The Christmas Café (16 page)

‘God, I never realised that kids were such a pain in the arse! Not sure if that’s a road I will travel anyway. I don’t think Tait wants kids, not for a long while. In fact I know he doesn’t.’ She gave a wry smile.

‘They
are
a pain in the arse, as you put it. But they are also the greatest joy.’ She shot Kim a steely look. ‘And you certainly can’t decide now whether it’s a road you will travel or not. Trust me, despite what the media would have you believe, it’s usually a road that chooses you. The world’s moving fast and who knows how you will feel or who you might meet – next month, next year. Maybe your future is with Tait, maybe it isn’t! And that’s the point, really; the longer you’re on the planet, the more balanced your view.’

‘Because you’ve been around long enough to see everything...’

Bea smiled and thought of the things she still hoped she would see and achieve. ‘Yes, something like that. I guess the older you get, the harder it is to be surprised.’

‘Oh, a life without surprises would be brilliant!’

Bea gazed at Kim’s profile. Her own philosophy was the exact opposite. ‘Older people are like a book that’s two thirds written, so the scope to change the ending is reduced. Much more importantly, however, we also share a secret that we almost never divulge. But I shall let you in on it – okay?’

Kim nodded. ‘I shan’t tell a soul!’

‘Life is for the brave, Kim. You have to chase the life you want and grab it. So if you really want Tait, and I believe you do, then make it happen! Don’t be defined by anyone else; don’t worry about Janine, or whoever. Just be yourself, because one day you’ll blink and it will be too late to tread your own path. You might find you’re walking the route that someone else has ploughed for you.’

‘Jesus Christ, Bea, you are on a downer!’

‘I don’t mean to be. You just have to make sure that you, like me, have an amazing and rich life, a real roller-coaster that takes you as high as you can possibly go. Getting older is nothing to be sad about; it’s to be celebrated!

Kim sighed. ‘I know you’re right, I do need to dive in, I can just never find the right time. And I know that time is ticking by and nothing changes for me.’ She looked towards the swing doors. ‘No matter how much I want it to.’

‘You need to make the change, Kim; you can’t wait for it to come to you. I’m double your age and I am raring to go!’

‘Ooh, lucky Alex!’ Kim laughed.

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Kim, do stop!’ she snapped.

‘I’m sorry. I was only mucking about, I didn’t mean to tease you.’

‘I think we both know that’s a lie.’

Kim laughed. ‘Are you sure you’re not the teeniest bit interested in Mr McKay, the silver-fox charmer?’

‘No! Absolutely not. I’m just mortified.’ Bea shook her head, rather embarrassed by the suggestion.

A horn honked in the road.

‘Oh, that’ll be Wyatt.’ Bea gathered her bag and for the umpteenth time checked that her passport, wallet and phone were all in their little compartments, before making her way out to the front of the cafe.

She kissed Kim on the cheek. ‘Thank you, darling, for everything.’

‘Go! Enjoy yourself! And don’t worry, we can handle things here,’ Kim assured her.

Bea hugged Tait. ‘Right, you two, you have all my numbers if you need anything. Mario will be here tomorrow and I shall see you in a couple of weeks!’

‘Have a great time, Bea, we shall miss you both!’ Kim pushed out her bottom lip.

‘We’ll be right though, Kimmy?’ Tait winked.

Kim nodded briskly; her blush was fuchsia, she didn’t trust herself to respond.

‘And if you bump into my aunty or my cousin Gideon, give them my love.’ Tait beamed.

‘Oh yes, of course. Where do Gideon and his mum live?’ Bea asked.

‘Weston-Super-Mare.’ Tait smiled.

Bea laughed. ‘Tait, if we are anywhere near Weston-Super-Mare, our travel plans will have gone drastically awry. It’s about as far from Edinburgh as you can get!’

‘How should I know?’ Tait shrugged.

‘I’ve left a little something for you both in the larder. Not your actual Christmas pressies, but a pre-Christmas thank you.’

‘Aww, Bea! Thank you!’ they chorused.

She had left them both beautiful wicker hampers full of tempting festive treats, including a bottle of bubbly and a dainty, beribboned box of fancy handmade chocolates from Haigh’s in the Queen Victoria Building.

Bea blew kisses as she wheeled her suitcase ahead of her and made her exit. She climbed into the passenger seat of Wyatt’s Holden and immediately sensed that she’d entered the scene of an argument. Flora looked tense, her scowl giving way to a weak smile as she greeted her gran.

‘Excited?’ Bea asked.

Flora nodded and popped her earphones into her ears.

‘Talk some sense into her while you’re out there, won’t you?’ Wyatt said as he navigated Elizabeth Street, passing the train station. He addressed his comment to the windscreen from behind his mirrored sunnies, speaking as if Flora wasn’t there.

‘Gosh, Flora is far more sensible than me, I should think it’ll be her giving me advice!’

Wyatt gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

As the car turned into Botany Road, Bea spotted Mr Giraldi hovering by the kerb. His straw trilby was keeping the sun from his head and he was dabbing at his face and neck with a blue spotted handkerchief. He had obviously just been shopping as his Harris Farm bag was straining at the handles, no doubt full of the large oranges that he loved. Bea waved furiously. Mr Giraldi caught her eye and, quite forgetting his cantankerous reputation, waved back as his face broke into a beautiful smile, his eyes following her face until she was out of sight.

Wyatt’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, letting her know that even this interaction had somehow irritated him. But as she had said to Flora only recently, that was just tough luck.

Wyatt dropped them at Terminal One, awkwardly hugging his daughter and grazing his mother’s cheek with a misplaced kiss. They would reunite just before Christmas, after he and Sarah had returned from Bali. Both Bea and Flora were excited at the prospect of flying from the international terminal, even though the flight would take them a whole day; it was nearly ten hours to Hong Kong, then another sixteen via Amsterdam to Edinburgh.

‘Are we going to visit Miss Alex and her many cats when we arrive?’ Flora asked suddenly as they were boarding their plane. She dissolved into giggles, which made Bea smile. ‘Kim sent me a text and told me to ask you that! I don’t even know why it’s funny!’

‘Ha.’ Bea tutted. ‘Tell Miss Kim that maybe we will.’

Despite the seemingly interminable flight, there was something about being cocooned in a warm plane with a blanket wrapped around them and having nowhere to go and nothing to do that lulled them to sleep. Having watched the couple of movies that jumped out at them, they both slept soundly for the best part of eight hours.

After she woke, Bea lay in the dark with her little green silk pillow under her cheek and remembered the last time she’d made that journey, in the opposite direction, all set to start a new life on the other side of the world, surrounded by her family. Her gran had wished them a tearful farewell at the airport and her mum had cried; Bea remembered her dad telling her mum that tears were infectious and that she should try to buck up for her girls’ sake.

At fourteen years old, just a few months older than Flora was now, Bea had imagined her new home in Australia would be very much like the British seaside that she loved: all sunshine, beaches and ice creams, with nothing much to worry about except whether she’d packed enough pairs of flip-flops and if they had an equivalent of the Top Forty. The reality of Byron Bay was a shock. Apart from the church and a few solid structures along the high street, everywhere seemed quite flimsy and temporary – a world away from the solid Surrey suburb where she’d grown up. Her overwhelming memory of her arrival in Byron Bay was the truly nauseating smell, a product of the abattoir and a large dairy factory whose odours were pumped out into the locality. The intense heat was a torment. Midges buzzed relentlessly in the blistering sunshine, flies continually settled on her lips and tongue, and she tried not to think about the crocodiles and sharks as she took refuge in the ocean or under the shade of the eucalypt trees on the beach. The place was nothing like she had imagined – about as far as she could get from the tender embrace of a warm summer’s day at home. And she longed for her favourite foods, wished they’d packed a lifetime’s supply of Bird’s Instant Whip and Ovaltine.

Bea’s thoughts turned to Diane, her sister and friend. It was now more than thirty years since they’d last seen each other and she missed her dearly. Of all the losses, it was Di’s that she still felt most keenly. But she had done as her parents had instructed, had remained true to her word and stayed away without contact.
I miss you, Di...
She’d never been back to Byron Bay, afraid perhaps of what she might find there. Though by all accounts the town was now unrecognisable: the unappealing outpost had been transformed into a fashionable centre of alternative lifestyles and eco retreats. She wondered if Di was still there, whether she’d turned into a Byron Bay hippy, whether she thought of Bea still. She hoped so.

Flora stepped from the plane first. The ground was covered with a light dusting of frost. She turned to her gran from the top step as she wrapped her arms around her trunk. ‘Oh, Bea! It’s absolutely freezing!’ she shouted against the cold wind that whipped her hair back and froze her nose. It was the coldest she had ever been.

Bea laughed, having quite forgotten just how cold cold could be. This was not a case of reaching for an extra jersey at the end of a day on the beach as the big sun sank into the sea, or popping on a pair of socks to ward off the early-morning chill; this was the kind of cold that shrank your goosepimpled skin against your limbs and chilled your bones until they felt brittle. The kind of cold that hurt your ears and made you want to crawl beneath a big fat duvet and not emerge until the summer showed its face. She had a sudden flashback of walking home from primary school with Diane in the dead of winter and it being already almost dark at three o’clock. She recalled the way her face would feel raw to the touch, how they would race home in their wellies to sit in front of the fire, their fingers and toes numb, and then the unpleasant smell of damp wool as their mum laid their mittens and scarves on the unwieldy metal fire cage to dry out. ‘Is it too late to choose Bali?’ she quipped, laughing at her granddaughter through chattering teeth.

As soon as they’d reclaimed their luggage, Flora pulled her ski jacket from her backpack, along with her woolly beanie and thick angora scarf. Bea wrapped her pashmina twice around her neck and fumbled in her case for her long navy wool coat. As they headed for the car-rental office, her teeth seemed to knock in her gums and the icy air sent a chill right through her body. ‘God, it’s so cold!’ she repeated every few minutes, rubbing her hands together. Flora merely nodded, as though the shock of the temperature had rendered her unable to speak.

Airport hoardings carried posters of the festive food and beribboned gifts that awaited them in the stores and restaurants of Edinburgh. Bea felt a jolt of excitement. It might be cold, but it was proper Christmas weather.

‘Are you feeling okay to drive, Gra— Bea?’ Flora asked.

‘Perfectly! I’m wide awake and raring to go!’ Bea beamed, her shoulder-length grey hair sitting neatly on her shoulders beneath her hat.

The two took possession of their little red Fiat 500, laughing at the novelty of it. They thanked the smiling Andrew from the car-rental company, who spoke so quickly and with such a strong Scottish accent that Bea only caught about every third word. Flora threw one bag on the back seat; the other fitted easily into the surprisingly roomy boot. Bea slammed the lid before jumping into the driver’s seat and punching the coordinates into the satnav, which beeped.

‘I love this car! It’s like driving in a little cherry tomato!’ Flora chuckled as Bea turned the key in the ignition, cranked the heating up to full blast and held up her hands in front of the vent.

‘No, it’s like a Christmas bauble!’ Bea laughed.

‘Whatever it is, I wish it was warmer. I can’t feel my feet!’ Flora stamped her trainers against the rubber mat on the floor.

‘It’ll soon heat up.’ Bea hoped she was right as her hand shook against the steering wheel, rattling her bangles beneath her coat.

They were apparently eight miles from The Balmoral Hotel, their home for the next couple of weeks. Neither had been to Scotland before and, other than what they’d gleaned from pictures on the internet – all high mountains and dense forests – and from watching
Highlander
and
Taggart
, they had no idea what to expect.

Bea fastened the seatbelt and pulled at her cream chinos to ensure minimum creasing in transit. She gathered the folds of her coat over her lap to act as a blanket and adjusted her silver bracelets, as was her habit.

‘You haven’t driven me in a long time.’ Flora yawned and tossed her head, shrugging off the tiredness that threatened.

Bea nodded. ‘Nope, but don’t worry, I think I just about remember how.’ She winked. ‘At least they drive on the correct side of the road!’

Flora laughed.

‘Are you excited?’ Bea asked as she revved the engine.

‘I really am!’ Flora squealed.

Bea felt a flicker of unease at the responsibility of driving her granddaughter. It felt like the biggest privilege that Wyatt and Sarah were entrusting their only child into her care on the open road in a foreign country.

‘The sky is quite grey here, isn’t it?’ She bent low in her seat and peered up through the windscreen at the low, thick cloud, which made everything seem very wintry. ‘It adds an air of mystery to the place, don’t you think?’

‘Yes. It reminds me of
Harry Potter
.’ Flora chuckled.

Bea switched the indicators left then right and practised turning the lights on, off and to full beam, trying to familiarise herself with the controls of the Fiat. Sitting bolt upright in her seat and concentrating with every fibre of her being, she released the handbrake and pulled into the flow of traffic that was emerging slowly from the car park. She navigated three roundabouts, following signs for Edinburgh city centre. The roads were neat grey asphalt and the mini roundabouts with their high, pale kerbstones were turfed with well-kept grass and dotted with the occasional advertising board staked into the soil.