The Christmas Café (20 page)

‘Old what?’ Flora wrinkled her nose.

‘Auld Reekie. It’s the Scots name for Edinburgh,’ the waitress explained as she placed the plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon in front of Flora. ‘It means Old Smoky. We used to have a lot of chimneys, so the old town was always full of smoke.’ She set the bowl of porridge with honey and blueberries before Bea.

‘That looks lovely. Thank you.’ Bea smiled and picked up the silver spoon, her appetite suddenly raging at the sight and scent of their breakfast.

Flora tapped her fork on the side of the plate, hesitating despite her hunger.

‘What’s wrong, darling? That looks lovely.’

‘I did something,’ she whispered.

‘Oh no, what now?’ Bea pictured more scrapping, fibbing, harbouring bags of swag...

‘I googled him.’ Flora spoke with her eyes on the plate.

‘You googled who?’

‘Dr John W. Brodie.’ Flora concentrated on balancing her egg on her fork. ‘This morning, when you were in the shower.’

‘You did?’ Bea was intrigued and annoyed in equal measure.

Flora swallowed her food without really chewing. ‘I was just curious.’

Bea felt her pulse race. ‘What did you discover?’

‘There were two of them. But your John was listed as retired. It says a Dr J. W. Brodie, retired, lives in an area called Davidson’s Mains, Edinburgh, wherever that is. It sounds like an odd address.’

Bea held the spoon by her mouth and watched the blueberries shiver as her hand shook. She felt a rush of nausea as she sat back in the high back chair.
Your John, he’s here, in Edinburgh, minutes from you at this very moment.

‘You okay, Gran?’ Flora reached out and touched her arm. ‘You don’t look too good.’

Bea placed the spoon in the bowl and folded her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath as she arranged her bangles on her wrist. ‘Goodness me, Flora. I’ve waited for over thirty years and you’re saying, after one little tap on a screen, that I could be in the same city as him? Right now?’

Flora nodded, still unsure if she had done the right thing.

‘Oh, God help me!’ Bea lifted the linen napkin and held it over her face, reminding herself to breathe.
What am I doing? I should leave things well alone! What’s the point, Bea? What’s the point of disturbing his life after all this time? What would he say to his wife? You could ruin his life! He must never know you are here. Never.

Standing on the steps of the hotel, kitted out in fleecy layers, a windcheater, gloves and trainers, Flora turned to Bea, pulling her hat over her ears and exhaling a long smoky breath into the morning mist. ‘I know I’m not allowed to say it, but—’

‘You’re right!’ Bea interrupted, raising her palm. ‘You’re not allowed to say it!’

‘Okay! But can I just say instead that Mum and Dad are on a beach in Bali right now, probably dipping into their private pool to keep cool?’

‘No, you can’t!’ Bea fired back, hopping on the spot to keep the chill from her toes. ‘Have you spoken to them?’

‘I emailed them, because I wasn’t sure about the time and stuff. I told them we’d arrived safely and that we’re having a really cool time. Mum replied to say they had a great view of the ocean, blah, blah, and ended on a cute nagging note that I need to use this time to think everything through!’ Flora rolled her eyes.

‘She’s your mum and she’s worried about you because she loves you.’ Bea had been pleased to note the affectionate tone to Flora’s words. ‘Come on, we’re going hiking.’ She practically ran down the steps.

‘Where is it we’re going again?’ Flora shouted as she raced after her.

Bea pointed towards the Royal Mile. ‘To Arthur’s Seat!’

‘I haven’t come all this way to look at some bloke’s chair!’ Flora moaned, her words evaporating in the gusting wind.

They took the bus to Holyrood Palace, at the far end of the Royal Mile, then walked past the entrance to the Scottish Parliament and on into Holyrood Park. Flora stared up at Arthur’s Seat. The hill looked massive so close up, dominating the park and looming large over the edge of Edinburgh’s city centre. ‘Are we going all the way to the top?’ she asked.

Bea nodded, striding forward, her nose and cheeks quite pink. With her head down, she trod the path, zigzagging up the steep slope. The grass was springy underfoot and, just as John had described it all those years ago, she had a real sense that where she was heading was somewhere special. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Flora raced ahead, unfazed by the gradient.

At the top of the rocky summit, Bea bent over to catch her breath, resting her palms on her thighs, enjoying the feeling of her heart beating fast in her chest and the warm slick of sweat that covered her skin. As her pulse slowed, she straightened up and took in the view.

‘Oh wow!’ she gasped, looking left to right and back again, then spinning in a slow circle, trying to take in the full panorama of city spires and the coast and rolling green mountains beyond.

‘I can see why old Arthur wanted his chair up here,’ Flora said. ‘It’s awesome.’

‘The same reason Mrs Macquarie wanted hers where it is, I should imagine: the best viewpoint in the city to watch the comings and goings! And it is awesome, isn’t it?’

John had loved it, she remembered, had mentioned it often.
‘You can see as far as your eye will let you. Every way you turn reveals something new.’
She squinted to focus on the sooty spire of the Scott Monument, then took in the sweep of Princes Street beyond it. ‘Could it be that you are below me, somewhere in that sprawl?’ she whispered into the scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. ‘I wonder, are you there, John, close to me now?’

As if in tune with her gran’s musings, Flora turned to face her. ‘Barnton Avenue West.’

‘Sorry?’ Bea turned towards her granddaughter.

‘That’s where he lives. Barnton Avenue West. He’s been there for the last thirty years, according to the records.’

‘Oh, Flora!’ Bea exhaled slowly, trying to decide what to do with the information.

‘Phew! That’s some view, eh?’ Neither of them had heard the man approach from behind. He stood huffing and puffing next to them on the rocky outcrop.

‘It sure is,’ Bea replied.

‘Oh, you’re Australian! No way! It’s a small world.’

Bea wondered if he was going to ask if she knew tall Bradley with the extended bungalow by the mountain...

‘My boy’s over there just now, been working on a dive boat off the coast of Cairns. Says he’s homesick but loves the weather. He’s a fisherman here, sounds like a bit of a busman’s holiday! I says to my wife, boats are boats and weather’s weather, how much different can it be?’

Bea wriggled her fingers inside her gloves and tried to halt the shiver along her spine. She laughed loudly. ‘You’d be surprised!’

Down at the bottom of the hill again, they waited for the bus.

‘I don’t know what to do, Flora. I wanted to see his city, but I didn’t consider seeing him.’

‘I’ve been thinking that you might actually bump into him – literally, in the street!’ Flora said, pulling her hat down over her ears. ‘I keep looking at all the old men to see if they look like my dad!’

‘Oh, goodness, don’t say that!’ Bea felt both horrified and thrilled by the idea. ‘And he’s not an old man, he’s only fifty-eight!’ She stared into the distance. ‘I used to imagine all sorts – him coming to find me and what it would be like when we first saw each other again, how that would either confirm or shatter what I thought I knew. And then I used to worry about him coming to find me when Peter was alive. But it’s been so long, I gave up on that years ago.’
I would be content to know that he is happy and that he has been happy. That’s what I want for him, what I’ve always wished for him.

‘Who would you have picked?’ Flora asked, straight out, as though they were discussing something far less emotional.

‘Hmmm?’ Bea had heard but wanted a second to consider how best to answer, if at all.

‘I was wondering who you would have chosen if John had turned up at your house where you lived with Pappy and you’d had to choose?’

Bea looked up at the green hill in front of them and breathed in the crisp, sweet Scottish air. ‘I’d have picked Pappy every single time. I loved him, Flora, and he made me happy for twenty-seven years.’ This was the truth and it felt good to say it aloud, especially there.

Flora considered this. ‘But you loved them both?’

‘Yes.’ Bea nodded. ‘I loved them both and I loved them differently. John was my first love, a desperate, passionate love that was all-consuming, like a storm; it took me by surprise and left me broken. The love Peter and I had was like the summer, gentle and lingering, and it felt good to be living in it. It warmed my bones and my soul.’

‘Kind of like Scotland and Australia,’ Flora whispered.

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ It was the first time Bea had seen it that way.

‘Do you think you can love more than one person?’ Flora kicked her toe against the pavement.

‘I know you can. And each love is different, you’ll see.’

‘I don’t think Marcus is even talking to me, let alone loving me.’ She flicked her hair over her shoulder.

‘You are so young, Flora. Who knows – maybe Marcus is for you, maybe he isn’t. Don’t forget, it’s the journey that’s the exciting bit.’

‘I guess. Do you think we should go and see his house?’ Flora let the idea hang.

Bea shook her head. ‘No, Flora. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

‘We won’t go in or anything like that. We could just sit outside and you can have a quick look. We can hide a bit or wear disguises and then we’ll leave!’

‘You’ve obviously given it a lot of thought! But it’s not a good idea, love. I think we need to change the subject,’ Bea said, relieved to see the red double-decker bus pulling into their stop.

Alighting further up the Royal Mile, they navigated their way along the cobbles. They peered into the festive window displays and resisted the temptation to stop for the tea and Dundee cake that one coffee shop was offering. Instead, they ploughed on towards their date with Alex. But they’d only gone a few yards before Bea was diverted by the sight of an antiques shop set back from the street. She pointed excitedly at the grimy double frontage.

Flora rolled her eyes.

‘What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m only going in for a peek!’ Bea smiled, the prospect of a potential discovery bringing a twinkle to her eyes.

The shop wasn’t much warmer than the street. A single Calor gas fire pumped heat towards the legs of the owner, who sat behind a counter watching a tiny TV tuned to a gameshow; canned laughter filled the dusty air. He raised his hand in welcome without taking his eyes off the programme.

Bea strolled around the cluttered shop, her eyes roving over the walls. She pointed at the giant stuffed stag’s head, which was mounted on a wooden shield. ‘How much room do you have in your suitcase?’ she asked.

Flora smacked her forehead with her cupped palm. ‘I knew it was a mistake to let you come in here! Kim said I had to keep an eye on you.’

Bea laughed. ‘I’m only teasing.’

They left, waving at the man behind the counter, who ignored them, pushed his glasses further up his nose and concentrated on his flickering TV.

They eventually found the Christmas Café up an alleyway past the Scotch Whisky Experience and the Tartan Weaving Mill. Bea would have recognised it anywhere; she smiled at the sight of the window with its tartan swags and pine-cone decorations. It looked even prettier in real life. The window was steamed up and had fairy lights around it. A potted Christmas tree stood by the door, speckled with warm, white lights and topped with a red and gold tartan bow. The front door was peppered with stickers and flyers for local Zumba classes, a Kiss Goodbye to Sepsis fundraiser at Dobbies Garden Centre, a Christmas fair and much else besides.

It looked like a fabulous tearoom: homey, cosy and inviting. Christmas all year round, how wonderful. Bea took a deep breath. She was more nervous than ever at the prospect of meeting this man she had shared so much with. She smoothed her hair and pushed the door.

Bea stooped to enter the low doorway and found herself in a long, higgledy-piggledy room with a step bisecting it and small round tables and chairs in clusters on both levels. Couples occupied several seats. They had removed their hats and scarves and slackened their coats; some were nursing mugs of hot, strong tea to go with the slabs of homemade cake crammed full of plump, glistening cherries; others were biting into deep bacon sandwiches that oozed brown sauce. A large fire roared in the grate, its white-hot embers crackling as the scent of fresh pine wafted from the beautifully decorated mantel. It was a most elaborate display: nests of pine cones sat among a lattice of woven branches, and tartan and gold ribbons had been tied into bows at regular intervals. The walls were crowded with pictures and photographs of different festive scenes from times past. There were Victorian urchins selling roasted chestnuts from a brazier; a family circa 1970, gathered around their vast Christmas tree and all wearing matching Christmas jerseys and heavy-framed glasses; and a black-and-white photo of the tree outside the Rockefeller Center in New York.

A man made his way from the back of the shop, presumably where the kitchen was. He drew closer, waving with both hands, smiling widely to reveal impossibly white teeth beneath his clipped moustache; his denim shirt was unbuttoned low enough to show his tanned, hairless chest. He looked much younger than in the photos – under forty, for sure, thought Bea.

‘There she is! Welcome! Welcome to Scotland!’ Alex McKay bent low and threw his arms around Bea’s shoulders, enveloping her in a cloud of delicious aftershave. ‘My favourite e-penfriend, all the way from Australia!’ He clapped. ‘We are going to be the best of friends, I just know it! And the first thing I am going to do is cut that hair – you know the rule about over fifty and below the shoulders, right? You’re breaking it by about two inches, but no matter.’ He batted his words away.

Bea chortled, enjoying the warmth of his Scottish burr, which poured over her like soft caramel. Alex pulled out a chair and sat her down, beckoning for Flora to do the same as she slipped out of her coat. He joined them, crossing his legs. Bea grinned. She didn’t know the hair rule, but she did know that she no longer had to worry about giving Alex the wrong idea; shenanigans would be the furthest thing from his mind.