Chapter 10 #2
‘Not at all, darling. It’s what we all want, isn’t it?
Those simple pleasures– sitting with those we care about and breaking bread.
It’s easy to think this is just a café, that what Laura and I do is basic, but it’s really not.
People have bonded by sharing food and drink and shelter for as long as humans have existed.
We might not be sitting around a fire in a cave anymore, but we still turn to each other for safety and love and support.
And family, you know, comes in many different shapes and forms. Take Laura here– no blood relation, but if I’d ever had a daughter, I’d have wanted her to be nothing like her at all… ’
Laura tries to look offended, but can’t stop herself laughing.
‘You’re a cow, Cherie Bloom! And no, Sarah, it’s really not pathetic.
And even if it was, we wouldn’t mind. We’re all pathetic sometimes.
Right. I really do have to go now. Becca will be giving the kids tinned rice pudding for their afters, and they’ll think it’s the best thing ever… ’
She’s turning to leave when the door to the café opens, and we all fall silent as Aidan walks in. He has his top on for once, and he smiles as he enters. In his hands is a small bouquet of bright sunflowers, their vibrant petals an unusual shade of orange-tinted yellow.
‘Hi, Cherie, Laura,’ he says, heading towards us.
We’re all frozen in place, staring at him.
We must look ridiculous, but I’d guess he’s used to this kind of thing happening to him.
He draws closer, his eyes holding mine. ‘Sarah. These are for you. When the sunlight hits your hair, it’s almost exactly the same colour.
Enjoy, and I’ll see you soon. Juno sends her love. ’
He passes me the flowers, and I manage to mutter a surprised ‘thank you’.
He gives us all a nod, and he’s gone as quickly as he came.
I’m left standing there, staring at the flowers, feeling totally taken aback.
I’m very aware that Laura and Cherie are sharing significant glances around me, but I don’t really know what to say.
‘I usually buy my own flowers…’ is all I manage.
‘Well, that’s as may be, my love, but isn’t it nice for someone else to do it every once in a while?’ Cherie says, admiring the bouquet.
‘Oh my God,’ Laura says, her voice low and excited. ‘You’re… Sarah, you’re being wooed! I know you said you weren’t looking for anything like that, but you’re being wooed !’
I look up at her, feeling the frown develop on my face.
I realise that I’ve been standing here smiling, like some lovestruck teenager.
She’s right. I did say I wasn’t looking for anything like that, and I meant it.
I’m just getting carried away with all the attention.
It’s flattering, and I’m only human, but I need to stay grounded.
‘I don’t get wooed,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘I’ve never been wooed. I just don’t give off that kind of vibe. I’m a woo-free zone.’
‘Well,’ she says, sliding her coat on and giving me a look, ‘ someone seems to disagree. Why don’t you just go along for the ride, enjoy it, and see what happens?’
Ha, I think, laughing inside. That comment is living proof that she barely knows me at all.
We say goodbye to Cherie, and Laura walks with me up to the village.
She chatters away, and I answer when required, until we reach my house.
She doesn’t immediately continue on to her sister’s, but stops by my front door and puts a hand on my arm.
‘I know I come across as a middle-aged airhead,’ she says, and before I can protest, she continues, ‘and I do witter on. But believe me when I say I understand pain, and loss, and the way that sometimes in life, you can be surrounded by people and still feel isolated. You’re not me, and I’m not you, but Budbury is Budbury.
Try not to be too cynical about it. It really is a place where very special things have been known to happen. ’
Her words are so heartfelt that I can’t possibly argue.
I just nod, and promise her I’ll try. Maybe I even will, I think, as I head inside and put the flowers into one of my new vases.
They look beautiful on the dining table, and I find myself standing there staring at them, a big dumb grin on my face.
I’m so distracted that I almost jump out of my skin when my phone rings.
Ha, I think, feeling the adrenaline flood my body, serves me right– I forgot to be on high alert for a moment there.
I see my niece Libby’s name on the screen, and happily answer it. ‘Hey, Libs,’ I say, ‘how’s it going?’
‘Surprise, it’s me!’ my sister says instead. ‘You’ve not returned my calls, and I had a sneaking suspicion that if you saw my name pop up you might not be as quick to answer…’
Damn her. She’s right. I love my sister dearly, but we are very different people.
She’s always been so confident and outgoing, and she loves to talk.
Literally for ages, about absolutely nothing.
She started working part-time when the twins were born, and really should consider going back to longer hours now– she has way too much time to fill.
She’s called several times since I moved, which would be nice if it was to hear my news, but it’s actually been to talk about her own life, to moan about the world, and to complain incessantly about the demands of organising the twins’ birthday party.
‘Sally, what a terrible thing to say!’ I reply. ‘Even if it is true… Sorry, I’ve been busy.’
‘Doing what?’ she asks, and I hear the sound of glasses in the background. I smile as I picture her in her kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and pouring a Malbec. Sally has never cared much for what she’s supposed to do, yet another trait that is both infuriating and admirable.
‘Oh, you know… work, making friends, being wooed.’
‘Work, I believe. But making friends? Being wooed?’ she says, sounding comedically shocked. ‘That doesn’t sound like you at all! Are you making this up?’
It’s slightly annoying that she immediately asks that, assuming that I’m incapable of change.
She is probably right, but still. I could fill her in on the café, on the ladies I’ve met, on Aidan, but I really can’t be bothered.
I will tell her everything when we see each other, or the next time we are alone together.
For now, it’s easier to just go along with her.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘You know me. Solitary bee all the way.’
‘I do. Anyway, I needed to talk to you about the party…’
I grimace. Of course she does. I listen for the next fifteen minutes as she discusses catering, a problem with the DJ, and the fact that she’s hired both a photo booth and a photographer for the night.
I let it roll over me in a blur of words, sitting on a chair and admiring my sunflowers as she talks.
This party has taken on a life of its own, and I think in some ways it is as much for her as the girls, as well as their friends.
It sounds like all of Sally’s pals are coming, plus extended family on both sides.
I understand that, I really do– she’s the one who birthed them, and raising twins is not easy.
Them turning eighteen is significant to Sally as well, and I can understand why she’s gone all in with it– it’s a celebration for parents too.
I just wish she hadn’t turned into Partyzilla, raging on about the smallest of issues, currently griping about the ever-expanding guest list.
‘At least I know you won’t be causing me trouble, sis. You won’t be making special requests for seating arrangements, or insisting on vegan canapés, or asking to bring a plus one.’
Good old reliable me, I think, never any trouble.
What a trooper Sarah Wallis is. Quietly divorced with no fuss.
Always available for babysitting. Working from home like a dependable little drone.
Doesn’t even mention her bloody stalker, for goodness’ sake.
I take up practically no space at all, especially compared to Sally’s expansive life of kids, hubby, career, lunches, skiing trips and a million and one petty dramas.
That’s the dynamic that has always existed between us, and I’ve been happy to take the back seat.
But suddenly, I feel a flash of annoyance.
‘Why’, I ask, reaching out to stroke the velvety-soft petals of the flowers, ‘would you assume that I won’t be bringing a plus one?’
I hear the wine being glugged, and then she says: ‘Well, because you live like a nun, babe. Let’s be honest, you didn’t exactly set the dating world alight when you lived in London, did you? So I can’t imagine it’s much different in deepest darkest Dorset. Do they even have men under eighty there?’
It’s not Sally’s fault that she doesn’t know about Martin/Scott, obviously.
It’s mine for not telling her. She probably would have been super supportive, and knowing her, offered to go round and put his windows in.
But there is a reason I didn’t tell her, and it’s only partly to do with my own sense of shame and humiliation.
It’s also to do with the fact that she always does this: reduces my life and what happens to me to a one-sentence summary that feels incredibly dismissive.
She’s always overshadowed me, and that is something I came to terms with long ago.
In fact I even welcomed it, because it meant nobody paid me much attention at all.
But really, here we are, almost fifty– and she still doesn’t seem to see me as a fully formed human being. I’m still just her lame little (by twenty minutes) sister.
‘Actually, I do want to bring a plus one,’ I say assertively. You have to really push to make Sally hear you. I fight the urge to add, ‘If that’s okay with you?’
I’ve played a big part in Lucy and Libby’s lives.
I’ve been a good aunt. I’ve loved them, nurtured them, taken them on trips, showered them with gifts, looked after them when their parents went away for romantic weekends.
I’ve even gone and given a talk to their English class, the memory of which still makes me cringe.
I’ve listened to countless complaints from Sally, and provided a spare room when she’s had huge rows with Ollie.
I’ve basically always been there, a supporting actress, always on hand, waiting in the wings until I was needed.
Why the hell wouldn’t I deserve to bring a plus one to the bloody party?
A pause, and then: ‘Right. Well, I suppose I can make that happen, Sarah… but really, couldn’t you have warned me earlier? It’s very inconsiderate to drop that one on me so late in the day.’
She sounds irritated, and so am I. But I also know that one of the reasons she is irritated is because she is stressed.
The party is her camouflage, but I suspect things aren’t great with her and Ollie.
She’s actually barely mentioned him recently, which is a sign; she usually relentlessly lists the things he’s done to piss her off, then laughs and says something like ‘but hey, I still love him, the old goat!’
Add to that the fact that our parents will stay with her while they’re in town, and that never improves anybody’s stress levels. She gets on with them better than I do, but it will be one of her concerns. Sally has her anxieties too. She’s just much better at hiding them than I am.
I take a deep breath, determined not to let it escalate, and reply: ‘Well, let me know. Look, I need to go. Work calls.’
‘Of course. Speak soon. Love you.’
I hang up, and wonder why I just did that.
Why did I deliberately cause a problem where one needn’t have existed?
I suppose it was the result of a lifetime of her taking me for granted and assuming she knows everything about me.
I’ve not been in my new home for long, but I already feel like the people here know me in a completely different way from my sister.
Maybe I’m starting to see myself through their eyes and liking what I see.
The only problem now is that I need to find a plus one… and that will come with its own set of complications.