Chapter 9
Chris
For once, Evan and I get to the Red Cherry exactly on time. It’s Saturday morning, and I’ve given Vic the morning off to recover from the night before. It would’ve taken me more than half a day to get over it – and I’m not talking about the wine.
I’m talking about him.
How could I ever have thought that his aftershave smelled so good? How did I let myself close my eyes and lose myself in the heat of his fingers against mine? How could I let myself be so na?ve, be carried away by a fantasy?
That man is just a bastard with an ego bigger than his mouth.
Definitely one to steer clear of.
Evan huffs as he helps me take the chairs down from the tables.
He’s right, I force him to come along to the café every weekend, a firm family tradition.
Every Saturday morning, my father, my mother and my sister all come here to have breakfast together.
I can’t get out of it, for obvious reasons, but Evan’s still at the age where he has to suffer through these family events.
At least until he’s old enough to escape.
My parents love us, but in a way, it’s me who forces them to come here.
I like them coming to spend time with him, while he’s still around.
I fire up the hob and start to fry some bacon and eggs, as Leah and Brad help me get the café ready. The first few clients, still half-asleep, start to take their seats, salivating for something to eat, and desperate for the first of their many coffees that day.
My parents arrive at nine-thirty on the dot, as I scrabble around trying to hide my already-finished coffee cup. My father still tells me off as if I’m a little girl.
I go over and hug them affectionately, as they sit down at their usual table in the corner. It’s the most private table in the café, which gives them a good vantage point from which to judge my life at a distance, without disturbing the other clients.
I go behind the counter to make the coffee and get breakfast ready for everyone, leaving Evan to fend for himself amongst the thousands of questions his grandparents are throwing at him. They always try to involve themselves in his life, just as I let them do with mine.
My sister Emily approaches me, with the excuse of helping me bring breakfast over. She flashes me one of her mega-watt smiles, which always attracts every member of the male sex in the vicinity.
Emily is beautiful, and I have no idea where she gets it from.
She has long, perfectly straight golden hair, charming, bright eyes, and a sweet, gentle face that makes men of all ages fall madly in love with her.
She’s twenty-five and still lives at home with my parents, studying for a Master’s in Public Relations, and hoping to escape as soon as she gets the chance.
“So, any updates?” she asks innocently.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, why?”
“What updates would I have? You’re normally the one with something to tell me.”
Here’s a summary of my life: home, Red Cherry, home. A few drinking sessions with Vic here and there. End of story. Emily’s the one with the exciting, whirlwind lifestyle.
“It’s been a really boring week. I had an exam.”
“How did it go?”
“Really well, obviously.”
I smile, shaking my head. Aside from being stunning, Emily’s also very confident, if not exactly modest – but who could blame her? I’d be the same in her position.
We go back to our table, where my parents are animatedly interrogating my son. Evan’s eyes find mine, begging me to come and save him, but I’m enjoying watching him squirm – so I sit down and make myself comfortable, laughing into my coffee.
“Mum came home drunk last night. And she brought a guy with her.”
I choke on my coffee, coughing until I’m almost blue in the face.
The little bastard.
The conversation suddenly grinds to a halt, everyone’s eyes fixed on me. I try to make myself as small as possible in my seat, staring at the table, embarrassed and very pissed off with my son, who thought it would be a good idea to save himself by diverting all the attention onto me.
No way is he leaving the house for the next two weeks.
“What’s this?” my mother asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Evan looks up, his face angelic, and says: “Well, this isn’t a conversation for little boys,” and runs off, barely containing his laughter. I watch him leave, sighing. It’s my turn now.
“No, there’s no boyfriend. He just dropped me home.”
“Chris,” she says, her tone accusing. “You have a very observant teenager at home, who only has you as an example – he could start following in your footsteps, making the same mistakes as you.”
“It was nothing, Mum. And besides, I didn’t even know Evan was home.”
When does he ever come home before his curfew?
“You should have your fun elsewhere, instead of bringing it home.”
“I didn’t have any fun. I told you, he just dropped me home. I was out with Vic, we had a bit to drink, and…”
“Well, that’s miles better!” she scoffs, agitatedly shifting in her seat, patting down her freshly-coiffed hair.
“We’re not here to judge,” my father interjects, always the calmer, more thoughtful parent. “Just be careful, Chris. Okay?”
I lower my head and take another sip of my coffee, though I don’t even want it anymore.
Deep down, I know they’re right, but I hate that they judge my every move, still trying to teach me how to raise my son, even though I’ve been doing it on my own for sixteen years. Despite everything, I think Evan’s turned out okay.
I threw everything I had into raising him, putting him before everything else.
I tried my best. I gave him a home, a good future.
Love, support, understanding. I’m not saying I’ve been a perfect mother, but I’ve given him everything I could – even though disaster tends to follow me around.
Evan’s the only good thing I’ve made of my life.
I’m stretched out on the sofa with a glass of wine, a packet of salt and vinegar crisps – okay, three packets – and one of my favourite romcoms that I love to hate: 27 Dresses.
But here I am, watching it for the fifth, or maybe sixth, time.
There’s nothing better than spending a Saturday night at home on your own, making yourself feel terrible with a film about how true love finds everyone eventually, even though your own love life had decidedly ground to a halt sixteen years ago.
Evan throws himself onto the sofa, taking up almost all the space, and grabs one of the crisp packets from my hand.
“What shall we watch?” he asks, stuffing his mouth with his stolen snack.
I glance at him suspiciously, surprised by his interest.
“What? You’re the one who grounded me.”
True.
“Well, you deserved it.”
“And you should’ve helped me out, instead of leaving me to deal with Granny and Granddad.”
“They’re your family, of course they’re interested in your life.”
“Just like they are with yours,” he shoots back.
“Next time, try not to spy on me, okay?” I say, snatching back my packet of crisps.
“Wouldn’t it be better to have dinner instead?”
“We could always order something…?” I suggest.
Evan gets up from the sofa and going off to leaf through the takeaway menus piled up next to the phone.
“Pizza? Chinese? Chippy…?” he scans them, uninterested.
We’ve already had all of those this week.
“You choose,” I tell him, getting up to refill my wine glass. Before I make it to the kitchen, someone knocks at the door. On a Saturday, at eight p.m.?
Something bad must have happened.
Evan looks at me and shrugs. I go over and open the door, a horrible feeling weighing on my chest.
“Hey, family!” Martin’s singsong voice immediately pierces my ears.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, worried. His unannounced visits are never good news.
“Am I not allowed to come and visit my family?” he asks, his tone falsely cheerful.
I look at him through narrowed eyes, without letting him through the doorway.
“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, shoving a bag filled with Tupperware boxes under my nose.
“Come in, come in!” I cry, stepping aside so he can get past me. “How did you know we hadn’t eaten yet?”
He throws me a furtive glance which promptly makes me eat my words. Evan appears from the living room.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” he asks, concerned.
“I’ve brought you dinner,” Martin says, hiding behind his bag of food. Evan greets him as if they’ve not seen each other for years, drooling at the thought of a home-cooked dinner. “I’d say I’ve done well…” adds Martin, pleased with himself.
“Enough chitchat,” Evan cuts in. “Show us what you’ve brought.”
“Chicken, potatoes, stuffed vegetables,” he lists, emptying out the boxes onto the countertop. “It’s all ready – just needs to be heated up.”
“I’ll put it in the microwave,” Even says, enthusiastically grabbing the Tupperware, while I drop down onto one of the stools and pour myself that glass of wine.
“Tough night?” asks Martin, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and sitting down next to me. He pours himself some wine too, and we wordlessly clink our glasses.
“What about you? How come you’re over here on a Saturday night with a pre-cooked dinner?” I ask, lowering my voice.
“Please, not now,” he says, not looking at me. “Let’s just enjoy this evening.”
I nod obligingly, before jumping off the stool to get plates and cutlery. “Shall we eat in front of the TV? We were just about to put on a film.”
“Which film?”
“27 Dresses.”
“I love that film.”
I smile – I already knew that. I set up the living room table, ready to be joined by the only men in my life for a ‘family’ evening in.
After the film is finished, and we’ve chatted like the loveably disastrous family we are, Evan goes up to his room as Martin and I share some chocolate ice cream and whipped cream, eaten straight from the tub.
“So?” I ask him, licking the spoon fervently.
“Could you maybe not do those gestures?”
“You mean, like this?” I point to the spoon. “I didn’t think I had that effect on you anymore,” I say, winding him up.
Martin shakes his head, laughing quietly. He takes a deep breath, and the truth comes tumbling out.
“We broke up,” he says, looking at me. “He left me.”
I knew his coming over would have some sort of repercussion for me.
“What did you do this time?”
“Me? Oh no, this time I’m innocent. He met someone else.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah… someone whose pager doesn’t go off in the middle of the night. Someone who doesn’t work on bank holidays or cancel dinner plans for his fucking job.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Actually, that’s exactly how it is.”
“I’m sorry, Martin,” I tell him, sincerely, squeezing his arm.
“I tried to make it work, but you know what I’m like. I thought I’d found the right person, but apparently I was wrong.”
He lets his head drop onto my shoulder.
“I needed my family.”
“We’re here for you,” I say, stroking his face. I can feel him relax under my touch.
“Can I stay here with you? I can’t go back to that house by myself.”
“Of course, Martin. Take all the time you need.” He doesn’t need to insist: he’s Evan’s father, my first and maybe only love. I’d do anything for him.
“You’re the best, Chris,” he plants a soft kiss on my cheek, which instinctively makes me smile.
“Right, the best. Is that why I’m still single?”
“It’ll happen soon for you.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“You’re beautiful, darling.”
“But not beautiful enough for you to stay with me.”
“Chris…” he warns.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You prefer… something else.”
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. You know that.”
I smile, hugging him tight. “You can have the sofa.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks.”
I get up quickly, ready to go and find a pillow and a blanket for our unexpected guest, when Martin gently takes my arm.
“Do you think you could stay here with me, for a while? Only until I start to fall asleep.” He stares at me with his beautiful brown eyes and I nod, unconvinced.
He gets up and hugs me, tightly.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”
I squeeze him back. I really do care about him, too, and he needs our affection right now – something I’d never deny him.