The Cherry Tree Cafe Read online

  He closed his eyes and Mum moved to the chair at the side of the bed.

  ‘Why don’t you go and ask where we can get another chair, Lizzie?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ll just go and phone Jemma first,’ I told her, ‘let her know what’s happened. You can guarantee the grapevine will have gone into overdrive when the ambulance turned up.’

  ‘Pound to a penny they’ll be having a whipround in the pub this afternoon for my funeral flowers!’ Dad chirped up without opening his eyes. ‘Better go and put them out of their misery, Lizzie. Tell them to raise the flag again.’

  Mum tutted loudly but didn’t comment.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I said.

  The air outside hit me full in the face and felt a good ten degrees cooler than inside. I shivered as I waited for my phone to wake up then smiled knowingly as half a dozen missed calls and messages pinged into my inbox.

  ‘Lizzie!’ Jemma must have had the phone in her hand. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

  ‘Dad’s had a mild stroke,’ I explained, the seriousness of the situation hitting home as I said the words aloud. ‘Mum asked me round for lunch and I knew he wasn’t right as soon as I saw him.’

  ‘Is he OK now?’ she demanded. ‘Is he going to be OK?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said shakily, suddenly aware that I didn’t really know. ‘We haven’t been told much yet other than that it was very mild. He’s talking and everything,’ I added to try to reassure myself as much as her. ‘Before I left he was even joking about funeral flowers.’

  ‘Sounds about right. Do you want me to come to the hospital?’

  ‘No, we’ll be fine, but thanks. I drove Mum here so there’ll be no problem getting home. I’ll ring you again later.’

  I stopped and cleared my throat, close to tears.

  ‘Well, we’re here if you need us, OK? If there’s anything that any of you need then just ring.’

  ‘OK,’ I croaked, ‘thanks.’

  ‘Oh, and Lizzie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I know this is really horrible timing but Ben phoned earlier. He asked if you could call him.’

  ‘Ben called you or you called him?’ I asked, guessing that she had gone ahead and warned him about what had happened with his mother.

  ‘Tom called him actually,’ she admitted guiltily.

  ‘Why did he do that?’ I demanded. ‘He had no right, and why are you telling me this now? I really don’t need to be even thinking about any of this at the moment.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry, Lizzie. We just thought the pair of you should clear the air as soon as possible, but you’re right, I shouldn’t have mentioned it, especially now.’

  Back on the ward the curtains were drawn around Dad’s bed. I lingered awkwardly, not knowing whether to go back in or not. There was nothing to knock on so I just stood, shuffling from one foot to another; a new spectacle for the rest of the patients to stare at and mulled over whether I could face talking to Ben on top of everything else.

  ‘Right,’ I heard a woman’s voice ring out, ‘I’ll leave you for a bit, Mr Dixon. Don’t keep nattering on, will you? You need your rest.’

  The curtains twitched back along the rails and a nurse stepped out with test tubes of blood rattling around on a tray.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked. ‘He’s my dad.’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ the nurse smiled. ‘You can go back in, but not for too long. I’ve given your mum a list of a few things you might want to bring in for him.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

  If possible Dad looked even paler now and the red rings around Mum’s eyes were a complete giveaway.

  ‘Jemma sends her love,’ I told them. ‘She said to let her know if we need her to do anything.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her,’ Mum said graciously, ‘given how busy she is with the Café and everything.’

  Ordinarily this would have been the moment she would launch into a bitter rant about my best friend’s inability to control her daughter and how the situation would only get worse now she was a working mum, but she simply smiled.

  ‘She’s always been kind-hearted,’ she said. ‘Take the flat, for instance. She could have offered that to anyone, couldn’t she? I dare say she and Tom could have charged a much higher rent given the location and everything.’

  ‘I am paying my way,’ I said, feeling slightly nettled that she might think I was freeloading. ‘I do pay rent.’

  ‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ Mum said mildly, ‘I just meant that it was kind of her to think of you and your situation.’

  I felt suitably chastened and realised this subdued vision masquerading as my mum was going to take some getting used to. I looked over at Dad and by the way he raised his eyebrows I could tell he was equally as shocked. Part of me couldn’t help hoping the change would be permanent, but I knew deep down that she would be back to her old self as soon as his health improved.

  ‘Right,’ she announced, standing up and passing me my jacket, ‘I think we’ll pop back to the house and get you these things now.’ She waved the list the nurse had given her. ‘I can’t bear the sight of you in that gown even if it is only for a day or so.’

  ‘What, this old thing?’ Dad wheezed, plucking at the blue fabric with his healthy arm. ‘I just threw this on!’

  Mum shook her head.

  ‘We’ll be back in a bit,’ she said and kissed him again.

  The first thing we saw when we opened the house door was the flashing light on the answerphone.

  ‘I know exactly who that’ll be,’ Mum said coldly. ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on, Lizzie? I don’t know about you but I could do with a cup of tea and there’s some cake left in the tin.’

  ‘What shall I do with the dinner?’ I whispered, pointing at the dining room.

  ‘Just bin it all.’

  ‘Even the meat?’

  ‘All of it,’ Mum nodded. ‘I haven’t got time to worry about leftovers. Oh hello, Jennifer . . .’

  I left her to her call and scraped the congealed plates and tureens full of food into the bin. I was so hungry that even the roast potatoes looked appetising despite their soggy state.

  ‘Well, that hardly matters now, does it!’ I could hear Mum shouting as I dumped the bin bag in the wheelie bin next to the garage which was quite a distance from the house.

  ‘I don’t care what you tell her! I’ve explained the situation to you; if you can’t understand then that’s your problem!’

  I ventured back inside and began to wolf down the cake.

  ‘Of course I can’t! I’m going to be at the hospital! Who exactly do you think you are, questioning my priorities like that?’

  I don’t think I’d ever heard Mum so angry. Not even when Dad attempted to make champagne and the bottles exploded in the cupboard under the stairs.

  ‘I don’t care whether it’s a mild stroke or a major one! He’s my husband and his health comes first. Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ll resign!’

  I was all ears as I poured the tea. Mum was obviously on the phone to Jennifer Summers, bitchy Erica’s mother and leader of every group and committee Mum held dear.

  ‘Yes, Jennifer!’ she concluded triumphantly. ‘That is my final bloody word! You can stick your sodding coffee morning up your arse!’

  She banged down the phone, took one look at my expression and burst out laughing.

  On the journey back, Mum sat methodically ticking items off the hospital list.

  ‘I know they’re only expecting to keep him in for a couple of days,’ she said fussily, ‘but I want him to have everything he needs.’

  ‘Is this what happened to Granddad?’ I asked, finally daring to voice the question that had been on my mind ever since I realised what was happening to Dad.

  ‘Oh no,’ Mum said, ‘there was no warning like your dad’s had. One massive stroke and it was all over.’

  I didn’t know if that made me feel better or
worse. Dad had been a very young man when his father died, much younger than me.

  ‘You and Dad had just got engaged when it happened, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mum nodded, ‘we had. We hadn’t even set a date for the wedding.’

  I guessed that was probably when Mum’s dislike of her soon-to-be mother-in-law set in. Dad was so protective, always visiting and sorting Gran’s problems before ours. That couldn’t have been easy, suddenly having to share your other half. I adored my gran and was eternally grateful for all the things she had taught me, but seeing her relationship with Dad from Mum’s perspective gave me a fresh understanding of where her resentment might have sprung from.

  ‘Of course things are very different now,’ Mum carried on, ‘there are lots of new things they can do. I’ve always dreaded that this would happen, but we’ll manage.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ I smiled. ’He’s in the best possible hands.’

  ‘I was wondering if it would be all right if I slept at the flat tonight?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘What?’ I frowned, almost swerving off the road. ‘My flat?’

  ‘Only if it’s convenient; I don’t really fancy being in the house on my own.’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, taking a quick mental tour of the rooms. ‘No problem.’

  ‘I’m not going to worry about whether you’ve tidied, Lizzie,’ Mum smiled, guessing my thoughts. ‘It’s your home; I’m not going to judge it or you. I could just do with the company.’

  ‘Mum’s staying at mine tonight,’ I whispered in Dad’s ear as soon as Mum was out of range, ‘she says she wants the company.’

  ‘Good god!’ Dad choked. ‘I should have done this a decade ago!’

  I bit my lip and tried not to smile. It was good to hear him cracking jokes, even inappropriate ones.

  ‘I hope you aren’t drying your pants on the radiators, old girl, you know how she hates that! She’ll have your guts for garters!’

  ‘No she won’t!’ Mum said as she appeared seemingly from thin air; ‘I’ve already told Lizzie that I’m looking forward to seeing the flat. Her housewifery skills, competent or otherwise, are not my concern. I imparted what knowledge I could, what she has chosen to do with it is up to her.’

  She began fussily straightening the blankets and let Dad kiss her hand as I watched on agog.

  ‘Sorry if I gave you both a fright,’ Dad said, ‘I feel fine now. It’s silly they won’t let me home really.’

  ‘No it is not,’ Mum and I chorused together.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere until all those tests come back,’ Mum said sternly. ‘And I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to make sure of that.’

  ‘But what about your coffee morning?’ Dad said seriously. ‘You’ve been planning this one for weeks.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she said, throwing me a warning glance, ‘I’ve rescheduled it.’

  ‘I bet old Summers loved that!’ Dad snorted.

  Mum chewed her lip but didn’t say anything. Her idol really had fallen out of favour! Ordinarily we weren’t allowed as much as a sneer in her direction.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘we’ll be back first thing to find out what they’re going to do with you.’

  ‘I’ll go and sort the parking,’ I said shakily, not wanting to say a proper goodbye, ‘see you tomorrow, Dad.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, old girl,’ Dad winked, ‘and remember to get those pants off the radiator!’

  Chapter 19

  With Mum staying in the flat there was no chance to phone Ben, which turned out to be a blessing. Left to my own devices, in my eagerness to find out just what the hell was going on I would doubtless have called him straightaway and run the risk of appearing too eager. Which of course I was, but I didn’t want him knowing that.

  I might have been secretly thrilled that my high-school crush had reciprocal feelings, but his mother had also said he had gone through phases of hating me and I had absolutely no idea why. I was, however, perfectly clear in my mind that when I did get a moment’s peace in which to call him, the conversation was going to be messy, probably loud and potentially emotionally destructive and it was therefore best conducted in private.

  When I surfaced the next morning, the sight of Mum sitting at the kitchen table wearing my fleecy dressing gown and sharing a plate of toast with Ella was a clear enough indication that this was not going to be an ordinary week.

  ‘Where’s Jemma?’ I asked, pouring myself a cup of tea and buttering a slice of toast.

  ‘Mummy’s checking an order,’ Ella explained, ‘I was helping her but Nanny Pam said she needed me up here.’

  ‘Did she now?’ I smiled at Mum wondering where ‘Nanny Pam’ had sprung from.

  ‘Yes,’ Ella carried on in her most matter-of-fact voice, ‘she needed help to find the breakfast things because she hadn’t actually been in your kitchen before.’

  ‘Oh, I see and you found everything for her, Ella, did you?’

  Ella nodded and gave a toothy grin as she crammed in the crumbly remains of her slice of very jammy toast.

  ‘Mouth closed, darling,’ Mum said automatically and Ella obeyed, just like that. I was stunned.

  ‘How did you sleep, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘Surprisingly well,’ she smiled, ‘I haven’t slept in a single bed since I got married. I thought it would feel a bit cramped but I just went out like a light.’

  ‘Well, it was a tiring day,’ I yawned.

  ‘I’ve had a good look round the flat while you had your lie in.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  It was only seven fifteen.

  ‘And I have to say you’ve done a lovely job. It isn’t at all how I’d imagined it.’

  ‘How did you think it would look then?’

  Mum shrugged and swirled the teapot before pouring herself another cup.

  ‘More modern,’ she said decidedly, ‘much more modern. This feels like your grandmother’s house and not just because you’ve got some of her things. It’s comfortable and cosy, Lizzie. Really lovely. I like it a lot.’

  ‘I helped with some of the painting,’ Ella chipped in.

  ‘Yes, well we won’t go into that!’ Jemma laughed, appearing in the doorway looking flustered. ‘Thanks for taking Ella, Mrs Dixon. I knew that driver hadn’t offloaded everything.’

  ‘Please call me Pamela,’ Mum insisted. ‘What did he forget, dear?’

  ‘Half a dozen of the big bags of flour and it isn’t the first time,’ Jemma complained. ‘I reckon he leaves something off every other order then sells it on! But I’ve called his bluff this time. I know where he’s delivering next and Tom’s gone to have it out with him.’

  ‘Good for you!’ Mum told her. ‘These things have to be nipped in the bud!’

  ‘Nip!’ squealed Ella ecstatically and squirted honey all over my best tablecloth.

  By the time we’d welcomed Angela to her first shift working in the Café and dropped Ella off at Maureen’s to walk up to school, it was rush hour and slow going towards the hospital.

  Dad was sitting up in bed when we finally arrived, neat and clean, and looking every inch the man he’d always been. He’d even got some of his colour back. Mum and I exchanged a fleeting glance, both of us clearly relieved to find him so apparently recovered.

  ‘Well?’ he smiled. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘To what?’ Mum frowned as she peered into the locker next to the bed to check all was shipshape.

  ‘To the flat, of course! Was it the student slum I predicted?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Mum said, wagging an accusing finger, then added with a sigh, ‘actually, your mother’s things all fit a treat.’

  ‘Well I’ll be—’ Dad began but was cut off by the appearance of Mr Hanif at the end of the ward.

  We watched and sat quietly as he wound his way around his patients, until he finally came and stood at the foot of Dad’s bed.

  ‘In a high proportion of cases, Mr Dixon,
a mini stroke, like the one you had yesterday, turns out to be a warning of what’s to come.’

  ‘I was afraid of that,’ stammered Mum, reaching for her handkerchief.

  Mr Hanif looked at her and shook his head.

  ‘I can assure you, Mrs Dixon, that quite often these first forerunners are missed, however, in your husband’s case, your daughter’s vigilance has been a huge help. Now we know what may be lurking on the horizon, we can do our utmost to prevent it happening or limit the trauma if it does.’

  Mum took a deep breath and nodded bravely.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘what have we got to do with him?’

  ‘Naturally I will prescribe some medication but there are other things that, after my earlier conversation with Mr Dixon this morning, will I feel go a long way to helping prevent another more potentially serious stroke.’

  ‘Such as?’ Mum asked, leaning forward in her seat.

  I glanced at Dad. He was looking increasingly tense.

  ‘Wait for it,’ he mouthed silently.

  ‘Certain simple diet and lifestyle changes can all have a huge impact on reducing the risk of strokes,’ Mr Hanif carried on, ‘I suggest you and your husband have a think about the food you eat, as well as the amount of exercise you take.’

  I braced myself for the blow, fully expecting Mum to launch off at the suggestion that her decades of rich, hearty cooking might have played some part in putting Dad in a hospital bed, but she said nothing.

  ‘I take it neither of you smoke or drink?’ Mr Hanif asked, his eyebrows raised in Dad’s direction.

  ‘I like a sherry before lunch on a Sunday,’ Mum confessed, ‘but I’ve never been a smoker and he gave up years ago. Didn’t you, love?’

  Dad didn’t say anything.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Hanif moving away from the bed. ‘I’ll leave you these leaflets and providing you behave yourself today, we’ll discharge you tomorrow, Mr Dixon. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Dad smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Hanif.’

  ‘What was all that about?’ I hissed, as Mum went to borrow another chair from the patient in the next bed.

  ‘I never gave up,’ Dad hissed back, ‘what did you think I was doing in the garden all the live-long day? It isn’t exactly Monty Don standard, is it?’