of a chair. She had aged, of course – ten years was bound to have taken its toll. She looked like someone to whom life had been less than kind, but the slanted smile, the deep furrows from mouth to nose and the pale blue eyes were all the same.

‘Hello, Meggy. Well, don’t you scrub up nice.’ Her smile was fixed.

‘Mum! I… I don’t believe it!’ Her voice was forced and quiet as the breath failed in her throat. It was a shock.

Lorna Hope drummed her fingers on the tabletop. ‘I don’t believe it either – two pound eighty for a cup of bloody coffee? You’re having a laugh! No wonder you’re based in Mayfair, it’s daylight bloody robbery.’

Meg beamed and chuckled, remembering her mum’s sour view on life and feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over her. Lorna smiled too, happy she could still make her daughter laugh. She took it as a positive sign, that all was forgiven. Meg shook her head; it was typical of Lorna: no running through the doors with arms wide, no practised apology with watery eyes, just the trademark blunt delivery and almost aggressive humour. She had to admit that anything else would have unnerved her even more.

‘I’ve missed you, Meggy.’ Lorna addressed her fingers, which tapped the table. It was a phrase offered casually, as if it had been weeks not years since they had last seen each other.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Meg confessed. No matter how much hurt she had suffered because of Lorna’s indifference and inability to cope, Lorna was still her mum.

Meg opened the front door and ushered her mother into the hallway.

‘Come in, come in!’ She tried to put Lorna at her ease, remembering how intimidated she’d felt stepping into such grand surroundings for the first time, four years earlier. ‘Where are you living now?’ she asked, sounding like a stranger making small talk. It saddened her.

‘I was up at Crystal Palace, with my partner Don – well, ex-partner now.’ Lorna raised her eyebrows. ‘And before that we were in north Wales, in the middle of bloody nowhere, but I hated it, all that fresh air, fields and mountains…’

‘Yeah, sounds horrible.’ Meg smiled. She couldn’t imagine her mum anywhere but in a city.

‘You know what I mean.’ Lorna lifted her head and turned three hundred and sixty degrees, her eyes wide. ‘Nice place you’ve got, you must sell quite a few buns. Mind you, if they’re as expensive as your coffee, I guess you wouldn’t have to sell that many.’

‘This way.’ Meg ignored the comments and gestured towards the stairs.

‘Think I’ll leave my stuff down here.’ Lorna dumped her many bags and her one holdall against the wall before following her daughter up.

Meg closed her eyes as she stepped ahead, feeling a strange mixture of elation and nerves. It was wonderful to be showing Lorna how she lived, but she was slightly embarrassed by the luxuriousness of her surroundings, proof of what a privileged life she now led. She had a sudden vision of the lounge in her childhood home, with its ill-fitting curtains held together by pegs.

She pushed open the door to her flat. ‘Come in, come in!’ She was excited by her mum’s presence, a stranger in so many ways.

‘Well this is
very
nice. I’d say you’ve fallen on your feet here, girl.’ Lorna scanned the pale marble floor, the muted tones of the walls and the spacious square hallway with its console table and oversized mirror.

Meg nodded. She had. And not one day went past when she didn’t reflect on her very good fortune to have found love, warmth and security with Milly and Pru.

‘You look tired,’ Meg observed. It was true; Lorna had two large dark circles beneath her eyes.

‘Charming! Tired? Is that the welcome I get after not seeing you for God knows how long?’ Her sharp response suggested she was entirely free of blame for the lack of contact. Meg tried to imagine a situation where she would think it okay not to contact Lucas or even Milly or Pru for months or years. She couldn’t.

Lorna wasn’t finished. ‘I’ve schlepped all over town trying to find you.’ Her tone was almost scolding as she stepped forward and grabbed her daughter in an elaborate hug.

Meg inhaled her scent of cigarettes and musk, a familiar fragrance that was repellent and intoxicating in equal parts. It was the smell she had tried to recollect on many a night as a child, stranded in an unfamiliar bedroom, her toes tucked into the hem of her nightdress as she watched strange shapes loom like monsters in the corners.

She looked anxiously over her shoulder into the hall mirror, feeling ill at ease. It had been a long time since her mum had touched her and she’d certainly never greeted her in this most exuberant way. She bit her lip, swallowing the questions that nagged.
Schlepped all over town?
Blimey! It’s been nearly ten years since I saw you last; just how hard were you looking?
Instead, she chose to say nothing. Why spoil this lovely reunion?