Chapter Fourteen
The lighting was cosy and the buzz of conversation low as they entered the café. The snowy scenes outside were just visible through the steamed-up windows with their colourful twinkle of fairy lights.
There were groups of people sitting at tables, a few couples, a few families with small children sitting in the area where little tables and chairs were supplied for them, reading the books from the shelves there or doing colouring with the crayons provided as they drank milk and ate biscuits in the shape of snowmen and reindeer.
Ted greeted an older couple who sat in the corner playing Scrabble as he walked in, and they smiled warmly. Jen did a double-take.
‘Is that old lady wearing bike leathers?’
‘Yeah,’ Ted said as he picked up a menu. ‘That’s Pat.’
That, apparently, was all the explanation Jen was going to get.
She read through the menu of hot chocolate flavours, mind boggling at the choice. Salted caramel, mint, chilli and then some more creative flavours: cinnamon, clementine, clove, maple and pecan. The choice was almost overwhelming. Jen opted for white chocolate and cranberry.
‘Good choice,’ Ted said, deciding on chilli for himself. ‘Snack?’
Jen scanned the menu. It all looked delicious. ‘Don’t suppose you want to share the cheese brioche wreath with cranberry dip?’ she asked.
Ted looked aghast. ‘With hot chocolate? I know you like savoury and sweet together but I’m not a weirdo, so I’ll be having a ginger cake bite, thank you very much.’
She shrugged. ‘Please yourself. I’ll just have a small portion of the halloumi in blankets then.’
Jen’s gaze strayed to the children playing in the corner as Ted went to order.
Marnie had it beautifully set up, with a colourful carpet and some tiny chairs and tables, a box of toys, bookcases bursting with bright picture books – plenty of Christmas ones that looked brand new – and neat piles of drawing supplies.
She wondered whether Amy and George spent much time there; she suspected they did, given that this seemed to be one of Julia’s favourite places.
It would be fun to do something special for Christmas, she thought.
She was all inspired after organising the activity for Ted’s class, and some long-forgotten part of her brain was creaking into life, thinking of getting Amy, George and their friends together to make Christmas cards or decorations.
There were so many cute things you could do, and she was sure they’d love it.
Ted returned with the drinks, soon followed by Marnie with the food.
‘Ted’s assured me you’re not going to actually dip these in the hot chocolate,’ she said, placing the plate of piping hot halloumi in blankets on the table. ‘Otherwise you might have ended up being the first person I had to actually escort off the premises!’ She laughed.
Jen grinned. ‘Can’t make any promises.’
Marnie pulled a face. ‘I just won’t look.’
‘I love your children’s area, by the way.’
‘Oh, thanks! The place used to be a bakery and I got the idea for a café because the parents and children were coming in after school, so I always wanted to have a special area for them.’
‘Do you do activities?’
She pushed the curls out of her eyes. ‘You know, I always wanted to, maybe icing biscuits or something, but with all this –’ she waved her arm to indicate the café – ‘I’ve never quite got to it, so . . . oh, excuse me!’ She smiled, hurrying off to another customer at the counter.
‘If you’ve quite finished your cross-examination,’ Ted grumbled, cutting into his cake. ‘Shall we get to the business in hand? Train Guy?’
‘Anthony.’
Ted had his phone in his hand. ‘Surname?’
‘O’Hara. He even sounds like a poet. Wait, are you cyber-stalking him?’
Ted tapped on his phone. ‘It’s what Gen Z do.’
She glanced at the screen. ‘On LinkedIn?’
‘You wouldn’t know, you’re a Millennial.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re three months younger than me. You’re not Gen Z.’
‘I’m Gen Z in spirit. He’s not on here.’
‘Of course he’s not, he’s a poet! Try Instagram.’
Jen bit into her food, savouring the salty crunch of bacon and the soft warmth of the halloumi, leaning over Ted’s shoulder to see his phone.
They soon found Anthony’s feed, an arty mix of monochrome photos of cityscapes and graffiti, reels of Anthony reading earnestly at open mic events, pencil drawings of beautiful women in profile and black-and-white pictures of Anthony looking brooding and chiselled.
Jen’s stomach flipped. She almost lost her appetite but, having finished the food, was able to force down a sip of the deliciously rich drink, savouring the sweet chocolate and the tart cranberry flavours.
Ted hooted with laughter. ‘Oh my God. You’d better not let him see your Insta.’
Offended, Jen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, thinking of her Instagram feed that was mostly filled with pictures of burgers and cats she saw on the street and herself after a few gin and tonics. She flushed at the thought, and regretted having given Anthony her real name.
‘Oh, come on. This guy’s not for you, I mean, he’s all – you know, intellectual.’
This wasn’t helping. ‘I can be intellectual.’
Ted gave her a steady look. ‘Jen. He writes actual poems. And reads them out to a load of serious people. And he draws – he does, like, actual portraits. Look at this stuff. He quotes Dostoevsky! He’s all – arty, and stuff.’
‘I’m arty!’
‘You’re . . . creative.’
She gave him a black look.
‘I can draw. Well, I can learn! I can . . . I don’t know . . . do a YouTube tutorial or something.’
Ted looked doubtful. ‘Sounds like a lot of work.’
‘No, but – I think he’s worth it. I – when we met on the train I just had this feeling, and then, we talked all night in the bar and even today, the way we’ve been talking, it’s not . . . not like dating usually is. It’s scary, but . . .’
Ted looked at her, his dark eyes taking her in. Jen stared back, feeling her own vulnerability, letting him see it. He was the only person in the world she would trust to have this conversation with; he’d seen her in a far worse state than this, and never let her down.
‘Wow,’ he said softly. ‘You’re really serious about this one.’
She shifted on her seat, fiddled with her napkin. ‘I think so. Yes.’
He whistled and shook his head, grinning. ‘I know you said you might be ready, but I wasn’t sure if – well. I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘Nor me.’
‘OK, well, you know Sarah runs an art class in the village hall – I can ask if you could go, if that helps?’
She shrugged. ‘I mean, I probably won’t still be here, but yes, if I’m still stuck .
. .’ She grimaced at the thought. ‘That would be good, yeah. Come with me though? It’ll be fun.
Please. Come on, it’s the least you can do, you did get me trapped in bloody Babblebrook and then abandon me to my sodding sister, after all.
’ She knew if she gazed at him long enough he’d give in, big softie that he was.
‘I did you a favour, Babblebrook’s lovely,’ he said indignantly.
‘Babblebrook’s boring.’
‘And you love spending time with the kids, don’t deny it, I can see it in your face when you’re with them. What would you be rushing home for, anyway?’
He had her there. The truth was, she had no regular job to go back to at the moment.
She’d been applying for temporary Christmas jobs in bars and shops, but nothing had come up.
She suspected they were looking for younger candidates.
She had savings and she could always get a few hours of bar work in her local, but that had felt less fun recently.
She was bored of dealing with drunken antics every night, and she found herself feeling tired before she even started her shift these days.
Jen always got restless, and she knew she needed a change.
She just hadn’t envisaged that change coming in the form of a sleepy Cotswolds village, still less her impossible-to-live-up-to sister.
‘You still owe me,’ she muttered.
Ted sighed and raised his palm. ‘OK, fine. I’ll come with you. Just stop pestering me about staying with me, it’s good for you to spend some time with Julia and the kids, and I’m too busy anyway. Organising this fair has turned into a total—’
Jen squealed and leapt from her seat to hug him, bending over him as he sat at the table. ‘Thank you! Thank you, I knew you would, you’re such a good friend.’ She leaned over and grabbed the last piece of his cake, shoving it into her mouth. ‘Right, I’ve got to go, said I’d help with bathtime.’
‘You know, you could always try something else with this guy,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Just – be yourself.’
Her mouth fell open, almost dropping the last piece of cake onto the floor. ‘Are you insane?’
She’d never heard such a ridiculous suggestion.