The Cherry Tree Cafe (9 page)

‘I should think not,’ Tom smiled. ‘Come on, Jemma.’

‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ I said, as I struggled into my coat.

‘What’s that?’

‘By the end of tomorrow, my mother will be wishing I’d never been born!’

As I had walked defiantly back through the bar, my head held as high as I could lift it, I’d grabbed the page of crumpled newspaper and shoved it in my pocket but now,
seeing the pained expression on my dad’s face, I couldn’t help wishing I’d thrown it on the pub fire instead. I’d just explained to him when I’d arrived back in town
and where I was staying, but it was this final blow that had knocked the last bit of wind out of his usually upbeat sails.

‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he groaned, shaking his head, ‘what’s the date on it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I told him, ‘the top got torn off when Evelyn snatched it out of that cow Erica’s hand.’

‘And her, of all people!’ Dad shouted.

He was off again. It had taken him a good twenty minutes of swearing and shouting to get it out of his system the first time round, and I couldn’t help thinking it probably wasn’t a
bad thing that Mum wasn’t there because I think he really would have done her some sort of harm if she’d been standing in front of him.

‘When I think of all that Erica girl put you through at school,’ he seethed, ‘it had to be her, didn’t it?’

Erica had been the class bully and my red hair and freckles had been her favourite target throughout primary school and beyond.

‘If I’d known about it,’ he said, grasping my hand, ‘I could have at least warned you, but we don’t always get the free paper these days.’

‘That’s what Jemma said,’ I explained.

I was still feeling guilty for accusing her of keeping it from me. Fortunately she had put my harsh words down to shock and forgiven me.

‘Although knowing your mother, I wouldn’t put it past her to have sabotaged the delivery herself when she realised she’d cocked up,’ Dad raged on. ‘I can’t
believe she never said a word. Is she really so deluded that she thought she’d get away with it? That no one would say anything!’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘I wish you’d told us sooner that you were coming back,’ he said more quietly, his expression adding to my guilt, ‘but,’ he added as we heard the front door open
and bang shut, ‘I do understand why you didn’t.’

I smiled an apology and braced myself for the inevitable storm I had unleashed.

‘Whose boots are these?’ my mother called out. ‘They should be on the mat in the porch, not in here. They’re soaking the carpet.’

I heard the door open and close again and guessed she had put them in their allotted place.

‘Oh hello, darling,’ she called when she spotted me. ‘When did you arrive? I didn’t see the car. I wish you’d called ahead. Are you staying over? There’s a
load of your grandmother’s old junk in your room. It’ll take at least all day to sort and then I don’t know where we’ll put it, but I suppose as you’re here now . .
.’

‘Mum!’ I tried to interrupt.

‘Now, let me think about dinner. I suppose I could defrost another chop. So how long are you staying? I didn’t think you had any holiday left after that nice long break at Christmas
. . .’

‘Pamela!’ Dad bellowed, slamming his fist down on the worktop in frustration and making us all jump.

‘Why are you shouting?’ Mum asked, looking slightly pained but otherwise unmoved. ‘If your only daughter turns up unannounced on your doorstep in the middle of the day, there
are things that have to be sorted out. I thought you’d understand that!’

‘Oh good god, woman! If you’d just shut up for two seconds then you’d realise that there is nothing to sort out, because Lizzie isn’t staying here and after what
I’ve just found out I can’t say that I blame her!’

Mum’s expression didn’t flicker. She was going to try and brazen it out I realised, like she always did but not this time. This time she’d gone too far.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shout . . . the neighbours . . .’ she breathed, theatrically quiet.

‘Right!’ I cut in, pulling out a chair and unceremoniously dumping Mum on it. ‘Listen. I am not on holiday from work, because I have left my job. The position no longer exists.
No, no, no, don’t say anything,’ I warned, as she tried to interrupt again. ‘And I’m not living in the flat any more, either. You didn’t see the car because it is
parked at Jemma and Tom’s. I’ve been with them since the end of last week and I’m staying with them until the flat above the Café is ready for me to move in.’

I stopped for a second to draw breath, which was of course a huge mistake because it gave her a moment in which to launch off again.

‘But why didn’t you tell me?’ she whined, bottom lip trembling. ‘I don’t understand. Why aren’t you staying here? I’m your mother, Elizabeth; you should
have come to me. I should have known these things!’

‘Ah yes,’ I said, gently releasing the newspaper from Dad’s disconcertingly shaky grasp, ‘while we’re on the subject of things that should be known. What have you
got to say about this?’

She knew exactly what it was that I had smoothed out on the table in front of her, but nonetheless took her time rummaging in her bag for her reading glasses before picking up the paper and
holding it at arm’s length.

‘Now in my defence,’ she started, ‘Jemma did tell me that Giles would doubtless be spoiling you rotten for your birthday and probably taking you to that special place you like
so much for a meal.’

‘Don’t blame Jemma!’ I shouted.

‘This is Giles Worthington we’re talking about, woman!’ Dad joined in. ‘That’s the sort of thing the slick sod was always coming up with. There was nothing out of
the ordinary about it at all!’

My attention turned from Mum to Dad as I stared at him open-mouthed.

‘Well, I’m sorry, love, but it’s true,’ he mumbled. ‘He was always taking you off for bloody mini-breaks and foreign holidays and putting every other man on the
planet to shame.’

‘I thought you liked him,’ I whispered.

‘That’s hardly relevant now, is it? The point I’m trying to make is that your mother had no right to assume that a posh day out and a bit of expensive grub meant that your
future involved a glittering gown and two point four kids!’

He was right. I turned back to Mum who had gone very quiet when she thought that I was turning my attention from her to Dad.

‘And anyway,’ I frowned, ‘even if he had asked me, why did you assume that I’d say yes?’

‘Well, he’s every woman’s dream, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘Wealthy family, wonderful salary and connections, great looks and let’s face it, you were never
going to make a better catch than Giles Worthington. Were you?’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, let’s be honest, Elizabeth. You haven’t exactly made the best of yourself, have you?’

‘What?’ I shrieked.

‘Oh, you know what I mean. Messing about with a sewing course at college instead of A levels and university and then working in a pub of all places.’

I couldn’t believe she still hadn’t forgiven me for shunning sixth form!

‘You can’t tell me,’ she went on, ‘that after finally shrugging off all of that you wouldn’t have jumped at the chance of becoming Mrs Giles Worthington?’

‘Mum, in case you’ve forgotten, we all know now that Giles Worthington is a two-timing creep who has broken various hearts in his time, most recently mine, and the fact that you can
sit there and belittle the things that I enjoy so much tells me that you don’t really know me at all!’

‘Well I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I thought you were finally making something of your life and I wanted to share it with the world.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘Elizabeth!’

‘You wanted to brag!’ I ranted. ‘You wanted to show off to the neighbours. You’d probably even picked out a hat and worked out how much mileage you could get down the WI
telling tales about your daughter’s fairytale wedding and her happy ever after.’

Mum didn’t say anything. She simply sat, her cheeks slightly flushed, which did go some way to suggesting that perhaps she was finally feeling something bordering on shame.

‘Can you even begin to imagine how it felt to have this,’ I asked her, snatching the paper from her grasp, ‘read out in front of a whole pub full of people?’

‘I don’t go into pubs,’ she said quietly.

‘You know what I mean!’ I snapped. ‘I had thought that coming back here would be the best thing for me but, as usual, you’ve had to stick your nose in and make it all
that much harder. Honestly, Mum, you’ve pulled some stunts in your time but this one really takes the biscuit.’

‘It’s yours if you want it,’ said Dad, as we sat together on the floor in my old bedroom. ‘That’s why I said to put it in here. Your mother was
all for taking it down to the charity shop but I wouldn’t let her. I had a feeling you’d come back to it one day.’

I smiled and carried on sorting through the old Lloyd Loom blanket box that had belonged to my grandmother, Dad’s mum. The smell that had risen up to meet us when we lifted the padded
patterned lid was redolent of lily of the valley, and for a moment heavy tears pricked my eyes as I remembered the comfort of having her close by when I was growing up.

Before Dad noticed, I blinked them away and plunged my hands inside to see what treasures the box would give up. It was packed to the very top, crammed full of her collection of sewing and
crafting supplies and encompassing it all was a plethora of memories I hadn’t been expecting to face when I dragged myself off Jemma and Tom’s sofa bed that morning. ‘I know you
can’t take it all with you today,’ Dad said, as he picked through the button tin, ‘but as soon as you’re settled in the flat I’ll drop it round.’

‘Do you think it’s a good idea,’ I asked, ‘me coming back to Wynbridge, I mean?’

‘Yes I do,’ Dad said, ‘and not just for selfish reasons. You’ve got roots here, Lizzie, and they’ll help you heal and now you’ve faced the pub and your
mother, there can’t be much else left to go wrong. Can there?’

‘I’m not going to comment on that,’ I laughed, ‘because at the moment, just when I think things can’t get any worse, they do!’

‘Are you staying for lunch, then?’ Mum’s voice drifted up the stairs.

Dad and I looked at each other in disbelief.

‘God, she’s got some front,’ Dad moaned, shaking his head, ‘not a bloody clue! You stay here and I’ll go down and set her straight.’

‘No, don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I think I will stay. It would be nice to have some time to go through all this properly and besides, there’s only so many hours a day
that I can cope with Ella jumping all over me!’

During lunch, Mum somehow managed to extricate herself from the engagement announcement debacle. The newspaper cutting had disappeared and by the time we’d cleared our plates, Dad and I
were back to rolling our eyes and sighing at her in much the same manner as we always had.

I quickly phoned Jemma to tell her all was OK and that Mum wasn’t lying on the hall floor with the kitchen meat cleaver sticking out of her back.

‘Promise you’ll be back before it gets dark,’ she said, just as I was about to ring off.

‘Are you serious?’ I laughed, again thinking about the ridiculous things mothers say. ‘I’m a big girl, Jemma; I think I’ll be OK.’

‘Ha ha, actually I’m being serious,’ she said sarcastically, ‘haven’t you had the radio on at all? Haven’t you heard about the weather?’

‘Hey, Lizzie!’ Dad called to me, right on cue. ‘Come and have a look at this. You’ll need to get back to Jemma’s before it’s dark, otherwise you could be
stuck here with your mother for days.’

‘I heard that!’ Jemma laughed in my ear. ‘I guess that’s all the incentive you need! See you in a bit then, and watch the pavements!’

The afternoon slipped quickly by and it was almost three when Dad poked his head round the bedroom door to see how I was getting on.

‘Found anything that takes your fancy?’ he grinned.

‘Uh yeah,’ I smiled, ‘all of it actually.’

I began carefully repacking everything into the box. There were piles of fabrics that were vintage simply because of how long my grandmother had hung on to them, and coloured reels of cotton and
embroidery thread along with the treasured button tin. There was even a string of the first bunting I had attempted to make. The fabric triangles, two floral and a gingham, had been cut out with
pinking shears to stop them fraying. The only actual sewing involved was one fairly straight line along the top to join it all together.

‘Did you do much sewing in London?’ Dad asked as he watched me repacking.

‘No, afraid not,’ I said sadly.

‘Perhaps having all this to look through will give you some inspiration to pick it up again?’ Dad replied.

‘If I get the chance,’ I told him, ‘I’m going to have to start looking for a job fairly soon. I’ve got a little bit left in the bank, but it won’t last long,
especially when I move into the flat. Jemma and Tom haven’t said anything, but I’m not expecting to live there rent-free. I think they’re already pretty cash-strapped so
I’ll be paying my way to help out as much as I can.’

Dad came and sat on the bed as I closed the blanket box and with a little nudge passed me an envelope.

‘What’s this?’ I frowned, not wanting to open it.

‘It’s a cheque. Not a fortune I’m afraid, but it’s your share of the sale of my mum’s place.’

‘But it’s yours,’ I said, trying to pass the envelope back. ‘You should keep it.’

‘No,’ Dad smiled, ‘I always planned to give you a lump sum but I wasn’t sure when you should have it. Your mother was all for waiting but I think now is as good a time as
any. It will give you the chance and time to make some big decisions and besides, I’d rather see you enjoying it this side of the grave!’

I didn’t know what to say. I carefully tore the top off the envelope and peered inside.

‘Wow,’ I gasped, ‘that’s a lot of zeros!’

‘Like I said, it’ll give you the chance to make some big decisions. Just spend it wisely, that’s all I ask, and Lizzie?’

‘Um?’