The Christmas Café (11 page)

VBW! Alex x

PS – I think you might be my new e-penfriend.

PPS – I told Professor Richards you weren’t a cat fan. He didn’t seem too offended.

Bea laughed out loud. This woman was funny. How wonderful to be chatting to someone on the other side of the world as though they were in the next room. She envied Alex her tranquillity, wishing she could stroll on that misty moor and find such peace. She rather liked having an e-penfriend, whatever that was. She skipped to the kitchen, willing the kettle to boil quicker as she plopped the Earl Grey tea bag and lemon slice into her mug, composing in her head the email she would send in reply.

From: BeaG

Subject: Re: Hello Again

Well, Alex, that sounds beautiful; I envy you having that special place to wander in. We have the Blue Mountains, and standing at Echo Point to watch the sun rise over the Three Sisters is one of the most stunning things I have ever witnessed. Peter took me there many times, but I remember the first more than any other. We were with a gaggle of noisy tourists all eager to get a good photograph, but as the first rays peeked over the rocks, everyone fell silent, totally awestruck by the experience. I’m ashamed to say it’s been a year or two since I last visited and in truth I feel a little scared of going there without him.

I did actually live in England, in Surrey, until I was fourteen, but I never made it to Scotland. I’ve not been back since. The memories of that early life are precious to me. I’m estranged from my family, a story far too long to go into right now, but I think fondly of those years, when I had no idea of how my life would change. I remember laughing a lot.

Bea paused and thought of her sister, remembered again the Epsom Downs horses she’d told Flora about, and the white Christmases. She sighed and returned to the keyboard.

As you can see, I’m concentrating now and the gaps are sorted. I’m not too good with the keyboard, take an age to type – used to be much faster. I must get better.

I’m sorry for your loss too. Ten years is a long time. I don’t like being on my own, not really. I sometimes feel too vulnerable and lonely to be happy. There are days when the world feels like it’s spinning too fast and I want to get off. Do you ever feel that way?

Bea x

Thinking of her sister and those happy childhood years had unnerved her. At fourteen she’d been a mere baby, blissfully unaware that in just a few years her world would unravel in ways she couldn’t have begun to imagine. She thought about the many jaunts she and Peter had taken, exploring the vast, beautiful country that they called home.
I miss that...
Her laptop buzzed, drawing her from her thoughts.

From: Christmas Café

Subject: Re: Hello Again

The Three Sisters sound quite majestic, I will google them.

In answer to your question, yes, I feel that way most days; everything moves too quickly and I find myself longing for a gentler pace. Truth is, I’m afraid that if I slow down, I might forget why I need to get up every day, lose my purpose. I haven’t told anyone that before. I think it’s maybe easier to open up to you, my e-penfriend, with this screen between us!

Right, time is marching on and I’m finally feeling sleepy. I have thoroughly enjoyed our chat. And don’t worry, Bea, you are not alone. Christmas is a difficult time for lots of us.

Very best wishes,

Alex x

‘Santa Maria! Christmas lights in here too? Are you kidding me? They are everywhere! I was at Paddy’s Market earlier; it’s full of sparkly trash, bits of bloody tinsel on every pole and dancing Santa Clauses holding candy canes. And now in here too. I can’t escape it!’ Mr Giraldi shook his head in disdain as he took a seat at his preferred table.

Tait smiled. ‘Ah, come on, Mr Giraldi, don’t go all bah humbug on us. You’ve got to get into the swing!’

Kim walked in with the specials board ready to go outside.

‘Hey, Kim,’ Tait said, ‘I’m just saying, we’ve got the Christmas spirit flowing here, we can’t have Mr Giraldi spoiling our vibe, can we? He doesn’t even like tinsel!’

Kim stared at him and nodded. ‘I... I think... I...’ she managed, before rushing back into the kitchen and busying herself with stacking the dishwasher.

‘Cat’s got her tongue again.’ Mr Giraldi chuckled, tapping his walking stick on the floor in time with his wheezing. ‘I got so many grandkids, Christmas almost bankrupts me. They only want money! Can you believe it! Money! What does a kid need money for? In my day we were grateful for a satsuma, a walnut and a blessing!’

Tait was about to respond when out of the corner of his eye he spotted Wyatt striding up the hill with Flora following closely behind. Her thick shock of auburn hair made her instantly recognisable.

A minute later, Wyatt swept through the door. ‘Is Mum here?’

‘Sure.’ Tait pointed his thumb towards the kitchen. ‘She’s out back.’

‘Hi, Tait.’ Flora’s voice caught in her throat. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

‘You okay, Little Klitschko?’ he whispered.

Flora gave the briefest nod and followed her dad into the kitchen, rushing through the swing doors.

‘Wyatt! What on earth...?’ Bea looked up from the counter-top and wiped her floury hands on her pinny. ‘Flora? What’s going on?’

‘Oh, Gran!’ Flora fell into Bea’s arms.

‘Sorry to barge in like this, Mum.’ Wyatt glanced at Kim, not wanting to give details in front of this stranger and especially not with everyone in the café poised to listen.

‘Can you hold the fort here, Kim?’ Bea asked over her granddaughter’s shoulder.

‘Sure.’ Kim nodded, trying not to stare at the trio, who all stood there awkwardly, emotion tumbling from them in waves. It made her sad to see Flora so tearful.

‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ Bea cooed. She released her granddaughter, ran her hands under the hot tap and trod the stairs to her apartment. ‘Wyatt, can you put the kettle on?’

Flora dumped her bag on the sitting room floor and flopped down on the sofa.

Bea stood watching her cry for a few moments then walked over to the balcony doors and threw them open, hoping a breeze would whip round the room and take the edge off the frayed tempers. ‘Flora, what’s all this about? What happened? You seemed quite sparky when you left here yesterday.’

‘I’m sure she was,’ Wyatt interjected, walking past his mum so that they both stood facing Flora on the sofa. ‘Are you going to tell your gran what you’ve been up to?’ His tone was level, stern.

Flora shrugged, her face sullen, and looked at the floor.

Wyatt sighed. ‘After you called and I set off to pick her up last night, Sarah decided to freshen up her room, change her bed linen and make it nice.’ He paused. ‘Under her bed she found a carrier bag full of make-up.’

‘She can wear a little make-up, can’t she, love? I mean, she’s nearly fourteen,’ Bea said soothingly, wondering what the fuss was about and thinking how hard it must be for a dad to recognise that his little girl was growing up.

‘She’s had her own make-up since she was little; we’ve always let her experiment, you know that. But this was a bit different. It wasn’t the usual bits she gets from the store, it was expensive brands, all wrapped and sealed. Stolen.’

‘Stolen?’ Bea looked at Flora.

‘It wasn’t me! I didn’t steal it. I told you, I was just looking after it!’ Flora banged the sofa with tightly clenched fists and shouted, as though extra volume might give her case added weight.

‘Who stole it then?’ Bea asked.

Flora shrugged.

‘Flora, whoever you’re covering for would most definitely not cover for you. No one with any decency would have asked you to look after stolen goods. That’s a fact.’ Bea sighed.
Bloody Lori big boobs, no doubt.

‘I’m not going back with Dad, no way!’ Flora shouted.

‘Okay, okay.’ Bea patted the air. ‘Let’s keep calm and find a solution.’

‘There is no solution. They don’t even listen to me. I fucking hate them!’ she shouted towards her dad.

Bea gasped and Wyatt visibly flinched.

‘You cannot speak like that! I won’t have it, not under my roof and certainly not to your dad. Do you understand me?’ Bea was as stern as she could manage, but she was on the verge of tears herself. She was dismayed to see the transformation of her sweet girl into someone quite unrecognisable.

‘This is what we have to put up with.’ Wyatt held his palm up towards his daughter and spoke to Bea as though Flora wasn’t there.

‘Why don’t you just go then!’ Flora screamed through her tears. ‘I hate you!’

Wyatt stared at his mum. ‘Do you think I should go? I don’t want to abandon her and I don’t want it to become your problem, but nor do I want her to get more agitated. I don’t know what’s best.’ He kept his level tone, despite his unease.

Bea raised her arms and let them fall, equally at a loss. ‘I really don’t know what to suggest.’ She chewed her lip and stared at her granddaughter, who had curled into a foetal position on the sofa. ‘Maybe you should go, let things calm down a bit, and I’ll call you later?’

Wyatt nodded. ‘I’m going, Flora. I’ll speak to you later.’ He bent down and tried to stroke away the hair that had fallen in a curtain over her face. She didn’t react, kept her eyes firmly closed.

Bea watched Wyatt walk down Reservoir Street towards his car, chatting on his phone, no doubt filling Sarah in on the latest developments. He cut a forlorn figure and she felt anger flare on his behalf. She loved her granddaughter, of course, but causing her son this level of upset was unacceptable.

Bea took a seat at the end of the sofa and waited for her granddaughter’s anger to dissipate, hoping the stillness of the room might bring a sense of calm.

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise...

As she sat, she repeated the lines in her head, over and over, hearing his voice still. It was her poem for troubled times, a poem from when she was young – a bit older than Flora but just as much at odds with the world. Maybe Flora would find it reassuring too.

Bea remembered the perfect quiet of the night she’d first heard those lines as if it were yesterday. They were on a boat, bobbing on the ocean, the deck rough beneath their outstretched legs as they’d stared up at the fading stars and then, later, at the purple dawn, which had crept in to steal away the night. It was the night she met her love; her parents and the other passengers had retreated below deck, leaving the two of them there in the half light. Sneaking the opportunity, she’d rested her head on his shoulder and with her eyes closed she’d listened as he’d recited his favourite poetry, his voice cutting through the darkness.
‘If you can wait and not be tired by waiting...’ Oh
, thought Bea resignedly,
that should be the line to go on my headstone.

It was half an hour before Flora looked up, flipping her hair over her shoulder and propping herself up into a semi-seated position. Her body language was softer, her voice steady. ‘I didn’t steal it.’

Bea noted her bloodshot eyes and puffy cheeks. ‘I believe you. But you did know it was stolen?’

Flora nodded.

‘Right. I have to say that at this very moment I’m more upset at how you spoke to your dad than a bag of bloody make-up.’

‘They wouldn’t let me talk. I tried to tell them it wasn’t me, but they just kept saying if it wasn’t me then I had to say who had done it and that they were going to the police, and if they did that...’ Her chest heaved again. She closed her eyes.

‘They won’t do that, Flora,’ Bea said, hoping she spoke the truth. ‘Try and take deep breaths and keep calm.’

‘I hate them!’ she muttered.

‘No you don’t, love. Trust me. They would be so upset to hear you say that. Did you see your dad’s face? He was so shocked, and I can understand why. It really isn’t any way to talk to or about your parents.’

‘You don’t understand.’ Flora shook her head.

‘Well, tell me then, give me all the missing pieces. I’m not getting any more involved if I don’t know what I’m getting involved in.’

Flora sighed. ‘There’s this club.’

‘A nightclub?’ Bea ventured, wondering if this had something to do with Flora’s night on the beach.

‘No!’ Flora gave a small hiccupping laugh. ‘It’s just a thing at school where people do dares and stuff.’

‘What kind of stuff?’

Flora gave her usual shrug. ‘I don’t know, things like hiding behind the wall and shouting things out.’

‘What things?’

‘Things like... fuck off.’ Flora’s cheeks flared at having said the word twice within the last hour.

‘Oh my goodness, Flora! Why would you think that’s a good idea?’

Flora kept her eyes downcast and shrugged again. ‘I hate being in Year 8! Maisie moved away.’

‘I didn’t know that.’ Bea pictured the sweet girl, a neighbour who’d been a constant in Flora’s life since kindergarten, always there at her parties and in stories about what she’d been up to.

‘Her dad got a job in Darwin.’

‘You must miss her.’

‘I do,’ Flora whispered. ‘I don’t have any friends and then Lori and Katie said I could hang out with them, but I had to do the dares and then the whole thing with Marcus happened and I don’t want to go back to school after Christmas. I don’t.’

Bea gathered her granddaughter into her arms and held her tightly. ‘You’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle, but it will all work out, you wait and see.’

‘I’m sorry, Bea.’ Flora whispered her apology.

‘What for, darling?’

‘For saying “fuck” in front of you, twice.’

Bea held her granddaughter’s beautiful hair and let it fall through her fingers. ‘Oh, sweet girl, it’s actually three times if we count your apology.’ She kissed Flora’s scalp and smiled at Peter’s picture on the wall. She knew he would be smiling at the terrible farce of it all.