The Christmas Café (17 page)

Two coaches swamped the little Fiat as it continued sedately down the middle lane. ‘Crikey, I feel like a minnow!’

‘A shiny red minnow!’ Flora corrected.

The heavy traffic continued as they tootled along the A8. ‘I think the satnav’s half-hour estimate might be a bit optimistic,’ Bea said. ‘I can’t believe there’s this much traffic! I remember there being hardly any cars when I was growing up, especially round us. Diane and I used to play games on the little roads near our house, if you can believe that – tennis and football, right there in the road. If a car did come along, it would simply beep and we’d get out of the way. But look at this! It’s crazy!’

As they crawled along, slow enough to peek into the cars on either side of them, Bea and Flora smiled inanely at their occupants, ridiculously excited at being in a traffic jam – a Scottish traffic jam, no less! Bea peered at the houses as they passed through Corstorphine, studying the sturdy detached granite homes. Elaborate castellations sat above the top windows, giving the properties an air of grandeur quite unlike the more modern buildings they were used to in Sydney.

‘I am actually here...’ Bea shared her thoughts out loud. ‘I am back in the UK, but I am a grown-up. How did that happen?’

‘I don’t know.’ Flora shrugged. ‘I wish Mum and Dad could see us, driving along in the bauble while it’s so cold outside. Dad would love it here, exploring. He likes adventure, doesn’t he?’

‘He sure does.’ Bea smiled, happy that Flora spoke about her dad with fondness and none of the aggression she had witnessed of late.

‘Do you think they’ll miss me?’ Flora’s voice was small.

‘Miss you? Of course they will! But they’ll be happy that we’re having a good time.’

‘I’ll call them later.’ She stared out of the window.

‘Good idea.’

Flora shook her head. ‘It will be nice for them to have some time on holiday on their own. Without work or anything.’

Bea thought she sounded remarkably grown-up. ‘Are you missing them?’

Flora nodded. ‘A little bit.’

‘Well, that’s a good thing. Just think how lovely it will be when you see them again.’

‘I’m going to buy them presents and maybe something for Marcus.’ Flora continued to gaze fixedly out of the window.

‘Marcus who you hate? Who you punched in the mouth?’

‘Yes.’ Flora sighed. ‘I don’t really hate him. I like him. I might love him.’

‘Oh, darling girl! Well, a little tip for you: if you do like someone or maybe even love them, punching them in the mouth is not necessarily the best way to start a relationship.’

‘I know that.’ Flora looked at her gran. ‘I didn’t like him immediately. Lori said she wanted to go out with him, so I didn’t say anything to anyone. But then about three weeks into term, we were on the bus back from the beach and I saw him walking on Darley Road. He was on his own and my heart kind of fluttered. I knew I wanted to speak to him and get to know him, but I knew that Lori liked him, so I didn’t say anything. I thought about him the whole way home and when I saw him at school I felt the same. But then the whole period thing happened, and then I punched him.’

Bea remembered what it was like to have a teenage heart bursting with love. Undistracted by work or other responsibilities, her young mind had been free to ponder the object of her affection morning, noon and night. ‘Have you spoken to him? Told him how you feel?’

Flora shook her head. ‘No. I was way too shy and Lori would kill me. But I remember what he was wearing when he walked along Darley Road and every time I think about it my tummy gets real flippy.’

Bea focused on the grey sky, a blue button-down shirt, a dark green silk scarf, grey twill slacks, a lick of fringe that dangled in his eyes, the size of his hand, into which hers fitted as if made to measure...

‘Do you know what I mean?’

‘Yes,’ Bea mouthed, quietly. ‘I do.’

Flora straightened her shoulders, sitting upright in the seat. ‘Not that there would be any point in telling him. He hates me.’

‘I bet he doesn’t.’ Bea spoke from the side of her mouth as the line of cars moved forward.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Lori says he’s going to go out with her and that’s that.’

‘Doesn’t he have a choice? Poor bloke! Don’t you think you should tell him how you feel, give him the chance to decide?’ Bea gave her granddaughter the same advice she’d only recently dished out to Kim.

‘Suppose. How do you know when you’ve met the love of your life?’

‘That’s a good question.’ Bea smiled. ‘I suppose the answer is that you just have to trust your little voice of instinct.’

‘I think I love him, but I might have blown it...’

‘What, with the whole punching him thing?’

Flora nodded defeatedly. ‘The zoo!’ she suddenly shouted, changing the topic and the atmosphere as she pointed to a sign on the left-hand side of the road. ‘And they’ve got pandas! Actual pandas! We’ve just got fat dugongs. I hate to think how cold they must be! Can we go see them?’

‘People from Edinburgh would probably love to see the fat dugongs! And yes, we can do whatever you want, but not today – I need a hair wash and a soak in a bubbly bath.’

‘I am so excited!’ Flora yelled.

The car picked up a little speed as the traffic flowed more freely and it was Bea’s turn to shout. ‘Look! Murrayfield! That’s incredible! I saw it on TV when the Wallabies played Scotland last year. We watched it in the café, Tait was going crazy for Lealiifano, who played a blinder! And here I am! That’s just crazy. I have to get photos and send them back.’

Flora laughed, buoyed up by her gran’s excitement and tickled to see her dad’s mum sharing his passion for a sport she herself had only the vaguest interest in.

The two marvelled at the Christmas decorations on the houses that lined the streets. Neon Santas dangled from ladders and hung from window ledges; trees and shrubs glowed and twinkled with fairy lights; and one driveway even sported an illuminated sleigh with four reindeer pulling it. Inflatable snowmen and a variety of green, red and gold displays shone against the grey afternoon sky, lighting up the solid flint walls and drab rendering. Children wearing thick coats, woolly hats and scarves gripped their parents’ hands as they scurried along the damp pavements, clutching carrier bags decorated with Christmas trees and cheerful slogans.

Bea stared at the parades of shops, having quite forgotten that in the UK they didn’t have the heavy canopy roofs they needed in Australia to keep the sun off their rows of shops and cafés. The facades here looked a little flat by comparison, exposed, but also lighter and more accessible. A memory flashed into her head of her six-year-old self clutching a silver sixpence. She was standing with her nose inches from a glass-fronted domed cabinet as she chose sweets from a mouthwatering display to be put into a small paper bag. Having to make the choice between Foaming Yellow Bananas, Pink Shrimps, Rhubarb and Custards, Black Jacks, Liquorice Pipes, Jelly Worms and packets of Parma Violets was excruciating! She would then suffer from post-choice regret when she saw that Diane had gone for Strawberry Laces or another goody that had escaped her own eagle eye. She had forgotten all about those Saturday morning trips to the sweet shop.

Eventually they turned into Princes Street. Bea gasped and her heart jumped; there it was, just as she had imagined it for all those years. Alex was right: the city did look absolutely beautiful. It was only early afternoon, but the sky already had a tinge of purple to it. Lights had been strung between the Victorian lamp-posts and under them a throng of shoppers and tourists ambled. To the left, the tall flint and granite buildings were crammed together like sentinels overlooking majestic Edinburgh Castle, and beneath the castle walls Princes Street Gardens swept up to meet the bustle of Princes Street.

Bea felt her pulse race, hearing the words he’d whispered into her ear as they waltzed under a hunter’s moon.
‘She stands like something from a grand painting, framing your view. There is nowhere else in the world you could be but Princes Street. On a rainy day or with the sun glinting off the old red sandstone, the castle is equally beautiful. For me it means home and I guess it always will.’

‘Oh, look, a funfair!’ Flora pointed up ahead.

Bea pulled her gaze from the Christmassy shop windows, her eyes lingering on the frontage of the kiltmaker’s Hector Russell, whose three floor-to-ceiling windows each showed a fantastic array of tartan, complete with mannequins decked out in Santa hats sitting askew on their heads. She wanted to run up the sweeping staircase and explore inside.

‘A big wheel! The view from there will be awesome. We have to go!’ Flora’s excitement spilled from her and Bea was happy to hear it, mindful that, despite all the upset at school, Flora was still just an exuberant young girl. She hoped she would remain that way for a long time yet.

‘We can do whatever you want. Put it on the list.’ Bea smiled.

‘Eat is what I want to do. I’m starving.’ Flora patted her stomach. ‘What’s the time at home?’

With one hand still on the wheel, Bea delved blindly into her rucksack pocket for her phone and switched it on for the first time. It took a minute to find the network before her phone issued all manner of beeps. ‘Ooh, look, I’m on O2!’ She faced the phone screen towards her granddaughter and laughed, as if proof were needed that they were indeed in a foreign country. ‘The time in Sydney is... Gosh!’ Bea squinted at the screen. ‘It’s two in the morning! No wonder we’re a bit out of sorts.’

‘That is way past my bedtime!’ Flora yawned.

‘And mine.’ Bea laughed.

The satnav spoke and Bea indicated. ‘We have to go around. I think it’s one-way ahead!’

Flora pointed at the satnav. ‘Ooh, look, we’re going over the Royal Mile! Hello, Alex!’ She waved through the window.

Bea tutted, feeling an unexpected sense of embarrassment and a frisson of excitement about meeting the mousy, cat-loving woman who was in fact a man. She quickly changed the subject. ‘Wow! Look! Here’s The Balmoral. Doesn’t it look old! And very fancy-pants.’

As the two weary travellers wheeled their suitcases into the hotel, they gawped admiringly at the cool grandeur of their surroundings. High ceilings, ornate cornices and colonnades drew the eye upwards. The plushly carpeted floor was dotted with potted palms, a real fire was burning in the hearth and nearby stood an elaborate Christmas tree. It was breathtaking. As they waited to check in at the dark-wood reception desk, Bea and Flora looked at each other and giggled. They were actually in Scotland, and this very grand hotel was to be their home for the next two weeks!

‘Oh, cool! Look at this! I can see the castle and the gardens! It’s all so old!’ Flora stared through the bay window of their room at the dazzling array of ancient buildings, Christmas lights and shoppers enjoying the spectacle.

It was a good-sized room, with two double beds whose crisp white linen looked more than a little inviting. The light came from a multitude of elegant lamps that had been artfully placed on the dark-wood dressing table and bedside cabinets. The luxurious carpet was a pale tartan. Someone had arranged a stunning bouquet of lilac-coloured thistles and white roses as a centrepiece. They smiled at each other; their room and the view were just perfect.

‘Come on, Bea, let’s go exploring before I crash out on that bed and fall asleep for a hundred years.’

‘Okay, my little would-be Sleeping Beauty, if you’re sure you’re up to it. I feel a bit scruffy, have I got time to shower and change?’ Bea released her thick hair from its barrette and ran her fingers through her tangles before refastening the clip, making sure she caught all the stray tendrils.

‘You always look très chic, Bea. Mum tells her friends the story of when she first met you and you had an outfit on like Coco Chanel, with a silk shirt, strings of pearls and wide-legged pants. She says you looked beautiful, elegant and very fashionable and that it made her feel nervous.’

‘Ah, well, thank you, Sarah!’ Bea was genuinely happy and rather surprised to learn that this was how her daughter-in-law referred to her. ‘I do love clothes, it’s true. I think it’s because I didn’t really have any when I was growing up – just a couple of drab outfits my mum made. Me, my sister and my mum always had the same clothes. Once or twice a year, my dad would buy a cheap bolt of quite plain fabric and my mum would lay it out on the floor and pin three different-sized paper patterns to it, one for each of us – enough for three skirts, blouses or whatever. She was a very clever seamstress and the electric sewing machine was forever whirring away in the house. But I secretly longed for shop-bought clothes that were different from my sister’s. It wasn’t until I met Peter that there was spare money for good clothes. Ever since then I’ve always bought well and kept them for years. Still do.’

‘And you have a lovely figure.’

‘Oh, well, bless you, Flora! What a nice thing to say.’

‘Have you ever been fat?’ Flora asked, with typical teenaged bluntness.

Bea pictured herself on a bed, looking like she had swallowed a barrel. Her skin had stretched to accommodate the new life within her. She remembered standing in the bathroom and looking down, unable to see her toes. She had been huge and had rather loved it, despite the gnawing embarrassment at the fact that she was pregnant and alone.

‘Not really, no. What do you fancy for supper?’

Neither commented on the change of topic. Flora shrugged. ‘Shall we wander? I don’t really mind, but I would like chips, but then I always want chips! I got this leaflet from the foyer.’ She waved a piece of paper in front of Bea. It showed a pub sign that was in fact a large lobster. ‘It looks nice.’

‘Yes, it looks great! Good idea.’ Bea grabbed her rucksack and threw it over her shoulder. Her phone buzzed. ‘Oh, it’s an email from Alex.’ She placed her finger on the screen and moved the icon as she’d been taught. ‘He hopes we had a good flight and has invited us for a coffee tomorrow, and he’s given us directions. It feels weird saying “he”!’

‘It will be great to see him, meet him finally!’ Flora clapped.