Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
I call round to the café later that afternoon and find Laura and Cherie clearing tables at the end of what has obviously been a busy day. Every table is strewn with plates and mugs, and both of them look traumatised.
‘Coach party of OAPs,’ Laura says, standing with her hands on her hips and stretching her back. ‘So many of them, it was like the granny apocalypse…’
‘And what’s wrong with OAPs, madam?’ Cherie asks, snapping a tea towel at her. ‘You’ll be one yourself one day!’
‘If I’m lucky,’ Laura retorts, and a flicker of sadness crosses her face.
I remember what Max told me, about her husband dying.
I wonder how you come back from that? How you trust the universe to not screw you over again and again?
She definitely seems to have done it though, and I admire her for that.
She snaps herself out of it, and passes me a roll of bin bags. ‘Make yourself useful while you’re here. I’ll pay you with a pumpkin spiced latte and a Bakewell tart.’
‘I’m going to be the size of that marshmallow man in Ghostbusters if I carry on eating this much cake,’ I say, setting to work. Laura and Cherie both snort in amusement.
‘Doubt it,’ Laura replies, looking me up and down. ‘You’re one of those ectomorphs .’
‘I beg your pardon! How dare you!’
‘It means your body type is long and lean. My body type is Teletubbie. Did I mention that I hate you?’
‘Well, you’ve got killer boobs. I’ve always wanted bigger boobs. None of us are ever happy, are we?’
Cherie, with a body type that is entirely her own and defies all categorisation, adds: ‘I’m just happy mine is all in one piece, and I can still get off the loo without a pull rail. You’re gorgeous, Laura.’
Laura gazes down at her admittedly plump but perfectly curvy physique with a sigh. ‘Thank you. I suppose I do eat a lot of cake. And Matt doesn’t seem to mind…’
‘Matt adores you, sweetie,’ Cherie says, looming over her. ‘And you’d be grumpy if you didn’t eat the cake. You’d make all our lives a misery.’
Laura gives this some thought, then grins. ‘You’re right. So, in reality, me eating all the cake is a selfless act, designed to improve the quality of life of those around me. I’m practically a saint.’
‘Well, once we get the cleaning done, you can go back to polishing your halo,’ Cherie quips.
They’re a great double act, these two. You can tell they’ve worked together like this for years.
I know from Max that she used to work here too, but now concentrates on the property business with Gabriel.
Apparently, even though they’ve advertised for a replacement, they still haven’t found ‘the right person’.
I’m led to believe that this is some kind of mystical process, and when that right person comes around, Cherie and Laura will ‘just know it’.
It sounds more complicated than choosing a new pope.
We finish off the work, and against the backdrop of the big dishwasher, Laura whips up the promised spiced lattes.
Within minutes, we are sitting by the window, hot drinks and treats in front of us.
Luna is outside in the small field next to the café, running around with a chaotic black Labrador– Laura’s dog, Midgebo, I’m told, who has been banished after scoffing a whole tray of paninis.
‘He’s happy out there with Luna,’ she says. ‘There’s a kennel with bedding. They’ve got space and water. On busy days there are often quite a few dogs in there. It’s fun.’
I nod, and my mind wanders back to Juno and the other Wolfdogs. The sound of their howls, the way her fur felt beneath my fingers. The way Aidan looked at me when he spoke those words– ‘damaged, not broken.’
‘I went to Hazelwell today,’ I announce, earning surprised looks from both of them. I laugh at their shocked reaction, and brace myself for the assault.
‘What?’ Laura shrieks. ‘You went to see our gorgeous jogger? Without telling us? Matt is due out there tomorrow so I was hoping to have a scoop… Oh well. Go on, tell all!’
‘You might as well, love,’ Cherie adds. ‘We’ll lock you in the oubliette if you don’t.’
‘What’s an oubliette?’ Laura asks, frowning. ‘And do we have one?’
‘It’s a dungeon where you put people to isolate them,’ Ireply. ‘From the French for “ oublier ”, to forget. I had one in a book once. An apparently normal suburban bank worker had one dug into his garage floor…’
Laura shudders. ‘How horrid. Give me Bridget Jones or a nice Marian Keyes any day. I love a happy ending.’
‘There was a happy ending,’ I tell her. ‘His seven kidnapped victims were all rescued before he released the poison gas. Admittedly, some of them were missing body parts, but they all survived.’
‘That’, Laura says, pointing at me with her spoon, ‘is not my idea of a happy ending. You can make it up to me by telling me all about your visit to Hazelwell. Did he have his shirt on?’
‘Not to start off with, no. But I did find out why your friend heard howling. He has dogs. Really big dogs that are part wolf. They’re… Oh, they’re so beautiful! Though I admit I was a bit scared to start with. He adopted them from a rescue centre.’
Both women sigh, and yet again I have to laugh. They have the exact same soppy expressions on their faces, and I get it, I really do. He’s a charming, good-looking guy who loves animals. The only way he could be better would be if he decided to become a fireman as well.
‘Edie says she’s invited him to the ball,’ Laura says, her gaze dreamy. ‘I wonder if he’ll come. I wonder if he’ll wear a top. I mean, I do like him bare-chested, but I bet he’d look good in a tuxedo too. Or a cape, you know, like a super-swish Count Dracula?’
‘Maybe you can ask him,’ Cherie says, nodding at the window. ‘Here he comes, making his regular appearance…’
Had I forgotten that he runs past here at this time every afternoon, or did my subconscious mind persuade me that this was the exact right moment for me to pop in to the café?
They can be sneaky things, those subconscious minds.
I glance subtly through the glass, refusing to full-on stare like some desperate cougar.
Cougar. God, I hate that word. It sounds so predatory, doesn’t it?
Men have been cougars for time immemorial, but nobody came up with a derogatory term for them.
He gives us a wave as he passes, and part of me wonders if he will gallop up the steps again and come in to say hello.
I suspect the others are thinking the same, because they look disappointed when he runs on past, sticking to his usual route up to the village.
I think perhaps I’m disappointed too, but I manage not to look it.
Cherie and Laura are far less guarded with their feelings.
‘Ah well,’ Cherie says, slapping her hands down on the table. ‘That was our fun for the day, I suppose! Bloody hell, I’m knackered… We really need to get some help around here. I keep trying to retire but end up being dragged back in!’
‘Rubbish,’ Laura says firmly, clearing our plates.
‘You’d be bored rigid. You’d just sit upstairs and listen to Joni Mitchell and cry into your kaftan.
A woman like you isn’t made for retirement, Cherie.
Right. I’d better be off. Becca’s picked the girls up for me.
She’s giving them their tea… They always come home raving about having their tea at Becca’s, and you know what, all she ever does is fish fingers or frozen pizzas!
Here’s me, slaving my fingers to the bone making them delicious and nutritious home-cooked food, and what do they prefer? Ready meals!’
‘They’re only six, hon, give them time,’ Cherie replies, scraping back her chair and rising majestically to her feet. ‘And do you want to take some of that Bakewell home with you?’
‘Good thinking, Batman! Have you asked Sarah here what her comfort food is?’
Cherie starts packaging up slices of tart, and I notice she automatically does some for me as well.
I may never need to cook again. ‘It’s one of our little quirks,’ she explains, passing it over to me.
‘We like to find out what each of our regulars’ comfort food is, and we try to always have it in stock.
My favourite is Sam’s: chicken and mushroom flavour Pot Noodles! ’
I ponder this question very seriously, because both of them are gazing at me as though it genuinely is the most pressing issue on their minds.
I run through childhood dinners, treats and forbidden fruits, and cast my mind back over the many fancy restaurants I’ve been to in more recent years.
I really can’t come up with one single item.
‘Umm… this is shameful I know, but I’m not sure I have one,’ I say eventually. ‘I think for me, it might not be one single comfort food. Maybe it would be a comfort meal?’
They both look confused, and I try to explain.
‘Okay, so, when I was a kid, we didn’t eat together a lot.
Different work shifts, plus just generally a sense of not being bothered.
And when we did, it was… a bit of an ordeal, let’s leave it at that.
I remember watching TV shows and seeing these images of big family meals, even on the adverts, everyone sitting around a table, chatting and laughing?
It just didn’t seem real to me. And then I suppose, apart from the few years I was married, I got used to cooking for one, which I don’t mind at all. But…’
‘You still have a yearning for it?’ Cherie asks, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘For that big family Sunday lunch feeling?’
I nod. ‘I do. Is that pathetic at my age?’
I wonder if maybe it is? It’s strange, but I never even realised I did ‘have a yearning for it’ until I was asked to think about the subject.
I thought I was perfectly happy eating by myself every day.
Something about this place, though, just has a way of unravelling all your secrets, even the ones you keep from yourself.