The Cherry Tree Cafe (3 page)

‘I might have mentioned that you were having a birthday treat and that Giles had something special up his sleeve.’

‘Oh god,’ I groaned.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Jemma started to cry again.

‘Look,’ I shrugged, ‘don’t worry about it, at least you didn’t lie.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he did have something up his sleeve, didn’t he? Just not what we were expecting, that’s all.’

I hung up, knowing I couldn’t hold back the tide any longer. I was going to have to telephone home and keep everything crossed that Dad, not Mum would pick up. I forced myself to eat a
bowl of cereal, then had a shower and washed my hair. There was no point going into battle half-arsed. Where my mother was concerned, you needed all your armour intact before advancing.

‘Hello, Dad?’

‘Hello, darling . . . oh hang on, your mother wants to talk.’

‘No, Dad, wait!’

The sheer relief I had momentarily felt at hearing Dad’s voice evaporated as I heard Mum snatching the phone from his grasp and installing herself on the sofa for a cosy chat.

‘Lizzie!’ she gushed, ‘where on earth have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days!’

‘Mum—’

‘Now, tell me. Where did that gorgeous man take you for your birthday? I bumped into Jemma in town and she told me he had something special planned, that’s why I didn’t ring on
the day. Do you know, she had Ella with her and her behaviour was quite appalling?’

I blessed my goddaughter and her ability to shock my mother. I was grateful for anything that would distract her from her current course of interrogation.

‘Anywho,’ she laughed, ‘that’s all by the by. When are you both coming home? Can we expect a big announcement?’

I could hear Dad frantically trying to shut her up in the background and the way her voice started cutting in and out suggested that she was wafting him away with a duster much the same as she
would a fly.

‘We’re not,’ I said firmly, drawing myself up for the moment of impact, ‘and no.’

‘Pardon?’ She stalled.

‘We’re not coming home and no, there is no announcement, well, other than that Giles and I are no longer a couple.’

‘Sorry, Lizzie,’ she murmured faintly, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Then let me spell it out for you,’ I sighed. ‘On my birthday Giles moved all his stuff out of the flat while I was at a spa and then in the evening, he took me out to dinner
and told me that he didn’t love me and that he was getting back with Natasha, his former fiancée and marrying her.’

I stopped to draw breath. It was the first time I’d said the whole thing so plainly and the words tore my heart in two. I still didn’t want to believe it had happened.

‘Oh, Lizzie!’ Mum sobbed. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

I took another deep breath.

‘How on earth has this happened?’ She sniffed.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, had you been fighting? Had you fallen out with his mother or one of the brothers?’

Sometimes I thought, as I tuned out my mother’s disapproving prattle, it would be cool to have a brother or sister. Someone else to conspire with, share the heat and hassle. But then I
realised that knowing my luck I’d end up playing second fiddle; I’d be Monica Geller not Ross and that would be undoubtedly worse, wouldn’t it? Constant comparison to a saintly
sibling was not a comforting thought. Perhaps I should start pinning my hopes on Dad trading in who I’d ended up with for a mother for a kinder, less sharply edged model.

‘Lizzie!’

‘What? I mean, pardon?’

‘I said, are you listening?’

‘Of course I’m listening!’

‘Then tell me, what did you do?’

‘What do you mean, what did I do?’

‘Well, you must have done something? Giles wouldn’t have just decided this was his only course of action if your relationship was all tickety-boo, would he?’

‘Why is everything always my fault?’ I retaliated.

‘And who is this Natasha person? I had no idea Giles had been engaged before!’

Ah, I’d forgotten about that. Dad and I had decided it would be better all-round if Mum was kept in the dark about that one. When Giles and I first got together we considered it all best
left unsaid; shame I hadn’t remembered our little plan before I phoned home, really. To be honest, it was a shame that I’d gone along with his little plan at all. My grandmother had
always maintained that we reaped what we sowed in life and I was just beginning to understand what she meant.

It had been the end of December before the first hard frost hit the city, but ever since then the unrelenting arctic blast refused to loosen its grip. The city was on
lock-down, like my heart, and the dark, bitter days did nothing to raise my spirits.

If only I had had some clue that would have alerted me to Giles’s true feelings then I could have braced myself for when he blew time on our relationship. Having survived the paranoia that
accompanied the first few months of our passionate, whirlwind affair, I had foolishly thought the rest would be plain sailing.

Eighteen months in and I had finally convinced Jemma to cast aside her reservations about my dream man and his dodgy relationship credentials. For six months I’d encouraged both our minds
to skip merrily ahead, all the way up the aisle and beyond.

Somehow I dragged myself back to the office and the cut and thrust world of advertising sales and faced the sympathy, whispering and gradual extrication from the group of
people I had so recently almost been tempted to call my ‘friends’. However, more worryingly than my lack of chums was the fact that it was little beyond fourteen days since my birthday
and my bank balance was already beginning to look as bleak as the winter weather.

‘Lizzie,’ Henry, my boss, smiled as he called me into his office and discreetly closed the door, ‘come in; have a seat.’

I sat as instructed, the tension in my shoulders forcing them up around my ears again as I waited for the death knell on my job to toll.

‘I appreciate that this is a rough time for you,’ he said, sitting opposite me.

I shook my head, fully prepared to make the ‘what is happening in my personal life has absolutely nothing to do with my work’ speech, but he cut me off before I’d even launched
in. Spare me, his expression said, I’ve heard it all before.

‘And I know everyone’s figures take a bit of a dip in the run up to the silly season. However,’ he continued, spinning his laptop round so I could see the screen, ‘these
figures just aren’t good enough, Lizzie, and you can’t say it’s happened recently.’

He pointed to the sharply descending line on the perfectly colour-coded graph he’d created to nail home my ineptitude.

I knew he was right, even without the graphic evidence. I’d gone off the boil around late October after I’d overheard a couple of the other girls, Philippa and Sasha, gossiping in
the ladies about who would be seeing in the New Year with a new piece of jewellery. From that day on, my heart simply wasn’t in selling advertising space; I was too busy fantasising about
floral centrepieces, bridal favours, beautiful babies and insurance policies that would cover gargantuan school fees.

Henry snapped the laptop shut and stared across the desk at me, his expression sympathetic. I knew what was coming.

‘I’m really sorry, Lizzie,’ he began.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ I said, wanting to spare him, ‘I understand. You think I would be better off working somewhere else . . .’

‘No,’ Henry interrupted, ‘that isn’t what I was going to say at all, although if you have decided to move on, then I wouldn’t blame you. It can’t be easy
working here and running the risk of seeing Giles every day.’

‘No,’ I smiled weakly, ‘it isn’t.’

‘But what I was going to say, and this is strictly between us, is that the powers that be have decided it’s time to make some changes. They’re going to cut a swathe through the
entire advertising department.’

I felt my face redden. Talk about shooting myself in the foot.

‘This is just a heads-up, a timely nod to say that everyone’s figures are going to be scrutinised in the spring and that you’ve got time to pick things up before the
restructuring plans are made public.’

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I see. Thanks.’

‘I’d hate to lose you, Lizzie,’ Henry smiled, ‘you’re a hard worker and the clients really love you. If you want it, there would be plenty of potential for
promotion. You just have to pull these figures round, OK?’

‘OK,’ I smiled, ‘thanks, Henry. I appreciate the warning.’

Henry blushed and not for the first time I wondered how such a soft-hearted guy held his own in the ruthless world of advertising management. When I’d come back to work, he was full of
apology for the out of character message he’d left on the answerphone. Henry didn’t go in for shouting and swearing so his stress levels that morning must have been, thanks to me,
through the roof.

I knew I should have been feeling grateful that he had given me a heads-up, but the plain truth was I hated my job. I’d only accepted the position because it was the first to come up when
I moved to London. Giles had seemed thrilled that we were going to be working in the same building and made a great fuss about the long, lazy lunches we’d be able to share, although thinking
back they had rarely ever happened. No, selling advertising space just wasn’t me. I didn’t care enough about projected sales and bottom lines. I was just lucky I got on with people and
could talk them into buying space on a page.

However, as much as I hated it, it was a job and because of the constraints of having it I now found myself facing a big decision. Should I stay or should I go? Should I jump before I was
pushed, or should I stay and fight just to make life as awkward as I could for the snake who had denied me my fairytale ending and brought my life crashing down around my ears?

‘What did you say?’ Jemma asked, after I’d explained what Henry had told me. ‘Did you tell him to stick it?’

‘No, of course I didn’t!’ I smiled at my friend’s militant attitude. ‘Henry’s one of the good guys, remember?’

‘I suppose so, but seriously, Lizzie, what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ I sighed, ‘I’m just not ready to make a decision yet.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, mate, but if you don’t hurry up you might just find someone else, like the bank manager, has decided for you.’

‘There’s still time to turn things around,’ I mumbled halfheartedly, knowing that what I really wanted to do was pack a bag and run, but to where?

‘Yes, but this isn’t just about your job, which you suddenly seem to have forgotten you hate; what about the current financial situation?’

I dumped myself down on the sofa and kicked off my shoes. I hated it when Jemma talked to me in that patient voice she usually saved for Ella, her attention-seeking daughter. I didn’t need
a well-reasoned argument batted up and down the phone line; I just wanted some sort of escape.

‘The last thing you want is to get into debt doing a job you hate, living in a flat with an overinflated rent that’s riddled with memories of raw animal sex and an overindulgent
lifestyle!’

She was right, of course; the mere sight of the wet room still made me blush and yearn for what I no longer had. If only I could have dished out some revenge and gained some closure; cut the
sleeves off his designer shirts, rubbed chilli in his Calvin Klein’s, but Giles had been too clever for that. He’d left months before I knew he was actually gone.

‘So what do you suggest then, oh wise one?’ I snapped sarcastically whilst wracking my brains for an opportunity to vent my wrath.

‘Come home.’

I rolled my eyes and reached for the bottle of wine I had had the foresight to open before making the call.

‘You know I can’t come home. Coming home would be like giving in and I can’t admit defeat, Jemma! Mum would never let me forget it. I may have only a teeny tiny shred of
self-respect left, but I’m not prepared to give it up without a fight.’

‘OK, let me put it another way then. Come back to Wynbridge, like I suggested before. Come back to me and Tom and Ella, just until you decide what you really want.’

What I
really
wanted was for none of this to have happened, to feel that I still had my life all sewn up with the man of my dreams and that if I did have to go anywhere, it would be with
him in tow.

‘And where will I live while I make these all important life choices?’ I asked, not daring to enlighten Jemma as to the deepest and darkest desires of my heart.

‘You could stay at the Café,’ she said simply.

‘What, amongst the old tables and chairs, with a bed on the counter and my washing in the sink?’

‘There’s a self-contained flat above,’ Jemma went on, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘I admit it’s seen better days, but there are two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and
sitting room at your disposal, if you want it?’

I thought back to all the afternoons we’d spent lazing in the Café gardens and shop. I never realised anyone actually lived there.

‘Has the flat always been there?’

‘Yes, don’t you remember? Old Mrs Taylor sold her house and moved into it so she could inject the last of her savings into the place. It didn’t work, of course, not with the
burger joints opening up on every corner, but she lived there until the place finally closed and it’s still in reasonable order. We’re planning to rent it out at some point, god knows
we could do with the money, but it’s yours if you want it.’ I remembered Mrs Taylor with her tight bun, spotless apron and thick hot buttered toast. I felt a pang of guilt as I also
remembered how readily we had swapped her simple, homespun service for the endless queues and overpriced under-seasoned patties that were synonymous with ‘the new place’.

‘So, what do you think?’

I didn’t know what to say, I hadn’t had time to think.

‘It’s a really kind offer, Jemma.’

‘And one that you’d be stupid to turn down,’ she interrupted.

‘I’m not turning you down,’ I insisted. ‘I just need time to get my head round it. There’s an awful lot to think about.’

‘But is there, really? You work at a job you hate, you sleep in a flat you can’t afford and you live in a city where you’re all alone!’