The Cherry Tree Cafe (5 page)

He kissed my cheek before I had a chance to duck out of the way and I can’t deny there was a flicker of arousal in my stomach as I drank in the familiar manly scent of him, but I had it
under control. This meeting was on my terms, not his. It had been agonising catching glimpses of him in the office every day because it was his territory, but the bar was no one’s bolt hole
– it was completely neutral and I was more than ready to gain a little ground for myself.

‘You look stunning,’ he said.

The tone of surprise that accompanied his comment set my teeth on edge, but I let it pass.

‘Is that a new dress?’

I ignored him again and sat at the other side of the table, banging down the bag of goodies I had meticulously prepared for the occasion.

‘Right,’ I said, brushing a wayward curl away from my face, ‘let’s get this over with.’

‘At least let me get you a drink,’ he insisted, raising a hand to an obliging barman who came rushing over. ‘I really want to tell you how much I admire the way you’ve
handled all this, Lizzie. I’ve been hoping to get a chance to say how sorry I am that I hurt you and how grateful we are that you haven’t made things well . . . difficult.’

‘What can I get you?’ The barman looked at me expectantly.

‘Oh nothing for me thanks,’ I said brightly, my tone suggesting Giles’s words hadn’t touched me at all, ‘I’m not staying, but this fella might need something
a little stronger before long.’

The barman retreated, smirking as he took in Giles’s shocked, flushed expression and furtive glance at the other tables. I smiled as it dawned on him that everyone was whispering and
watching.

‘So what am I doing here?’ Giles hissed, now he’d worked out he wasn’t going to have it all his own way. ‘I thought you wanted to see me.’

‘I do want to see you,’ I said innocently as I began rummaging about in the colossal bag. ‘I have some stuff to give you.’

‘Lizzie, for heaven’s sake, stop messing about. Just tell me, why am I here?’

‘I have told you,’ I laughed, ‘I want to give you this stuff back. Now sit back, relax and have another drink for god’s sake, you look stressed out, Giles.’

Awkwardly he leant back in his chair and I felt an added thrill, knowing I’d finally got him exactly where I wanted him.

‘OK, first this horrible cloying foundation.’

I held it up and read the label, then thumped it down on the table.

‘I don’t want a flawless, matt finish, Giles. I’m not a feature wall. Believe it or not, I happen to be rather fond of my freckles.’

Next was the Rolex watch he’d made a huge fuss about giving me in the office just a few weeks before. He’d sidled up to my desk, hidden behind a gargantuan floral arrangement then
made a great show of checking that it fit snugly on my wrist. The flowers had long gone but the diamond-studded watch was still ticking merrily away, completely unaware of how tempted I’d
been to stamp on it.

‘Now this,’ I smiled, ‘this watch is really something but I can’t help thinking that along with all the other little trinkets that have come my way recently,
they’re guilt gifts and I don’t want them any more than I want you.’

Forcefully I shoved the watch across the table and continued piling up Pandora boxes, along with several pairs of Louboutins.

It took almost half an hour to pile up all the things Giles had forced on me, the woman he had said he loved because she was ‘natural’ and ‘unique’. Eventually the table
was groaning with the spoils of my urban transformation and Giles sat speechless as he stared at the mountain stacked up in front of him.

Whether he was in shock or simply afraid that I would make more of a scene if he protested I couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t matter because I was loving every second and feeling
better with every damn thing I offloaded back onto him. As the bag got lighter my spirit did too and by the time it was empty I felt almost drunk.

I stood up and shook it out just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. The ridiculously expensive salon-worthy straighteners clattered out, scattering make-up and shoes far and wide.

‘Ooh!’ I squealed in mock excitement. ‘How could I have forgotten these? These really are the cherry on the cake, aren’t they?’

To say Giles looked gutted in no way did justice to his expression. My actions had said it all; he didn’t need to have anything else explained.

‘I really hope you’re happy, Giles,’ I told him, as I mustered the courage to turn my back on him and walk out. ‘Because I am. I should thank you, really. If you
hadn’t dumped me I may very well have lived the rest of my life trying to fit your exacting standards. I would have turned myself inside out to be the woman you wanted me to be and that would
have been sad, wouldn’t it?’

Giles drained his glass but didn’t say anything. I noticed his hand was shaking.

‘I really hope married life lives up to your expectations.’

I turned to walk out just as another throng of early evening revellers came crashing through the doors. I heard him stand up, the mess I’d left behind rolling all over the floor as he
rushed to catch me up. It was now or never. Without so much as a backward glance I sped up and slipped out into the darkness, vowing that I would never see him again.

‘Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re really here!’ Jemma squealed as she wrenched open the car door. Then, taking a second proper look at me, added,
‘Crikey, Lizzie, are you OK?’

Of course I wasn’t OK. The cocky confidence that had helped me get through the day had evaporated the second I left the bar. I’d sobbed my way through the entire journey and
consequently blown the satisfying little fantasy I’d dreamt up, in which I’d bounce back with enough attitude to make Beyoncé proud. I had hoped for a minute to compose myself as
I parked up outside Jemma and Tom’s cosy and inviting home, but she had spotted the car and raced out to welcome me before I even had the chance to blow my nose.

‘Come on,’ she ordered, ‘into the house, it’s freezing out here.’

‘You go in and put the kettle on and I’ll get my stuff together and catch you up.’

Jemma gave me another hard stare and just when I thought I was in for a lecture, she twigged. That was one of the nicest things about having a best friend you’d known forever; they could
tell when to back off without getting offended and sulky.

‘OK,’ she smiled, her breath streaming ahead of her in the chill crisp air, ‘but don’t be too long; you’ll catch your death!’ She rubbed her hands together
and ran back up the steps into the house.

When exactly does that happen? I wondered, as I rummaged in my bag for my compact mirror and face wipes. Is there some miraculous moment during childbirth, just before the baby’s head
crowns, when all the stupid things your own mother has always said become ingrained in your brain to be trotted out for future use so the rest of the world can shake their heads and tut at you in
despair?

I sighed at the sight of my puffy red eyes and pale lips as I rubbed the last smudges of mascara from my cheeks and wondered glumly if I would ever have the chance to say inane things to my own
nearest and dearest; would anyone ever roll their eyes and tut at me? A sudden movement in the house caught my attention. I could see Jemma peering out of the bay window and talking animatedly over
her shoulder to someone behind her.

Doubtless it was darling Ella, my devilish goddaughter who was poised to pounce upon my sallow complexion with all the tact and subtlety a child could muster. Best at least try and make myself
presentable I thought, reaching for my make-up bag.

The front door, which led into the hallway and a welcoming jumble of coats and boots, was slightly ajar and as I quietly slipped inside, the warmth and smell of Jemma’s delicious baking
wrapped itself around me like a fleecy comfort blanket. Hot tears stung my eyes as I pulled off my jacket and thanked my lucky stars that I had settled for here rather than my parents’ house.
I was going to need to repair and reinforce my emotional armour before I darkened their door again. I took a deep breath and peeped into the sitting room.

‘Hello, hot stuff!’ I chirped merrily.

‘Hello, cheeky!’

My feet almost left the floor as a man I immediately recognised as Ben Fletcher, my one and only high-school crush, jumped up off the sofa and turned to face me. If possible he was even more
appealing than I remembered; a fully formed broad-shouldered, bronzed and bearded specimen of manhood. I felt my face flush and was just about to mumble an apology when Ella appeared from nowhere
and jumped into my arms, winding me completely.

‘I thought you’d be here hours ago!’ she scolded. ‘I’ve been waiting and watching all day!’ She pulled away and observed me for what felt like a very long few
seconds. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered, plugging her thumb in and snuggling her soft blonde curls against my neck. ‘I’ve really missed you.’

‘And I’ve missed you too.’ I swallowed, willing myself not to cry.

Ben Fletcher playfully tugged at Ella’s foot.

‘Oh I see!’ he joked, the lines around his eyes crinkling attractively. ‘Uncle Ben not good enough for you now, is he, and you haven’t been watching all day, madam,
you’ve been at school!’

Ella giggled and wriggled in my arms, but reassuringly made no attempt to escape. I kissed the top of her head and inhaled. She no longer carried with her that seductively sweet baby smell, but
I was still comforted by her softness and grateful that she was willing to endure my hug.

‘Shall we try again?’ Ben smiled. ‘I’m Ben, Ben Fletcher. Jemma wasn’t sure that you’d remember me. I was in the same year as Tom at school and . .
.’

‘And you’ve come back to help with the Café,’ I said, aiming for confident and self-assured. ‘Yes, Jemma did tell me and of course I remember you,’ I gabbled
on, ‘but you look different, maybe it’s the beard. I can’t imagine you had it at school, did you?’

‘I thought I heard your dulcet tones!’ Tom appeared in the doorway grinning broadly, a beer in each hand. ‘How are you, chick?’

‘Good,’ I lied as Ella wriggled free, ‘I’m good.’

‘You do remember Ben, don’t you?’ he asked, handing his friend a bottle and offering the other to me. ‘Jemma said she didn’t think you would, but I didn’t
believe her.’

Bloody Jemma! I wasn’t sure what she was up to but if she carried on making such a fuss about whether I would or wouldn’t remember the man in question then I might as well rush to
the River Wyn, jump up on the bridge and declare that yes, once upon a time I did indeed have a crush on him.

‘Of course I remember him,’ I smiled, shaking my head at Jemma’s absurd suggestion. ‘Although I told him he looks a bit different. I reckon it’s the beard
that’s thrown me.’

Tom held my gaze and just for a second there was something like amusement written across his features, then he turned to watch Ben rub his thickly insulated chin. My heart thumped a little
harder and I hoped the truth wasn’t written across my flushed face or that Jemma had told him about my tempestuous teenage feelings. I would have been mortified to discover that he knew.

‘I still can’t decide whether to get rid of it,’ Ben sighed.

Tom rolled his eyes, a clear indication that he’d heard the ‘for and against debate’ about his mate’s facial hair many times before.

‘Well,’ I said reasonably, ‘if you shave it all off and change your mind, how long before it gets to this stage again?’

‘Oh it’d be months. This all began last year. It was my contribution to Movember. I had planned to get rid of it, but then I came home and my mother was so appalled by the sight of
it that I decided it should stay!’

I laughed out loud, sharp stinging beer bubbles painfully filling my nose and making me snort inelegantly.

‘Brilliant!’ I spluttered, trying to cover my embarrassment, ‘that’s exactly what I would have done!’

Why? Why did I say that? I was never going to grow a beard for Movember, was I?

‘Lizzie suffers in the mother department as well,’ Tom explained on my behalf, ‘don’t you?’

‘You have absolutely no idea!’ I coughed.

‘Unfortunately,’ Ben smiled, raising his eyebrows and fixing me with his intense brown eyes, ‘I think I do.’

The fluttering in my stomach and rapid quickening of my pulse as my gaze met his made me feel far headier than the beer I’d been swigging on an empty stomach. I couldn’t believe it,
a decade and a half after I’d first seen him in the dinner queue and I
still
fancied him. It was ridiculous, I felt like a high-school newbie again and every inch as awkward and
unappealing as I had then.

Ella came skipping back in and grabbed Ben’s hand.

‘Dinner!’ she shouted up at us all. ‘Mummy says if we don’t hurry up she’ll give it to the dog!’

‘We don’t have a dog, Ellie belly,’ Tom laughed as he scooped up his impish daughter, ‘and we’re not getting one, so you can stop all that “we can feed it on
leftovers to save money” nonsense!’

Feeling hungrier than I had in weeks, Ella and I led the way into the kitchen and I became uncomfortably aware of furtive whispering going on behind me.

‘I told you it would be OK,’ I heard Tom hiss as he and Ben fell behind.

‘We’ll see,’ Ben whispered back, ‘let’s just give it a bit longer before we’re saying that, shall we?’

‘Jemma, I’m done,’ I announced a little later. ‘I can’t squeeze in another mouthful!’

‘Me neither,’ Ben puffed, throwing down his napkin and belching discreetly.

Jemma beamed. She had spent the meal swooping around the kitchen, competently filling glasses and replenishing plates. She was the perfect hostess, wife and mother. No, I realised, she was more
than that, she was happy. She was settled and content and I couldn’t quell the selfish pang of envy I felt as I acknowledged again that my dear friend had achieved so much, whilst I had
returned from my endeavours with nothing more than a broken heart and a steadily growing sense of bitterness that would have made my mother proud.

‘Well in that case, let’s all go and fall asleep in front of the fire,’ Jemma laughed.

‘What about the clearing up?’ I asked. I was hoping to have a minute with her to ask if she knew what the guys had been whispering about.