The Christmas Café (25 page)

‘Yes. It was him you were chatting to, becoming friends and swapping facts about your life with. Not me. He sat glued to that screen day and night, waiting for contact from you. He’s the walker, the one who can write about misty moors and tranquil lochs.’ He smiled.

‘Oh God! I can’t breathe...’ Bea pulled off her pashmina and rubbed her throat.

‘He was working out how to proceed, how to come clean, when you announced you were coming over! He’s been beside himself with joy and worry. And then today, quite out of the blue, Moira told him a story about a lady who was staying at The Balmoral and whose car had broken down, a lady who had come all the way from Australia...’

‘I... I don’t know what to say. I can’t... I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it.’ Bea was fighting for composure. ‘I thought that would be it. I thought I would glimpse him and that would be enough. It was enough, to see him happy!’

‘Don’t be mad at us.’

She shook her head vigorously. ‘I’m not... not mad, just overwhelmed, scared, happy, everything!’

‘He’s on his way, Bea.’

‘What?’ She sat up straight, squinting across the table, trying to understand.

‘He’s on his way right now to you. He’ll meet you at the Christmas Café.’

‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’

Alex took Bea’s hand as they collected Flora from her room and made their way to the little teashop off the Royal Mile.

‘So, what have I missed?’ Flora asked, keen to be filled in on the details and slightly concerned by Bea’s rather dazed expression.

‘Oh, honey, you are going to need major updating!’ Alex laughed as he whisked her round in a circle. The three of them were almost skipping, leaving footprints in the carpet of snow.

When they arrived, Alex let them in and flicked on the lamps while Flora bounced on the spot. ‘Oh, Bea! He found you! He found you! Just imagine if you had stayed hidden, it would never have happened, but he found you!’ She was lost in the romance, the prospect of their reunion.

‘Come on, Flora, you and I can go upstairs and watch telly. Give them some privacy. The place is all yours, Bea.’ Alex stooped to gather up a rather arrogant-looking cat, who eyed Bea dismissively before turning his head in the opposite direction. ‘Yes, Professor Richards, this is the lady I was telling you about who isn’t too fond of cats.’

‘I’m sorry!’ Bea gushed. ‘It’s not that I’m not fond of cats, I just don’t have one!’ It wasn’t clear if she was apologising to Alex or Professor Richards.

Alex stroked the cat’s ears. ‘Don’t worry, Bea, he’s not overly fond of you either, he told me.’ He grinned. ‘I’m so glad you aren’t mad at me. I was worried that Little Klitschko might have got her boxing skills from you and that when you found out, I might get a good pummelling!’ He gasped. ‘I’m so happy for you, Bea. It’s the most wonderful thing ever. It’s like a fairy tale.’ He turned in his lips, as if that might prevent his tears from welling up.

‘I wanted to ask you, where did “McKay” come from?’

‘It was my Robert’s name,’ he said quietly.

‘Of course it was.’ She paused. ‘Is Moira okay?’

‘She just wants Dad to be happy. That’s all we both want.’ He enveloped her in one of his warm hugs. ‘Let me take your coat.’ Alex eased her arms from the sleeves and ushered her towards the fire that was now roaring in the grate. ‘You look lovely.’ He stood back, admiring her snug jeans and loose, cream silk blouse.

‘I didn’t know what you’d want to eat, so I’ve prepared some snacks – cheese, oatcakes, homemade chutney, that kind of thing.’ He fussed, lining up the salt and pepper and twisting the mini Christmas tree on their table, until everything looked just so. ‘We’ll be upstairs if you need anything. Anything at all. You just have to yell or bang on the ceiling and I’ll be down quicker than you can say Jack Flash!’ He waved a warning finger at her, as if she were sixteen and not in her fifties.

‘Thank you, Alex. Thank you for everything.’ She was touched by his kindness.

He winked at her before disappearing up the stairs with a gabbling Flora.

Bea studied the opened bottle of red wine, sat in one of the chairs in front of the fire and fastened then unfastened the top button of her blouse, overly concerned about not looking too formal but also not showing too much of her crêpey décolletage. She pushed her hair behind her ears, then let it fall forward again. Her heart hammered and her palms were damp. She felt as if she had just stopped running and was fighting for breath.

Exhaling slowly, she tried to calm herself. ‘For goodness sake, Bea, he knows you’re older. Just calm down!’ She nodded as the voice in her head screamed,
He’s on his way! John, your John is coming here, right now! Any minute and you’ll see him again!
She nodded again, still trying to reconcile the fact that Alex was Xander. She felt confused and elated all at the same time.

Bea closed her eyes, hoping to clear her head and find a place of quiet contemplation, but no sooner had she taken a deep breath than she heard a gentle rapping on the door. She adjusted her bangles, practised her neutral face, stood and made her way across the room. She walked slowly, with one trembling hand over her mouth, trying to comprehend what was happening. Twisting the lock, she stepped back and opened the door.

There in front of her was a man so beautiful and unexpected that the breath caught in her throat and her heart missed a beat. She felt her legs sway and her head swim; she placed a hand on her chest, worrying that she might faint. She wanted to move but couldn’t figure out how. Her whole body shook and everything and everyone else disappeared. All she could see was the man standing in the street with the snow falling on his shoulders.
Look at you! You are real and you are here!
She walked forward until they were just a few feet apart.

‘Oh, dear God!’ he murmured. ‘Beatrice...’

Bea nodded, slowly. ‘John.’ It was the first time in decades that she had addressed him for real, not just in her head.

They were overwhelmed, tongue-tied and rather awkward. There was no small talk; it would have felt ridiculous to discuss the weather and plans for Christmas when a volcano of emotions was rumbling inside each of them.

Bea stood back and let him pass. Both quickly sank into the chairs in front of the hearth, each stealing glances at the other’s face, trying to relearn the features that time and experience had so altered.

‘Did you recognise me?’ she whispered. She spoke to her hands folded in her lap, wondering if he was looking at the map of crow’s feet that had gathered at the corner of her eyes, the small pouch of skin beneath her chin, her grey hair.

‘There was something today... It was just a glimpse, but it felt odd. Something didn’t add up, but I couldn’t figure out what. Then when Moira told me you were Australian it all fell into place.’ He placed his hand on his heart. ‘I felt you.’

His words sent a shiver to her core
. I have felt you too, all those nights apart, holding our newborn baby, watching him morph into the image of his daddy.
‘I didn’t mean to barge in, John, or upset you or your family in any way. I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment. I only meant to look at you. I never thought—’

‘It’s okay. It really is,’ he interrupted. ‘Margaret died ten years ago.’ Saying her name aloud, he broke the taboo, brought the reason for their guilt into the open, answered the unasked. What had his email said?
I know what that feels like, we are in similar boats; for me it’s been ten years.
Of course! He had forgotten to be Alex and had spoken the truth; ten years, his truth.

‘Alex told me and I’m sorry.’ Bea hated the flush of guilty joy that flooded through her.

He smiled sincerely at her condolences. ‘When she passed, it changed things for me. I thought about you – I suppose I was finally free to do so. I wondered if I should try and get in contact, but I couldn’t find the courage. So I did it by stealth. I guess I was worried about messing up your life, about interfering.’

Bea nodded quickly; his concerns echoed her own.

‘I saw you, Bea, and I saw your son.’ He stared at her, waiting for confirmation.

She simply gazed at him, speechless.

He twisted to face her in his chair. ‘We need to talk, properly talk.’ His voice was soft but assertive. ‘It doesn’t have to be tonight. We have all the time in the world, we can take it slowly.’

She watched as he stood up, removed his coat and scarf and strode across the room to place them on a vacant chair. The temptation to jump up and cling to him for dear life was strong.

‘Oh my word,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t believe I’m here.’ Every bit of her seemed to be trembling.

‘My Beatrice.’ John let his eyes rove over her face as they stared at each other, sitting in front of the fire inside the Christmas Café.

He lifted his hand and smoothed the tendrils of hair that had strayed over her cheek. ‘It’s really you, isn’t it?’ he said, and his eyes crinkled in a smile, the way they always had.

The touch of his hand against her face, skin to skin, sent a jolt right through her. ‘Yes. It’s me.’

Dr John Wyatt Brodie stood, taking a step across the creaking wooden floor of the cosy café. It was a single step, but it represented thousands of miles and many decades. He reached out and pulled her up towards him. Gingerly, Bea raised her arms and placed them across her lover’s back, nestled in the space beneath his chin where she had always fitted so perfectly. They stood like that for a minute or so, savouring each other’s presence, inhaling the scent of each other.

‘I have over the years considered the fact that I might have imagined you. Imagined the whole thing. I doubted that anyone could have the strength of feeling that I had for you.’ His voice was soft.

Bea nodded. It was exactly the same for her.

‘But here you are!’ He stepped back so he could see her better, still holding the tops of her arms.

‘Yes. Here I am.’ She looked up at him. ‘I got old!’ She dropped her gaze to the floor.

‘We both did. And not old – older. But it’s still you and you are still...’ He shook his head as if the truth was a surprise. ‘Still so very beautiful.’

Bea swallowed the bubble of joy that was growing inside her. ‘We’ve got wine.’ She sat down at the table, wanting distance between them, unable to cope with the physical proximity and the overwhelming desire to lay her skin against his and never let go.

John sat down too and stretched his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. ‘Is Xander upstairs?’

‘Yes.’ She still couldn’t quite make the connection between the man who she had come to think of as a friend and little Xander who had been in her thoughts for years.

‘And where’s Flora?’

She loved the way he pronounced her name. ‘She’s with him, no doubt taking over the remote control and the very large bag of popcorn.’

‘How lovely to think of the two of them getting to know each other.’

‘It is.’

‘How long have I got you for?’ John asked as the embers crackled.

‘Tonight?’ she said, wondering if he had to be somewhere.

‘No!’ He laughed. ‘How long are you here in Edinburgh?’

‘Oh! A good few days yet.’ She didn’t want to think about leaving, not already. This time it would be her travelling to the other side of the world.

‘You have no idea what it felt like to get that email from you. Knowing you were on the other side of a keyboard sending messages to me!’ He shook his head.

‘Well, not to you exactly.’ She smiled shyly, thinking of the confidences she had shared.

‘I didn’t know how to begin to come clean. I enjoyed our chats – it was fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ She had to admit. ‘It was fun.’ She decided not to tell John the extent of all her confusion, how she’d only recently realised that her e-penfriend was a man, and now it turned out he was someone else entirely.
It was you all along.
It was too much to digest just now.

John let his eyes travel over the pictures on the walls. ‘I like it here. I like to reflect on all the Christmases that these other people have shared. Christmas was always a time I thought about you.’ He studied the scenes and she wondered if, like her, he was thinking of all those they had spent apart.

‘D’you remember how I asked you if it was only called the Christmas Café at this time of year, whether it changed its name at Easter, Valentine’s and so forth?’

‘I do! I thought that was a very good idea.’ He laughed.

‘Was it you writing back to me by then?’ Bea asked.

‘Yes. The first contact came from Alex, he wrote you the letter. I thought I’d be content for him to just read me your correspondence, but it wasn’t enough, not for me. So I took over.’

The two sat in silence for a second or two, listening to the hiss and crackle of the logs on the fire.

‘I can’t believe we’re here. I still don’t know if you’re real,’ Bea murmured.

‘I am.’ He reached across the table and took her palm inside his. Their fingers trembled in sync as they each tried to absorb the reality of what was happening.

‘I’ve dreamt of you for so long, I’m worried I might wake up,’ she whispered.

‘I have the same dream over and over. On our last night together, you fell asleep—’

‘I didn’t!’

‘You did.’ He nodded. ‘Just for a few minutes. I held you as you slipped off to sleep. I watched your eyes flutter and your mouth twitch and I kissed you. Watching you sleep was the greatest privilege and I knew it was one I would never have the chance to repeat. That thought alone made my heart break. To this day I dream of you often: you lie in my arms and I hold you while you sleep. It’s perfect. And then I wake up, feeling both very sad and very happy.’

‘Oh, John! I used to imagine you’d died. It ripped me in two, but it was easier somehow to think of you as being dead, to think of you gone and unable to be with me rather than alive somewhere and choosing to remain hidden, like a thing in the shadows.’

‘I never chose to remain hidden, Bea. But I couldn’t bear to hurt you any more than I already had. To see you so distressed and knowing it was my doing, it has tortured me.’ He swallowed. ‘This isn’t easy for me. I’m not used to sharing my thoughts so much – I rarely talk about my emotions like this.’