Chapter 32
At nine in the morning, Sabrina was up and dressed and heading for the town center square in search of a charity shop. She
found the best one up the arcade—the Maud Haworth Home for Cats shop, a large double-fronted building with rails of clothes
in both windows. There she found some very nice Lee jeans still with the tag on, a pair of barely worn navy suede ankle boots
in her size, a blue stripy Breton top, and a longline blue linen jacket, all going for a song. It was a bit of a blue overload,
but it looked smart as an ensemble and, anyway, she wasn’t going on a date, only a recce mission. Marielle’s car was gone
by the time she got back—she was obviously out somewhere—so Sabrina couldn’t ask her if she passed muster when she put on
her new clothes. She applied a touch of makeup, some black eyeliner and mascara to open up her light brown eyes and some pink
lipstick a smidge darker than her natural color. She left her hair down, then put on her new boots and checked herself out
in the mirror.
The woman staring back at her was both familiar and a stranger, and she wished she knew her story.
At twelve exactly Teddy’s car pulled up outside. She hurried down the stairs to meet him, and at first he thought it was someone
else who skipped out of the flat, not her. She looked young, bright in stripes and blue instead of the customary black, her
hair loose, falling past her shoulders in a rich brown sheet.
She opened the Golf’s front passenger door.
“Hi,” she said, climbing in. “Sorry if I look a bit like a sailor. It was all I could find.”
“You look...” Lovely was the word that came first to mind, but he said “fine” instead. He caught a scent of her as she twisted round to clip in
her seat belt: clean, fresh, soap. Nothing like his ex, who used to clog up his lungs with her heavy, cloying sweetshop of
a perfume.
“I’m quite excited,” said Sabrina as they set off.
“I’m not looking forward to giving them my money,” grumbled Teddy.
“Be worth it,” she said. “You can claim it back on your taxes as essential research.” The journey to Scarborough took just
under half an hour. They didn’t talk much, but that didn’t matter; the silence wasn’t at all awkward. Sabrina was content
to look out of the window.
They passed a sign for Robin Hood’s Bay, and Teddy asked her if she’d ever been.
“No idea,” she said with a strained laugh. “It doesn’t ring any bells. I think I would know, like I knew that I’d been to
Shoresend when I was little. I remember my dad whirling me around his head while I pretended to be a seagull.” She laughed
and he thought again what a lovely sound it was. Natural and clear.
“Robin Hood’s Bay is lovely,” said Teddy. “All steep streets.” He’d taken his ex-fiancée Matilda there to show it off to her,
but she wasn’t that impressed. She hadn’t seen the winding narrow streets and the tiny cottages, the cliffs, the rock pools,
and the rolling sea through the same eyes as he had. Plus she’d stupidly worn high-heeled shoes and had almost broken her
neck on the cobbles.
They parked up in a multistory car park and walked down into the busy town center.
The air was a cocktail of salty sea, fried doughnuts, hot dog onions, and sugary candy floss.
There was an energy to the place, a buzz and vibrancy that she liked, but she much preferred the volume-down, less commercialized Shoresend.
They passed a crammed fish-and-chip restaurant with a queue waiting outside, then rounded the corner and carried on up a long road, right out of the main part of town, to where Ciaoissimo was situated.
It looked massive from the outside, plenty of room for all the holidaymakers who didn’t want to queue anywhere, but when they walked in, they found fewer than half the tables occupied.
“First impressions?” asked Teddy.
“Looks more like a transport café than an Italian restaurant,” Sabrina answered. “Cheap tables and chairs and too many of
them, no space between; terrible layout, designed to cram in as many diners as possible without giving a toss about their
comfort. Every surface is hard: the walls, the furniture, the floor, so any sound is going to amplify, nothing to soften it.”
Teddy stopped the “Wow” coming out of his mouth because it would have sounded puerile, but she seemed to know her stuff. The
general hubbub was indeed harsh on his eardrums.
They were waiting a considerable time before anyone turned up to attend to them.
“I’d sack Flick if she took this long,” Teddy whispered, bending to say it into her ear. There were only two waitresses on
the floor zipping around; the place was clearly understaffed.
Eventually they were shown to a table and given oversized laminated menus. When Teddy attempted to open his up, he had to
peel one page from the other because it was sticky. He and Sabrina both pulled “yuk” faces.
The choice of dishes was extensive, though. There was everything you could hope for on it. Teddy whistled; Sabrina wasn’t
as impressed.
“Too many choices,” she said immediately. “Too many words, each dish with its description. It’s over the top; it’s actually
off-putting.”
“Surely it appeals to a broader base? I always feel we don’t have enough on our menu.”
“You’ve got it right, whether you meant to or not.
A good standard menu with wide appeal and enough specials for variety.
If you put too many dishes on a menu, people start to wonder if they should have picked this or that; it unsettles them.
They’d rather have three, four, five dishes they like and have to pick between them, not forty.
It will take people an age to decide what they want otherwise. ”
“Well, that’s made me feel better,” said Teddy.
“Their spoilage costs must be eye-watering,” said Sabrina, shaking her head. “The chefs I bet are tearing their hair out.
They can’t pour love into every one of these meals.”
“Love is poured into every one of mine,” said Teddy. “I wouldn’t send anything out that I wouldn’t eat myself.”
“Precisely. And imagine Niccolo and Roberto having to learn about all of them in order to answer any questions.”
Teddy cast his eyes over the menu again, calculating how many ingredients there must be. “They couldn’t supply all this fresh
on order, could they?”
“No, so imagine how much is frozen, tinned, shipped in from outside. They cannot possibly make this the same way you make
yours.”
Eventually a waitress turned up at their side.
“Sorry,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “We’re so busy. Now can I get you some drinks?”
“Excuse me,” a woman shouted across from another table. “How much longer is his main going to be? I’ve nearly finished mine.”
The poor waitress didn’t know who to sort out first. Teddy made it easy for her and told her they’d wait.
When she darted off to the kitchen, Teddy grinned. “I’m liking this. It’s terrible.”
“I think I’ll have the Bolognese for main,” said Sabrina. It was a popular staple and she wanted to know what Ciaoissimo did
with it.
“Have whatever you like; you don’t have to pay today,” said Teddy. “I’ll deduct it from your next week’s wage.”
Her eyes flicked up from the menu, believing him for a second, and he laughed. And she thought what a lovely laugh he had;
a generous boom , she decided.
“Sorry, I am joking,” he said then. She smiled and he thought what a beautiful mouth she had.
He wondered what her lips would taste of, and that rogue thought shocked him because he didn’t think of her in that way, and he didn’t want to start either.
He plunged his attention back to the menu and decided on a pizza.
“Have you noticed how many people have a one-course pasta main at lunchtime in your restaurant?” Sabrina asked him.
“There’s a big business park five minutes away. A lot come in to grab a quick bite.”
“Then you should have a takeaway service, something like ‘Fasta Pasta.’ Something they can whiz in for, pick up, and go back
to the office with. Maybe they’d send a runner to collect a bulk order. Or ‘Piece-a-Pizza.’ You do takeaway pizzas, I presume?”
“No, we don’t,” said Teddy.
“You should think about it. You’re shut on Sundays, but not everyone wants a roast dinner. You should shut on Mondays instead.”
Teddy looked at her across the table in something resembling awe. This woman wasn’t a bluffer or a phony; he’d bet his week’s
takings on it. “You really do know what you’re talking about, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied.
In Diana’s beautiful lounge, the Mad Cows were salivating over her clotted cream scones. When it was her turn to host, in
came her mother’s recipe and out went any diets.
“I can’t stand going out for an afternoon tea when they don’t give you butter,” said Jackie, spreading one of her scone halves
with a curl of Lurpak before loading it with jam and clotted cream. She made a noise of delight when she bit into it.
“Ey up, Jackie, you nearly had to unhinge your jaw then to get it into your mouth. You looked like a snake about to devour
an antelope.” Bev laughed. “Ooh, and talking of snakes, I saw Cilla and Internet Hugo in Wellem on Monday.”
“Did you stop and chat?” asked Diana.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a chat. She said, ‘Bev, I didn’t recognize you. You’ve put a bit of weight on since the last time
I saw you, haven’t you, but I have to say it suits you.’ I mean, who says that?”
There was a collective gasp and a mass “She didn’t!”
“She bloody did. I thought of a million comebacks in the car on the way home, but all I could say at the time was, ‘You’re
looking well, though. That cruise air must have done you good.’ I’ve done nothing but gnaw on it ever since. Like a dog with
a bone.”
“She’s not exactly Twiggy herself,” said Jackie. “She’s got one of those arses that would wipe out her own footprints in the
snow. You should have told her that.”
That made them all laugh, except for Marielle, who was in a world of her own today. Jackie gave her a nudge.
“Earth to Marielle. You okay?”