Perfect Blend: A Novel (10 page)

“Well, that’s not very nice, is it?” Amy took his fingers and began blowing on them. It was what she always did when he hurt himself. She called it “magic air,” and it seemed to take the pain away.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Victoria said, peering at Charlie’s wound. “I’m sure Arthur didn’t mean it.”

“He did mean it,” Charlie bellowed with red-faced defiance. “He did.”

Arthur responded by burying his face in his mother’s skirt.

“Actually, I’d be inclined to agree.” It was the man who’d separated the two boys. He was still holding the swizzle stick. Amy found herself staring at him. She was sure she recognized him, but try as she might, she couldn’t place him.

“What do you mean?” Victoria snapped.

“I mean that your son gave every impression that he was about to hurt this child if he didn’t hand over the Lego man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He was playing, that’s all.” By now, Arthur was burrowing sullenly into Victoria’s skirt and she was rubbing his back.

“You call it playing. I call it terrorizing,” the man said.

“I’ll have you know that my son is academically gifted. He needs constant stimulation. He gets cranky occasionally, but that’s just a symptom of his frustration with the world.”

Amy rolled her eyes. Victoria always fell back on the tormented genius argument to excuse her son’s bad behavior.

“Academically gifted or not,” the chap persisted, “he’s a bully, and it strikes me that you are perfectly happy to indulge him.”

Victoria stood in front of him, blinking and sputtering. People so rarely stood up to her that when they did, the shock left her lost for words.

“How dare you?” she managed eventually. Then she turned on Amy. “The trouble with Charlie is that he doesn’t have a father. He has no male role model, nobody to show him how to stand up for himself. He needs to toughen up.”

“My being a single parent has got nothing to do with this,” Amy said, doing her best to keep calm. “And you know it. Arthur has been naughty. All kids are naughty. When it happens, you have to accept it and deal with it.”

Victoria’s face was scarlet with fury and embarrassment. Not only had she been defeated, she had been defeated in public, and the public was finding it hard to conceal its fascination. All the women in the restaurant had interrupted their conversations to listen to the fracas. By now the place was silent. Even the children had picked up on the atmosphere and were quiet.

Victoria’s response was to move away from the engrossed onlookers. Not that there was anywhere to go. She headed toward a quietish corner near the loo. Amy took Charlie’s hand and followed her. The pair watched as Victoria turned on Arthur, her voice an angry whisper. “I told you to put that filthy stick down when we were in the park. Why did you disobey me? Now, then, say sorry to Charlie.”

This was typical of Victoria, defending Arthur in public and scolding him in private. Arthur blinked at her as if to say: “Hang on … inconsistent parenting. A second ago you said I was a troubled genius and that none of this was my fault.” The poor child was clearly confused. He buried his head again and refused to move.

“It’s okay,” Amy said to her sister. “I think Arthur’s had enough. Let’s leave it now.”

At that moment, Victoria’s expression changed. She looked at Amy, accusing her. “You didn’t give the boys sweets while they were playing, did you? I know you let Charlie have rubbish with food coloring, but Arthur’s sensitive system can’t tolerate chemicals.”

“No, I didn’t. Anyway, I’ve been with you most of the time. And for your information, Charlie isn’t allowed food coloring, either.”

Victoria prized her son off her knees and turned him to face his cousin. “Okay, apologize to Charlie or it’s the naughty step for you when we get home, and I was going to take you both out for ice cream after the nature trail.”

The bit about the ice cream hit home. “Sorry,” Arthur mumbled.

“Louder, please.”

“Sorry!”

“That’s better. Now give Charlie a hug and we can go.”

Arthur shuffled over to Charlie and hugged him.

The embrace over, Amy asked Charlie if he was happy to go to Arthur’s house. He nodded, but without much enthusiasm. That worried Amy, and she almost suggested that he spend the day at the café, but she knew that he would only get bored and irritable. Since having Charlie she’d learned that kids fought, made up, and didn’t bear grudges.

Victoria was still looking tight-lipped.

“You okay?” Amy said in a low voice so that the boys couldn’t hear.

“Of course I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“It’s not easy,” Amy said, “having somebody tell you that your child’s a bully.”

Victoria shrugged. “I’m really not interested in other people’s opinions. I’m his mother. I know the truth, and that’s all that matters … Arthur is a very special child.” With that she took a deep breath and arranged her face into a smile. “Right, boys. Are we ready to go?”

They were on the point of leaving when Victoria turned to Amy. “Oh, by the way,” she said, “I have huge news.”

“What?”

“Dad’s got a girlfriend.”

“What? You’re kidding. How do you know?”

“That ditzy new receptionist of his let it slip. She seemed to think I knew.”

“So Dad doesn’t know we know?”

“Correct”

“Does Mum know?”

“Not sure. Best not say anything. Anyway”—she stiffened—“suffice it to say that Simon and I most definitely do not approve.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Mum … Charlie did a smelly fart.” Arthur was in fits of giggles, as was Charlie. Like so many males, they had bonded over fart gas. In a few years they’d be setting fire to them.

“What have I told you about saying that word?” Victoria turned back to Amy. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll explain when you and Charlie come over on Saturday.”

“We’re coming over?”

“Yes, didn’t Mum tell you? The en suite bathroom is finished at long last, and I’m desperate to show it off. Come for lunch. Nothing fancy, just potluck.”

Amy was making her way back to the counter, when Claire stopped her. Phoebe was asleep in her sling. Ben was at his mother’s side, his T-shirt covered in more croissant crumbs. “We’re off now,” Claire said, “but I just wanted to thank you so much for sticking up for me back there. God, I loathe that woman—may her ovaries shrivel and die. Sorry, I know she’s a friend of yours, but—”

“Actually,” Amy said, “Victoria is my sister.”

Claire’s face turned scarlet. “Oh, God. I had no idea.”

“Don’t worry.” Amy smiled. “I know Victoria can be a pain in the backside, and I apologize. All I’d say in her defense is that she has one or two underlying emotional issues.”

“One or two?”

Amy giggled. “Okay, several. Not that I’m excusing her.”

“Say no more,” Claire said. “I totally understand. And thanks again.”

“Wass ovries?” Ben piped up. He seemed to have forgotten all about going to the loo.

“I’ll explain when we get home, darling.” Claire took his hand and said goodbye to Amy, and they made their way to the door.

Seeing that nobody was serving the chap who had rescued Charlie, Amy darted over to him and apologized for keeping him waiting.

“No problem. I’m not in a rush.”

Nice smile, she thought.

She was about to thank him for getting between Arthur and Charlie, but he got in first.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I went too far back there. Maybe I was a bit hard on that woman, but I really felt for your little boy.”

“Don’t worry. I really appreciate what you did. Actually, Arthur is Charlie’s cousin. He can be a bit of a handful.”

“So that woman is your sister?”

Amy nodded. “She’s pretty intimidating. Not many people have the courage to stand up to her.”

“Well, you seem to manage okay.” His eyes were fixed on hers. She could swear the man was flirting with her. “By the way, I’m Sam Draper.”

“Amy Walker,” she said, holding out her hand, which he took. His handshake was firm and warm.

They exchanged “Pleased-to-meet-you”s. “So you’re raising Charlie alone?” he said. “Can’t be easy.”

“It’s better now he’s at school, but I admit it was a bit hairy when he was a baby—night after night without sleep. I don’t think I quite knew what I was letting myself in for.”

“My sister’s got twins. Neither of them slept as babies. I’d go around there, and she and my brother-in-law would be virtually on their knees with exhaustion.”

Amy said she couldn’t imagine having twins even with a husband on hand to help. “So, Sam, what can I get you?”

He ordered an English breakfast tea to go. She found herself staring at him again. She could swear that she knew him from somewhere … only he looked different somehow.

He was clearly having the same thoughts about her. “Your face seems familiar,” he said. “I’m sure we’ve met.”

“I know. I was thinking the same thing.” She placed a tea bag into a cardboard cup and filled it with boiling water from the dispenser.

He stood thinking. “Goddit. You came up to me the other day and asked when Bean Machine was opening.”

“Of course. You were wearing a hard hat—that’s why I’ve been struggling to recognize you.”

“You seemed to be in a real hurry,” he said.

“I was. I had to get back to tell my boss that your company was about to put him out of business.” Amy was rarely hostile toward people even if she had good reason, but the thought of Brian going under after all his hard work made her angry.

“I’m sorry?”

“Have you any idea what you’re doing to this business?”

“Me?”

“Well, you and the rest of Bean Machine. The moment you open, Café Mozart will be forced to shut down. There’s no way we can compete with your prices.”

“I understand, but …”

“You know what? Actually, you don’t understand.” Her heart was pounding with adrenaline. She was starting to get really worked up. “You don’t understand at all. My boss is a close friend who has invested all his savings in this business, and you are about to ruin him.”

“That’s awful.”

“Thanks for caring,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “He’s put so much work into building up this place. The coffee is the best for miles around. Our bread and cakes come from one of the finest bakeries in London. What are you going to give people? Marmite and cheese food bloody paninis, that’s what.”

“People like Marmite and cheese paninis.”

“Name me one.”

He shrugged. “Me. I love the meaty, savory taste.”

She wasn’t quite sure where to take her argument from there, so she decided to change tack. “Bean Machine is all about homogenized café culture,” she said getting onto her high horse. “It doesn’t matter which branch you go into. The art on the walls, the music, the furniture—it’s all the same. Bean Machine is about the blandizing of the coffee shop. Café Mozart isn’t like that. This place is original—a one-off, and we offer great quality—”

“I know, but the thing is—”

“And I haven’t gotten to the most important part. You claim to be a fair-trade company, but everything you hear about Bean Machine indicates that you exploit coffee growers. Your profits are huge. You make billions every year. Why can’t you pay these poor people who work for you a basic living wage?”

“Look, if you’d just calm down for a moment—”

“Please don’t patronize me. Why should I calm down? What your company is doing is reprehensible. And another thing …”

“What?”

“Bean Machine coffee is lousy. It’s weak and bitter.”

“I agree.”

“What?”

“I agree.”

“What do you mean, you agree? How can you possibly agree?”

“Easy. I don’t work for Bean Machine, at least not directly.”

“Of course you work for them. You were inspecting the building, and I saw a Bean Machine letterhead attached to your clipboard.”

“I was inspecting the building because I am the architect responsible for the renovation work. The reason I had a Bean Machine letterhead was that they’d written to me requesting some last-minute design changes.”

“I see.” Her face was flushed with embarrassment. She grappled for something to say. “Well … you could always refuse to do business with unethical companies.”

“I could also refuse to buy products from countries with dubious human rights records.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she said, pouring milk into the tea.

“Okay, name me one country that hasn’t been criticized for human rights violations.”

“I dunno. Norway?” She reached for a plastic cup lid.

“So I take it that everything you buy—all your clothes, household goods, and electronic equipment—is homegrown in Norway.”

“No, of course not.” She handed him his tea. He thanked her and returned to his theme.

“That’s because even if Norway made all that stuff, nobody could afford to buy it. Like the rest of us, you buy cheap Chinese imports, and while hating yourself for doing it, you turn a blind eye to their human rights record.” With that he handed her the exact change.

Sam was right. When she shopped, she did pay more attention to price than to human rights. He had backed her into a corner and won. She had no choice but to swallow her pride and concede the point. She also owed him an apology for accusing him of being part of Bean Machine and being so shrill and aggressive. She was about to say her sorries, when Zelma appeared.

“What?” she said to Sam. “You’re not having anything to eat? A strapping chap like you needs a snack midmorning. It’ll keep your blood sugar up—stop you getting irritable. Now, then, what can I interest you in? A pâté and cornichon baguette, maybe? Tell you what, I could fry you some bacon and make you a bacon and egg ciabatta.”

In the end he took a slice of ginger cake. There was no opportunity for Amy to say anything because Zelma kept fussing and clucking around him, trying to sell him a nice smoked salmon bagel to go with it.

As he was leaving, he and Amy exchanged awkward goodbyes.

“Gorgeous-looking young man,” Zelma whispered. “What on earth were you arguing with him about?”

Amy explained. “I can’t believe I made such a fool of myself. I’m such an idiot, jumping to conclusions and losing my temper.”