The Cherry Tree Cafe Page 16

  I could, of course, have ignored my desire to get to the bottom of things and just gone for it with Jay. I mean, his incessant requests for my mobile number, the wonderful picture presentation and his willingness to join the crafting session suggested he was genuinely keen, but if I had made a play for him it would have only been because I was trying to make myself feel better about what had happened with Ben.

  His willingness to get to grips with the sewing machine amongst a group full of teasing women was proof enough that he genuinely liked me, so it would have been totally wrong to lead him on in an attempt to bolster my self-confidence which was now reeling from what I interpreted as rejection from two men rather than one.

  I grabbed a handful of flyers, flicked off the Café lights and headed out of the door. I didn’t really feel like going out but Evelyn’s bunting unveiling was too good a PR opportunity to miss and I was sure she and Jim wouldn’t mind me drumming up some potential future trade for the Café crafting sessions.

  The pub was already packed and it took me a couple of minutes to squeeze my way through the crowd to the bar. It felt like everyone in the town had got wind of the fact that Evelyn had tuned into her feminine side and were all cat-calling to see what she had made.

  ‘You should have come round the back, Lizzie!’ Jim shouted over to me.

  ‘I wasn’t sure I was allowed to use the tradesman’s entrance now I’m not on the staff!’ I called back.

  ‘What can I get you, love?’

  ‘Half a bitter please,’ I requested, fumbling for some change.

  ‘On the house!’ Jim winked then added conspiratorially, ‘Evelyn’s been talking about joining you on a regular basis down at the Café. Can you imagine the peace?’

  ‘I’m right here, Jim!’ Evelyn shouted, giving her husband a playful cuff. ‘I’m doing it for my benefit, not yours. There’ll be plenty you can get on with while I’m gone!’

  ‘That’s what you think!’ Jim shouted back.

  Listening to their banter made everyone laugh but I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. The sparky duo sparred continuously, their snapping and snarling was part of the pub entertainment but they loved each other dearly. Any fool could see that. Their comfortable and practised companionship wasn’t something I could never imagine having in my own life.

  ‘Lizzie! Come and have a seat!’

  ‘Dad,’ I smiled, ‘I didn’t see you. What have you done to deserve a trip to the pub?’

  Dad was sitting on his own at the far end of the bar nursing a pint, and judging by his complexion it wasn’t his first.

  ‘Your mother’s organising some coffee morning thing and apparently I was getting in the way.’

  ‘So she told you to come to the pub?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he grinned. ‘She said I should get out from under her feet. She didn’t specify a destination so I thought I’d make the most of it!’

  ‘You know you’ll be in trouble, don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ he said, ‘that’s why I’m taking the chance and downing a few of these quick. With any luck she’ll be so appalled she won’t be able to speak.’

  I shook my head, not convinced his tactic would work.

  ‘She’ll never lose the ability to scold,’ I told him, ‘you know that!’

  ‘I do,’ he said resignedly, ‘but I live in hope. What have you got there?’ he asked, pointing at the pile of flyers.

  I held one up for him to read.

  ‘Cupcakes and Crafting at The Cherry Tree Café,’ he said quietly, in an instant his expression had changed to one of paternal pride. ‘Evelyn told me she was with you this afternoon. She had a wonderful time. Apparently,’ he added, standing to peer over the top of the crowd, ‘she’s supposed to be showing off what she made tonight.’

  Right on cue Jim began to ring the bell he kept above the bar.

  ‘As many of you know,’ he bellowed, ‘it’s been quite a long time since the Mermaid was last decorated!’

  ‘Too bloody long!’ someone shouted and everyone cheered.

  Jim raised his hands to quieten his audience.

  ‘But what you don’t know,’ he said, shaking his head in despair, ‘is that I had a little wager with the wife.’

  ‘You bloody fool!’

  ‘I know, I know. Anyway, Evelyn’s never been much of a one for making things herself. She prefers to go down the shops and spend my hard-earned cash so I thought I was on to a good thing when I told her the pub could have a makeover when she’d mastered a needle and thread.’

  He threw a glance in my direction and suddenly the puzzle pieces regarding Evelyn’s out of character appearance at a sewing circle fell into place.

  ‘You must be more of a fool than I am, Jim!’ someone jeered and the crowd began cheering again.

  Everyone welcomed the Mermaid’s pirate-themed bunting and enthusiastically toasted Evelyn’s ingenuity in ensuring the pub received the makeover she had spent the last half a decade nagging Jim for. My pile of flyers quickly disappeared amidst a flurry of enquiries and I realised that Deborah had been right. Word of mouth, especially in a local watering hole, was the best advertising a new business could get.

  ‘Do you want another?’ Dad asked, holding aloft his empty glass.

  I was just about to say yes when out of the corner of my eye I spotted Jay sitting in the nook next to the fireplace. He was alone, checking his phone and looking like he could do with a bit of company.

  ‘Thanks, but not right now,’ I told Dad. ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘Well, don’t leave it too long!’ he laughed. ‘I’m off home in a bit, walking back with Alan from next door. We’re taking the path of the condemned men together! Wish us luck!’

  I patted him on the back and levered myself away from the bar. Having seen Jay sitting all alone it would have been rude not to thank him for the picture and congratulate him on his sewing prowess.

  I had almost reached him when he was joined by a young woman, a very beautiful young woman with shining blonde hair and ridiculously long slender legs. Jay shuffled along the seat and she sat next to him, smiling broadly as he passed her a glass. I took her timely appearance as my cue to call it a day and turned back towards Dad and bumped straight into Tom.

  ‘Aha,’ I said. ‘Just the man. I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘Jemma and I were in the restaurant,’ he said sheepishly. His guilty expression left me in no doubt that I was the last person he wanted to bump into. ‘We thought we’d celebrate the end of the week with a meal. Do you want to walk back with us? Jemma’s already outside.’

  ‘Yes, great,’ I said. ‘As you probably already know, I was hoping to have a quick word.’

  Unfortunately Jemma was in much the same state as my dad and the walk back to the Café quickly turned into a nightmare. Every few paces she giddily reached for her husband and kissed him drunkenly with much slurring about how she ‘couldn’t wait to get him home’. Asking them to spill the beans about Ali Fletcher’s inexplicable comments was impossible with the pair of them falling over each other, so in the end I said my goodbyes and went home alone. I don’t think Jemma even realised I’d gone.

  The next morning neither Jemma nor Tom were answering their mobiles or the house phone and I knew I wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of either of them before the new week dawned.

  ‘Come and have some lunch with us, Lizzie,’ my mother commanded when I stupidly snatched up the phone before checking the caller display.

  I was desperate to say no. I’d been planning to cocoon myself away from the world for the day, watch rubbish on TV and eat things out of tins, but Mum’s tone had a ‘defy me if you dare’ edge to it that well, basically, I didn’t dare defy.

  ‘Your dad’s feeling a bit under the weather,’ she carried on, ‘and I’ve got a huge pork joint for us to get through.’

  So much for wanting to spend some quality bonding time together; Mum was clearly more concerned that she’d over-ordered at the
butcher’s. This was all Dad’s fault. Had he stayed sober he would have been able to talk her out of ringing me by requesting cold cuts and one of her famous meat pies.

  ‘OK,’ I gave in, knowing resistance was futile, ‘but I can’t stay late. I’ve fallen a bit behind with this online business course I’m taking and want to catch up.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said airily, ‘I know how busy you are these days. You can just eat and run. I won’t even ask for any help with the dishes.’

  And the guilt sealed the call!

  ‘Go and call your father would you?’ Mum asked the second I closed the front door. ‘I’m rushing around here like I don’t know what whilst he’s still lazing in the bath!’

  Poor old Dad. I bet he was already regretting his night of drunken self-indulgence, if you could call a few pints with a mate in the pub a night of drunken self-indulgence. My mum clearly could, and that would explain his unusual desire to linger over his ablutions.

  I couldn’t help wondering at exactly what age Mum had stopped enjoying being married. When exactly was it that she decided married life had become a chore, something to be worked around, the elephant in the room that threatened her precious clubs, meetings and coffee mornings?

  ‘Dad!’ I bellowed up the stairs just as she walked through from the kitchen with the gravy boat.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ she snapped sharply. ‘I asked you to go and call him not cat-call from the bottom of the stairs like some common navvy!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered.

  ‘On my way!’ Dad shouted back down somewhat feebly, but given the circumstances that was hardly surprising.

  By the time he joined us at the table Mum had finished carving and was hurriedly piling roast potatoes on to my plate and offering me the bowl of apple sauce. I bit my tongue knowing that she had purposefully rushed just to make Dad feel bad about the food getting cold. As much as I resented her childish behaviour, I was determined not to say anything and give her further ammunition to use against him and his one night of heady freedom.

  I took a hasty sideward glance to see how he was holding up but didn’t like the look of him at all.

  ‘You needn’t look like that,’ Mum swooped in, having spotted my crafty glance, ‘it’s all his own doing. I hope the state he’s got himself in shows you just what a waste of time and money these trips to that damn pub are?’

  ‘Are you OK, Dad?’ I asked, laying down my cutlery.

  ‘Of course he’s not all right! Look at the state of him! He’s been complaining of a headache. Hardly any wonder, is it? Out until all hours drinking and with a neighbour as well!’

  ‘Shut up, Mum!’ I snapped.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ I asked again, the little remaining colour visibly draining from his face as I watched. ‘Do you feel sick?’

  ‘I can’t feel my arm,’ he whispered, ‘everything’s spinning.’

  ‘Well, it will be!’ Mum laughed knowingly. ‘What do you expect? You can’t even speak properly! Listen to you slurring your words, your system’s still saturated!’

  ‘Mum,’ I said, rushing to Dad’s side, ‘go and phone an ambulance.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go and phone an ambulance. I think Dad’s having a stroke.’

  ‘You go in the ambulance and I’ll follow on in the car,’ I told Mum as I locked the front door and steered her down the path.

  ‘No,’ she said shakily, ‘I’ll drive in with you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked quickly, mindful that every second was vital.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I’ll come in with you.’

  ‘Is that OK,’ I asked the paramedic, ‘if mum stays with me?’

  The paramedic nodded.

  ‘Probably best,’ he said, ‘she looks like she’s had a quite a shock. Don’t worry, my love; we’ll get him there in no time.’

  His last words were clearly directed at Mum, but she appeared not to have heard. He gave me a sympathetic smile and swung the ambulance door shut.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I said, holding open the passenger door of my car, ‘get in.’

  Within seconds we’d lost sight of the ambulance which seemed to cut through the traffic like a hot knife through butter.

  ‘I thought it was just a hangover,’ Mum said for the hundredth time, ‘I thought he’d be all right by this afternoon.’

  I focused my attention on the road ahead and the throng of Sunday drivers heading out of town to the retail park.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ I told her, braking sharply as the traffic lights changed just as I reached them.

  ‘But what if you hadn’t come round for dinner?’ she said, an edge of desperation creeping into her voice. ‘What if you’d been too busy and said no?’

  She reached up her sleeve and pulled out her handkerchief.

  ‘He could have collapsed in front of me and I would have still been blaming his bingeing session!’

  I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to say that yes, Dad would probably have fallen at her feet and she would have moaned about him cluttering up the floor space but I could see she was in shock. He had finally achieved the impossible and made her question her attitude.

  The hospital car park was heaving with visitors and it took seemingly endless trips round to find a parking space.

  ‘Why don’t you hop out and I’ll catch you up as soon as I’ve parked,’ I encouraged.

  Mum sat tight and vehemently shook her head.

  ‘Look, the A and E department is right there,’ I said, pointing. ‘That’s where they’ll take him first, I’m sure of it.’

  Still she refused to budge.

  ‘I’m scared, Elizabeth,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t want to go in there on my own.’

  Frustrating as it was, I did understand her reluctance to move. Dad’s own father had died in this hospital after a massive stroke that no one had seen coming and I knew that she was terrified that Dad was facing the same fate. I was terrified too, but knew I wouldn’t be any use to anyone if I gave in to my fears.

  Eventually we squeezed into a space and I reached into my bag for my mobile.

  ‘Are you going to phone Jemma?’ Mum asked. ‘Let her know what’s happened?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m just turning my phone off before we go in. There’s no point phoning anyone until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Come on,’ I said firmly, ‘let’s go and find him.’

  Mum shook as we entered the hospital and I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders in a moment of strange role reversal. She was deathly pale and clearly terrified. Obviously, for now at least, I was the one in charge.

  ‘We’re looking for Mr Dixon,’ I told the nurse behind the reception desk. ‘He came in in an ambulance a little while ago. I’m his daughter, Lizzie Dixon.’

  ‘If you take a seat, Miss Dixon, I’ll see what I can find out.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I smiled, desperate not to be a nuisance in this place filled with Sunday sports players and their oddly angled limbs and pained expressions. ‘Come on, Mum.’

  Two plastic cups of grey tea later and we were still waiting. Some of the colour had come back in Mum’s face and she had laid my jacket over the back of her chair.

  ‘I don’t know if this waiting is a good or bad thing,’ she said yet again.

  I nodded but didn’t comment. My thoughts had drifted back to the house and the dining table set for Sunday dinner. Ordinarily she would have been fretting over the wasted food and dirty dishes but she hadn’t uttered a word even if she had thought about it. I was beginning to feel as concerned for Mum’s welfare as Dad’s.

  Any stranger privy to my thoughts would have doubtless been puzzled; a woman showing concern for her husband’s health was only to be expected. A certain level of fear and trepidation was only natural, wasn’t it? Well, yes, but this was my mother I was dealing with and at times there appeared to be very little of anything ‘natural’ a
bout her at all.

  ‘Mrs and Miss Dixon?’

  ‘Yes!’ Mum and I chorused together, jumping up.

  ‘The consultant will see you now.’

  I gave Mum’s arm a reassuring squeeze and we followed the nurse through the labyrinth of corridors to a sparse but spotless room.

  ‘Good afternoon, my name is Mr Hanif. Please, take a seat.’

  I sat in the chair next to Mum, a lump the size of a golf ball forming in my throat as she took my hand and held it tight in her own.

  ‘Your husband is currently having a scan, Mrs Dixon, then he will be taken up to the Bluebell ward.’

  I heard Mum let out a long slow breath. The relief in the room was palpable and I knew then that like me, until that very moment, Mum hadn’t been sure that Dad had survived the journey.

  ‘He has suffered a transient ischemic attack,’ Mr Hanif explained, ‘or more simply put, a mild stroke.’

  Mum squeezed my hand again and gave me what could only be described as a grateful look. Noticing the gesture, Mr Hanif added, ‘Your daughter did the right thing, Mrs Dixon. She called the ambulance straightaway. In situations like this, timing is crucial.’

  ‘Yes well,’ said Mum, clearing her throat, ‘she’s a very clever girl.’

  Chapter 18

  It was horrid seeing Dad lying in a hospital bed. He looked tired and pale and disconcertingly old as Mum stroked his head and planted a tender kiss on his lips. For a second I had to look away. My parents had never been demonstrably affectionate and this intimate exchange was more shocking than Mum’s earlier acknowledgement that I had done the right thing by calling the ambulance.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

  ‘Not too bad,’ Dad croaked, ‘tired, but otherwise not too bad. I’ve still got a bit of a headache but everything seems to be working OK. On balance I think I’ve got off rather lightly.’